“Kennilworth Troon, gentlemen,” Kieran said, smiling pleasantly and extending a hand. “You will appreciate that Dr. Sarda’s field of expertise is limited to strictly scientific matters. In a situation such as this, he naturally feels it prudent to avail himself of professional representation—as do your own clients.” He placed the briefcase he had been carrying on the top of the table and opened it to reveal a standard comscreen inside the lid, and the interior filled with wads of neatly separated and labeled documents, several folders of papers, and a multiple container for high-density data cartridges. “I think you’ll find everything in order,” he informed the company breezily, and gestured toward the waiting chairs. “And now, shall we get started?”
19
For the twentieth time, Dr. Henry Balmer, M.D., M.M.C.M., M.S.M.H., F.C.P., paced tensely across the plushly carpeted office of his private practice in the Trapezium’s upmarket Wells Place, glared down from the window overlooking an artificial stream bordered with shrubs, which farther on joined the Embarcadero waterways system, and for the twentieth time stomped back to the desk. He had a stocky, powerful build, white hair with a ruddy countenance, and immense eyebrows which he used for effect when switching on the penetrating stare that patients usually expected. Just now, however, the eyebrows were arched into anxious contortions above a dark frown as he drummed his fingers impatiently and stared at the comscreen.
He didn’t like being in situations where he had done all there was to do, and the rest was up to others. He didn’t like waiting for others, and he didn’t like having to depend on them. The feeling of not being in control was something he was not used to. He especially didn’t like having to put everything in the hands of a scientist when this kind of money was at stake. Scientists were financially and politically naive by nature—why else would they spend their lives hiding away from the real world and dealing with things instead of people? And the ones like Sarda, “visionaries” who sought to escape even from the reality of things, were the worst kind. But it had needed to be that way. Sarda was the only one of them who officially didn’t exist, and could be made to vanish permanently and untraceably after the proceeds were netted.
He extended a finger uncertainly toward the call button of the format being displayed on the screen. But before it made contact, the unit emitted a tone, and the intercom icon indicating his receptionist and assistant, Fay, in the outer office, began flashing. “Connect,” Balmer ordered.
Fay’s face appeared in a window. “I’m sorry, Dr. Balmer, I know you don’t want to be disturbed this morning, but—”
“What is it?” he demanded irascibly.
“Mrs. Jescombe has been through again for the third time. She’s sure her attacks are about to start again, and she’s insisting—”
“Insisting? What do you mean, `insisting’? Nobody calls me and insists, do you understand? I told you, I have other, extremely important business to attend to today. Deal with it and fix something with her for next week.”
“But she says—”
“There aren’t any buts about it. Kindly do the job that I pay you to do, which is using some initiative and trying to think and act like a professional. That means doing more than sitting there with your brain disengaged and relaying messages. A counter robot at any workman’s flophouse could do that. Is that enough for you to understand?”
Fay swallowed visibly and nodded. “Yes, Doctor.” Balmer cut the call and returned to the window. A dark blue car had turned off the throughway and was following the drive toward the front entrance of the building.
On top of everything else, Elaine had been acting strangely, having to be pushed all the time—and, he got the feeling, inwardly disapproving of just about everything. As if this thing weren’t difficult enough already. It needed people who trusted him and who would do as they were told, not start questioning and losing their nerve at the crucial moment. Oh, sure, she’d been all confidence and full of herself when she attached herself to him, thinking she could just use his brains and his contacts, and then move on—did she really imagine he had never seen through that? But when she and her new scientist friend came to him with their half-baked idea, he had been the one who’d had to take charge and open their eyes to the potential that made it really worth the risks. He’d had the feeling then that she would never have the stomach to see it through. And lately, things between her and Sarda seemed to have been cooling. With a bit of subterfuge, maybe Elaine could be induced to be content and go her way with her third of the initial sum. She had played her part now, after all. If only Sarda had stayed with the plan and remained patient, instead of letting feelings of personal revenge get the better of him over a miserable five million. That made Sarda too unreliable for any long-term consideration. But Balmer needed him around for a while, until the progress payments were completed.