Tom Hyman (15 page)

Anne was stunned. “But I want you.”

Elder opened the door to his office, inviting her to leave. “Sorry.

I’m much too busy. Good day, Mrs. Stewart.”

A minute later Anne found herself standing outside on West Seventy-ninth Street. She was trembling with hurt and anger. She couldn’t remember a more devastating rejection in her She thought they had been getting on so well. She had never met a doctor she had related to so immediately, so completely.

Why had he become so suspicious of her all of a sudden? As if she were hiding something from him?

How dare he throw her out like that? She was strongly tempted to march back into his office and demand an explanation.

She felt betrayed. It was as if her trust had been violated. Some part of her recognized that her reactions were ridiculously out of proportion to whatever offense he had committed, but she simply couldn’t help it. She wanted the best for her daughter.

She groped in her purse for a tissue and couldn’t find one. Tears started rolling down her cheeks.

“Goddamnit,” she said. Several passers-by glanced in her direction.

“Goddamnit,” she repeated in a louder voice. “Goddamnit!”

Dalton Stewart came into Anne’s bedroom. The curtains were still drawn, shutting out most of the morning’s light and the sound of the strong, gusty wind that had begun rattling the windows and blowing the leaves off the trees. Anne was lying on her side, eyes closed. He bent down and kissed her lightly on the cheek.

She opened her eyes and squinted at the bedside clock. “You’re dressed already? It’s only seven.”

“Gil’s taking me to the airport.”

“Where are you off to this time?”

“Miami. Then back down to El Coronado. How are you feeling?”

Anne laughed. “For godsakes, Dalton, I’m feeling fine. I’m getting up in a few minutes.”

Dalton frowned disapprovingly. “Why don’t you rest for another day?”

“I’ve been resting for two days. The doctor said I could get up as soon as I felt like it. Well, I feel like it.”

“For my sake, then. Humor me.”

Anne put her hand to her mouth and yawned. “Dalton, I’m not going to stay in bed just to humor you.”

Dalton jammed his hands into his pants pockets and began pacing the room. “Damn it, Anne, why take any chances? You know how much this baby means to me.”

Two days before, Anne had tripped on the attic stairs and taken a bad fall. She had sustained a few bruises, but that was all. And 11 5 her gynecologist had assured her that the fetus hadn’t been harmed.

Anne rolled over on her back, her eyes following Dalton as he opened one of the drapes to let the light in. “Well, guess what, Dalton. She means a lot to me, too.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“I promise I won’t go up into the attic again, okay?”

“You ought to stay off stairs, period. The house has an elevator. Use it from now on.”

“The elevator happens to be broken. And more dangerous than the stairs, anyway. The gardener got trapped in it last October, remember?

It was three hours before anyone found him.”

“I’ll speak to Franklin. We’ll get it fixed immediately. And I want you to have someone with you from now on. All the time.”

“Like who?”

“I’ve asked Mrs. Corley to hire a professional nurse.”

Anne threw off the covers and sat up. “Dalton, that’s crazy.

I’m not sick, I’m pregnant. I don’t need a nurse.”

Dalton came across the room and sat down on the bed beside her. “I don’t want to have to worry about you all the time. If you won’t have a nurse, then at least a bodyguard.”

“It was an accident, Dalton. For godsakes! If someone were trying to hurt me, or the baby, they’d think of something a little more ingenious than putting a rod from an old barbell set on the top attic stair. The chances of me going up there were practically nil.”

“But the fact is you did go up there.”

“Why are you sniping at me like this, Dalton?”

“Because I’m depending on you to take care of the baby.”

Anne started to reply, then changed her mind. She stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door behind her.

Dalton paced over to the window. Anne’s defiant attitude was something new. And it both galled and depressed him. He pulled the curtains back further and stared out over the grounds. It had begun to rain.

The wind spattered the drops against the glass, partially obscuring the view.

He had somehow expected that Anne would always be grateful to him for having plucked her from poverty and obscurity and introduced her to a world of security and privilege that most women would envy. But she was not grateful.

