by Ken Follett
“Yes.”
Steve repeated the amount. “One hundred and eighty million dollars.” He paused long enough to create a pregnant silence. It was the kind of money that professors never saw, and he wanted to give the committee members the feeling that Berrington was not one them at all, but a being of a different kind altogether. “You are one of three people who will share one hundred and eighty million dollars.”
Berrington nodded.
“So you had a lot to be nervous about when you learned of the New York Times article. Your friend Preston is selling his company, your friend Jim is running for president, and you’re about to make a fortune. Are you sure it was the reputation of Jones Falls that was on your mind when you fired Dr. Ferrami? Or was it all your other worries? Let’s be frank, Professor—you panicked.”
“I most certainly—”
“You read a hostile newspaper article, you envisioned the takeover melting away, and you reacted hastily. You let the New York Times scare you.”
“It takes more than the New York Times to scare me, young man. I acted quickly and decisively, but not hastily.”
“You made no attempt to discover the source of the newspaper’s information.”
“No.”
“How many days did you spend investigating the truth, or otherwise, of the allegations?”
“It didn’t take long—”
“Hours rather than days?”
“Yes—”
“Or was it in fact less than an hour before you had approved a press release saying that Dr. Ferrami’s program was canceled?”
“I’m quite sure it was more than an hour.”
Steve shrugged emphatically. “Let us be generous and say it was two hours. Was that long enough?” He turned and gestured toward Jeannie, so that they would look at her. “After two hours you decided to jettison a young scientist’s entire research program?” The pain was visible on Jeannie’s face. Steve felt an agonizing pang of pity for her. But he had to play on her emotion, for her own good. He twisted the knife in the wound. “After two hours you knew enough to make a decision to destroy the work of years? Enough to end a promising career? Enough to ruin a woman’s life?”
“I asked her to defend herself,” Berrington said indignantly. “She lost her temper and walked out of the room!”
Steve hesitated, then decided to take a theatrical risk. “She walked out of the room!” he said in mock amazement. “She walked out of the room! You showed her a press release announcing the cancellation of her program. No investigation of the source of the newspaper story, no appraisal of the validity of the allegations, no time for discussion, no due process of any kind—you simply declared to this young scientist that her entire life was ruined—and all she did was walk out of the room?” Berrington opened his mouth to speak, but Steve overrode him. “When I think of the injustice, the illegality, the sheer foolishness, of what you did on Wednesday morning, Professor, I cannot imagine how Dr. Ferrami summoned the restraint and self-discipline to confine herself to such a simple, eloquent protest.” He walked back to his seat in silence, then turned to the committee and said: “No more questions.”
Jeannie’s eyes were lowered, but she squeezed his arm. He leaned over and whispered: “How are you?”
“I’m okay.”
He patted her hand. He wanted to say, “I think we’ve won it,” but that would have been tempting fate.
Henry Quinn stood up. He seemed unperturbed. He should have looked more worried after Steve made mincemeat of hisclient. But no doubt it was part of his skill to remain unruffled no matter how badly his case was going.
Quinn said: “Professor, if the university had not discontinued Dr. Ferrami’s research program, and had not fired her, would that have made any difference to the takeover of Genetico by Landsmann?”
“None at all,” Berrington replied.
“Thank you. No more questions.”
That was pretty effective, Steve thought sourly. It kind of punctured his whole cross-examination. He tried not to let Jeannie see the disappointment on his face.
It was Jeannie’s turn, and Steve stood up and led her through her evidence. She was calm and clear as she described her research program and explained the importance of finding raised-apart twins who were criminals. She detailed the precautions she took to ensure that no one’s medical details became known before they had signed a release.
He expected Quinn to cross-examine her and try to show that there was a minuscule chance that confidential information would be revealed by accident. Steve and Jeannie had rehearsed this last night, with him playing the role of prosecution lawyer. But to his surprise Quinn did not have any questions. Was he afraid she would defend herself too ably? Or was he confident he had the verdict sewn up?
Quinn summed up first. He repeated much of Berrington’s evidence, once again being more tedious than Steve thought wise. His concluding speech was short enough, however. “This is a crisis that should never have happened,” he said. “The university authorities behaved judiciously throughout. It was Dr. Ferrami’s impetuousness and intransigence that caused all the drama. Of course she has a contract, and that contract governs her relations with her employer. But senior faculty are, after all, required to supervise junior faculty; and junior faculty, if they have any sense at all, will listen to wise counsel from those older and more experienced than they. Dr Ferrami’s stubborn defiance turned a problem into a crisis, and the only solution to the crisis is for her to leave the university.” He sat down.
It was time for Steve’s speech. He had been rehearsing it all night. He stood up.
“What is Jones Falls University for?”
He paused for dramatic effect.
“The answer may be expressed in one word: knowledge. If we wanted a nutshell definition of the role of the university in American society, we might say its function is to seek knowledge and to spread knowledge.”
He looked at each of the committee, inviting their agreement. Jane Edelsborough nodded. The others were impassive.
