millions and probably would.'
The widow collapsed back into the couch, her long neck arched, her eyes closed. 'Eight hundred million,' she whispered. 'That's what he said. Eight hundred million for him alone, billions for all the rest of you.'
'He never told you what he was doing, what he had done?'
'Good Christ, no! I'd have put a bullet in his head and called one of you to deep-six him in Mexico.'
'I believe you.'
'Will the others?' Ardis sat up, her eyes pleading.
'Oh, I think so. They know you.'
'I swear to you, Eric, I didn't know a thing!'
'I said I believed you.'
'The Rashad woman told me they were tracing the money he sent through Zurich. Can they do that?'
'If I knew Andrew, it would take them months. His coded pay-in sources ranged from South Africa to the Baltic. Months, a year, perhaps.'
'Will the others know that?'
'We'll see what they say.'
'What?… Eric!’
'I called Grinell from the airport in Baltimore. He's no part of Bollinger's staff and God knows he stays in the background, but if we have a chairman of the board, I think we'd all agree he's the fellow.'
'Eric, what are you telling me?' asked Mrs. Vanvlanderen, her voice flat.
'He'll be here in a few minutes. We agreed we should have a talk. I wanted a little time with you alone but he should be here shortly.' Sundstrom glanced at his watch.
'You've got that glassy look in your eyes, lover boy,' said Ardis, slowly getting up from the couch.
'Oh, yes,' agreed the scientist. 'The one you always laughed at when I couldn't… shall we say, perform.'
'Your mind was so often on other things. You're such a brilliant man.'
'Yes, I know. You once said that you always knew when I was solving a problem. I went limp.'
'I loved your mind. I still love it.'
'How could you? You don't really have one yourself so how would you know.'
'Eric, Grinell frightens me.'
'He doesn't frighten me. He has a mind.'
The chimes of the front door filled the Vanvlanderen suite.
Kendrick sat in a small canvas chair by the cot in the cabin of the jet that was flying them to Denver. Emmanuel Weingrass, his wounds prevented from further bleeding by the surviving nurse in Mesa Verde, kept blinking his dark eyes, made darker by the lined white flesh surrounding them.
'I've been thinking,' said Manny with difficulty, half coughing the words.
'Don't talk,' broke in Evan. 'Conserve your strength. Please?'
'Oh, get off it,' replied the old man. 'What have I got? Twenty more years and I don't get laid?'
'Will you stop it?'
'No, I won't stop it. Five years I don't see you so we get back together and what happens? You get too attached—to me. What are you, a feygele with a hang-up for old guys?… Don't answer that, Khalehla will do it for you. You two must have busted your parts last night.'
'Why don't you ever talk like a normal person?'
'Because normalcy bores me, just like you're beginning to bore me… Don't you know what all this shit is about? I brought up a dummy? You can't figure?'
