Disclosure_ A Novel - Michael Crichton [122]
“Squire Electronic Data Systems, good evening.”
Sanders said, “Frederic Cohen’s office, please.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Cohen has gone for the day.”
“Do you know how I could reach him?”
“I’m afraid I don’t. Do you want to leave voice mail?”
Damn, he thought. What was the point? But he said, “Yes, please.”
There was a click. Then, “Hi, this is Fred Cohen. Leave a message at the tone. If it’s after hours, you can try me on my car phone at 502-8804 or my home at 505-9943.”
Sanders jotted the numbers down. He dialed the car phone first. He heard a crackle of static, then:
“I know, honey, I’m sorry I’m late, but I’m on my way. I just got tied up.”
“Mr. Cohen?”
“Oh.” A pause. “Yes. This is Fred Cohen.”
“My name is Tom Sanders. I work over at DigiCom, and—”
“I know who you are.” The voice sounded tense.
“I understand you used to work for Meredith Johnson.”
“Yes. I did.”
“I wonder if I could talk to you.”
“What about?”
“About your experiences. Working for her.”
There was a long pause. Finally, Cohen said, “What would be the point of that?”
“Well, I’m in a sort of a dispute with Meredith now, and—”
“I know you are.”
“Yes, and you see, I would like to—”
“Look. Tom. I left DigiCom two years ago. Whatever happened is ancient history now.”
“Well, actually,” Sanders said, “it’s not, because I’m trying to establish a pattern of behavior and—”
“I know what you’re trying to do. But this is very touchy stuff, Tom. I don’t want to get into it.”
“If we could just talk,” Sanders said. “Just for a few minutes.”
“Tom.” Cohen’s voice was flat. “Tom, I’m married now. I have a wife. She’s pregnant. I don’t have anything to say about Meredith Johnson. Nothing at all.”
“But—”
“I’m sorry. I’ve got to go.”
Click.
Cindy came back in as he was hanging up the phone. She pushed a cup of coffee in front of him. “Everything okay?”
“No,” he said. “Everything is terrible.” He was reluctant to admit, even to himself, that he had no more moves left. He had approached three men, and they had each refused to establish a pattern of behavior for him. He doubted that the other men on the list would behave differently. He found himself thinking of what his wife, Susan, had said two days before. You have no moves. Now, after all this effort, it turned out to be true. He was finished. “Where’s Fernandez?”
“She’s meeting with Blackburn.”
“What?”
Cindy nodded. “In the small conference room. They’ve been there about fifteen minutes now.”
“Oh, Christ.”
He got up from his desk and went down the hall. He saw Fernandez sitting with Blackburn in the conference room. Fernandez was making notes on her legal pad, head bent deferentially. Blackburn was running his hands down his lapels and looking upward as he spoke. He seemed to be dictating to her.
Then Blackburn saw him, and waved him over. Sanders went into the conference room. “Tom,” Blackburn said, with a smile. “I was just coming to see you. Good news: I think we’ve been able to resolve this situation. I mean, really resolve it. Once and for all.”
“Uh-huh,” Sanders said. He didn’t believe a word of it. He turned to Fernandez.
Fernandez looked up from her legal pad slowly. She appeared dazed. “That’s the way it looks.”
Blackburn stood and faced Sanders. “I can’t tell you how pleased I am, Tom. I’ve been working on Bob all afternoon. And he’s finally come to face reality. The plain fact is, the company has a problem, Tom. And we owe you a debt of gratitude for bringing it so clearly to our attention. This can’t go on. Bob knows he has to deal with it. And he will.”
Sanders just stared. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. But there was Fernandez, nodding and smiling.
Blackburn smoothed his tie. “But as Frank Lloyd Wright once said, ‘God is in the details.’ You know, Tom, we have one small immediate problem, a political problem, having to do with the merger. We’re asking your help with the briefing tomorrow for Marden, Conley’s CEO. But after that . . . well, you’ve been badly wronged, Tom. This company has wronged you. And we recognized that we have an obligation to make it up