Kevin was still close enough to his sister to sense her unease. “Don’t worry, Bets,” he said in a tone that was supposed to be reassuring but came off as condescending. “It all passes audit.”
The champagne crash hit Betsy at that moment. That was one of Howard King’s lines. How many sleazebag feds had she heard say that after they bent rules? In how many budget meetings had she heard the phrase “pushing the envelope, but not so far that we do hard time"? She still remembered one contractor who had written himself in for forty percent more than had been allowed and said, “In private sector I wouldn’t do this, but here they’ll never catch it. Never forget, dearie, that the margin for profit is found in that zone beyond the written law and before the point where the enforcement system kicks in.”
Betsy felt sick. Her brother was now one of them.
“Don’t worry, there’s a good reason to do this. We are feeding the world.”
And yourselves, too, Betsy almost said. But she did not. She did not want to spoil her brother’s triumph.
“Oh, there’s a lot of hype with Dr. Larsen’s body uncount. No one really believes he’s saved that many lives—least of all Dr. Larsen. You have to understand that stunts like that are necessary—part of how you do business. But there’s some truth there underneath the hype, Bets. This research does a lot of good.”
She was tired. She’d have to sleep on his news. She merely reached out, hugged her brother, and held him as she used to do when Dad would lose his temper and shout that he’d never amount to anything. “Watch your step, Kevin,” she whispered.
“I will, sis. We’re a long way from Nampa, and sometimes it gets a little complicated.”
They stayed for another few minutes, watching the MD-80’s and 757’s land at National, seeing the lights reflect on the blossoms that were still left on the trees, smelling the sweet air of D.C. Then Betsy suddenly sneezed so loud that an echo came off the apartment building across the way. “Time for bed, bro. Whatever you’re doing here for the Rainmaker, I’m sure you’ve got to be bright and sparky. You can use the bathroom after Cassie gets done. Don’t forget to hang up your suit.”
They went in. Betsy kissed her brother on the cheek again, told him how proud of him she was, and then went to bed. But she did not fall asleep until long after the eastern sky had begun to brighten.
Chapter Fourteen
One morning at 3:52, according to the station wagon’s dashboard clock, Clyde was cruising southward along the Interstate 45 portion of his circuit when he witnessed a one-car accident. A four-door was coming toward him in the northbound lanes, drawing attention to itself in more than one way. To begin with, it had its parking lights on, but not its headlights. Second, it was going so fast that Clyde could tell it was speeding from a mile away. It looked as if it must be doing about 120. Third, it was weaving lazily from lane to lane, straying well into the left and right shoulders when the driver felt like claiming a little extra elbow room.
Finally it weaved just a bit too far to the left, all the way across the paved shoulder. The driver sensed something was wrong; even from the front Clyde could see its brake lights flare. Its tires bit dirt, yawing the car violently into the shoulder. The driver fought with the wheel for a few moments as the car plowed through the ditch, kicking up dirt and rocks, but finally it struck a boulder or something and veered sharply away from the road, erupted over the lip of the ditch, smashed through a wire fence and into a field of tall corn, which swallowed it up as if it were an actor vanishing through a curtain.