Disclosure_ A Novel - Michael Crichton [135]
“I’ll say it’s ridiculous,” Garvin said. “It’s an outrage, is what it is.”
Everyone seemed to be talking at once, agreeing that it was an outrage. But Sanders saw that Nichols looked shaken. Now Meredith was leading them out of the restaurant the back way, onto the terrace. Blackburn went out the front, into the harsh lights. He held up his hands, like a man being arrested. Then the door closed.
Nichols was saying, “Not good, not good.”
“Don’t worry, I know the news director over there,” Garvin was saying. “I’ll put this one away.”
Jim Daly said something about how the merger ought to be confidential.
“Don’t worry,” Garvin said grimly. “It’s going to be confidential as hell by the time I get through.”
Then they were gone, out the back door, into the night. Sanders went back to the table, where Fernandez was waiting.
“A little excitement,” Fernandez said calmly.
“More than a little,” Sanders said. He glanced across the room at Stephanie Kaplan, still having dinner with her son. The young man was talking, gesturing with his hands, but Kaplan was staring fixedly at the back door, where the Conley-White people had departed. She had a curious expression on her face. Then, after a moment, she turned back and resumed her conversation with her son.
The evening was black, damp, and unpleasant. He shivered as he walked back to his office with Fernandez.
“How did a television crew get the story?”
“Probably from Walsh,” Fernandez said. “But maybe another way. It’s really a small town. Anyway, never mind that. You’ve got to prepare for the meeting tomorrow.”
“I’ve been trying to forget that.”
“Yeah. Well, don’t.”
Ahead they saw Pioneer Square, with windows in the buildings still brightly lit. Many of the companies here had business with Japan, and stayed open to overlap with the first hours of the day in Tokyo.
“You know,” Fernandez said, “watching her with those men, I noticed how cool she was.”
“Yes. Meredith is cool.”
“Very controlled.”
“Yes. She is.”
“So why did she approach you so overtly—and on her first day? What was the rush?”
What is the problem she is trying to solve? Max had said. Now Fernandez was asking the same thing. Everyone seemed to understand except Sanders.
You’re not a victim.
So, solve it, he thought.
Get to work.
He remembered the conversation when Meredith and Blackburn were leaving the conference room.
It should be quite smooth and impersonal. After all, you have the facts on your side. He’s clearly incompetent.
He still can’t get into the database?
No. He’s locked out of the system.
And there’s no way he can get into Conley-White’s system?
No way in hell, Meredith.
They were right, of course. He couldn’t get into the system. But what difference would it make if he could?
Solve the problem, Max had said. Do what you do best.
Solve the problem.
“Hell,” Sanders said.
“It’ll come,” Fernandez said.
It was nine-thirty. On the fourth floor, cleaning crews worked in the central partition area. Sanders went into his office with Fernandez. He didn’t really know why they were going there. There wasn’t anything he could think to do, now.
Fernandez said, “Let me talk to Alan. He might have something.” She sat down and began to dial.
Sanders sat behind his desk, and stared at the monitor. On the screen, his E-mail message read:
YOU’RE STILL CHECKING THE WRONG COMPANY.
A FRIEND
“I don’t see how,” he said, looking at the screen. He felt irritable, playing with a puzzle that everyone could solve except him.
Fernandez said, “Alan? Louise. What have you got? Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Is that . . . Well, that’s very disappointing, Alan. No, I don’t know, now. If you can, yes. When would you be seeing her? All right. Whatever you can.” She hung up. “No luck tonight.”
“But we’ve only got tonight.”
“Yes.”
Sanders stared at the message on the computer screen. Somebody inside the company was trying to help him. Telling him he was checking the wrong company. The message seemed to imply that there was a way for him to check the other company. And presumably, whoever knew enough to send this