Bloodline (16 page)

Ivo threw up his hands helplessly. “Can’t anyone talk logic into her?”

Rhys turned to Elizabeth and smiled. “I think everyone’s going to have to go along with whatever the lady wants to do.

“Thank you, Rhys.” Elizabeth looked at the others. “There’s one thing more. Since I’m taking my father’s place, I think it would be best to make it official.”

Charles stared at her. “You mean—you want to become president?”

“In effect,” Alec reminded him dryly, “Elizabeth is already president. She’s merely showing us the
courtesy of letting us handle the situation gracefully.”

Charles hesitated, then said, “All right. I move that Elizabeth Roffe be nominated president of Roffe and Sons.”

“I second the motion.” Walther.

The motion was carried.

It was such a bad time for presidents,
he thought sadly.
So many were being assassinated.

No one was more aware than Elizabeth of the enormous responsibility she had assumed. As long as she was running the company, the jobs of thousands of people depended upon her. She needed help, but she had no idea whom she could trust Alec and Rhys and Ivo were the ones she most wanted to confide in, but she was not ready yet. It was too soon. She sent for Kate Erling.

“Yes, Miss Roffe?”

Elizabeth hesitated, wondering how to begin. Kate Erling had worked for Elizabeth’s father for many years. She would have a sense of the undercurrents that flowed beneath the deceptively calm surface. She would know about the inner workings of the company, about Sam Roffe’s feelings, his plans. Kate Erling would make a strong ally.

Elizabeth said, “My father was having some kind of confidential report drawn up for him, Kate. Do you know anything about it?”

Kate Erling frowned in concentration, then shook her head. “He never discussed it with me, Miss Roffe.”

Elizabeth tried another approach. “If my father
had wanted a confidential investigation, to whom would he have gone?”

This time the answer was unhesitating. “Our security division.”

The last place Sam would have gone.
“Thank you,” Elizabeth said.

There was no one she could talk to.

There was a current financial report on her desk. Elizabeth read it with growing dismay, and then sent for the company comptroller. His name was Wilton Kraus. He was younger than Elizabeth had expected. Bright, eager, an air of faint superiority. The Wharton School, she decided, or perhaps Harvard.

Elizabeth began without preamble. “How can a company like Roffe and Sons be in financial difficulty?”

Kraus looked at her and shrugged. He was obviously not used to reporting to a woman. He said condescendingly, “Well, putting it in words of one syllable—”

“Let’s begin with the fact,” Elizabeth said curtly, “that up until two years ago Roffe and Sons had always done its own capital financing.”

She watched his expression change, trying to adjust “Well—yes, ma’am.”

“Then why are we so heavily indebted to banks now?”

He swallowed and said, “A few years ago, we went through a period of unusually heavy expansion. Your father and the other members of the board felt that it would be wise to raise that money by borrowing from banks on short-term loans. We have current net commitments to various banks
for six hundred and fifty million dollars. Some of those loans are now due.”

“Overdue,” Elizabeth corrected him.

“Yes, ma’am. Overdue.”

“We’re paying the prime rate, plus one percent, plus penalty interest. Why haven’t we paid off the overdue loans and reduced the principal on the others?”

He was beyond surprise now. “Because of—er—certain unfortunate recent occurrences, the company’s cash-flow position is considerably less than we had anticipated. Under ordinary circumstances we would go to the banks and ask for extensions. However, with our current problems, the various litigation settlements, the write-offs in our experimental laboratory, and…” His voice trailed off.

Elizabeth sat there, studying him, wondering whose side he was on. She looked down at the balance sheets again, trying to pinpoint where things had gone wrong. The statement showed a sharp decline over the past three quarters, largely because of the heavy lawsuit payoffs listed under the column “Extraordinary Expenses (Nonrecurring).” In her mind’s eye she saw the explosion in Chile, the cloud of poisonous chemicals spouting into the air. She could hear the screams of the victims. A dozen people dead. Hundreds more taken to hospitals. And in the end all the human pain and misery had been reduced to money, to Extraordinary Expenses (Nonrecurring).

She looked up at Wilton Kraus. “According to your report, Mr. Kraus, our problems are of a temporary nature. We are Roffe and Sons. We’re still a first-class risk for any bank in the world.”

It was his turn to study her. His supercilious air was gone, but he was wary now.

“You must realize, Miss Roffe,” he began cautiously, “that a drug firm’s reputation is as important as its products.”

Who had said that to her before? Her father? Alec? She remembered. Rhys.

“Goon.”

