All disclaimers in chapter one. Sorry for the delay, but I'm just having trouble with this story.
Murphy's Law
by Amanda Ohlin
Chapter Three
New Rochelle, NY
2:25 a.m.
Who needed sleep when one had caffeine?
Dr. Lydia Ross took a long swig of coffee, making a face. It wasn't the best coffee she'd had - far from it - but it was the only thing keeping her awake.
She'd managed to get as much information as possible on the civil suit filed by Bernstadt. It was legit, and all twenty-seven plaintiffs and their claims were very real. What was interesting, however, was that Bernstadt had been trying to get the case to court since November 1999, and Espotek had finally - out of the blue - stopped stalling only a month ago.
She continued skimming through the info on Espotek Industries. As far as possibly corrupt (read: there was no proof) medical corporations went, it was fairly common. Operating since 1975, distributed to almost all the hospitals in the state and beyond. Bought out in 1983 and became a subsidiary of a corporation called...
Wait a minute. Lydia stopped and stared as warning bells went off in her head. Why on earth would *they* be getting involved?
*****
Queens
3:15 a.m.
"So who's this guy you want to get back at so badly?" Charlie asked as he laid out the equipment on the bed, whistling at the amount of equipment they'd been able to obtain. Fake ID's, fake papers, even a laptop - if you knew how to get it, you could get anything in this particular neighborhood. It was nice to know that it hadn't changed much since he'd been in the pen.
The Eggman did not respond. He was sitting at a desk, hunched over his work, carefully injecting eggs and placing them in a case. Charlie knew this sort of silence meant that the man was not up to answering questions. Which meant that Charlie would have to deduce the answers for himself. "He the one that screwed things up for you?"
That got the old man's attention. He set the syringe down, still holding up the egg, before turning to Charlie, nodding solemnly. "Yeah, that makes sense," Charlie added. "I've been there before. You have this huge job all set up, all figured out - and then some loser gets lucky and trashes everything for you. Am I right?" Another nod, but the egg was still being held up. "How much you lose out on?"
It was a second or two before the Eggman responded. "Ten million."
"Ten million bucks?" Charlie echoed, impressed. "Damn, I can't blame you. Can't blame you at all."
The Eggman studied him for a moment before setting the egg in its case. Charlie relaxed. As weird as the old man was, Charlie was not going to get on his bad side.
Suddenly, someone started pounding on the door. Several someones. "Hey! Kyle! Open the damn door!"
The Eggman reached into his duffel bag, and, to Charlie's relief, pulled out two gas masks. He passed one to Charlie, who grinned. "I'll get it."
The two boys pounding on the door were understandably stunned as it opened to reveal the hulking figure in the gas mask. "Kyle doesn't live here anymore."
The egg dropped to the floor.
*****
Somewhere in the Upper West Side
4:45 a.m.
As she sat up sleepily, it took Heather a second to realize that she was not in her room back at home. She sat there for a few moments, unsure how to react, before getting up and plodding into the bathroom. After washing up, she was awake enough to hear the faint sound of voices down the hall. Curious, she moved to the door and pressed her ear against it. After a moment or two, she unlocked the door and opened it a crack.
The hallway was empty. Heather hesitated, then slipped out into the hall. For a place in the middle of town, this was a pretty big townhouse. Maybe there was a kitchen or someplace where she could get something to eat. As she made her way down the hallway, she approached the source of the voices she'd heard earlier. Around the corner, one of the doors was ajar, and she could hear two men arguing. Heather moved closer to the door, flattening herself against the wall like they always did in movies.
"I'm not entirely sure this is wise, sir."
"Why do you say that?"
"Well, for one thing, this isn't your show. If Mr. Leflin finds out--"
"He's not about to find out. He moves so slow we'll have what we want before he knows it."
"You actually think they'll just give you the information?"
"They won't. He will. Don't tell me you're bailing out."
"I can't be a part of this. Why force anything out of him?"
"I'm not going to invest in anything other than a sure thing."
"You can't be sure he'll just give up the details of the project. He certainly didn't before."
"Well, this time we have the proper... leverage."
Heather had heard enough. She somehow managed to slip back into the guest room undetected, closing and locking the doors behind her. "Mom!" She rushed to the bed, intending to shake her mother awake - and stopped dead when she got a good look at who was lying there.
Michael was also curled up on the bed, his arm draped over Lisa as she snuggled up against him. Both were smiling in their sleep. Although they still had all their clothes on - and Heather knew her mother too well to assume that anything had happened - it was hard to resist torturing them. "Oh, Moooommm..."
