The Survivors

by Robert Palmer

  We went down the north wing to a set of stairs. At the top was a man with one of the curly earpieces. He nodded to Markaris and opened a door for him. Before Scottie and I got a peek inside, he snapped it closed. “You can wait there,” he said, pointing down the hall.

  One wall of the hallway was all windows, looking out at the patio. The servers edged around the knots of guests, offering their trays. At the back of the patio were three fountains lit in red, white, and blue. Behind them was a row of tall cypress trees in planters. I quickly counted the tables. Forty-five. Fifteen seats at each table. I was doing the math when Scottie whispered, “Did you see the muscles on that guy? Why is he staring at us?”

  He was staring, and he did have an impressive build. “His job, I guess.”

  Scottie moved closer. “How do we handle him?”

  “Him?” I said. “We don’t pay any attention to him. Just keep your mind on why we’re here.”

  “Sure, I know,” he said, but not like he meant it.

  “This is an opening, Scottie. We let them know we’ve been digging around, and we’re going to keep at it. We listen to what Bowles has to say. Otherwise, we play it close. We don’t tell them what we’ve found out.”

  “Got it,” he said. He tugged his coat and thumbed his tie. “How do I look?”

  I tapped his hat a little closer to horizontal. “Terrific.”

  “Gentlemen?” The big man had padded up behind us. “They’re ready for you.”

  The room he let us into was an anteroom to a bedroom. It was bigger than my entire apartment. Markaris was leaning against the fireplace mantel, talking to someone sitting with his back to us. He nodded in our direction, and Ned Bowles turned and stood up.

  “Dr. Henderson, thanks for driving all the way out here.” His handshake was steady, the same for his dark-blue eyes. He didn’t have his dinner jacket on, and his body was trim enough to bring off a tightly fitted shirt. “I’d have seen you earlier in the week, but I’ve been in Europe.” He looked down as he realized I was still gripping his hand.

  “Mr. Bowles, before we talk about anything else, I want to know why the hell you ordered people to break into my office and apartment.” I’d been thinking about that opening salvo for three days. “We can dance around here all night if you want. But beside the fact that what you did was a felony, it was a damn cruel thing to do to my patients.”

  His eyes flicked over my shoulder. The guard had slipped up behind me, and his hand clapped on my arm. Bowles shook his head and the man stepped back. Then Bowles sat down on a big trunk that served as a coffee table in a ring of chairs. He beckoned wearily. “Howie, you take that one.”

  Markaris kept his pose at the fireplace, but he wasn’t so relaxed anymore. “Ned had nothing to do with that. After I heard you’d been to see Lois McGuin, I decided to find out about you. The men I sent got carried away. They were only supposed to—”

  “Scare me off?” I said.

  “Just get some background. It was a misunderstanding.”

  “Misunderstanding? I don’t believe that. And now I’ve got a mess to deal with that could ruin my practice and a lot of lives.” I looked at Bowles. “You say you knew nothing about this?”

  “I do now, Doctor.” He shot a glare at Markaris. “And I want to try to make it right. Howie’s men did not take copies of anything. We don’t have a thing that could harm your patients. You have our word on that, right Howie?”

  Markaris seemed to have shrunk in his suit. “Right. Still, I made a bad judgment, and for that—” He bowed slightly, the trusty lieutenant falling on his sword. “I’m sorry.”

  Bowles continued to give him a cold stare, then shook his head ruefully. “There, that’s done. Doctor, sit down.” He motioned to one of the chairs. “And Mr. Glass, we haven’t paid any attention to you.” He guided Scottie to the chair across from mine. He and Markaris sat, and Bowles called over his shoulder, “Carl, I think we’re all set here.”

  “Yes, Mr. Bowles,” the guard said. He stepped out and shut the door.

  Maybe we were all friends now, but I wasn’t going to give up the initiative. “My secretary was at my office the night your people broke in. She could have gotten hurt. Why would you risk anything like that just because I was asking a few questions?”

