Disclosure_ A Novel - Michael Crichton [151]
Garvin stood abruptly, and said, “Meredith—”
“Let me finish,” Meredith said. She was flushed, angry. “Because this is important, Bob. This is the heart of what is wrong with this division. Yes, there were some decisions taken that may be questionable in retrospect. Yes, we tried innovative procedures which perhaps went too far. But that hardly excuses the behavior we see today. This calculated, manipulative attitude by an individual who will do anything—anything at all—to get ahead, to make a name for herself at the expense of others, who will savage the reputation of anyone who stands in her path—I mean, that stands in his path—this ruthless demeanor that we are seeing . . . No one is fooled by this, Tom. Not for a minute. We’re being asked to accept the worst kind of fraudulence. And we simply won’t do it. It’s wrong. This is all wrong. And it is bound to catch up with you. I’m sorry. You can’t come here and do this. It simply won’t work—it hasn’t worked. That’s all.”
She stopped to catch her breath and looked around the table. Everyone was silent, motionless. Garvin was still standing; he appeared to be in shock. Slowly, Meredith seemed to realize that something was wrong. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter.
“I hope that I have . . . that I have accurately expressed the sentiments of everyone here. That’s all I intended to do.”
There was another silence. Then Garvin said, “Meredith, I wonder if you would leave the room for a few minutes.”
Stunned, she stared at Garvin for a long moment. Then she said, “Of course, Bob.”
“Thank you, Meredith.”
Walking very erect, she left the room. The door clicked shut behind her.
John Marden sat forward and said, “Mr. Sanders, please continue with your presentation. In your view, how long will it be until the line is repaired and fully functioning?”
It was noon. Sanders sat in his office with his feet on his desk and stared out the window. The sun was shining brightly on the buildings around Pioneer Square. The sky was clear and cloudless. Mary Anne Hunter, wearing a business suit, came in and said, “I don’t get it.”
“Get what?”
“That news tape. Meredith must have known about it. Because she was there when they were shooting it.”
“Oh, she knew about it, all right. But she never thought I’d get it. And she never thought she’d appear in it. She thought they’d only show Phil. You know—a Muslim country. In a story about executives, they usually just show the men.”
“Uh-huh. So?”
“But Channel Three is the government station,” Sanders said. “And the story that night was that the government had been only partially successful in negotiating changes in the DigiCom plant—that the foreign executives had been intransigent and uncooperative. It was a story intended to protect the reputation of Mr. Sayad, the finance minister. So the cameras focused on her.”
“Because . . .”
“Because she was a woman.”
“Foreign she-devil in a business suit? Can’t make a deal with a feringi woman?”
“Something like that. Anyway, the story focused on her.”
“And you got the tape.”
“Yeah.”
Hunter nodded. “Well,” she said, “it’s fine with me.” She left the room, and Sanders was alone again, staring out the window.
After a while, Cindy came in and said, “The latest word is the acquisition is off.”
Sanders shrugged. He was flat, drained. He didn’t care.
Cindy said, “Are you hungry? I can get you some lunch.”
“I’m not hungry. What are they doing now?”
“Garvin and Marden are talking.”
“Still? It’s been more than an hour.”
“They just brought in Conley.”
“Only Conley? Nobody else?”
“No. And Nichols has left the building.”
“What about Meredith?”
“Nobody