Lisa stirred and opened her eyes, blinking sleepily and yawning as she shifted her weight. The movement caused Michael to wake up as well, and both adults froze in place as they realized just what position they were in. Both pairs of eyes turned to see Heather, who was grinning cheerfully. "Good morning."
"Says you," Michael murmured, trying to cover his pleasure with a show of embarrassment.
Lisa groaned. "This is *not* what it looks like."
Reluctantly, Michael pulled his arm away, rolling onto his back to give Lisa space before sitting up. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to--"
"No, it's all right, it's all right." Lisa yawned again. "My God, what time is it? The sun's not up yet."
Heather abruptly remembered the conversation. "I know, I'm sorry, but I heard these two creepy guys out there talking. One of them was talking about getting information and leverage, and I don't know what they meant but I didn't like how it sounded, and I've seen enough movies to know it's not good."
"What?" Lisa asked, worried.
"I don't know! They didn't sound like they were good guys or anything. I know it's nuts, but it was like those conversations you overhear in those Lethal Weapon movies when the bad guys are up to something and--"
Michael swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Heather, calm down. Stop to breathe." As she did so, he seated himself on the edge of the bed and caught her gently by the shoulders. "Do you remember what they said?"
She nodded and proceeded to relate what she'd heard. As she finished, Lisa looked even more concerned, and Michael's expression was grim.
"You're not nuts, Heather," Michael assured his daughter before turning back to Lisa. "I don't like the sound of that either."
*****
New Rochelle, NY
5:45 a.m.
"Dr. Ross?" Special Agent #1 stepped into the silent, dimly lit office. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he spotted Lydia slumped by the computer, a cup of coffee clenched in her left hand as her head rested on the desk by the machine. "Dr. Ross!"
She jerked up wildly, like a puppet on strings or a body shocked by a thousand volts. "What? Oh. Damn. What time is it?"
"Quarter to six." He tried not to laugh as she straightened up, brushing her hair out of her face. "Dr. Morris hasn't returned yet."
"Well, I got about an hour of sleep," Lydia groaned. "How's the search coming?"
"Nothing's been turned up." He hesitated. "I was about to ask you the same question."
She nodded absently, focused on the screen. "I've been checking up on Bernstadt and Associates and this supposed respirator case, and it doesn't add up. I wouldn't have noticed this if a name or two hadn't popped out at me."
"What do you mean?"
Lydia sat back in her chair. "The lawsuit's legitimate, I can tell you that. But the fact that Bernstadt is handling it is bizarre beyond belief given the specific company that's being sued."
"Espotek? Why would you say that?"
"Well, Bernstadt's firm *has* taken on cases like this before," Lydia admitted. "But this firm is owned by the same corporation that Espotek is a subsidiary of. Not technically 'owned,' that is, but Bernstadt and Associates handles all of the parent corporation's cases. Now why on earth would the corporation allow Bernstadt to make such a massive claim - with a huge number of clients - against one of its own subsidiaries?"
"I suppose it depends," the agent replied. "What corporation is this?"
Lydia shrugged. "Bernstadt's number one client is none other than a Bernard Leflin Jr... CEO of Leflin Industries."
*****
Manhattan
Bernard Leflin, Jr. watched the security tapes with his usual deceptive calmness, an unsettling ability that he had inherited from his father. The tapes showed first Heather Wiseman sneaking out and listening to a conversation, then bolting back to her room - then, twenty minutes later, all three of his guests slipped out the door, down the hall and down the back stairs.
He sighed and turned back to his associates, especially the two men in the center of the office. "I have to say, I'm extremely disappointed."
"Bernard," one of them began, "I can explain--"
"I don't want to hear it, Wallace." Leflin addressed one of the security guards. "See them into the drawing room; I'll deal with them later." As the two men were escorted out, Leflin turned to the head of security. "How did they get out?"
"Service entrance, sir. They went through the kitchen and must have slipped out as the cleaning staff came in."
Leflin nodded. "And of course, the cleaning people weren't told about our guests. Not their fault."
"Sir? Should we attempt pursuit?"
"No. Track them, shadow them, report their progress to me, but in no way are you to engage them unless absolutely necessary." The industrialist gazed thoughtfully up at the portrait of his father. "More than anything right now, we need their trust."
*****
New Rochelle, NY
"Leflin?" Special Agent #1 echoed. "Did you say Leflin?"
Lydia frowned. "Yes, of course."
He backed away, suddenly agitated. "I need to make a phone call."
"Wait a minute," Lydia snapped, standing up. "What is so important about Leflin Industries?"