  I was looking at Markaris, but it was Bowles who answered. “That would be for my benefit. Howie’s got a thing about protecting me, especially from my own blind spots.”

  “What blind spot would that be?” I said.

  “I told Howie it was foolish to think you’d pack up your kit and go home because somebody got into your office. Hell, just the opposite. It would only make you more determined.” He studied me for a moment. “You remind me a lot of your mother. Same smile and around the eyes. All those years gone by and I still remember. She never gave up on anything either. Always stuck to her guns.” He looked down. “Sorry. Bad choice of words.”

  “It sounds like you knew her pretty well,” I said.

  He kept looking at the floor. “Your mother and I had a very special relationship.”

  Scottie’s eyes flicked wide; he started to twitch. I felt the color come into my face.

  Bowles glanced up and waved his hands. “Damn, I’ve got mud for brains tonight. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. There was nothing personal between your mother and me.”

  “Then what was special?” I said.

  “The way I trusted her. There have only been a few people I’ve felt that way about. Howie’s one of them.”

  Markaris, as old a hand as he was, glowed under the praise.

  Bowles went on, “Your mother could spot a design flaw a mile off. I couldn’t count the number of times I looked over a set of plans and something didn’t seem right to me. I’d show it to your mother—that little desk she worked at outside the file room—and in no time she’d shake her head. ‘No way, Ned. This won’t work.’ And she’d know exactly what was wrong. The design people, our best scientists, called her ‘The Naysayer.’ That may sound bad, but if you’re a company trying to grow in a competitive field, the people who keep you from wasting money and time are the most important people of all. Your mother wouldn’t back down, either. She’d go toe-to-toe with a room full of PhDs and win every time.”

  “But you kept her as a technical writer? No promotion?”

  “She knew how important she was to me.” He gave a shake of his head, realizing how that seemed, revealing a bit of his arrogance. “We took care of her with a nice bonus check every year.”

  “Then it must have been hard to fire her,” I said.

  He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “I’ve had three wives. I’ve been through the rough patches that come with raising four kids. But what happened with your mother was one of the real low points in my life. She was somebody I counted on. I never imagined we’d lose her the way we did.”

  “You didn’t lose her. You got rid of her.”

  My voice was starting to get a sharp edge, so I actually was glad when Scottie spoke up. “Lois McGuin said Denise took some plans she wasn’t supposed to. What happened with that?”

  A rap came at the door and Markaris went to get it.

  “You want the details?” Bowles waited for me to nod. “That day, I was in my office, and I got a call from one of the security staff. He was at your house and said he’d found the plans—blue cover, they were only to be used on premises. Your mother wouldn’t say why she had them. I told them to bring her in so I could talk to her. I remember laughing at the phone after I hung up because I was sure there’d be some silly explanation.”

  Markaris came back and sat down. “The link will be ready in ten minutes. You’ll need to finish getting ready.”

  Bowles held up his hand to show he understood. “Half an hour later she was in my office. When I asked her what she was doing with the files, she said she couldn’t tell me. ‘Trust me, Ned. It’ll work out better that way.’ I didn’t know what that meant, so I press
ed her, and she kept giving me the same line. ‘It’s better for everybody if you forget about it for now.’ I got . . .” He gave a sigh. “I got angry. I yelled at her some, enough to make her cry. I told her she was damned close to getting fired.”

  He looked at me for the first time in a while. “Like I said, she was stubborn. And I could have trusted her, just let it drop even though the whole thing seemed crazy to me. But one of the security men had stayed behind to search the rest of your house. He found a stack of photographs. Your mother had taken detailed pictures of every page of those blue-flagged plans. I could only read that one way. She was going to return the plans to the file room, so no one would be the wiser. Then she’d have the photos to use.”

  “Use—you mean sell,” I said.

