State of Fear

It looked perfectly normal.

 

Self-consciously, he started unbuttoning his shirt, and turned away. He went to the shower, letting the hot spray sting his body. He looked at his toes, which were dark purple, a worrisome, unnatural color. He wiggled them. He didn't have much sensation, but other than that, they seemed to be all right.

 

He toweled off, and checked his messages. There was a call from Janis, asking if he was free tonight. Then another, nervous one from her, saying her boyfriend had just come back into town and she was busy (which meant, don't call her back). There was a call from Lisa, Herb Lowenstein's assistant, asking where he was. Lowenstein wanted to go over some documents with him; it was important. A call from Heather, saying that Lowenstein was looking for him. A call from Margo Lane, saying she was still in the hospital and why hadn't he called her back? A call from his client the BMW dealer, asking when he was coming to the showroom.

 

And about ten hang-ups. Far more than he usually had.

 

The hang-ups gave him a creepy feeling.

 

Evans dressed quickly, putting on a suit and tie. He came back into the living room and, feeling uneasy, clicked on the television set, just in time for the local noon news. He was heading for the door when he heard: "Two new developments emphasize once again the dangers of global warming. The first study, out of England, says global warming is literally changing the rotation of the Earth, shortening the length of our day."

 

Evans turned back to look. He saw two co-anchors, a man and a woman. The man was explaining that even more dramatic was a study that showed that the Greenland ice cap was going to melt entirely away. That would cause sea levels to rise twenty feet.

 

"So, I guess it's good-bye Malibu!" the anchor said cheerfully. Of course, that wouldn't happen for a few years yet. "But it's coming...unless we all change our ways."

 

Evans turned away from the television and headed for the door. He wondered what Kenner would have to say about this latest news. Changing the rotation speed of the Earth? He shook his head at the sheer enormity of it. And melting all the ice in Greenland? Evans could imagine Kenner's discomfiture.

 

But then, he'd probably just deny it all, the way he usually did.

 

Evans opened the door, carefully ensured that it would remain unlocked, closed it behind him, and headed for his office.

 

 

 

 

 

CENTURY CITY

 

 

SATURDAY, OCTOBER 9

 

9:08 A. M.

 

He ran into Herb Lowenstein in the hall, walking toward a conference room. "Jesus," Lowenstein said, "where the hell have you been, Peter? Nobody could find you."

 

"I've been doing a confidential job for a client."

 

"Well next time tell your damn secretary how to reach you. You look like shit. What happened, you get in a fight or something? And what's that above your ear? Jesus, are those stitches?"

 

"I fell."

 

"Uh-huh. What client were you doing this confidential job for?"

 

"Nick Drake, actually."

 

"Funny. He didn't mention it."

 

"No?"

 

"No, and he just left. I spent the whole morning with him. He's very unhappy about the document rescinding the ten-million-dollar grant from the Morton Foundation. Especially that clause."

 

"I know," Evans said.

 

"He wants to know where the clause came from."

 

"I know."

 

"Where did it come from?"

 

"George asked me not to divulge that."

 

"George is dead."

 

"Not officially."

 

"This is bullshit, Peter. Where did the clause come from?"

 

Evans shook his head. "I'm sorry, Herb. I have specific instructions from the client."

 

"We're in the same firm. And he's my client, too."

 

"He instructed me in writing, Herb."

 

"Inwriting? Horseshit. George didn't write anything."

 

"Handwritten note," Evans said.

 

"Nick wants the terms of the document broken."

 

"I'm sure he does."

 

"And I told him we'd do that for him," Lowenstein said.

 

"I don't see how."

 

"Morton was not in his right mind."

 

"But he was, Herb," Evans said. "You'll be taking ten million out of his estate and if anybody whispers in the ear of his daughter--"

 

"She's a total cokehead--"

 

"--who goes through cash like a monkey through bananas. And if anybody whispers in her ear, this firm will be liable for the ten million, and for punitive damages for conspiracy to defraud. Have you talked to the other senior partners about this course of action?"

 

"You're being obstructive."

 

"I'm being cautious. Maybe I should express my concerns in an e-mail to you."

 

"This is not how you advance in this firm, Peter."

 

Evans said, "I think I am acting in the firm's best interest. I certainly don't see how you can abrogate this document without, at the very least, first obtaining written opinions from attorneys outside the firm."

 

"But no outside attorney would countenance--" He broke off. He glared at Evans. "Drake is going to want to talk to you about this."

 

"I'll be happy to do that."

 

"I'll tell him you'll call."

 

"Fine."

 

Lowenstein stalked off. Then he turned back. "And what was all that business about the police and your apartment?"