"Nothing."
Her eyes narrowed. "I sincerely doubt that. What aren't you telling me?"
"I assure you, Dr. Ross," Special Agent #1 said, reaching for the door, "it's completely irrelevant."
She practically leapt out of her chair and had his arm in an iron grip a second later. "Hold it right there, Q-Ball."
Special Agent #1 stared at Lydia; for a half-awake woman in her mid-forties, she moved pretty quickly. And she had a hell of a grip. "*Excuse* me?"
"Do I have your attention now?" As he nodded and turned back to face her, Lydia released him. "Thank you. If you want my cooperation, you have to give me some in return. Now I know there's a connection here, and you're going to tell me what it is. Now."
Despite himself, the agent gulped. What *was* it with vicious females lately?
*****
6:00 a.m.
Dr. Morris was tired, frustrated, and was not in the mood for surprises. So when he dialed up Special Agent #1, he was understandably discomfited when a female voice answered. "Ross here."
It took him a second to place who it was. "Dr. Ross? Where's--"
"Fending off the media and rounding up the troops," Lydia replied tiredly. "So what's the situation?"
Part of him didn't even want to tell her, but Morris was too tired to withhold information. "Our old friend, the 'Eggman' as the media nicknamed him, is on the loose. Along with another convict, Charlie Smalls. He broke out of prison yesterday and already they've taken out a housing project in Queens."
"The 'Eggman?'" Lydia repeated. "Mr. Wiseman's first assignment, I presume, which is why you were contacted."
"The same," Morris informed her. "The FBI agent I spoke to believes that he may be out for revenge."
There was a long pause on her end. "You haven't told the Pentagon about Wiseman's disappearance yet. And you didn't tell the FBI either."
Maybe it was because he already thought she was obnoxious, or maybe it was because he was running on two hours' sleep, but she sounded far too smug for his tastes. "They didn't ask," Morris responded. "Put Special Agent #1 on the line."
"Sir, I did dig up something relevant on that Bernstadt character that you might be interested in."
"I don't give a damn about Bernstadt," Morris growled.
"But it's important--"
"Put Special Agent #1 on. *Now.*"
"Dr. Morris, you authorized me to investigate this, and if you would just listen--"
He somehow restrained himself from telling her just what he thought of her investigations. "You follow whatever leads you may think are relevant. Right now, there is a terrorist loose in the city, and finding him and the man who can stop him is my highest priority. Not to mention that I have barely had two hours of sleep. I do not want anyone interfering." Morris took a deep breath. "Now put him on the phone."
Another long silence ensued, and then Lydia sighed. "Have it your way."
*****
It took her a minute or two to find the man in question, and that was only because the shaved head was easy to spot. As she tapped him on the shoulder, Special Agent #1 turned, surprised, as Lydia handed him the cellphone. "It's for you, Q-Ball. Dr. Morris."
"I'd appreciate it if you didn't call me that."
She handed him a slip of paper along with the phone. "I prefer referring to people by names rather than numbers."
He didn't answer, and unfolded the paper curiously. "My cell number," Lydia explained. "In case Dr. Morris happens to need my interference." With that, she smiled and turned away.
"Where are you going?" the agent demanded.
"To follow some leads."
*****
Tick Tock Diner
34th and 8th Street
6:30 a.m.
Roger Bender decided that he was going to be late for work.
He'd had a lousy night, and all the way back he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being followed - and after the incident at the Wiseman's house, it didn't seem like such a ludicrous idea. He'd even parked elsewhere and walked six blocks to check into a different hotel than the one he'd stayed in before. It wasn't nearly as lavish as the Peninsula, but Roger wasn't feeling very picky at the moment. He hadn't stayed in the New Yorker in years, but the room he picked was just fine for what he had in mind. Plus, there was something amusing about having a view of the Empire State Building from one's bathroom window.
But his primary reason for that decision had been the heavenly smell from the adjacent diner - which immediately reminded him just how hungry he was. It was one of those 50's style diners that still believed in good breakfast food, and Roger was starving. He made a beeline for the diner, briefcase in hand and stomach growling as he sat down at the first empty booth he could find. Setting down his briefcase, he fished around for his wallet before calling the waitress over just to be sure he could afford a croissant.
"Hi, Uncle Roger."
Forgetting about breakfast, Roger jerked up to stare at the three people sitting in the booth adjacent to his. Heather was leaning over the back of the seat, and Lisa and that Newman character were sitting across from her, finishing off their breakfast. "What are you doing here?"
"Actually," Lisa admitted, "we were looking for you."
