Descent from Xanadu (32 page)

“I don’t like people fucking with us,” Fast Eddie said. He took out his gold chain and vial. “Anybody care for a toot?”

“Not my thing,” Brad answered, watching the call director.

“I could use one,” Sofia said.

“Okay,” said Fast Eddie, handing the vial to her. “But be careful, there’s a hell of a wind coming down from the sunroof.”

Sofia turned her face to the corner, cupping her hands, and snorted. “Good,” she said, turning back.

Brad’s voice was excited. “I’ve tapped their channel!” He turned on the speaker.

They heard a man’s voice, heavy but crackling clearly through the static. “I’m telling you. There’s no extra woman in that car, only the black stewardess that came from the plane.”

There was another voice, but the words were unintelligible through a burst of static. The first man’s voice came on again. “I don’t know why he sent for her. Maybe he wanted her to suck his cock on the way to the plane. How do I know? Maybe he wants her to hold his hand. I told you he’s got that big bandage on his nose. Maybe he had himself a plastic lining up there. He’s a well-known cokehead.”

“Fuck him!” Fast Eddie said angrily. “Let’s blast ’em!”

Judd held up his hand. “Let’s listen.”

“Okay,” the man’s voice said. “I’m coming in. Over and out.”

The red light on the call director went out. Brad looked back through the rear window. The big white van slowed down; they saw it make a U-turn and head back to the city. “They’re gone,” Judd said with a sigh of relief.

He turned to look out the window. The van was speeding away from them. “I’ll take that toot now,” he said to Fast Eddie. “And take our toy down. But be careful.”

“I’ll be careful,” Fast Eddie said. “But you’ll never make that toot with a spoon with your nose bandaged. You’ll need a straw.”

“Screw it,” Judd said irritably. He began to take off the bandage.

“Better leave it,” Brad said quickly. “They may have some people to check us at the airport.”

***

Judd, seated at the table, remained silent while the plane took off. Sofia glanced through the window as they circled wide around the island, climbing steeply for altitude. It was late in the afternoon; the sun turned everything golden below them, even the white-capped rollers against the beaches. “Beautiful,” she said.

He looked at her. He seemed depressed and silent. The bell sounded, the seat belt signal went off. He unlocked his belt and got up. “I’m going to my cabin,” he said. “Just tell Raoul when you’re ready for dinner.”

“What about you?” she asked.

“I’m not hungry,” he said, then turned and walked through the lounge to his door. He didn’t look back at her as he went into his cabin and closed the door behind him.

Fast Eddie came from behind the bar toward her. She glanced out the window again. “Dusk is falling quickly,” she said.

“We’re flying into the night,” he said. “We’ll be landing in San Francisco at nine in the morning.”

“Is that where we get off?”

He shook his head. “No, we’re going on. But you’re getting off because we’re changing the cabin crew. The boss figures they’ll provide a good cover for you.”

He held up a large zippered leather envelope and placed it on the table before her. “Everything inside is for you,” he said. “The boss asked me to explain it to you.”

He opened the zipper and emptied the contents on the table. She looked down at it. Passport, credit cards, checkbook, driver’s license. All in her name. Marissa Evans. Even the photographs on the passport and driver’s license were of her. There was also a wallet filled with one-hundred-dollar bills.

“There’s five thousand there,” Fast Eddie said.

“Fine,” she said. “Now what do I do?”

“Simple,” he said. “The crew bus drops you in downtown San Francisco. Walk around a few blocks, enough to make sure you’re not followed. If you think you are, there’s a telephone number on the first page of your passport. Call it and leave your location. Security will pick you up. Don’t worry about it, they’ll recognize you and call you by name.”

“Mrs. Evans?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“And if they don’t or can’t?”

He put a small black .25 caliber automatic on the table. “The bullets have explosive heads. Blow the shit outta them and get the hell away from there. Then call Security again.”

“What if I can’t get away?” she asked.

“I’ve seen you in action,” he said confidently. “You’ll be okay.”

She was silent for a moment. “Then what do I do?”

“Go to a department store and buy yourself some clothes and a valise. Pay cash. Dump the stewardess uniform in a covered street trash can and go to the nearest auto rental station and get a good midsize car. Take the freeway to Los Angeles on U.S. 5. Pass all the L.A. exits until you reach the exit to Marina Del Rey. Follow that to the Marina City Club Hotel. There’ll be a reservation there for you.”

“What if I get lost?” she asked. “I know nothing about Los Angeles.”

He laughed. “Ask a policeman.”

She smiled. “How much time should the trip take?”

“Following the fifty-five-mile speed limit, seven to eight hours,” he answered. “If everything goes according to schedule, you should be on the freeway by noon. Even if you stop for gas and a bite of lunch, you should make it to the hotel between eight-thirty and nine o’clock. Have dinner in your room and wait there. We’ll contact you.”

She was silent a moment, then returned everything to the leather envelope. She looked up at him. “I think I need some help.”

He smiled. “Of course.” Then added, “But don’t do too much or you’ll never get to sleep.”

***

She remembered his advice as she stared, wide awake, in the dark of her cabin. Annoyed, she turned on the light beside her bed and sat up. She took a cigarette and lit it, drawing the smoke inside her. “Damn!” she said, blowing out the smoke.

She looked up at the wall clock. Almost three hours into the flight. She had been trying vainly to fall asleep for more than an hour. She dragged again at the cigarette and finally called the lounge on the telephone.

After a moment, a stewardess’s voice answered sleepily, “Hello?”

“Is Mr. Crane there by any chance?” she asked.

“No, Mrs. Evans,” the girl replied. “He’s never come back from his stateroom.”

“Thank you,” Sofia said, putting down the telephone. She stared at the small door that led directly to the circular staircase into Judd’s stateroom. After a moment she rose, wrapped a large bath towel around herself and went up the staircase.