He resumed: “Now and again, that function comes under attack. There are always people who want to hide the truth, for one reason or another: political motives, religious prejudice”—he looked at Berrington—“or commercial advantage. I think everyone here would agree that the school’s intellectual independence is crucial to its reputation. That independence has to be balanced against other obligations, obviously, such as the need to respect the civil rights of individuals. However, a vigorous defense of the university’s right to pursue knowledge would enhance its reputation among all thinking people.”
He waved a hand to indicate the university. “Jones Falls is important to everyone here. The reputation of an academic may rise and fall with that of the institution where he or she works. I ask you to think about the effect your verdict will have on the reputation of JFU as a free, independent academic institution. Will the university be cowed by the intellectually shallow assault of a daily newspaper? Will a program of scientific research be canceled for the sake of a commercial takeover bid? I hope not. I hope the committee will bolster JFU’s reputation by showing that what matters here is one simple value: truth.” He looked at them, letting his words sink in. He could not tell, from their expressions, whether his speech had touched them or not. After a moment he sat down.
“Thank you,” said Jack Budgen. “Would everyone except committee members step outside while we deliberate, please?”
Steve held the door for Jeannie and followed her into the hallway. They left the building and stood in the shade of a tree. Jeannie was pale with tension. “What do you think?” she said.
“We have to win,” he said. “We’re right.”
“What am I going to do if we lose?” she said. “Move to Nebraska? Get a job as a schoolteacher? Become a stewardess, like Penny Watermeadow?”
“Who’s Penny Watermeadow?”
Before she could answer him, she saw something over his shoulder that made her hesitate.
Steve turned around and saw Henry Quinn, smoking a cigarette. “You were very sharp in there,” Quinn said. “I hope you won’t think me condescending if I say I enjoyed matching wits with you.”
Jeannie made a disgusted noise and turned away.
Steve was able to be more detached. Lawyers were supposed to be like this, friendly with their opponents outside the courtroom. Besides, one day he might find himself asking Quinn for a job. “Thank you,” he said politely.
“You certainly had the best of the arguments,” Quinn went on, surprising Steve by his frankness. “On the other hand, in a case like this people vote their self-interest, and all those committee members are senior professors. They’ll find it hard to support a youngster against someone of their own group, regardless of the arguments.”
“They are all intellectuals,” Steve said. “They’re committed to rationality.”
Quinn nodded. “You might be right,” he said. He gave Steve a speculative look then said: “Have you any idea what this is really about?”
“What do you mean?” Steve said cautiously.
“Berrington is obviously terrified of something, and it isn’t bad publicity. I wondered if you and Dr. Ferrami might know what.”
“I believe we do,” Steve said. “But we can’t prove it, yet.”
“Keep trying,” Quinn said. He dropped his cigarette and stepped on it. “God forbid that Jim Proust should be president.” He turned away.
What about that, Steve thought; a closet liberal.
Jack Budgen appeared in the entrance and made a summoning gesture. Steve took Jeannie’s arm and they went back in.
He studied the faces of the committee. Jack Budgen met his eye. Jane Edelsborough gave him a little smile.
That was a good sign. His hopes soared.
They all sat down.
Jack Budgen shuffled his papers unnecessarily. “We thank both parties for enabling this hearing to be conducted with dignity.” He paused solemnly. “Our decision is unanimous. We recommend to the senate of this university that Dr. Jean Ferrami be dismissed. Thank you.”
Jeannie buried her head in her hands.
40
WHEN AT LAST JEANNIE WAS ALONE, SHE THREW HERSELF ON her bed and cried.
She cried for a long time. She pounded her pillows, shouted at the wall, and uttered the filthiest words she knew; then she buried her face in the quilt and cried some more. Her sheets were wet with tears and streaked black with mascara.
After a while she got up and washed her face and put coffee on. “It’s not like you’ve got cancer,” she said to herself. “Come on, shape up.” But it was hard. She was not going to die, okay, but she had lost everything she lived for.
She thought of herself at twenty-one. She had graduated summa cum laude and won the Mayfair Lites Challenge in the same year. She saw herself on the court, holding the cup high in the traditional gesture of triumph. The world had been at her feet. When she looked back she felt as if a different person had held up that trophy.
She sat on the couch drinking coffee. Her father, that old bastard, had stolen her TV, so she could not even watch dumbsoap operas to take her mind off her misery. She would have pigged out on chocolate if she had any. She thought of booze but decided it would make her more depressed. Shopping? She would probably burst into tears in the fitting room, and anyway she was now even more broke than before.
At around two o’clock the phone rang.
Jeannie ignored it.
However, the caller was persistent, and she got fed up with listening to the ring, so in the end she picked it up.
It was Steve. After the hearing he had gone back to Washington for a meeting with his lawyer. “I’m at the law office now,” he said. “We want you to take legal action against Jones Falls for recovery of your FBI list. My family will pay the costs. They think it will be worth it for the chance of finding the third twin.”
