TOTAL CONTROL By: David Baldacci

TOTAL CONTROL

By: David Baldacci

TOTAL CONTROL

By: David Baldacci

CHAPTER ONE

The apartment was small, unattractive and possessed of an unsettling

musty odor that suggested long neglect. However, the few furnishings

and personal belongings were clean and well organized; several of the

chairs and a small side table were clearly antiques of high quality. The

largest occupant of the tiny living room was a meticulously crafted

maple bookcase that might as well have rested on the moon, so out of

place did it seem in the modest, unremarkable space. Most of the

volumes neatly lining the shelves were financial in nature and dealt

with such subjects as international monetary policy and complex

investment theories.

The only light in the room came from a floor lamp next to a rumpled

couch. Its small arc of illumination outlined the tall,

narrow-shouldered man sitting there, his eyes closed as though he were

asleep. The slender watch on his wrist showed it to be four o’clock in

the morning. Conservative gray cuffed suit pants hovered over gleaming

black-tasseled shoes. Hunter-green suspenders ran down the front of a

rigid white dress shirt. The collar of the shirt was open, the ends of

a bow tie dangled around the neck. The large bald head was like an

afterthought, because what captured one’s attention was the thick,

steel-gray beam that fronted the wide, deeply lined face.

However, when the man abruptly opened his eyes, all other physical

characteristics became secondary; the eyes were chestnut brown in color

and piercing; they seemed to swell to a size that completely engulfed

the eye sockets as they swept across the room.

Then the pain wracked the man and he ripped at his left side; actually

the hurt was everywhere now. Its origins, however, had been at the spot

he now attacked with a fierce, if futile, vengeance. The breaths came

in gushes, the face grossly contorted.

His hand slipped down to the apparatus attached to his belt.

About the shape and size of a Walkman, it was actually a CADD pump

attached to a Groshong catheter that was fully hidden under the man’s

shirt, where its other end’ was embedded in his chest. His finger found

the correct button and the computer resting inside the CADD pump

immediately delivered an incredibly potent dose of painkilling

medication over and above what it automatically dispensed at regular

intervals throughout the day. As the combination of drugs flowed

directly into the man’s bloodstream, the pain finally retreated. But it

would return; it always did.

The man lay back, exhausted, his face clammy, his freshly laundered

shirt soaked with perspiration. Thank God for the pump’s on-demand

feature. He had an incredible tolerance for pain, as his mental prowess

could easily overpower any physical discomforts, but the beast now

devouring his insides had introduced him to an altogether new level of

physical anguish. He wondered briefly which would come first: his death

or the drugs’ total and complete defeat at the hands of the enemy. He

prayed for the former.

He stumbled to the bathroom and looked into the mirror. It was at that

moment that Arthur Lieberman started to laugh. The near-hysterical

howls continued upward, threatening to explode through the thin walls of

the apartment, until the uncontrollable outburst ended in sobs and then

choked vomiting. A few minutes later, having replaced his soiled shirt

with a clean one, Lieberman began calmly to coax his bow tie into shape

in the reflection of the bathroom mirror. The violent mood swings were

to be expected, he had been told. He shook his head.

He had always taken care of himself. Exercised regularly, never smoked,

never drank, watched his diet. Now, at a youthful sixty-two, he would

not live to see sixty-three. That fact had been confirmed by so many

specialists that, finally, even Lieberman’s massive will to live had

given way. But he would not go quietly. He had one card left to play.

He smiled as he suddenly realized that impending death had granted him a

maneuverability that had been denied in life. It would indeed be an

ironic twist that such a distinguished career as his would end on such

an ignoble note. But the shock waves that would accompany his exit

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