“Our problems are becoming too well-known. The business world is a jungle. If your competitors suspect that you’ve been wounded, they move in for the kill.” He hesitated, then added, “They’re moving in for the kill.”

“In other words,” Elizabeth replied, “our competitors bank with our bankers, too.”

He gave her a brief congratulatory smile. “Exactly. The banks have a limited amount of funds to loan out. If they’re convinced that A is a better risk than B—”

“And
do
they think that?”

He ran his fingers through his hair, nervously. “Since your father’s death I’ve had several calls from Herr Julius Badrutt. He heads up the banking consortium we’re dealing with.”

“What did Herr Badrutt want?” She knew what was coming.

“He wanted to know who was going to be the new president of Roffe and Sons.”

“Do you know who the new president is?” Elizabeth asked.

“No ma’am.”

“I am.” She watched him try to conceal his surprise. “What do you think will happen when Herr Badrutt learns the news?”

“He’ll pull the plugs on us,” Wilton Kraus blurted out.

“I’ll talk to him,” Elizabeth said. She leaned back in her chair and smiled. “Would you care for some coffee?”

“Why that’s—that’s very kind of you. Yes, thank you.”

Elizabeth watched him relax. He had sensed that she had been testing him, and he felt that he had passed the test.

“I’d like your advice,” Elizabeth said. “If you were in my position, Mr. Kraus, what would you do?”

That faintly patronizing air was back. “Well,” he said confidently, “that’s very simple. Roffe and Sons has enormous assets. If we sold off a substantial block of stock to the public, we could easily raise more than enough money to satisfy all our bank loans.”

She knew now whose side he was on.

Hamburg.

Friday, October 1.

Two a.m.

The wind was blowing from the sea, and the early-morning air was chill and damp. In the Reeperbahn section of Hamburg the streets were crowded with visitors eager to experience the forbidden pleasures of the city of sin. The Reeperbahn catered to all tastes impartially. Drinks, drugs, girls or boys—they were all available at a price.

The garishly lighted hostess bars were on the main street, while the Grosse Freiheit featured the lewd strip shows. The Herbertstrasse, one block away, was for pedestrians only, and both sides of the street were lined with prostitutes sitting in the windows of their flats, displaying their wares through flimsy soiled nightgowns that concealed nothing. The Reeperbahn was a vast market, a human butcher shop, where you could select any piece of meat you could afford to pay for. For the straitlaced there was simple sex, missionary style; for those
who enjoyed a bit of variety there was cunnilingus and analingus and sodomy. On the Reeperbahn you could buy a twelve-year-old boy or girl, or get into bed with a mother and daughter. If you tastes ran that way, you could watch a woman being serviced by a Great Dane, or get yourself whipped until you achieved orgasm. You could hire a toothless crone to perform fellatio on you in a busy alley or buy yourself an orgy in an elaborately mirrorer bedroom with as many girls or boys as your libido required. The Reeperbahn prided itself on having something for everyone. Younger whores in short skirts and tight-fitting blouses cruised the pavements, propositioning men, women and couples impartially.

The cameraman walked down the street slowly, the target for a dozen girls and brightly rouged boys. He ignored them all until he came to a girl who looked to be no more than eighteen. She had blond hair. She was leaning against a wall, talking to a girl friend. She turned as the man approached, and smiled. “Would you like a party,
liebchen?
My friend and I will show you a good time.”

The man studied the girl and said, “Just you.”

The other girl shrugged and moved off.

“What’s your name?”

“Hildy.”

“Would you like to be in the movies, Hildy?” the cameraman asked.

The young girl studied him with cold eyes.
“Herr-gott!
You’re not going to give that old Hollywood
Scheiss?”

He smiled reassuringly. “No, no. This is a genuine offer. It’s a porno film. I make them for a friend of mine.”

“It will cost you five hundred marks. In advance.”

“Gut.”

She regretted instantly that she had not asked for more. Well, she would find some way to get a bonus out of him. “What do I have to do?” Hildy asked.

Hildy was nervous.

She lay sprawled out naked on the bed in the small, shabbily furnished apartment, watching the three people in the room, and thinking, There’s something wrong here. Her instincts had been sharpened on the streets of Berlin and Munich and Hamburg. She had learned to rely on them. There was something about these people she did not trust. She would have liked to have walked out before it started, but they had already paid her five hundred marks, and promised her another five hundred if she did a good job. She would do a good job. She was a professional and she took pride in her work. She turned to the naked man in bed beside her. He was strong and well built; his body was hairless. What bothered Hildy was his face. He was too old for this sort of film. But it was the spectator who sat quietly at the back of the room who disturbed Hildy the most. The spectator wore a long coat, a large hat and dark glasses. Hildy could not even tell if it was a man or a woman. The vibrations were bad. Hildy fingered the red ribbon tied around her neck, wondering why they had asked her to wear it. The cameraman said, “All right. We’re ready now. Action.”

