"Is it this Kenner guy?"
"George didn't say. He just said, hold off." Evans wondered how Lowenstein knew about Kenner.
"What do I tell Nick?"
"Tell him it's in the works and we don't have a date for him yet."
"But there's not a problem with it, is there?"
"Not that I've been told," Evans said.
"Okay," Lowenstein said. "In this room. Tell me: Is there a problem?"
"There might be." Evans was thinking that George rarely held up charitable donations. And there had been a certain tension in the brief talk he had with him the night before.
"What's this meeting about tomorrow morning?" Lowenstein said. "The big conference room."
"Beats me."
"George didn't tell you?"
"No."
"Nick is very upset."
"Well, that's not unusual for Nick."
"Nick has heard of this Kenner guy. He thinks he's a troublemaker. Some kind of anti-environmental guy."
"I doubt that. He's a professor at MIT. In some environmental science."
"Nick thinks he's a troublemaker."
"I couldn't say."
"He overheard you and Morton talking about Kenner on the airplane."
"Nick should stop listening at keyholes."
"He's worried about his standing with George."
"Not surprising," Evans said. "Nick screwed up on a big check. Got deposited in the wrong account."
"I heard about that. It was an error by a volunteer. You can't blame Nick for that."
"It doesn't build confidence."
"It was deposited to the International Wilderness Preservation Society. A great organization. And the money is being transferred back, even as we speak."
"That's fine."
"Where are you in this?"
"Nowhere. I just do what the client says."
"But you advise him."
"If he asks me. He hasn't asked."
"It sounds like you've lost confidence yourself."
Evans shook his head. "Herb," he said. "I'm not aware of any problem. I'm aware of a delay. That's all."
"Okay," Lowenstein said, reaching for the phone. "I'll calm Nick down."
Evans went back to his office. His phone was ringing. He answered it. "What are you doing today?" Morton said.
"Not much. Paperwork."
"That can wait. I want you to go over and see how that Vanutu lawsuit is coming."
"Jeez, George, it's still pretty preliminary. I think the filing is several months away."
"Pay them a visit," Morton said.
"Okay, they're in Culver City, I'll call over there and--"
"No. Don't call. Just go."
"But if they're not expecting--"
"That's right. That's what I want. Let me know what you find out, Peter."
And he hung up.
CULVER CITY
TUESDAY, AUGUST 24
10:30 A. M.
The Vanutu litigation team had taken over an old warehouse south of Culver City. It was an industrial area, with potholes in the streets. There was nothing to see from the curb: just a plain brick wall, and a door with the street number in battered metal numerals. Evans pushed the buzzer and was admitted to a small walled-off reception area. He could hear the low murmur of voices from the other side of the wall, but he could see nothing at all.
Two armed guards stood on either side of the far door, leading into the warehouse itself. A receptionist sat at a small desk. She gave him an unfriendly look.
"And you are?"
"Peter Evans, Hassle and Black."
"To see?"
"Mr. Balder."
"You have an appointment?"
"No."
The receptionist looked disbelieving. "I will buzz his assistant."
"Thank you."
The receptionist talked on the phone in a low voice. He heard her mention the name of the law firm. Evans looked at the two guards. They were from a private security firm. They stared back at him, their faces blank, unsmiling.
The receptionist hung up and said, "Ms. Haynes will be out in a moment." She nodded to the guards.
One of them came over and said to Evans, "Just a formality, sir. May I see some identification?"
Evans gave him his driver's license.
"Do you have any cameras or recording equipment on your person?"
"No," Evans said.
"Any disks, drives, flash cards, or other computer equipment?"
"No."
"Are you armed, sir?"
"No."
"Would you mind raising your arms for a moment?" When Evans gave him a strange look, the guard said, "Just think of it like airport security," and he patted him down. But he was also clearly feeling for wires. He ran his fingers over the collar of Evans's shirt, felt the stitching in his jacket, ran his finger around his waistband, and then asked him to take off his shoes. Finally he passed an electronic wand over him.
"You guys are serious," Evans said.
"Yes we are. Thank you, sir."
The guard stepped away, resuming his place at the wall. There was no place to sit, so Evans just stood there and waited. It was probably two minutes before the door opened. An attractive but tough-looking woman in her late twenties, with short dark hair and blue eyes, wearing jeans and a white shirt, said, "Mr. Evans? I'm Jennifer Haynes." Her handshake was firm. "I work with John Balder. Come this way."