by Alan Cook
They had picked up their pace today, and the stop to eat and drink was momentary, although Drake did a few bends from the waist to try to keep his back loose. If it weren’t for the pain that still radiated down his legs from his back, on occasion, his legs would be in good shape. His feet hadn’t suffered at all, aided by the fact that much of their running had been on the beach. Melody didn’t seem to have any physical problems. Drake couldn’t recall that she had ever complained about ailments when they ran together in England.
They finished their snack and set off again, upping their pace a little more. The lapping of the waves on the beach and the squawking of sea birds provided background noise, so they didn’t feel completely alone. Drake enjoyed the isolation, however. After some of the things he’d seen human beings do, he appreciated having breaks from most of them. Memories flitted through his brain, but softly, not having the power to stir his emotions at the moment.
Melody broke into his train of thought. “It looks like there are a couple of blokes on the beach ahead.”
“Maybe marines on their day off.”
As they drew closer, they saw that the two people were indeed men. They appeared to be wearing shorts, unremarkable on the beach. Melody, whose eyes were sharper than Drake’s, gave an exclamation.
“They’re two of our runners. One of them has a problem.”
Drake could see that one of the men had his shoe off, and both of them were examining his foot. Melody spoke again.
“That’s Aki, the Japanese lad. The other one must be Mike, his partner.”
Drake and Melody came up to them and stopped.
Drake asked, “What’s the matter?”
Aki looked up from his sitting position on the sand. “I cut my foot.”
Drake could see blood on the bottom of the foot. Aki’s sock, which was lying on the sand, was soaked with blood. He had twisted his leg to get a good look at the foot, as if he were a contortionist. He was in a position Drake could never hope to emulate.
Melody dropped to her knees to inspect the wound. “What happened?”
“I stepped on a sharp rock. It came right through my shoe. I kept running, hoping the pain would go away.”
“He slowed way down,” Mike said. “He was favoring that leg. I knew he’d never last, running like that. Finally, I told him he had to stop.”
Melody pulled a small first aid kit from her pouch, another weight addition that Drake had opposed. She cut a piece of gauze from a roll with a miniature pair of scissors, poured a little water on it from her canteen, and wiped the blood off the cut. Then she took another look at it.
“It probably needs stitches.”
“Shit.” Aki sucked in his breath. “Sorry. But if I take the time to go to a doctor, it’ll take hours, especially in this God-forsaken place. I’ll never finish today’s run. We’ll be eliminated.”
“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do.” Melody reached into the first aid kit and pulled out a roll of adhesive tape and a foam pad. “I’m going to cover the cut. That will protect it and should reduce the pain.”
She squeezed some disinfectant from a small tube onto a gauze pad, which she placed on the cut. She covered the gauze with a foam pad and taped it firmly to Aki’s foot.
“Wait ten minutes for the bleeding to stop. Then put on your sock and shoe. Start running slowly. If the pain is bearable, you can speed up. That should hold you for today. If we get to San Clemente before you, we’ll arrange for you to see a doctor.”
“Thank you.” Aki looked gratefully at Melody.
Mike said, “Most of the runners wouldn’t have taken the time to stop and help us.”
“It’s a long race,” Drake said. “We need to help each other. Good luck.”
He and Melody started running along the beach. After they had gone a hundred yards Drake looked back at the pair. They were still sitting on the sand.
“This is the first time we haven’t been in last place during a day’s run. And you’ve acquired a couple of new admirers. It’s a good day.”
“It will be a good day if we find out that my mum is okay.”
***
“I’m actually glad you called.”
Blade’s voice sounded upbeat. Drake suspected that he didn’t have a woman with him tonight that he had to impress.
“I take it you’ve got some information for me.”
“One of our girls tracked down Melody’s mother. I like Melody, so I gave it a high priority. Tell her that if she ever wants to come back, the agency has a place for her. And if she just wants to live the life of a princess, she can live with me. I’ll take care of her. Tell her that.”
“Fat chance. What about her mother?”
“Blondie went to her house; she wasn’t there. She went next door and talked to a neighbor. It seems that Mrs. Jefferson is off visiting a friend in Sheffield. Blondie got the number and called her in Sheffield. She’s having a jolly good holiday, as she said.”
Relief flooded through Drake. He had been more worried about her than he had allowed himself to believe. Mona Jefferson had befriended Drake when he had been stationed in England. She had cooked scrumptious meals for him. Melody had complained that he liked Mona more than he liked her. Drake copied down the information about where she was.
“I appreciate you doing that.”
“I know you do, you bastard, but I did it for Melody, not you. I did, however, out of the goodness of my evil heart, make a minimal effort to find out some information about Giganticorp.”
“Shoot.”
“Big G, as it’s called in government circles, develops and manufactures a variety of electronic equipment and other stuff for the military. They have a sweet deal going. Some of their contracts weren’t put out for bidding. They’re privately owned, and I haven’t seen the figures, but a contact at the IRS told me that they are immensely profitable.”
“Ike’s military-industrial complex in action.”