The camera began whirring. Hildy had been told what to do. The man was lying on his back. Hildy went to work.

She started with a trip around the world, skillfully
using her tongue and lips on the man’s ears and neck, moving down across his chest and stomach and belly, Eghtly flicking her tongue in quick butterfly strokes against his groin and penis, then each leg, down to his toes, slowly licking each toe, watching his erection begin. She rolled him over on his stomach, and her tongue began to work its way back up his body, moving slowly, expertly, finding all the erotic crevices and sensitive areas and exploring them. The man was fully aroused now, rock-hard.

“Get inside her,” the cameraman said. The man rolled her over and was on top of her, forcing her thighs apart, his penis swollen to an enormous tumescence, and as he entered her, Hildy forgot her earlier fears. It felt wonderful.

“Shove it in me,
liebchen!”
she cried.

The man was deep, deep inside her, rocking back and forth, and Hildy started to move with him, her hips writhing in quickening spasms. In the back of the room the spectator was leaning forward, watching every movement. The girl on the bed closed her eyes.

She was spoiling it!”

“Her eyes!” the spectator shouted.

The director called out,
“Öffne die Augen!”

Startled, Hildy opened her eyes. She watched the man on top of her. He was good. It was the kind of sex she liked. Hard and thrusting. He was moving faster now, and she began to respond to him. Usually she did not have orgasms, except with her girl friend. With customers she always faked it, and they never knew the difference. But the cameraman had warned her that if she did not have an orgasm, she would not be paid the bonus. And so now she
relaxed and let herself think about all the beautiful things she was going to buy with the money, and she felt herself beginning to climax.

“Schneller!”
she cried.
“Schneller!”

Her body began to shudder.
“Ah, jetzt!”
she screamed.
Es kommt! Es kommt!”

The spectator nodded, and the cameraman cried, “Now!”

The man’s hands moved up toward the girl’s neck. His enormous fingers closed over the windpipe and squeezed. She looked up into his eyes and saw what was there, and she was filled with terror. She tried to scream, but she was unable to breathe. She fought desperately to fight free, her body jerking in great, orgiastic spasms, but he had her pinned down. There was no escape.

The spectator sat there drinking it in, feasting on it, looking into the dying girl’s eyes, watching her being punished.

The girl’s body shuddered once, and then was still.

Zurich.

Monday, October 4.

Ten a.m.

When Elizabeth arrived at her office, a sealed envelope marked “
CONFIDENTIAL
,” with her name on it, was lying on her desk. She opened it In it was a report from the chemical laboratory. It was signed “Emil Joeppli.” It was full of technical terms, and Elizabeth read it through without understanding it Then she read it again. And again. Each time more slowly. When finally she had grasped its significance, she said to Kate, “I’ll be back in an hour.” And she went to find Emil Joeppli.

He was a tall man about thirty-five, with a thin, freckled face, and a scalp that was bald except for a tonsure of bright red hair. He fidgeted uncomfortably, as though unused to having visitors in his little laboratory.

“I read your report,” Elizabeth told him. “There’s a great deal in it that I don’t understand. I wonder if you would mind explaining it to me.”

Instantly, Joeppli’s nervousness vanished. He leaned forward in his chair, sure and confident, and began to speak rapidly. “I’ve been experimenting with a method of inhibiting rapid differentiation of the collagens, by using mucopolysaccharides and enzyme blocking techniques. Collagen, of course, is the fundamental protein basis of all connective tissue.”

“Of course,” Elizabeth said.

She did not even try to understand the technical part of what Joeppli was saying. What Elizabeth did understand was that the project he was working on could retard the aging process. It was a breathtaking concept.

She sat there, silent, listening, thinking about what this could mean in terms of revolutionizing the lives of men and women all over the world. According to Joeppli, there was no reason why everyone sould not live to be a hundred, or a hundred and fifty, or even two hundred years old.

“It would not even be necessary to have injections,” Joeppli told Elizabeth. “With this formula the ingredients could be taken orally in a pill or a capsule.”

The possibilities were staggering. It would mean nothing less than a social revolution. And billions of dollars for Roffe and Sons. They would manufacture it themselves, and license it out to other companies as well. There was no one over fifty years of age who would not take a pill that would keep him or her young. It was difficult for Elizabeth to conceal her excitement.

