Tarnished Image (19 page)

“Your heart is right.” David rose to his feet, walked to Kristen, and held out his hand. She took it and stood. He drew her close. The perfume of her hair was inviting, comforting. He kissed her on top of the head and held her tight. “I will prove my innocence to you. Somehow, some way. I need more than your tolerance, I need your belief.”

“I … I can’t give that to you. Not after what I’ve seen. I’ll stand with you, help you, continue to love you. But that’s all I can do right now.”

His heart fell and shattered like crystal on concrete. Of all the things that happened in the last twenty-four hours, this was the worst. A portion of David’s soul began to die.

Allowing herself to be embraced, she buried her face in his chest and wept softly. An empty sadness filled David, but only for a moment. Soon the sadness was replaced by boiling
anger. Her pain set off a complex set of emotions in him that included an enormous flood of fury and resolve.

I don’t know who’s doing this
, David thought,
but they just crossed the wrong man.

Punta Gorda, Belize, Central America

B
EU
R
IBE PUSHED THE DUSTY RAG ALONG THE TOP OF THE
battered wooden pew. Back and forth she dragged the cloth, rubbing the worn varnish as she had done every week for the last fifteen years. She looked at her hand. Its color was dark, a tribute to her mother’s Mayan blood. The skin was rough, chapped, and wrinkled from her sixty-two years of hard and impoverished life. It trembled slightly.

She continued to work down the long pew. Already this afternoon she had cleaned twenty-two pews and had only four more to go. Then she would sweep the bare stone floor. It was her ministry, her way of contributing to her church. With no money to put in the offering box, she contented herself with a physical contribution. Besides, Father Donovan had more important things to do than clean the chapel. It was a work she enjoyed.

Today, however, she did not feel like sweeping the floor, or even finishing the dusting. She was sore. Her muscles ached, and her joints protested each movement, no matter how small.

Halfway along the pew, Beu stopped and sat down. Her chest heaved with each inhalation, and she felt hot. Looking at her hands, she saw that the tremors had intensified.

I must have the flu
, she thought to herself. Slowly she leaned forward and rested her arms and head on the back of the wood bench in front of her. Her mouth was dry, and her eyes were beginning to ache.

“Are you all right?” a kind and soft voice asked.

Beu looked up and saw Father Donovan standing at the front of the church. “I may be ill, Father.”

He walked over to her. “What is it? Are you sick to your stomach?”

“Somewhat,” she answered weakly. “I’m tired, and my bones hurt.”

“Is it your heart?” the worried priest asked.

Beu slowly shook her head. “My heart feels fine, Father. I’ll be better in a minute, then I can finish.”

“You are finished right now,” he said firmly. “If I let anything happen to you, the congregation will hang me by my ears from the nearest palm tree.”

A weak smile crossed Beu’s face. She knew the priest was trying to cheer her. “Perhaps … perhaps I should go home.”

Father Donovan touched the back of his hand to her forehead. “You’re burning up.”

“I feel cold.”

“You have a fever. I’m taking you to the clinic.”

“No,” she protested weakly. “My grandchildren—”

“Are old enough to take care of themselves for a few hours. I’m taking you to the clinic.”

“I have no money,” she said.

The priest shook his head. “The clinic is operated by an American company. They do not charge their patients. Let me help you up.”

With strength spawned from unshakable character more
than physical capacity, Beu stood and, aided by Father Donovan, walked from the church, the dust rag still in her hand.

“What’s wrong with her?” the priest asked the young woman doctor. She was small with shiny ebony skin.

Before answering, she placed both hands into the side pockets of her white smock and gazed down at the nearly delirious Beu Ribe. She shook her head. “I will run some blood tests, but I’m afraid it may be serious. We’ve had five other cases like this over the last three days, and we think there may be more on the way. We also have a clinic in the north at Orange Walk, and they have been reporting the same thing. It seems to get worse each year.”

“What, doctor?” the priest asked. “What gets worse?”

“Dengue hemorrhagic fever,” she answered flatly. “There are always a number of cases of dengue fever, and those are seldom serious. When a patient is infected again, however, they sometimes develop the hemorrhagic form. It can be deadly.”

The doctor turned away from the bed and walked the corridor formed by the rows of beds on opposite walls. Father Donovan followed. “The disease is caused by a virus that is carried by mosquitoes. The insect feeds on an infected person and then transmits the virus to others when it feeds again. The mosquito—
Aedes aegypti
it’s called—is common in tropic lands like this one. It’s a day-feeding insect and very prolific.

“The government,” she went on, “has done its best to eradicate the mosquito, but it’s nearly impossible. It can breed almost anywhere as long as there is standing water. Coffee cans, old discarded tires, it doesn’t matter. If there is standing water, then the insect can breed.”

“I’m familiar with the disease, but I thought it struck mostly children.”

“That’s true normally. It’s also what concerns us most.” The two walked from the ward into a small reception area and then outside. The setting sun hovered over the western jungle. “We know of four major strains of the disease, but this appears different. It may be a new strain. Every year there are tens of millions of cases worldwide, most of them involving children. More than one hundred tropical and subtropical countries have experienced a dengue outbreak. That’s for a normal year. Statistically, over two-fifths of the world’s population is at risk.”

“This new virus is worse?” the priest inquired.

“Much worse,” the doctor answered. “It has a short incubation time and advances to a dangerous level in the body quickly. The mortality rate is very high.”

The priest nodded solemnly. “Perhaps I should remind my congregation about this. They could check their property for standing water and maybe protect themselves.”

“That is a good and wise idea,” the doctor said.

“Is there anything else I can do?”

The doctor studied the priest for a moment. “I’m sure they would appreciate your prayers and visits.”

“I will do that. Is there anything I can do for Beu Ribe?”

The doctor shook her head sadly. Father Donovan knew that the only thing he could offer the faithful Beu now was last rites.

David was the last one to walk into the large conference room. As he did, the idle chatter that had filled the cavernous space quickly died. Seated around the table were the six directors of
the board and the heads of each department in Barringston Relief. All eyes turned to him. David, however, directed his gaze to the end of the table where he, as president and CEO of the organization, always sat. Seated in his spot was Bob Connick.

“I didn’t expect you to be here,” Connick said, standing to his feet.

“So I see,” David answered flatly as he walked to his seat and waited for Connick to step aside. It was clear to David that Connick was disappointed with his presence. Gathering his notebook and papers, Connick yielded the spot and took a place at the other end of the table. David stood in front of his chair and took in the expressions of the others in the room. Some looked embarrassed, others concerned, many confused. To his right was seated Archibald Barringston, who offered the only smile. Halfway down and to his left sat Kristen, her face drawn and weary.

“I know,” David began, “that my presence here is a surprise. Thanks to Mr. Barringston’s kindness, I was released on bail earlier today. Since then, I’ve been doing my best to get back on track.”

David set a leather notebook down on the table and opened it. “You are all here because of a memo sent by our CFO, Bob Connick. I believe he was right in calling the meeting. I am, however, not willing to relinquish my position. I wish to make something clear to each of you. I am not guilty of the charges brought against me. You have each received a video that ostensibly shows me dealing with known criminals and discussing certain illegal activities. That video also shows me”—he paused, looking for the right word— “cavorting with a young woman. The video is a lie. You are probably saying to yourselves, ‘But I saw it with my own
eyes.’ What you saw was a contrivance. I’m not sure how, or what the purpose of the video is, but I will find out. I will prove my innocence to you and the world.”

Bob Connick cleared his throat, “David, I’m sure that each of us feels—”

David quickly raised his hand, cutting off the CFO. “I’m not finished, Bob.” Tension filled the room. “Some things must be made clear from the outset. I have no plans to step down from my position or to assign it to another. That would be an act of a guilty man. I hope you will support this. You, of course, have the power to remove me from my office. If that is your intent, then let’s get to it. As moderator of this meeting, I ask if there is anyone here who wishes to make a motion that I be relieved of my duties?”

David stood silent and waited. Purposefully he made eye contact with each person in the room, giving each an opportunity to speak. Lastly, he looked directly at Bob Connick and waited. The silence became heavier, thicker.

“All right, then,” David finally said. “It appears that a motion is not forthcoming. That means we can get down to business.” David took his seat. “Let me bring you up to speed. Mr. Barringston has posted a two-million-dollar bail for my release. I understand that money came from his personal funds. Is that correct Mr. Barringston?”

“It is,” Barringston replied firmly. “No monies from Barringston Industries were used. And since I do not have the authority to use Barringston Relief monies, I invested my own.”

Looking at the old man, David felt a strong sense of kinship. Barringston was going the extra mile for him. Even the word
invested was
his way of showing support for David.

“Thank you, Mr. Barringston. Your confidence in me means a great deal.”

Barringston offered only a slight nod.

“It addition,” David said to the group, “an attorney has been chosen and is now working on the matter. After a preliminary review, he has told me of his belief in my innocence. All I can ask of you is that you withhold judgment until the matter is settled.”

Several in the group nodded.

“I have also instructed our legal department to begin the necessary work to release the freeze on our assets. This will take a court injunction and will most likely fail, but we’re pursuing it anyway. The Justice Department has a job to do, but so do we. I intend for us to carry out our plans. Each of you will be kept informed. Nothing will be held back from you.

“Also,” David continued, “I want you to feel free to come and talk to me at any time. Get me out of bed if you have to, but don’t hesitate. You have questions. That’s normal. I will be as open as anyone can.”

David paused. He felt weary, worn. He struggled to sit straight, shoulders back, head held high. He wanted to project an image of confidence and control. The board and the department heads needed to see a man with his hands tightly on the reins of the organization. They didn’t need to see the truth. Inside, David was awash with emotions as turbulent as the ocean in a storm, and he feared that his veneer might crack and reveal his inner turmoil.

“Seated around this table,” he said, “are the best business people in the country. You are here because of a commitment to make a difference in the world. None of that has changed.
Our task is the same. We will not surrender that because of this … event.”

David paused, then asked, “Is there any comment?”

“Yes,” Barringston said. All eyes turned to him. Age had diminished his physical stature, but his intellect, experience, and reputation made him a giant in the eyes of the others. “Unity is paramount here. The world must not see a divided organization. Such division would imply guilt and uncertainty. Either would undermine the work. Everything we say and do will be scrutinized by our employees and the media. I think we need to agree here and now that all media comments go through the public relations office and only that office. We also need to show unity in front of the other Barringston workers. If you can’t do that, now is the time to speak up.” Barringston turned to face Connick. The old man’s gaze carried the unspoken message.