“Looks like it. Casey Messinger, the CEO, is rolling in it. He owns several houses, including one on the Riviera. He’s married to his second wife, a former Miss Galaxy, or something like that.”
“It’s funny that I haven’t heard much about Giganticorp.”
“Nobody has. They keep a low profile. When you’ve got it as good as they do, you don’t want to spoil it by having people ask too many questions. Some generals and admirals own part of it. It’s true that your Casey has filed for the U.S. Senate, but there hasn’t been a lot of publicity about that yet. He’s made his money, so now he wants to become a do-gooder and bask in the love from the proletariat that he deserves.”
“The universe save us from do-gooders. All that is very interesting, but did you find out anything about betting on Running California.”
“Ah, the race. An attempt by the humble Casey to publicize the great state of California—but also himself. He’s been quoted about it in every major newspaper in the country, including the New York Times, Washington Post, et cetera. I even saw Oliver Drake, the military hero, mentioned. It brought tears to my eyes, and I found myself humming ‘God Bless America.’”
“Save it. What about betting?”
“Nada. Zilch. The boys in Vegas couldn’t care less.”
“What about an international syndicate?”
“This is small potatoes for them. Nobody cares, Drake. Except me. I’ve always cared about you. Look how many times I’ve gotten your ass out of a jam—”
“I’ll remember you in my will. Do you have any other information for me?”
“You don’t care about me; you only care about what I can do for you.”
“I’ll call you again in a few days to see if you’ve learned anything more.”
“I’ll wait here—all alone by the telephone—pining for your call.”
Drake hung up. Good news about Melody’s mother. Bad news about the threatening note. It must be some sort of inside job. But inside what? And why?
CHAPTER 9
Toda
y’s run goes through some of the richer areas of Orange County. It starts out on the beach at San Clemente State Beach. Stay on the beach past the private homes that are built on the sand. It will be low tide, and you should have no trouble getting by them. At San Juan Creek in Doheny State Beach get on Route 1 and follow it for the rest of the run. You will pass Dana Point, commemorating Richard Henry Dana who wrote “Two Years Before the Mast,” and Laguna Beach, the home of many artsy people and the annual “Pageant of the Masters.” After passing through Corona Del Mar you will enter Newport Beach. The run ends at MacArthur Boulevard (Route 73). Please observe all traffic laws when you’re running on Route 1.
***
“Maybe I should feel thankful to the person who wrote that note. Without it, I probably wouldn’t have stayed in the race.”
Drake and Melody were running through Laguna Beach on Route 1, past art galleries and other touristy buildings. A horde of shorts-clad tourists competed with them for sidewalk space, often slowing them down.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better, but don’t push it. The note said we had to finish the race. My mum was rather shocked when I called her, by the way. She wanted to know how I found out where she was.”
“She always struck me as being very independent.”
“Too independent. I’m trying to talk her into coming to the U.S. and living close to me so I can keep an eye on her, but she won’t hear of it. She says she would miss her friends too much.”
Drake looked behind him. “I wonder how Aki and Mike are doing. I haven’t seen them since we got off the beach.”
“They’ll be okay. Aki said the doctor didn’t think the cut was too bad. He just told him to stay off his feet for a few days.”
“Which of course he isn’t going to do.”
“When did runners ever pay attention to what doctors say?”
“At least we’re not in last place today. There’s someone in worse shape than I am. I’ll be happy when we’re not in last place overall.”
“As I said, don’t rush it.” Melody put a hand on his shoulder. “I feel your competitive fire returning, which isn’t a bad thing. I’m glad to see the old Drake. However, you’ve got to last a few hundred more miles. There’ll be opportunities. In a race this long, things are bound to happen.”
“Like stepping on rocks. And getting rear-ended.”
“I keep seeing signs about the Festival of Arts and “Pageant of the Masters.” What’s that about?”
“The Festival of Arts is an art festival. Ouch.”
Drake recoiled as Melody punched him in the shoulder.
“Well, what did you want me to say? If you’re going to hit me, I won’t tell you about the ‘Pageant of the Masters.’”
“This sounds like something out of Queen Elizabeth’s time. The first Queen Elizabeth. Prithee, kind sir, tell me about the ‘Pageant of the Masters.’”
“I went once. The folks who live here dress up like the people in paintings and sculptures and assume the same poses. They build sets for the backgrounds, and when you add the people and light it properly, you get a tableau that looks like the real thing. The models become the people in the paintings. It’s amazing how they do it, and they’ve been doing it forever.”
“That’s brilliant. I’d love to see it.”
“Well, since it’s going on right now, maybe we can talk Freddy into taking us.”
“Or steal the car and go ourselves. We have tomorrow off, so we don’t have to worry about going to bed early.”
“If it isn’t sold out. It’s very popular.”
“Do they depict nude paintings like ‘The Naked Maja’?”
“Sometimes, although if there are any men in them, they wear loincloths.”
“That’s all right. I’ve seen enough naked men on the beach. What about the women?”
Drake’s smile told her all she needed to know.
***
“May I say how beautiful you look tonight?”
“Thank you.” Melody smiled at Fred.