"That, and we haven't eaten since lunch yesterday," Heather added.
Roger stared at Mr. Newman, utterly confused. The young man smiled through a mouthful of food. "Try the bacon. It's not bad."
*****
Upper West Side
Manhattan
"My God," Special Agent #1 murmured, staring at the black and white photos in his hands. Each one, taken from the crime scene in Queens, depicted bodies lying in blood. When he reached a photo of a five-year-old child, the agent set the photographs down and turned away.
"The epicenter of the attack was an apartment belonging to a Kyle Barnes," Morris said. "Apparently, that apartment may have contained a good amount of computer equipment - Barnes was suspected in illegally obtaining electronics and software - but none of it was found at the scene."
"Why give away their location like that?" Special Agent #1 wondered.
"The FBI seems to believe that the Eggman, at least, is out for revenge," Morris added. "And I tend to agree."
The agent's eyes grew wide. "You don't think that Mr. Wiseman--"
"Perhaps." Morris stood up. "At any rate, the Mayor's office has yet to receive any sort of clear and solid threat. But I expect one will come soon, and both City Hall and the FBI has asked for our help if it does. I said yes. Tentatively."
"You what? Sir, without Mr. Wiseman, how could we help in this situation?"
"The media's got their hands on this story, right?" The agent nodded. "Good. Let them all get their fair share of details. I want to make sure Mr. Wiseman hears about this."
*****
New Yorker Hotel
7:15 a.m.
"How much longer is she going to spend in there?" Roger muttered, glaring at the bathroom door balefully. Heather, and now Lisa, had prevailed upon Roger to let them use the shower in the hotel room.
Michael was lying flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling. "It's only been fifteen minutes."
"Feels like fifty," Roger answered nervously. Heather was ignoring the two of them, her attention focused on the TV set. "Why did you have to come after me?"
"It was Lisa's idea to find you, Roger," Michael sighed, sitting up. "We honestly didn't have anywhere else to go."
"Of course not," Roger snapped, leaning forward and lowering his voice to a whisper as the shower shut off. "You're probably responsible for that SWAT team--"
"Roger, the same thing happened at my place," Michael interrupted. "Look, these people are after all three of us. Now you can help me keep Lisa and Heather out of danger or you can sit here and complain."
"Well, you can't stay here forever," Roger pointed out in a normal tone as the bathroom door opened and Lisa stepped out, fully dressed and drying her hair with a towel. "I could have sworn I was being followed on the way back into the city. I parked in a garage and walked eight blocks just to be sure."
Michael sighed. "I know. I'm just not sure what to do."
"Hey, keep it down!" Heather said, turning the volume up a notch. "I'm trying to listen!"
"Listen to what?" Lisa asked, moving to look at what Heather was watching. Curious, Michael followed, and Roger just lay back on the bed with a groan.
There was a news broadcast playing on the TV. "...18 people killed by the release of a bio-chemical agent in Queens early this morning," the reporter was saying. "Details are sketchy, but according to our sources, this attack was most likely the work of the same terrorist who was responsible for the deaths at the Petrie Hotel last spring."
Horrified, Michael slowly sat down, his gaze riveted to the television. "Wow," Heather said.
"Dubbed the 'Eggman' by much of the media, this man apparently escaped from New York State Penitentiary yesterday afternoon and has been at large ever since," the reporter continued. "The agent has been contained at this time, and officials are baffled--"
"What?" Lisa asked, seeing the stricken look on Michael's face. "What's wrong?"
"Believe me," Michael murmured, unable to tear his eyes away from the screen, "you don't want to know."
*****
Leflin Incorporated
The secretary's voice was even more nasal coming through the speaker phone. "Mr. Leflin, there's someone here to see you."
Leflin sighed. "Tell them to take a seat."
"It's a little too late for that, sir--"
The secretary didn't get a chance to finish as Leflin switched the line off and turned back to his current meeting. "Any progress on our guests?"
"They've hooked up with that insurance guy. We did manage to get our competitor off his tail. Temporarily, anyway."
"Good. I'd like them to come back on their own."
"So you've finally discovered that most dates don't like being dragged kicking and screaming?" a female voice interrupted. "Good, because that approach was *not* doing wonders for your love life."
Hearing that, the three men turned to see that someone had entered the office unnoticed, a middle-aged woman with a jagged streak of white in her dark hair. "How did you get in here?" Leflin's security head demanded, reaching for his radio.
"It's all right, Walters," Leflin said quickly, stepping around the desk to greet the new arrival. "Lydia. It's been a long time."