He supposed he had made a mistake in marrying her. At the time she had seemed perfect. She was young, beautiful, intelligent, vivacious—just the kind of wife a man in his position needed. A woman who could turn heads wherever they went.

But now all he saw were her shortcomings. And ingratitude was the least of them. She did nothing for him socially. Not having been brought up in a world of class and privilege, she was at a loss as how to function in it.

The situation had to change. Either Anne would have to take up their cause on the social front, or he would have to consider divorcing her.

Christ, he’d been through two divorces already. He didn’t know if he could stand another one. But he saw now that what he really needed was a woman of established social prominence, a woman with the right family and breeding, with the instinct and the desire to enhance his own image.

He knew he was being selfish. And he did still have strong feelings for Anne. She remained a most desirable woman. But he had to be hardheaded about these matters. It was his future, after all.

He would have to face the matter later—after the baby was born. Until then, Anne’s welfare had to remain uppermost in his mind.

Anne emerged from the bathroom completely nude. This was unusual for her; she was naturally a modest person. She was still angry at him, so she was pretending he wasn’t there. Her six months of pregnancy didn’t show very much at all. She had gained a few pounds, especially around the middle, but otherwise her body looked as shapely and voluptuous as ever. He felt a sudden strong urge to make love to her. It was the only way he could think of to try to bridge the widening gulf between them.

Was she trying to communicate the same desire to him? He didn’t know, and he was afraid to ask. She was never very receptive after an argument, anyway, he told himself, and he absolutely couldn’t risk doing anything that might threaten the pregnancy.

He tried to smooth things over. “I’m sorry, Anne. I shouldn’t be blaming anyone for anything. You know how I am. If I don’t feel in control I don’t feel comfortable. So I worry about you.

And the baby. That fall of yours scared the hell out of me. I couldn’t help thinking that you might have lost her. And I couldn’t help thinking how devastating that would be. She’ll likely be the only child the two of us can ever have.”

Anne snapped her bra together. The apology seemed to soften her somewhat. “But I can’t just stay in bed for the next two and a half months. We live in the real world—or at least a very privileged version of it. We can’t command that nothing bad happen.

We can’t foresee or forestall everything. I might just have a miscarriage.”

“Don’t even mention the word.”

Anne looked at him speculatively. “Well, if we are unlucky and something bad does happen, we can always get Dr. Goth to work his little magic again, can’t we?”

“What do you mean, ‘magic’?”

“What do you think I mean?”

Dalton averted his eyes. For one terrifying instant he thought she knew that Goth had used the Jupiter program on her. Could she have possibly found out? No. Goth would never tell her. And no one else knew.

He had wrestled with himself many times about whether he should let her in on the truth. Because it was really quite a remarkable, exciting thing that Goth was doing. But why risk scaring her? If the baby turned out to be as extraordinary as he expected, then let Anne be overjoyed at the results. If the fetus miscarried, or turned out less than perfect, then it was obviously better that she didn’t know and blame the failure on Goth—and on him.

And it was really too late to tell her now, anyway. He had to focus on one single, crucial matter—making sure that nothing happened to Anne for the next ten weeks.

“Why don’t you come down to El Coronado with me?” he suggested.

Anne paused midway in buttoning her blouse. “Why?”

“Then I won’t worry so much about you.

Goth can monitor you on a regular basis. In fact, you ought to stay the whole time.

I’ll rent out the whole top floor of the hotel.”

“I don’t want to spend two and a half months on that island.

I’ll go crazy. There’s absolutely nothing to do.”

“You’re not supposed to be doing anything.”

“Yes I am. I’m just starting on a plan to redecorate this house, for one thing.”

“That can wait.”

“Dalton, I don’t like the island very much. And it’s hardly a good place to be pregnant. I’m much better off here. The food and water supply are much more dependable, and so is the sanitation and the health care.”

“You’ll be staying in a luxury hotel, Anne, not a shantytown.”

