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