"Hello, Bernie." Lydia Ross smiled. "We need to talk."
*****
Murphy's Law
by Amanda Ohlin
Chapter Three
New Rochelle, NY
2:25 a.m.
Who needed sleep when one had caffeine?
Dr. Lydia Ross took a long swig of coffee, making a face. It wasn't the best coffee she'd had - far from it - but it was the only thing keeping her awake.
She'd managed to get as much information as possible on the civil suit filed by Bernstadt. It was legit, and all twenty-seven plaintiffs and their claims were very real. What was interesting, however, was that Bernstadt had been trying to get the case to court since November 1999, and Espotek had finally - out of the blue - stopped stalling only a month ago.
She continued skimming through the info on Espotek Industries. As far as possibly corrupt (read: there was no proof) medical corporations went, it was fairly common. Operating since 1975, distributed to almost all the hospitals in the state and beyond. Bought out in 1983 and became a subsidiary of a corporation called...
Wait a minute. Lydia stopped and stared as warning bells went off in her head. Why on earth would *they* be getting involved?
*****
Queens
3:15 a.m.
"So who's this guy you want to get back at so badly?" Charlie asked as he laid out the equipment on the bed, whistling at the amount of equipment they'd been able to obtain. Fake ID's, fake papers, even a laptop - if you knew how to get it, you could get anything in this particular neighborhood. It was nice to know that it hadn't changed much since he'd been in the pen.
The Eggman did not respond. He was sitting at a desk, hunched over his work, carefully injecting eggs and placing them in a case. Charlie knew this sort of silence meant that the man was not up to answering questions. Which meant that Charlie would have to deduce the answers for himself. "He the one that screwed things up for you?"
That got the old man's attention. He set the syringe down, still holding up the egg, before turning to Charlie, nodding solemnly. "Yeah, that makes sense," Charlie added. "I've been there before. You have this huge job all set up, all figured out - and then some loser gets lucky and trashes everything for you. Am I right?" Another nod, but the egg was still being held up. "How much you lose out on?"
It was a second or two before the Eggman responded. "Ten million."
"Ten million bucks?" Charlie echoed, impressed. "Damn, I can't blame you. Can't blame you at all."
The Eggman studied him for a moment before setting the egg in its case. Charlie relaxed. As weird as the old man was, Charlie was not going to get on his bad side.
Suddenly, someone started pounding on the door. Several someones. "Hey! Kyle! Open the damn door!"
The Eggman reached into his duffel bag, and, to Charlie's relief, pulled out two gas masks. He passed one to Charlie, who grinned. "I'll get it."
The two boys pounding on the door were understandably stunned as it opened to reveal the hulking figure in the gas mask. "Kyle doesn't live here anymore."
The egg dropped to the floor.
*****
Somewhere in the Upper West Side
4:45 a.m.
As she sat up sleepily, it took Heather a second to realize that she was not in her room back at home. She sat there for a few moments, unsure how to react, before getting up and plodding into the bathroom. After washing up, she was awake enough to hear the faint sound of voices down the hall. Curious, she moved to the door and pressed her ear against it. After a moment or two, she unlocked the door and opened it a crack.
The hallway was empty. Heather hesitated, then slipped out into the hall. For a place in the middle of town, this was a pretty big townhouse. Maybe there was a kitchen or someplace where she could get something to eat. As she made her way down the hallway, she approached the source of the voices she'd heard earlier. Around the corner, one of the doors was ajar, and she could hear two men arguing. Heather moved closer to the door, flattening herself against the wall like they always did in movies.
"I'm not entirely sure this is wise, sir."
"Why do you say that?"
"Well, for one thing, this isn't your show. If Mr. Leflin finds out--"
"He's not about to find out. He moves so slow we'll have what we want before he knows it."
"You actually think they'll just give you the information?"
"They won't. He will. Don't tell me you're bailing out."
"I can't be a part of this. Why force anything out of him?"
"I'm not going to invest in anything other than a sure thing."
"You can't be sure he'll just give up the details of the project. He certainly didn't before."
"Well, this time we have the proper... leverage."
Heather had heard enough. She somehow managed to slip back into the guest room undetected, closing and locking the doors behind her. "Mom!" She rushed to the bed, intending to shake her mother awake - and stopped dead when she got a good look at who was lying there.
Michael was also curled up on the bed, his arm draped over Lisa as she snuggled up against him. Both were smiling in their sleep. Although they still had all their clothes on - and Heather knew her mother too well to assume that anything had happened - it was hard to resist torturing them. "Oh, Moooommm..."
