Second Horseman Out of Eden

me, and I keep my word. I told you that I won't involve Nuvironment in any scandal, and I won't-if you tell me what I want to know. Now, another one of my faults is that I have this real nasty streak in me that comes out when I get disappointed. In this case, I just might take it into my head to talk to the newspapers about. . whatever. I know Blaisdel wouldn't want me to do that, so I figure maybe I'd better talk to him about the dirt, William Kenecky, and the little girl. You just put me in touch with him on the phone; I'll do the talking.'

Patton snatched his hands off the top of the desk and stiffened in his chair. 'You may carry out your threat, Dr. Frederickson, and it's possible that you could ruin my career-but it won't get you what you demand. It won't get you an appointment with Mr. Blaisdel, because he never sees anyone, and it won't get you the information you seek, since Nuvironment had nothing to do with any importation of soil. We've done nothing wrong, absolutely nothing, and if you try to make it appear that we have. . well, that will be on your conscience.' He paused, touched the side of his nose. 'Also, of course, there are libel laws.'

Peter Patton himself was nothing if not persistent-so persistent, and adamant in his denials, that I was almost tempted to believe him. But if I did believe him-if Nuvironment had nothing to do with the importation of the rain forest soil, and if Craig Valley really had called Patton just to vent his spleen hysterically before slitting his throat-it meant that Garth and I would have to start all over again, from scratch, without the vaguest notion where scratch might be. That being the case, naturally, I decided not to believe a word he was saying-although it wasn't clear where that was going to get me, either.

'This business about the child bothers me a great deal, Frederickson,' Patton continued.

'Yeah; I can see that.'

'There could be one other explanation-and that bothers me a great deal, too.'

'What would that explanation be?'

'The explanation would be that we have competition that I'm not aware of; such a competitor wouldn't be interested in long-range goals, but only in reaping the benefits of certain research findings. It now occurs to me that we may have a spy here, skimming off the cream of our research.'

'Oh,' I said, unable to think of anything else to say. Suddenly I felt very depressed.

'If that were the case,' Patton said as he leaned forward slightly in his chair, 'we would certainly want that person exposed.' He paused for a few moments, continued carefully, 'I certainly wish you were working for us, Dr. Frederickson.'

'Jesus Christ, Patton, are you offering me a job?'

'Yes. And why not? I happen to know that you and your brother now deal almost exclusively with corporate clients. I understand that your fees are high, and Nuvironment would be more than willing to pay for the two of you to investigate the possibility of industrial espionage in our company. You could begin after New Year's.'

It was an interesting proposition, inasmuch as it seemed to imply that Peter Patton was willing to give us the run of the place to search records and investigate personnel as we saw fit; that wouldn't seem to make much sense for the head of a company that was trying to hide something in addition to a hundred tons of dirt. The problem, of course, was that it was Patton who had come up with the idea; if he thought it was a good one, then it was difficult to see what Garth and I would gain. And we weren't about to put off our search until after New Year's.

'We already have a client who's taking up all our time,' I said distantly, still pondering his offer and wondering why he had made it. 'Vicky Brown; the child. Remember her?'

'Yes,' the pale-eyed man with the tic replied evenly. 'But you believe that I'm denying to you information that could lead you to her; in effect, you're accusing me and my company of abetting the sexual abuse of this child. I deeply resent that, Dr. Frederickson. If allowing you to investigate our operations will assuage your suspicions, I'm willing to pay you to do it.'

'Then you really don't believe there's a competitor trying to steal your secrets?'

'It's always good to have a thorough security check once in a while.'

'But you don't believe you have a spy.'

'No.'

'Then how would you explain the soil?'

'I think you've made a mistake; the people who analyzed the soil for you made a mistake. Or, some other concern-perhaps an agricultural lab at some university-brought in a small sample of the soil for their own purposes. I happen to like children very much, Frederickson, and I would do nothing to cause one to be harmed. I'm as interested in the welfare of this Vicky Brown as you are.'

'And you're willing to give Garth and me complete access to all your operations here?'

'Not only here, but at any of our research facilities around the world.'

'How many of those are there?'

'Sixteen. You won't find any rain forest soil in any of them, I assure you. As I said, you can begin January second.'

'Why not right now?'

Patton again glanced at his watch. 'I'll be happy to give you a tour of our facilities right now, if you'd like, but it won't do you much good. So much of our work is highly technical that you'd really need the appropriate personnel here to explain to you what they're doing and give you access to their computer files.'

'Why can't you do that?'

'I'm a manager, Frederickson, not a scientist. Besides, I'm not sure you'd believe anything I told you, anyway. Just about everyone has gone home now, and the offices will be closed through New Year's. In fact, I'm scheduled to leave tomorrow morning for a European ski vacation. If you like, I'll postpone it.'

'I don't need your personnel to search your computer files. I'll bring in my own experts.'

Patton shook his head. 'I'm afraid I couldn't authorize that; and, if I could, I doubt your people would be successful in interpreting all the data that's stored here. Please, Dr. Frederickson; I'm trying to be cooperative, and responsible.'

And he was certainly putting on a good show. On the other hand, I could search computer files for a year and still miss what I was looking for. Rummaging through the offices of Nuvironment-now or after New Year's-wasn't the answer to the problem of finding Vicky Brown. Somebody had to tell me what I needed to know. In effect, Patton was offering me nothing except a show.

'I'd still like to talk to Blaisdel.'

Patton rested his hands in his lap, sighed deeply. 'I will submit a memo to that effect, Dr. Frederickson; that's all I can do. The memo will be ignored.'

'Why don't you just pick up the telephone and call him?'

'Because-'

As if in response to my suggestion, the phone on his desk rang, startling both of us. Patton frowned and stared at the phone as it continued to ring-five, six times. He obviously hadn't been expecting any phone calls.

On the seventh ring Patton grunted with annoyance, reached out and punched a button on a speaker- intercom console connected to the phone. 'What is it?' he snapped. 'I thought I left instructions that there were to be no-''

'I'm sorry to interrupt you, Mr. Patton,' a strong, authoritative male voice said. It was a distinctive voice, vaguely familiar; I was certain I knew the voice, but couldn't recall where I had heard it. 'If you're on the intercom, please pick up the telephone receiver.'

Patton punched another button, snatched the telephone receiver out of its cradle, and held it to his ear. 'What's the problem?' he said curtly. He listened for a few moments, and his pale face darkened. 'Just bring him in here,' he said at last, and slammed down the phone.

I had a pretty good idea who 'him' was even before the office door opened and Garth, blood streaming from a gash on one cheek and the other cheek rapidly swelling, and with both arms twisted up behind his back, was roughly ushered into the room by two burly men whose suit jackets weren't sufficiently well tailored to hide the bulge of guns in shoulder holsters. It looked, not surprisingly, as if Garth had given as well as he'd got; the shirts of both men were ripped and spattered with blood, their hair was tousled, and the left eye of the man on Garth's right was almost swollen shut.

Now I realized where I had heard the voice on the intercom before-on national television, broadcasting various baseball 'games of the week' for a year or two. The name of the man twisting Garth's right arm was Hector Velazian, and he had once been a twenty-five-game winner in the majors before drugs and booze had melted the