  “That’s all I could figure, and she wouldn’t explain it. I told her to get out. Security took her to her desk, and she got her things and went home.”

  “If she was going to sell the plans, did you ever find out who the buyer was?” I said.

  Markaris answered. He was restless now, trying to hurry things along. “We hired an investigator. He spent weeks on it but didn’t turn anything up.”

  I looked back at Bowles. “Was that the last time you saw her—that day at your office?”

  He said, “A few weeks after that, a Saturday, she caught up with me in the office parking lot. She said we had to talk, away from there. I’d had enough, to tell you the truth. I told her to leave and not come back. One of the security guards took her away.”

  He hung his head and played with his wedding band. “The last time I saw her was early September. She came to my house. It was early in the morning, and she looked like she hadn’t slept in days. She . . . she begged me to let her come back to work. She said she would never do anything to hurt the company or me. She didn’t mention the files, though. No explanation.”

  “What did you do?” I said.

  “I’d already called the police as soon as I saw her outside. I called them again and told them to hurry.”

  He looked at me, searching my face. “I still feel terrible about it. That last time I saw her, if I’d just let her talk herself out. If I’d helped her get a new job. If I’d done any of a hundred things. You were too young to remember, but I had your family over for dinner once. I liked your dad. We had a great talk. I shot baskets with your brothers.” Bowles stared into the fireplace, and his voice drifted down to almost nothing. “I wish there was some way . . .”

  Markaris glanced at his watch. “Ned, we need to wrap this up.”

  Scottie had been twitching in his chair, and he started to say something. I warned him off with a quick look.

  Bowles sat up, laughing dryly. “There never seems to be time to do things right. Twenty-five years ago, I was too busy to deal with what happened. I pushed it out of the way. What I should have done is kept an eye on you, given you some help. I owed your mother that much.”

  “I’ve had help where I needed it,” I said. “I’ve done OK.”

  “So Howie tells me. Your practice is doing well. I’ll bet you could help a few of those folks out there.” He pointed his thumb toward the outdoors. “Money and power—sometimes they’re more burden than benefit.”

  Markaris stood, and so did the rest of us. Bowles shook my hand and turned to shake Scottie’s.

  “There’s something I was wondering,” Scottie said. “What were the plans she took?”

  “Digital—” Bowles half caught himself and smiled. “A high resolution digital camera.”

  Scottie seemed surprised. “Back then, that would have been real cutting edge.”

  Bowles shrugged awkwardly. Modesty didn’t fit him well.

  Carl, the guard, opened the door. “The link is up. They’re waiting on the other end.”

  “Just one more question,” Scottie said.

  I beamed him a stare. Damn it, don’t push.

  “Do you know who came to the house the night we were shot?”

  Bowles frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  “Ned, you need to get ready now,” Markaris broke in. He motioned us toward the door.

  “The night we were all shot,” Scottie said. “Somebody came to the Oakes’s house. Do you know who it was?”

  Bowles caught on now. His eyes flared, unsure of himself. Then he righted the ship, and he pumped Scottie’s hand once. “No. I don’t know anything about that.”

  He turned to me. “It was good to finally meet you, Cal. Why don’t you two stay for the party? Enjoy yourselves.”

  “That’s a nice offer,” I said. “Maybe we can talk some more.”

  “I’d like that.”

  Bowles was drifting toward the bedroom, and Markaris had moved to the door. He opened it and said a few words to Carl. Then he all but shoved Scottie and me into the hallway.

  Carl led us down the stairs and out through the service kitchen. We passed the main portico and could see the patio where the guests were. Behind the fountains, the cypress trees with their planters had been rolled out of the way, revealing a thirty-foot-tall movie screen. Technicians were making adjustments to the lighting and wiring.

  Scottie stepped forward, and Carl blocked him with his arm. “No,” was all he said.

  “Mr. Bowles said we could go to the party.”