Lisa stirred and opened her eyes, blinking sleepily and yawning as she shifted her weight. The movement caused Michael to wake up as well, and both adults froze in place as they realized just what position they were in. Both pairs of eyes turned to see Heather, who was grinning cheerfully. "Good morning."
"Says you," Michael murmured, trying to cover his pleasure with a show of embarrassment.
Lisa groaned. "This is *not* what it looks like."
Reluctantly, Michael pulled his arm away, rolling onto his back to give Lisa space before sitting up. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to--"
"No, it's all right, it's all right." Lisa yawned again. "My God, what time is it? The sun's not up yet."
Heather abruptly remembered the conversation. "I know, I'm sorry, but I heard these two creepy guys out there talking. One of them was talking about getting information and leverage, and I don't know what they meant but I didn't like how it sounded, and I've seen enough movies to know it's not good."
"What?" Lisa asked, worried.
"I don't know! They didn't sound like they were good guys or anything. I know it's nuts, but it was like those conversations you overhear in those Lethal Weapon movies when the bad guys are up to something and--"
Michael swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Heather, calm down. Stop to breathe." As she did so, he seated himself on the edge of the bed and caught her gently by the shoulders. "Do you remember what they said?"
She nodded and proceeded to relate what she'd heard. As she finished, Lisa looked even more concerned, and Michael's expression was grim.
"You're not nuts, Heather," Michael assured his daughter before turning back to Lisa. "I don't like the sound of that either."
*****
New Rochelle, NY
5:45 a.m.
"Dr. Ross?" Special Agent #1 stepped into the silent, dimly lit office. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he spotted Lydia slumped by the computer, a cup of coffee clenched in her left hand as her head rested on the desk by the machine. "Dr. Ross!"
She jerked up wildly, like a puppet on strings or a body shocked by a thousand volts. "What? Oh. Damn. What time is it?"
"Quarter to six." He tried not to laugh as she straightened up, brushing her hair out of her face. "Dr. Morris hasn't returned yet."
"Well, I got about an hour of sleep," Lydia groaned. "How's the search coming?"
"Nothing's been turned up." He hesitated. "I was about to ask you the same question."
She nodded absently, focused on the screen. "I've been checking up on Bernstadt and Associates and this supposed respirator case, and it doesn't add up. I wouldn't have noticed this if a name or two hadn't popped out at me."
"What do you mean?"
Lydia sat back in her chair. "The lawsuit's legitimate, I can tell you that. But the fact that Bernstadt is handling it is bizarre beyond belief given the specific company that's being sued."
"Espotek? Why would you say that?"
"Well, Bernstadt's firm *has* taken on cases like this before," Lydia admitted. "But this firm is owned by the same corporation that Espotek is a subsidiary of. Not technically 'owned,' that is, but Bernstadt and Associates handles all of the parent corporation's cases. Now why on earth would the corporation allow Bernstadt to make such a massive claim - with a huge number of clients - against one of its own subsidiaries?"
"I suppose it depends," the agent replied. "What corporation is this?"
Lydia shrugged. "Bernstadt's number one client is none other than a Bernard Leflin Jr... CEO of Leflin Industries."
*****
Manhattan
Bernard Leflin, Jr. watched the security tapes with his usual deceptive calmness, an unsettling ability that he had inherited from his father. The tapes showed first Heather Wiseman sneaking out and listening to a conversation, then bolting back to her room - then, twenty minutes later, all three of his guests slipped out the door, down the hall and down the back stairs.
He sighed and turned back to his associates, especially the two men in the center of the office. "I have to say, I'm extremely disappointed."
"Bernard," one of them began, "I can explain--"
"I don't want to hear it, Wallace." Leflin addressed one of the security guards. "See them into the drawing room; I'll deal with them later." As the two men were escorted out, Leflin turned to the head of security. "How did they get out?"
"Service entrance, sir. They went through the kitchen and must have slipped out as the cleaning staff came in."
Leflin nodded. "And of course, the cleaning people weren't told about our guests. Not their fault."
"Sir? Should we attempt pursuit?"
"No. Track them, shadow them, report their progress to me, but in no way are you to engage them unless absolutely necessary." The industrialist gazed thoughtfully up at the portrait of his father. "More than anything right now, we need their trust."
*****
New Rochelle, NY
"Leflin?" Special Agent #1 echoed. "Did you say Leflin?"
Lydia frowned. "Yes, of course."
He backed away, suddenly agitated. "I need to make a phone call."
"Wait a minute," Lydia snapped, standing up. "What is so important about Leflin Industries?"
"Nothing."