“How far along are you on this project”

“As I wrote in my report, I’ve been doing tests with animals for the last four years. All the recent
results have been positive. It’s just about ready for testing on human beings.” She liked his enthusiasm.

“Who else knows about this?” Elizabeth asked.

“Your father knew. It’s a Red Folder project. Top security. That means that I report only to the president of the company and to one member of the board.”

Elizabeth suddenly felt chilled. “Which member?”

“Mr. Walther Gassner.”

Elizabeth was silent for a moment. “From this time on,” she said, “I want you to report directly to me. And only to me.”

Joeppli looked at her in surprise. “Yes, Miss Roffe.”

“How soon could we have this on the market?”

“If everything goes well, eighteen to twenty-four months from now.”

“Fine. If you need anything—money, extra help, equipment—let me know. I want you to move as quickly as possible.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Elizabeth rose, and instantly Emil Jeoppli jumped to his feet

“It’s a pleasure meeting you.” He smiled, and added shyly, “I liked your father.”

“Thank you,” Elizabeth said. Sam had known about this project Was that another reason he refused to sell the company?

“At the door Emil Joeppli turned to Elizabeth.

“It’s going to work on people!”

“Yes,” Elizabeth said. “Of course it will.”

It had to.

“How is a Red Folder project handled?”

Kate Erling asked, “From the beginning?”

“From the beginning.”

“Well. As you know, we have several hundred new products in various experimental stages. They—”

“Who authorizes them?”

“Up to a certain amount of money, the heads of the different departments involved,” Kate Erling said.

“What amount of money?”

“Fifty thousand dollars.”

“And after that?”

“There must be board approval. Of course, a project does not come into the Red Folder catagory until it has passed its initial tests.”

“You mean until it looks like it has a chance of being successful?” Elizabeth asked.

“That’s right.”

“How is it protected?”

“If it’s an important project, all the work is transferred to one of our high-security laboratories. All the papers are removed from the general files and put into a Red Folder file. Only three people have access to that. The scientist in charge of the project, the president of the company, and one member of the board.”

“Who decides who that member will be?” Elizabeth asked.

“Your father selected Walther Gassner.”

The moment the words were out of her mouth, Kate realized her mistake.

The two women looked at each other, and Elizabeth said, “Thank you, Kate. That will be all.”

Elizabeth had made no mention of Joeppli’s project. Yet Kate had known what Elizabeth was talking about. There were two possibilities. Either
Sam had trusted her and told her about Joeppli’s project, or she had learned about it on her own. For someone else.

This was too important to allow anything to go wrong. She would check on the security herself. And she had to speak to Walther Gassner. She reached for the telephone, then stopped. There was a better way.

Late that afternoon Elizabeth was on a commercial airliner to Berlin.

Walther Gassner was nervous.

They were seated at a corner booth in the upstairs dining room of the Papillon on the Kurfürsten-damm. Whenever Elizabeth had visited Berlin in the past, Walther had always insisted that Elizabeth have dinner at his home, with Anna and him. This time there had been no mention of that. He had suggested instead that they meet at this restaurant. And he had come without Anna.

Walther Gassner still had the clear-cut, boyish, moviestar handsomeness, but the surface gloss had begun to crack. There were lines of tension in his face, and his hands never stopped moving. He seemed to be under some extraordinary tension. When Elizabeth asked about Anna, Walther was vague. “Anna’s not feeling well. She couldn’t come.”

“Is it anything serious?”

“No, no. She’ll be fine. She’s at home, resting.”

“I’ll call her and—”

“Better not to disturb her.”

It was a puzzling conversation, totally unlike Walther, whom Elizabeth had always found so open and outgoing.

She brought up the subject of Emil Joeppli. “We
need what he’s working on very badly,” Elizabeth said.

Walther nodded. “It’s going to be big.”

“I’ve asked him not to report to you anymore,” Elizabeth told him.

Walther’s hands suddenly went very still. It was like a shout. He looked at Elizabeth and asked, “Why did you do that?”

“It has nothing to do with you, Walther. I would have done exactly the same thing with any other board member working with him. I simply want to handle this my own way.”

He nodded. “I see.” But his hands remained motionless on the table. “You have a right, of course.” He forced a smile and she could see what it was costing him. “Elizabeth,” he said, “Anna has a lot of stock in the company. She can’t sell it unless you vote yes. It’s—it’s very important. I—”

“I’m sorry, Walther, I can’t let the stock be sold now.”

His hands suddenly began to move again.