The Third Twin - Ken Follett [96]
Berrington sat down heavily. “Christ on a pony,” he said. “How the hell did she get on to the clinic?”
“I don’t know. Dick wasn’t there, the night manager took the call. But apparently she said some of her research subjects had treatment years ago and she wanted to check their medical records. Promised to fax over her releases and said she’d be there at two P.M. Thank God Dick happened to call in about something else and the night manager mentioned it.”
Dick Minsky had been one of the first people Genetico had hired, back in the seventies. He had been the mailroom boy then; now he was general manager of the clinics. He had never been a member of the inner circle—only Jim, Preston, and Berrington could ever belong to that club—but he knew that the company’s past held secrets. Discretion was automatic with him.
“What did you tell Dick to do?”
“Cancel the appointment, of course. If she shows up anyway, turn her away. Tell her she can’t see the records.” Berrington shook his head. “Not good enough.”
“Why?”
“It will just make her more curious. She’ll try to find some other way to get at the files.”
“Like how?”
Berrington sighed. Preston could be unimaginative. “Well, if I were her, I’d call Landsmann, get Michael Madigan’s secretary on the phone, and say he ought to look at the Aventine Clinic’s records from twenty-three years ago before he closes the takeover deal. That would get him asking questions, wouldn’t it?”
“Well, what do you suggest?” Preston said tetchily.
“I think we’re going to have to shred all the record cards from the seventies.”
There was a moment of silence. “Berry, those records are unique. Scientifically, they’re priceless—”
“You think I don’t know that?” Berrington snapped.
“There must be another way.”
Berrington sighed. He felt as bad as Preston did about it. He had fondly imagined that one day, many years in the future, someone would write the story of their pioneering experiments, and their boldness and scientific brilliance would be revealed to the world. It broke his heart to see the historical evidence wiped out in this guilty and underhand way. But it was inevitable now. “While the records exist, they’re a threat to us. They have to be destroyed. And it had better be done right away.”
“What’ll we tell the staff?”
“Shit, I don’t know, Preston, make something up, for Christ’s sake. New corporate document management strategy. So long as they start shredding first thing in the morning I don’t care what you tell them.”
“I guess you’re right. Okay, I’ll get back to Dick right away. Will you call Jim and bring him up-to-date?”
“Sure.”
“Bye.”
Berrington dialed Jim Proust’s home number. His wife, a wispy woman with a downtrodden air, answered the phone and put Jim on. “I’m in bed, Berry, what the hell is it now?”
The three of them were getting very snappy with one another.
Berrington told Jim what Preston had reported and the action they had decided on.
“Good move,” Jim said. “But it’s not enough. There are other ways this Ferrami woman could come at us.”
Berrington felt a spasm of irritation. Nothing was ever enough for Jim. No matter what you proposed, Jim would always want tougher action, more extreme measures. Then he suppressed his annoyance. Jim was making sense this time, he reflected. Jeannie had proved to be a real bloodhound, unwavering in her pursuit of the scent. One setback would not make her give up. “I agree,” he said to Jim. “And Steve Logan is out of jail, I heard earlier today, so she’s not entirely alone. We have to deal with her long term.”
“She has to be scared off.”
“Jim, for Christ’s sake—”
“I know this brings out the wimp in you, Berry, but it has to be done.”
“Forget it.”
“Look—”
“I have a better idea, Jim, if you’ll listen for a minute.”
“Okay, I’m listening.”
“I’m going to have her fired.”
Jim thought about it for a while. “I don’t know—will that do it?”
“Sure. Look, she imagines she