Scowling, Dawson said, “Hiring lawyers in Vaduz, establishing the corporation, buying the forged papers, hiring the mercenaries, bringing them here . . . these are expenditures I didn’t want to make until we were certain the drug and subliminals will work as you say.”
“They will.”
“We aren’t yet certain.”
Holding a scalpel to the light, studying the silhouette of its razored edge, Salsbury said, “I’m sure the money won’t come out of your pocket, Leonard. You’ll find some way to squeeze it from the corporation.”
“It’s not is easy as all that, I assure you. Futurex isn’t a private game park, you know. It’s a public corporation. I can’t raid the treasury at will.”
“You’re supposed to be a billionaire,” Salsbury said. “In the great tradition of Onassis, Getty, Hughes . . . Futurex isn’t the only thing you’ve got your hand in. Somewhere, you found more than two million dollars to set up this lab. And every month you manage to come up with the eighty thousand dollars needed to maintain it. By comparison, this new expense is a trifle.”
“I agree,” the general said.
“It’s not your money that’s going down a rat hole,” Dawson said irritably.
“If you think the project’s a rat hole,” Salsbury said, “then we Should call it off right now.”
Dawson started to pace, stopped after a few steps, put his hands in his trouser pockets, and took them right out again. It’s these men that bother me.”
“What men?”
“These mercenaries.”
“What about them?”
“They’re nothing but killers.”
“Of course.”
“Professional killers. They earn their living by-by murdering people.”
“I’ve never had much of anything good to say about freelancers,” Klinger said. “But that’s a simplification, Leonard.”
“It’s essentially true.”
Impatiently, Salsbury said, “So what if it is?”
“Well, I don’t like the idea of having them in my home,” Dawson said. His tone was almost prissy.
You hypocritical ass, Salsbury thought. He didn’t have the nerve to say it. His confidence had increased over the past year but not enough to enable him to speak so frankly to Dawson. Klinger said, “Leonard, how in the hell do you think we’d fare with the police and the courts if they found out how King-man died? Would they just pat us on the head and send us away with a scolding? Do you think that just because we didn’t strangle or shoot or stab him, they’d hesitate to call us killers? Do you think we’d get off scot-free because, although we’re killers, we don’t earn our living that way?”
For an instant Dawson’s black eyes, like onyx mirrors, caught the cold fluorescent light and gleamed unnaturally. Then he turned his head a fraction of an inch, and the effect was lost. However, something of the same frigid, alien quality remained in his voice. “I never touched Brian. I never laid a finger on him. I never said an unkind word to him.”
Neither Salsbury nor Klinger responded.
“I didn’t want him to die.”
They waited.
Dawson wiped one hand across his face. “Very well. I’ll move ahead in Liechtenstein. I’ll get those three mercenaries for you.”
“How Soon?” Salsbury asked.
“If I’m to maintain secrecy every step of the way-three months. Maybe four.”
Salsbury nodded and continued laying out surgical instruments for the autopsy.
7
Monday, August 22, 1977
AT NINE 0′ CL 0 C K Monday morning, Jenny came to visit the Annendale camp, and she brought with her a sturdy, yard-high canary cage.
Mark laughed when he saw her carrying it out of the woods. “What’s that for?”
“A guest should always bring a gift,” she said.
“What will we do with it?”
She put it in the boy’s hands as Paul kissed her on the cheek. Mark grinned at her through the slender, gilded bars. “You said you wanted to bring your squirrel to town this coming Friday. Well, you can’t let him loose in the car. This will be his travel cage.”
“He won’t like being penned up.”
“Not at first. But he’ll get used to it.”
“He’ll have to get used to it sooner or later if he’s going to be your pet,” Paul said.
Rya nudged her brother and said, “For God’s sake, Mark, aren’t you going to say thank you? Jenny probably looked all over town for that.”