She knocked at his door. “Are you awake?” she whispered.

His voice sounded like a faint echo. “Come in.”

She opened the door slowly. It took a moment until her eyes adjusted to the dim red light in the cabin. She could make out Judd seated in the lotus position in the far corner of his bed, his back toward her.

“Lie down,” he said, not turning, his voice still a curious echo.

She moved to the bed and stretched out behind him. She watched him, but he was more a shadow than a reality she could see. Gently, she touched his shoulder. “Are you all right?” she asked.

His voice was suddenly harsh. “I want to fuck you.”

She was silent.

He stood up quickly beside the bed. She stared at him. In the soft reddish light his erection seemed grotesquely immense and swollen. His voice sounded almost angry. “That is what you want, isn’t it?”

She closed her eyes, shaking her head. “No,” she whispered. But her voice was smothered as he flung himself upon her. She felt as if she were being torn apart as he entered her. Then, almost instantly, he erupted into an orgasm that triggered a cascading ejaculation. He shouted his agony, then slumped upon her, trying to catch his breath.

After a moment, she touched his face with her fingers. She felt the wet tears on his cheeks. “Judd,” she whispered.

His voice was muffled against her shoulder. “Amarinth is dead,” his voice, husky with pain, muttered. “You said she would cry. She committed suicide.”

She was silent, then slowly she pressed his face to her breast. “I’m so sorry, baby.” She wept with him. “Please, baby. Don’t hurt.”

18

She awoke in the dark and turned toward him. He was gone. She sat up and turned on the light. The wall clock read 9:30 A.M., Pacific Coast Time. She stepped from the bed to the window and raised the blinds. Sunlight poured in; she blinked her eyes.

She looked down and saw Fast Eddie walking quickly to a helicopter about a hundred yards away. She watched him enter the copter with Judd and the doors close behind them. The rotors began turning at once; a few minutes later, the craft lifted from the ground. She watched out the window until the copter disappeared from sight; then she went down the narrow private staircase to her own cabin.

She felt let down, curiously disappointed. She had become aware of something from him last night, something she had never felt before. Maybe it was only a feeling. She wasn’t sure of exactly what it was she felt—whether it was his own feeling he had transmitted to her or her own. She stepped into the shower. It had to be time for her to get started.

Raoul was waiting for her in the lounge. “Good morning, Mrs. Evans.”

“Good morning,” she said.

“You have time for breakfast if you like,” he said.

“Just coffee, thank you,” she said. He started away. She called him back. “Did Mr. Crane leave a message for me?”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Evans. None.”

“That’s okay.” She tried to smile. “I didn’t expect one.”

“But Fast Eddie left something for you,” he said.

She looked at him curiously. He handed her a small white envelope and walked toward the galley. Quickly she opened the envelope. It contained a vial of cocaine with a silver spoon, together with a little note.

She read it quickly. “Just to keep your spirits up. F.E.”

She smiled to herself and sat down to await the coffee.

***

Judd’s office in the executive building in the center of Crane City was very different from the office he had inherited from his father at world headquarters in New York. This one was simple, almost Spartan in decor, with modern furniture, mainly white and black plastic and Formica. It was a working office, not for show. Floor-to-ceiling louvers hid the room from the world beyond the windows.

He concealed his surprise when he saw Barbara, Paul Gitlin, Doc Sawyer and Merlin waiting there for him. He glanced at Merlin with faint annoyance. “I hadn’t realized I’d called a directors’ meeting.”

“I’m sorry,” Merlin said nervously. “I think it’s important.”

Judd walked behind his desk and sat down. “What’s so important?”

Merlin looked at him, then turned to Paul. “Perhaps you can explain to him, Mr. Gitlin.”

“Uncle Paul?” Judd asked.

For once, Paul did not have his usual bottle of Scotch on the table before him. “I’ll make it simple for you,” he began. “You can’t dispose of Crane Industries just as you’d like to. Its whole structure is too complicated and too interlocked. There’s no way you can unscramble the eggs.”

Judd stared at him for a time. “I own it, don’t I?” he said.

“Yes,” Paul answered. “But you have responsibilities. For example, you have certain bona fide agreements and contracts with the government. These do not allow you to dispose of any companies to parties they do not approve of under their very strict security provisions. For starters, these include Crane Aerospace and Aircraft, Crane Compucrafts, Crane Microcraft and Microconductors, Crane Lasercraft—”

Judd interrupted. “What am I allowed to get rid of?”

“Leisure industries,” Paul said dryly. “Hotels, entertainment systems, cable for home or theater, publishing companies, motion picture production.”

“You mean mostly the losers,” Judd said. “The hardest to sell.”

“Not entirely,” Paul said. “They wouldn’t disapprove of you unloading Crane Land and Development, Crane Financial Services, and the like. I have a long list on both sides I can give you.”

Judd fell silent. He glanced around the table from one to the other. “The only thing I’m interested in keeping is the medical and biology engineering group,” he said at last.

“No problem about that,” Paul smiled. “My hunch is the government wouldn’t allow you to sell them off anyway.”

“Then what do you suggest, counselor?”

“Stay,” Paul said. “You’ve been doing well. Why rock the boat?”

Judd looked steadily at him. “I’m bored with it. I want out.”

“You have no choice,” Paul said. “It’s your baby and you’re stuck with it.”

Judd was silent. “We couldn’t appoint a receiver?”

“Like who?” the lawyer asked. “There’s no one who knows Crane Industries as you do. It would turn into a complete disaster.”

“Shit,” Judd said. “I was planning to settle down in Xanadu.”

“That’s another dream you had,” Paul said. “First it was Crane Island, then almost before you began construction, you changed to Xanadu. You know how much Crane Island cost us. