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“What is it?” Kristen asked.

“I’m just the deliveryman,” Aldo said with a grin.

“I guess you wouldn’t know, would you?” Kristen said. “Is that other package for me?”

“No, ma’am,” he replied as he tucked the other parcel under his arm and held out a clipboard with paper on it that contained several signatures. “If you would just sign here.”

Kristen took the clipboard, looked at it for a moment, shrugged, and signed her name. “There you go,” she said, handing the clipboard back and taking the small package from Aldo’s outstretched hand.

“Just one more thing,” he said sheepishly. “Is there a rest room on this floor?”

“Yes,” Kristen replied. “Just go back down the hall. It will be on the right, near the elevators.”

“Thanks,” he said and quickly left the office with the other package still under his arm. A short time later, Aldo Goldoni exited the rest room empty-handed.

Kristen leaned forward over her desk, resting her elbows on the smooth wood surface, and rubbed the back of her neck with her hands. The muscles in her neck and back were hard and tight from tension. She took in a long, measured breath, held it, and slowly released it in a whisper of exhalation. She tried to make sense of everything.

David’s arrest had changed her orderly, systematic world into immediate chaos. Her desk was cluttered with messages and requests from news media, department heads, and others who wanted to know more. The problem was that she knew nothing more than some stranger in a coffee shop down the street.

It was Timmy who had alerted her to David’s arrest. He had burst into her office in tears, his eyes and face red from fear and frustration. “They’re taking him away!” he had shouted.

“Who?”

“The men. The policemen.”

“What?”

“They’re taking him away,” Timmy had cried again.

By the time Kristen had made her way to David’s office, he was gone. Only Ava remained, standing in shocked stillness at what she had witnessed. In telling the story to Kristen, Ava broke into tears. Timmy joined in the weeping. Only Kristen remained dry-eyed, not for lack of concern, but because her mind was racing to understand all that had happened and to discern what needed to be done. Still, the news made her feel weak, and her stomach hurt as if she had been seized by some vicious flu.

Now she was dealing with the early fallout. As the public relations director, it was her job to field all calls from the press. There had been scores of them. She gave them each the same answer: “We at Barringston Relief have no comment at this time.”

It was a bad situation made all the worse by the familial nature of Barringston Relief. Unlike the corporate world that was divided into owners, managers, and workers, Barringston Relief was more like a family. While there were too
many people for anyone to know everyone, there was still a closeness knit from the nature of the work. Any Barringston employee arrested would adversely affect all the others. In David’s case, that truth was even more potent, especially for Kristen.

She had fallen in love with David nearly two years ago when they had traveled to Africa to tour the famine areas. It had been a slow and halting relationship. David was fresh from his unwanted, unsolicited divorce. David had been crushed. By his own admission he had lost all motivation and direction, causing him to resign the church where he had been pastor for fifteen years. Even after coming to Barringston Relief as a speechwriter for A.J., he had been slow in coming out of his shell.

It was in Ethiopia that he had found his catharsis. Daily faced with death and seeing the heroic struggle of the famine stricken and the unrelenting drive of the relief workers, David had regained perspective. He had found himself and his God again. He was a changed person.

Kristen had fallen in love with that new man.

The relationship had moved forward slowly, which was fine with Kristen. She was in no hurry to force it to a new level. She knew that such things did best when they were left to grow like a flower—provide the water and food it needs, and the flower will blossom. So would their relationship.

It was their emotional connection that made all this so hard. Not only was David the new head of Barringston Relief, but he was the one she loved. Detachment was impossible. She wanted to scream at the media, letting them know that this was all a huge mistake, a monumental blunder. David could not be found culpable for any crime. Yet she had to
remain professional in tone and in action. So she responded to the questions evenly, professionally, and without visible emotion. Inside, however, her heart twisted and burned like lava in the crater of a volcano.

Leaning back in her chair, Kristen rubbed her weary eyes. She had wanted to run to David’s side, to hop in her car, and to race to the jail, but she knew it would be futile. They would never let her see him. Not now, not yet. To confirm this she had called the firm’s legal department. They told her what she already knew. There was nothing for her to do but wait and carry out her duties.

Opening her eyes, she looked at her cluttered desk. Normally she was tidy to a fault. David had jokingly accused her of being able to organize an anthill. Spread across the top of her desk were message slips, a pad of paper, and several files. There was also the package the delivery man had brought.

He had struck her as odd, although she couldn’t put her finger on it. He was pleasant enough and reasonably attractive, but not very tall. In fact, she doubted that he was much taller than she. Normally, the delivery men just left the packages in the lobby. It was unusual for one to come right to her office.

What was that package anyway?

She picked up the parcel and studied it. It had no return address, just her name and the Barringston Tower address. The package itself was light and had a familiar feel to it, an everyday weight and shape. Peeling back the brown paper, she discovered a videotape. There was no label. The cassette was plain, black plastic, just like hundreds she had seen before.

Curious, she stood and walked to the TV/VCR monitor across from her desk and inserted the tape. After turning on the TV, she activated the play button. The tape began to run.

