Economy class.
CHAPTER 37
The head of the security forces of Roffe and Sons said to Elizabeth, “It all happened too fast, Miss Roffe. There was nothing we could do. By the time the fire-fighting equipment got into action, the whole laboratory was gone.”
They had found the remains of Emil Joeppli’s charred body. There was noway of knowing whether his formula had been removed from the laboratory before the explosion.
Elizabeth asked, “The Development Building was under twenty-four-hour guard, was it not?”
“Yes, ma’am. We—”
“How long have you been in charge of our security department?”
“Five years. I—”
“You’re fired.”
He started to say something in protest, then changed his mind. “Yes, ma’am.”
“How many men are there on, your staff?”
“Sixty-five.”
Sixty-five! And they could not save Emil Joeppli. “I’m giving them twenty-four hours’ notice,” Elizabeth said. “I want them all out of here.”
He looked at her a moment. “Miss Roffe, do you think you’re being fair?”
She thought of Emil Joeppli, and the priceless formulas that had been stolen, and of the bug that had been planted in her office that she had ground under the heel of her shoe.
“Get out,” Elizabeth said.
She filled every minute that morning, trying to wipe out the vision of the charred body of Emil Joeppli and his laboratory full of burned animals. She tried not to think about what the loss of that formula was going to cost the company. There was a chance a rival company might patent it and there was nothing Elizabeth could do about it. It was a jungle. When your competitors thought you were weak, they moved in for the kill. But this wasn’t a competitor doing this. This was a friend. A deadly friend.
Elizabeth arranged for a professional security force to take over immediately. She would feel safer with strangers around her.
She phoned the Hôpital Internationale in Brussels to check on the condition of Mme. van den Logh, the wife of the Belgian minister. They reported that she was still in a coma. They did not know whether she would live.
Elizabeth was thinking about Emil Joeppli and the mongoloid child and the minister’s wife when Rhys walked in. He looked at her face and said gently, “As bad as that?”
She nodded, miserable.
Rhys walked over to her and studied her. She looked tired, drained. He wondered how much more she could stand. He took her hands in his and asked gently, “Is there anything I can do to help?”
Everything, Elizabeth thought. She needed Rhys desperately. She needed his strength and his help and his love. Their eyes met and she was ready to go into his arms, to tell him everything that had happened, that was happening.
Rhys said, “There’s nothing new on Mme. van den Logh?”
And the moment had passed.
“No,” Elizabeth said.
He asked, “Have you had any calls yet on the Wall Street Journal story?”
“What story?”
“You haven’t seen it?”
“No.”
Rhys sent to his office for a copy. The article enumerated all the recent troubles of Roffe and Sons, but the major theme of the story was that the company needed someone experienced to run it. Elizabeth put the newspaper down. “How much damage will this do?”
Rhys shrugged. “The damage has already been done. They’re just reporting it. We’re beginning to lose a lot of our markets. We—”
The intercom buzzed. Elizabeth pressed the switch. “Yes?”
“Herr Julius Badrutt is on line two, Miss Roffe. He says it’s urgent.”
Elizabeth looked up at Rhys. She had been postponing the meeting with the bankers. “Put him on.” She picked up the phone. “Good morning, Herr Badrutt.”
“Good morning.” Over the phone, his voice sounded dry and brittle. “Are you free this afternoon?”
“Well, I’m—”
“Fine. Will four o’clock be satisfactory?” Elizabeth hesitated. “Yes. Four o’clock.” There was a dry, rustling sound over the phone and Elizabeth realized that Herr Badrutt was clearing his throat. “I was sorry to hear about Mr. Joeppli,” he said.
Joeppli’s name had not been mentioned in the newspaper accounts of the explosion.
She hung up slowly, and found that Rhys was watching her.