Anne shook her head. “The baby’s safer if I stay here.”

“On one condition, then. You accept a better security arrangement.”

“Like what?”

“A twenty-four-hour personal guard service. And a nurse. Nobody has to be at your bedside. A nurse in the house, on call-that’s all. And an armed bodyguard.”

“No bodyguard.”

“That’s essential.”

“My God, Dalton, we already have a milliondollar security system around this place! It’s like a fortress. Who’s the bodyguard supposed to protect me against? The household help?”

“Okay. Just in the house, on call. And to accompany you on trips.”

Anne sat down heavily on the bed. Her anger had turned to dejection.

Dalton sat beside her and put his arm around her. “It’s only for a short time, Anne.”

Anne stared across the room for a few seconds, then nodded.

“Okay,” she whispered.

Dalton tried to kiss her, but she turned her head away.

“What’s the matter?”

“I’m not feeling very friendly, Dalton. I’m sorry. Just leave me by myself for a while. We can talk later.”

“I won’t be here later.”

“Call me from Coronado, then.”

Dalton stood up and headed for the door, burning with frustration. He realized that the fate of his child—and the enormous investment that was riding on that child—depended more on her now than on him. And that, of course, made him dependent on her as well.

It was an intolerable state of affairs, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

Karla ushered the visitor into the baroness’s exercise room, a spacious, plush-carpeted area on the top floor of her Munich office building.

The baroness was working on her rowing machine. She was dressed in black tights under white cotton shorts and a loose tank top. Her blond hair was pinned up. She was rowing quite fast. A slight sheen of perspiration glowed on her neck and arms.

The visitor stood awkwardly on the carpet, not sure what to do. The baroness kept on rowing. She eyed him critically. His name was Otto Mossler. He was young and muscular—a jutjawed, blond-haired Aryan type with sharp blue eyes and a surly demeanor. He was wearing a brown suit that fit him badly.

Mossler managed a small German trucking company, TransEurope Express, for his father. The baroness had employed him occasionally.

TransEurope’s trucks had illegally carted thousands of tons of highly toxic wastes from the baroness’s laboratories and manufacturing plants to secret disposal sites in Eastern Europe.

Mossler was also one of the leaders of Neues Deutschland, the New Germany party, a right-wing, neo-Nazi movement that had gained steadily in popularity over the past decade. Once a refuge for the lunatic fringe, in 1999 the ND boasted a membership of two million and had been polling a respectable ten to fifteen percent in recent elections.

Mossler hesitated, made a curt bow, then stepped a little further into the room.

The baroness pointed to a weight bench. “Please sit down, Herr Mossler. Your posturing is making me nervous.”

Mossler sat on the bench.

“We’ve had a good relationship with your trucking company,” the baroness said, still rowing energetically. “I expect soon to have need of some manpower to perform some discreet services for me. I wonder if you might be able to provide it?”

Mossler looked confused. “Discreet services?”

“Dirty work,” the baroness replied bluntly. “Things that I cannot risk having traced back to me.”

Mossler grinned. His eyes followed the motions of the baroness’s breasts beneath the tank top. “Of course, Baroness. I can provide you with any service you like—dirty or otherwise.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I’ll need several men to travel to an island in the Caribbean. There’s something in a medical laboratory there that I must have. They’ll have to break in, find it, and bring it back to me.”

Mossler’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Does that sound too difficult?” the baroness challenged.

Mossler stuck out his chest. “Of course not.”

“Good. Find the men. They must be completely trustworthy.

I’ll have a detailed plan for you in a few weeks.”

Mossler nodded.

The baroness quickly changed the subject. “How are things at Neues Deutschland these days?” she asked.

“We’ll one day be the most powerful political organization in Germany,”

Mossler boasted. “We have the right message. The people are beginning to listen to us.”

The baroness got up off the rowing machine and dried her neck and arms with a towel. “But you still must need a lot of money to realize these ambitions.”

Mossler said nothing.