Walking back to her chair, Kristen watched as the snow on the screen became a cobalt blue and was replaced by an image of three men seated around a table. Using the remote she had brought back to the desk with her, she turned up the volume. There was no sound. The tape had no audio. Still, the drama was clear enough. She watched with sickening fascination as the man she loved plotted with the other two men and then allowed himself to be kissed passionately by a beautiful woman.

Mesmerized by the scene that played out before her, Kristen failed at first to notice the tears streaming from her eyes.

The setting sun glistened off the distant ocean draping pearls of reflection along its undulating surface. The sky was changing from blue to gray as the marine layer of clouds slowly rolled in. Elaine Aberdene turned from the window of the twenty-second floor of the Aberdene Pharmaceuticals building, leaving behind the beautiful seascape of La Jolla. She faced the two men with her in the plush office. A television played silently from its perch in a black enamel entertainment center. A news anchorman was speaking, but no words were heard. The sound had been muted after the lead story had aired. At the moment she cared about nothing else.

“So it’s all working?” she asked. She carried a clear, round glass sphere the size of a baseball in her hand. The paperweight had been a gift of a one-time suitor. Embedded in the glass was a single, delicate mosquito.

“Perfectly,” Jack LaBohm said, rubbing his chin. “Just as planned.”

“The media seem to have taken to it,” Aberdene said. “At least they believe it.”

“The media will believe anything,” Archer Matthews croaked with disgust.

“And you’re convinced that they’ll discover nothing?” Aberdene asked firmly, ignoring for the moment Archer’s impertinence.

“There’s nothing
to
find,” Archer boasted. “There are no tracks to follow, no clues to pick up. I delivered perfection, just as you ordered.”

“And am I not making it worthwhile for you?” Aberdene demanded.

Archer nodded solemnly. “Yeah, you are.”

Turning to Jack she pressed for more information. “What about that little Italian man …”

“Aldo Goldoni,” Jack offered.

“Goldoni,” Aberdene said softly as if she were rolling the name around on her tongue. “He’s in place? He’s working out?”

“He comes highly recommended,” Jack said with a broad grin. “Very professional.”

“I don’t think I want to know who or what recommended him, do I, Jack?” Aberdene asked.

“Probably not.”

“Can I go now?” Archer asked with a whine. “I’ve been working twenty hours a day for weeks. I’m beat.”

“In a few minutes,” Aberdene said, brushing aside a wisp of mahogany hair from her forehead. “How are you coming on the other project?”

“You don’t need it,” Archer answered. “This one’s good enough. It’s foolproof.”

Aberdene narrowed her eyes and stared at the anemic looking man who sat on her leather couch. “I didn’t ask for
your opinion,” she said strongly. “I want to know the progress of the other project.”

Archer crossed his arms and sat in silence.

“Maybe you should ask the question, Jack.”

Jack smiled and took two steps toward the seated man.

“OK, OK.” Archer threw his arms in the air. “It’s going great. I’m right on schedule. Two, three days tops, and then I’ll be done.”

“You told me you’d be done tonight,” Jack shot back.

“You think this is easy? You think anyone can do this? If you want fast, you’ll get mistakes. You choose.”

“Two days,” Aberdene commanded. “That’s all you get. I don’t want anything to mess this up. There’s too much at stake here.”

“If anything gets messed up, it won’t be from me,” Archer proclaimed. “Just give me time to do my job and get a little sleep, and you’ll have more than you wanted.”

“Just remember the schedule,” Aberdene said. “You need me. Remember that too. You need me.”

“And you need me,” Archer countered. “That’s the deal, isn’t it? I do what you want, and you give me what I need. It’s a business deal. Just stop treating me like a slave. I’m a professional. I’m the best there is at what I do.”

“That’s why you’re here, little man,” Jack chimed in.

“And why are you here—
big
man?”

Jack started toward Archer again but was cut off by Aberdene.

“That’s enough, boys. I’m not impressed with all this macho stuff.” Walking over to her gray-and-white desk, Aberdene set the glass paperweight down. “You can go now, Archer. Get a good night’s sleep, but be on the job early tomorrow. Got it?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, standing to his feet and walking to the office door. “I got it all right.” He closed the door behind him.

“Are you sure he’s trustworthy?” Jack asked, his eyes still fixed on the door.

“He’s safe. I have what he needs. I have his life in my hands, and he knows it. He’ll do what I tell him to do or he will pay the consequences.”

“He’s awful full of himself, isn’t he?”

“Creative people usually are, Jack. Now leave him alone.”

Jack frowned. “So what now?”

“Watch and wait for the moment. We’ve evaluated all the possible scenarios. We’re ready to respond to their next step.”

“Plan the work and work the plan. Is that it?”

“That’s it. Soon all that will be left of Barringston Relief will be a vague memory.”

“Perhaps we should pop some champagne.”

“Not until it’s over—completely over.”

“When will that be?’

“When I say it’s over and not before.” Aberdene returned to the desk, picked up the paperweight, raised it to her eyes, and studied the winged insect entombed in the glass. A grin, dark and amoral, spread across her face. “And it will be over soon.”