The difference between Jack and Phil Garsten was that Jack had used his legal skills to attack the system, whereas Phil placed his at the disposal of the system. At one time they had been partners with pretty equal stakes. Today, Garsten was comfortably established with all the right friends, while the only case that Jack had was a wooden one. The comparison underlined Finnion’s philosophy of life pretty strongly.
Finnion called Garsten’s number but got only the answering machine. He thought for a moment, then said, “Phil, this is Andy. It’s about six-thirty, Friday evening. Martin wanted me to let you know that both parties are on tomorrow. It looks like a busy day. Happy holiday.”
* * * G
Garsten got the message a half hour later, when he arrived home after dining Chinese on his way back from the office.
The legalities were attended to, and once Vanessa and Payne became joint owners of the DNC patents and Payne’s share of Microbotics stock, what Garsten knew would make him permanently indispensable and somebody they’d be anxious to be certain was kept happy in the future. It went without saying that he’d taken precautions for it not to be in their interest for anything to happen to him that might arouse suspicions—just in case the climate ever changed enough to give anyone ideas of staging another Jack or Heber. A businessman like Martin would understand all about insurance. Garsten had made a point of “confiding” the fact to Finnion one night when they’d been out for a few drinks. It was the easiest way of making sure that Payne would know without being direct with the risk of sounding threatening.
He thought through the plans as they had laid them, and couldn’t see any flaw. However, there was one more detail that would round everything off neatly, he decided. Just in case something did go wrong, it would look better if there was something on record to indicate that he, personally, had had every expectation of business resuming as normal after the holiday. It didn’t have to be anything especially startling; just enough to be able to point at, shrug, and show clean hands. After pondering for a while, he opened the phone book on his desk and turned to the L section. Then he called Michelle Lang’s home number.
“Michelle Lang?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, hi again. This is Phil Garsten.”
“Mr. Garsten, hello.”
“I hope I’m not gatecrashing on your holiday.”
“No, it’s okay.”
“You see, I’m meeting a friend on his boat in the morning, and I’ll be gone for the rest of the weekend.”
“It sounds wonderful. What can I do for you?”
“You wanted to get together and talk about the Hebers and this theme-park idea. Well, I’ve just had a cancellation for Tuesday and wondered if we might fit it in then. The rest of next week’s wiped out for me.”
“Oh . . . what time on Tuesday?”
“First thing after lunch, say one-thirty or two. My office would be better, probably.”
“I think that would be okay, but I’m not absolutely sure. Can I call you first thing Tuesday if there’s a problem?”
“Of course. That would be fine.”
“Well . . . then have a good weekend on the boat, Mr. Garsten. I hope the weather doesn’t close in.”
“Thanks. You too, Ms. Lang.” Garsten replaced the phone and nodded, satisfied.
“The little details,” he murmured aloud to himself. “Always remember to take care of the details.”
“Hello, Doug? This is Michelle.”
“Well, hey.”
“Guess who I’ve just been talking to: Phil Garsten.”
“Garsten?” Michelle could sense Corfe go tense suddenly, even over the phone. His voice took on a hollow note. “What’s happened?”
“Nothing. He just wanted to talk about an appointment next week. Everything’s still okay. In fact, I just wanted to pass on something that will set your mind at ease a little. He’s going off with somebody on a boat in the morning—I wouldn’t be surprised it it’s Payne. So the office will be clear. I just thought you’d like to know.”
There was a silence while Corfe digested what she had said. “Why would he tell you something like that?” he asked finally.