  “No room at the tables,” Carl said. “All seats are preassigned.” He shrugged pleasantly. “Mr. Bowles likes to be polite, but planning isn’t his thing.”

  At that moment people turned and looked up at the second-floor balcony. Ned Bowles appeared and gave a full-arm wave. “Is this thing on?” He tapped his chest, and hidden speakers around the patio gave a muffled thud thud. “Welcome everybody. I hope you’ve brought your appetites.” A titter ran through the crowd. “We’ve got prime rib from Japan and pit-roasted pork.” He paused for emphasis. “And we’ve got a surprise for you.”

  Bowles pointed across the patio. “Ladies and gentlemen, your friend and mine.”

  The movie screen flickered and popped to life, a beaming close-up of the President.

  “Ned, you ol’ hound,” the President’s Wyoming drawl boomed through the speakers. “And everybody else—how y’all doin’?”

  The crowd broke into sustained applause. Carl clapped along with them.

  “Hey, sweetie,” the President said, “come on in here.” The first lady appeared next to him, giving her trademark Kewpie-doll wave. “I hear it’s a beautiful evening out there in the country.” He tugged his bow tie. “And I’ve got to wear this monkey suit to keep our Kiwi friends happy.”

  Everyone laughed.

  “Seriously, I wanted to thank all of you for the help you’ve given us—and will continue to give us.” More laughter. “I hope to see every one of you at the inauguration party next January.”

  He raised a glass that looked like champagne. The first lady had one too. All the guests on the patio scrambled to find theirs. “Ned?” said the President.

  “Yes sir,” Bowles replied. He lifted his own flute. “To the inauguration!”

  Everyone drank, and the picture on the screen dissolved, pixel by pixel.

  Bowles let the crowd begin to murmur then tapped his microphone again. “OK, you know what comes next. Checkbooks out!” There were light chuckles and a few groans. “Come on,” he said. “You didn’t expect to get away with five thousand a plate, did you?”

  Carl turned to us. “Unless you’re going to make a contribution—” He motioned down the long driveway.

  “No ride this time?” I said.

  Carl continued to smile. “Apparently not.”

  THIRTY-SIX

  The two guards had retreated to the polo field where they kept an eye on us as we walked by. My car was the only one in the turnaround. As we walked up, Scottie said, “Are you going to yell at me?”

  “Why?”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have asked those questions, especially about somebody being at the house that night. I didn’t want to let them off . . . y
ou know.”

  “Without throwing that in their faces?”

  “I guess that’s it.” He gave me a hangdog glance.

  “I’m not going to yell at you. I would’ve asked the same things, just not then, not that way.”

  “It’s OK then?”

  “Sure. I doubt we’ll talk to Bowles again, but I don’t think that was the end of it.”

  A rumbling sound came from behind us, and we turned. “See what I mean?”

  Howard Markaris lurched out of the driveway on the golf cart and barreled down the road. He skidded to a stop in a cloud of dust.

  “I’m glad I caught you two.” He climbed out. “I’m sorry about the party. Ned means well, but he’s not—”

  “A planning guy,” I said. “We heard.”

  “Glad you understand. I wanted to thank you for coming. Honestly, I didn’t feel it was a good idea, dredging all that stuff up about your mother. But Ned’s OK with it. He wanted to get some things off his chest, and you were the best one to talk to. You too, Scott. Can I call you Scott?”

  Scottie shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

  Markaris looked at me. “There was a favor I wanted to ask. Well, it’s Ned really. That man I said hello to on the way in tonight—Til Seagal. His daughter is seventeen, a student at Sidwell in DC. She’s had problems for a while now, depression, some drug issues. We were hoping you could take her on as a patient.”

  “My schedule is kind of tight right now,” I said.

  “It would mean a lot to Til. Ned, too. He’s Elyse’s godfather.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” I said.

  Markaris smiled. “Great. I’ll have her father call you next week. And don’t be afraid to charge the full load. Til can afford it.”