Her eyes narrowed. "I sincerely doubt that. What aren't you telling me?"
"I assure you, Dr. Ross," Special Agent #1 said, reaching for the door, "it's completely irrelevant."
She practically leapt out of her chair and had his arm in an iron grip a second later. "Hold it right there, Q-Ball."
Special Agent #1 stared at Lydia; for a half-awake woman in her mid-forties, she moved pretty quickly. And she had a hell of a grip. "*Excuse* me?"
"Do I have your attention now?" As he nodded and turned back to face her, Lydia released him. "Thank you. If you want my cooperation, you have to give me some in return. Now I know there's a connection here, and you're going to tell me what it is. Now."
Despite himself, the agent gulped. What *was* it with vicious females lately?
*****
6:00 a.m.
Dr. Morris was tired, frustrated, and was not in the mood for surprises. So when he dialed up Special Agent #1, he was understandably discomfited when a female voice answered. "Ross here."
It took him a second to place who it was. "Dr. Ross? Where's--"
"Fending off the media and rounding up the troops," Lydia replied tiredly. "So what's the situation?"
Part of him didn't even want to tell her, but Morris was too tired to withhold information. "Our old friend, the 'Eggman' as the media nicknamed him, is on the loose. Along with another convict, Charlie Smalls. He broke out of prison yesterday and already they've taken out a housing project in Queens."
"The 'Eggman?'" Lydia repeated. "Mr. Wiseman's first assignment, I presume, which is why you were contacted."
"The same," Morris informed her. "The FBI agent I spoke to believes that he may be out for revenge."
There was a long pause on her end. "You haven't told the Pentagon about Wiseman's disappearance yet. And you didn't tell the FBI either."
Maybe it was because he already thought she was obnoxious, or maybe it was because he was running on two hours' sleep, but she sounded far too smug for his tastes. "They didn't ask," Morris responded. "Put Special Agent #1 on the line."
"Sir, I did dig up something relevant on that Bernstadt character that you might be interested in."
"I don't give a damn about Bernstadt," Morris growled.
"But it's important--"
"Put Special Agent #1 on. *Now.*"
"Dr. Morris, you authorized me to investigate this, and if you would just listen--"
He somehow restrained himself from telling her just what he thought of her investigations. "You follow whatever leads you may think are relevant. Right now, there is a terrorist loose in the city, and finding him and the man who can stop him is my highest priority. Not to mention that I have barely had two hours of sleep. I do not want anyone interfering." Morris took a deep breath. "Now put him on the phone."
Another long silence ensued, and then Lydia sighed. "Have it your way."
*****
It took her a minute or two to find the man in question, and that was only because the shaved head was easy to spot. As she tapped him on the shoulder, Special Agent #1 turned, surprised, as Lydia handed him the cellphone. "It's for you, Q-Ball. Dr. Morris."
"I'd appreciate it if you didn't call me that."
She handed him a slip of paper along with the phone. "I prefer referring to people by names rather than numbers."
He didn't answer, and unfolded the paper curiously. "My cell number," Lydia explained. "In case Dr. Morris happens to need my interference." With that, she smiled and turned away.
"Where are you going?" the agent demanded.
"To follow some leads."
*****
Tick Tock Diner
34th and 8th Street
6:30 a.m.
Roger Bender decided that he was going to be late for work.
He'd had a lousy night, and all the way back he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being followed - and after the incident at the Wiseman's house, it didn't seem like such a ludicrous idea. He'd even parked elsewhere and walked six blocks to check into a different hotel than the one he'd stayed in before. It wasn't nearly as lavish as the Peninsula, but Roger wasn't feeling very picky at the moment. He hadn't stayed in the New Yorker in years, but the room he picked was just fine for what he had in mind. Plus, there was something amusing about having a view of the Empire State Building from one's bathroom window.
But his primary reason for that decision had been the heavenly smell from the adjacent diner - which immediately reminded him just how hungry he was. It was one of those 50's style diners that still believed in good breakfast food, and Roger was starving. He made a beeline for the diner, briefcase in hand and stomach growling as he sat down at the first empty booth he could find. Setting down his briefcase, he fished around for his wallet before calling the waitress over just to be sure he could afford a croissant.
"Hi, Uncle Roger."
Forgetting about breakfast, Roger jerked up to stare at the three people sitting in the booth adjacent to his. Heather was leaning over the back of the seat, and Lisa and that Newman character were sitting across from her, finishing off their breakfast. "What are you doing here?"
"Actually," Lisa admitted, "we were looking for you."
"That, and we haven't eaten since lunch yesterday," Heather added.