Jeannie said: “I don’t give a shit about the third twin.”
There was a pause, then he said: “It’s important to me.”
She sighed. With all my troubles, I’m supposed to worry about Steve? Then she caught herself. He worried about me, didn’t he? She felt ashamed. “Steve, forgive me,” she said. “I’m feeling sorry for myself. Of course I’ll help you. What do I have to do?”
“Nothing. The lawyer will go to court, provided you give your permission.”
She began to think again. “Isn’t it a little dangerous? I mean, I presume JFU will have to be notified of our application. Then Berrington will know where the list is. And he’ll get to it before we do.”
“Damn, you’re right. Let me tell him that.”
A moment later another voice came on the phone. “Dr. Ferrami, this is Runciman Brewer, we’re on a conference link with Steve now. Where exactly is this data?”
“In my desk drawer, on a floppy disk marked SHOPPING.LST.”
“We can apply for access to your office without specifying what we’re looking for.”
“Then I think they might just wipe everything off my computer and all my disks.”
“I just don’t have a better idea.”
Steve said: “What we need is a burglar.”
Jeannie said: “Oh, my God.”
“What?”
Daddy.
The lawyer said: “What is it, Dr. Ferrami?”
“Can you hold off on this court application?” Jeannie said.
“Yes. We probably couldn’t get rolling before Monday, anyway. Why?”
“I just had an idea. Let me see if I can work it out. If not, we’ll go down the legal road next week. Steve?”
“Still here.”
“Call me later.”
“You bet.”
Jeannie hung up.
Daddy could get into her office.
He was at Patty’s house now. He was broke, so he wasn’t going anywhere. And he owed her. Oh, boy, did he owe her.
If she could find the third twin Steve would be cleared. And if she could prove to the world what Berrington and his friends had done in the seventies, maybe she would get her job back.
Could she ask her father to do this? It was against the law. He could end up in jail if things went wrong. He took that risk constantly, of course; but this time it would be her fault.
She told herself they would not get caught.
The doorbell rang. She lifted the handset. “Yes.”
“Jeannie?”
It was a familiar voice. “Yes,” she said. “Who’s this?”
“Will Temple.”
“Will?”
“I sent you two E-mails, didn’t you get them?”
What the hell was Will Temple doing here? “Come in,” she said, and she pressed the button.
He came up the stairs wearing tan chinos and a navy blue polo shirt. His hair was shorter, and although he still had the fair beard she had loved so much, instead of growing wild and bushy it was now a neatly trimmed goatee. The heiress had tidied him up.
She could not bring herself to let him kiss her cheek; he had hurt her too badly. She put out her hand to shake. “This is a surprise,” she said. “I haven’t been able to retrieve my E-mail for a couple of days.”
“I’m attending a conference in Washington,” he said. “I rented a car and drove out here.”
“Want some coffee?”
“Sure.”
“Have a seat.” She put fresh coffee on.
He looked around. “Nice apartment.”
“Thanks.”
“Different.”
“You mean different from our old place.” The living room of their apartment in Minneapolis had been a big, untidy space full of overstuffed couches and bicycle wheels and tennis rackets and guitars. This room was pristine by comparison. “I guess I reacted against all that clutter.”
“You seemed to like it at the time.”
“I did. Things change.”
He nodded, and changed the subject. “I read about you in the New York Times. T
hat article was bullshit.”
“It’s done it for me, though. I was fired today.”
“No!”
She poured coffee and sat opposite him and told him the story of the hearing. When she had finished he said: “This guy Steve—are you serious about him?”
“I don’t know. I have an open mind.”
“You’re not dating?”
“No, but he wants to, and I really like him. How about you? Are you still with Georgina Tinkerton Ross?”
“No.” He shook his head regretfully. “Jeannie, what I really came here to do is tell you that breaking up with you was the greatest mistake of my life.”
Jeannie was touched by how sad he looked. Part of her was pleased that he regretted losing her, but she did not wish him unhappy.
“You were the best thing that ever happened to me,” he said. “You’re strong, but you’re good. And you’re smart: I have to have someone smart. We were right for each other. We loved each other.”
“I was very hurt at the time,” she said. “But I got over it.”
“I’m not sure I did.”
She gave him an appraising look. He was a big man, not cute like Steve but attractive in a more rugged way. She prodded her libido, like a doctor touching a bruise, but there was no response, no trace left of the overwhelming physical desire she had once felt for Will’s strong body.
He had come to ask her to go back to him, that was clear now. And she knew what her answer was. She did not want him anymore. He was about a week too late.
It would be kinder not to put him through the humiliation of asking and being rejected. She stood up. “Will, I have something important to do and I have to run. I wish I’d got your messages, then we could have spent more time together.”
He read the subtext and looked sadder. “Too bad,” he said. He stood up.
She held out her hand to shake. “Thanks for dropping by.”
He pulled her to him to kiss her. She offered her cheek. He kissed it softly, then released her. “I wish I could rewrite our script,” he said. “I’d give it a happier ending.”