“You know, it was my idea to invite you to participate in Running California. I’m certainly glad I did. You’ve been a breath of fresh air.”
Drake reflected that this was the first time Melody had worn a skirt since Running California had started and wondered whether that had prompted Fred’s attention to her. It was a short skirt—Mary Quant had introduced her minis into the States a couple of years back—but more of Melody’s legs had been visible below the shorts she had been wearing every day. Somehow the skirt made her look more appealing, more feminine. In addition, she was wearing her sandy hair down without the ponytail. He began to rue the agreement between Melody and himself that they would sit on either side of the round and rolly Fred.
Melody, who was expert at manipulating men, made it sound to Fred as if they were trying to get to know him better. Which was certainly true, as far as it went. Fred had surprised the runners by producing a ticket to the “Pageant of the Masters” for each of them. Peaches drove them back to Laguna Beach from Newport Beach on the bus.
The Irvine Bowl was an outdoor amphitheater with tiers of seats rising gracefully in an arc from in front of the stage. It reminded Drake of a Roman theater he had seen on the island of Cyprus. It also bore similarities to a Greek Odeon, such as those at the Acropolis of Athens. Like the ancient theaters, there wasn’t a bad seat in the place. Not everything of value had been invented in the last hundred years.
The show couldn’t start until dark—about 8:30. It gave them a chance to talk to Fred. Drake decided it was time to change the direction of the conversation from how good Melody looked.
“How long have you been with Giganticorp?”
“Fifteen years. I joined right out of college.”
Melody said, “The Company must have been small then. I’m trying to remember when I first heard of it.”
“It was started in the late forties by a group of retired military officers and scientists who wanted to make sure that the U.S. stayed on the leading age of weapons and war technology. In some ways we got caught flat-footed by World War Two.”
It had grown rapidly and become very large, all in twenty years.
Drake had a question. “Since it started small, as most companies do, how did it get its name?”
“That was a joke. You know how military men are with their big egos. They decided that if they were going to start a corporation, it was going to be a big one. In reality, it started in an old warehouse not much larger than a garage. It was just Casey and half a dozen scientists.”
“How did Casey get involved?”
“His father was a lieutenant general in the army and on the original board of directors of Giganticorp. He died a few years ago. Casey was a senior at Stanford, majoring in business. They were working on a shoestring and needed somebody they could get cheap to head it. They pulled Casey out of school and made him president. I suspect they were planning to bring somebody in over him if they were successful.”
Melody spoke above the murmur of the voices of hundreds of theater-goers, chatting as they drifted toward their seats. “It sounds like Casey was so successful they never replaced him.”
“That’s it in a nutshell. He proved to be good at getting military contracts—although, of course, the connections of the stockholders helped. The corporation grew faster than any of the founders had dreamed.”
“I take it you’ve grown with the corporation over the years.” Melody kept a straight face, not looking at Fred’s waistline. “What’s your position?”
“My official title is Vice President of Marketing Operations.” Fred pulled two business cards out of a pocket of his sport coat and handed one to each of them. “I get involved with a lot of special projects.”
“Like Running California.”
“Precisely. Although I have to admit that was Casey’s idea. He runs almost every day. I’m not a runner, but I admire people who can do that sort of thing.”
Fred was smiling at M
elody as he said this.
“Are you going to help Casey with his Senate race?” Drake asked.
“He hasn’t asked me. I was as surprised as anybody when he made the announcement. He doesn’t have an organization yet.”
The sun had set, and the show would start soon. Drake still had a couple of additional questions. He watched Fred’s face closely. “Are you aware of anybody betting on the outcome of Running California?”
Fred looked genuinely shocked. “Betting? You mean betting on who will win?”
“Or who will finish and who will drop out?”
Fred shook his head so vigorously that the flab on his cheeks shook.
“No. This is a clean race. It’s strictly on the up and up. If you introduce betting, you have all sorts of possibilities—such as runners being tainted by the offer of money to do certain things. Why? Have you been approached?”
“No.” At least not in the sense Fred meant. “Just curious. Of course, the prize for the winning team is so much that it might be difficult to tempt anybody to throw the race who was in the running to win.”
Fred laughed. “That was Casey’s idea, too. There’s nothing like giving away a million dollars to get people’s attention.”
“But Giganticorp can afford it.”
“Yes, Giganticorp can afford it.”
The lights went out, and the audience hushed.
Melody spoke, her voice sounding unnaturally loud in the sudden silence. “One more question. Are you married?”
“Yes. Since we have a day off tomorrow, I’m flying to San Jose to see my wife and three children. I have two girls and a boy.”
The orchestra started playing. Drake looked up at a million stars twinkling above them and hoped that the rest of the race would be as peaceful as it was here tonight.
***
While the players were depicting a painting that Melody was sure she had seen in the Louvre in Paris, Fred put his hand on her bare knee. A friendly gesture. From a man who had a wife and three children. Why did men like Fred think they were irresistible to women?
When the hand started to move up her thigh, Melody could almost hear his thought process: “Women are docile; she won’t make a scene in a stadium packed with people.”