Roger stared at Mr. Newman, utterly confused. The young man smiled through a mouthful of food. "Try the bacon. It's not bad."
*****
Upper West Side
Manhattan
"My God," Special Agent #1 murmured, staring at the black and white photos in his hands. Each one, taken from the crime scene in Queens, depicted bodies lying in blood. When he reached a photo of a five-year-old child, the agent set the photographs down and turned away.
"The epicenter of the attack was an apartment belonging to a Kyle Barnes," Morris said. "Apparently, that apartment may have contained a good amount of computer equipment - Barnes was suspected in illegally obtaining electronics and software - but none of it was found at the scene."
"Why give away their location like that?" Special Agent #1 wondered.
"The FBI seems to believe that the Eggman, at least, is out for revenge," Morris added. "And I tend to agree."
The agent's eyes grew wide. "You don't think that Mr. Wiseman--"
"Perhaps." Morris stood up. "At any rate, the Mayor's office has yet to receive any sort of clear and solid threat. But I expect one will come soon, and both City Hall and the FBI has asked for our help if it does. I said yes. Tentatively."
"You what? Sir, without Mr. Wiseman, how could we help in this situation?"
"The media's got their hands on this story, right?" The agent nodded. "Good. Let them all get their fair share of details. I want to make sure Mr. Wiseman hears about this."
*****
New Yorker Hotel
7:15 a.m.
"How much longer is she going to spend in there?" Roger muttered, glaring at the bathroom door balefully. Heather, and now Lisa, had prevailed upon Roger to let them use the shower in the hotel room.
Michael was lying flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling. "It's only been fifteen minutes."
"Feels like fifty," Roger answered nervously. Heather was ignoring the two of them, her attention focused on the TV set. "Why did you have to come after me?"
"It was Lisa's idea to find you, Roger," Michael sighed, sitting up. "We honestly didn't have anywhere else to go."
"Of course not," Roger snapped, leaning forward and lowering his voice to a whisper as the shower shut off. "You're probably responsible for that SWAT team--"
"Roger, the same thing happened at my place," Michael interrupted. "Look, these people are after all three of us. Now you can help me keep Lisa and Heather out of danger or you can sit here and complain."
"Well, you can't stay here forever," Roger pointed out in a normal tone as the bathroom door opened and Lisa stepped out, fully dressed and drying her hair with a towel. "I could have sworn I was being followed on the way back into the city. I parked in a garage and walked eight blocks just to be sure."
Michael sighed. "I know. I'm just not sure what to do."
"Hey, keep it down!" Heather said, turning the volume up a notch. "I'm trying to listen!"
"Listen to what?" Lisa asked, moving to look at what Heather was watching. Curious, Michael followed, and Roger just lay back on the bed with a groan.
There was a news broadcast playing on the TV. "...18 people killed by the release of a bio-chemical agent in Queens early this morning," the reporter was saying. "Details are sketchy, but according to our sources, this attack was most likely the work of the same terrorist who was responsible for the deaths at the Petrie Hotel last spring."
Horrified, Michael slowly sat down, his gaze riveted to the television. "Wow," Heather said.
"Dubbed the 'Eggman' by much of the media, this man apparently escaped from New York State Penitentiary yesterday afternoon and has been at large ever since," the reporter continued. "The agent has been contained at this time, and officials are baffled--"
"What?" Lisa asked, seeing the stricken look on Michael's face. "What's wrong?"
"Believe me," Michael murmured, unable to tear his eyes away from the screen, "you don't want to know."
*****
Leflin Incorporated
The secretary's voice was even more nasal coming through the speaker phone. "Mr. Leflin, there's someone here to see you."
Leflin sighed. "Tell them to take a seat."
"It's a little too late for that, sir--"
The secretary didn't get a chance to finish as Leflin switched the line off and turned back to his current meeting. "Any progress on our guests?"
"They've hooked up with that insurance guy. We did manage to get our competitor off his tail. Temporarily, anyway."
"Good. I'd like them to come back on their own."
"So you've finally discovered that most dates don't like being dragged kicking and screaming?" a female voice interrupted. "Good, because that approach was *not* doing wonders for your love life."
Hearing that, the three men turned to see that someone had entered the office unnoticed, a middle-aged woman with a jagged streak of white in her dark hair. "How did you get in here?" Leflin's security head demanded, reaching for his radio.
"It's all right, Walters," Leflin said quickly, stepping around the desk to greet the new arrival. "Lydia. It's been a long time."
"Hello, Bernie." Lydia Ross smiled. "We need to talk."
*****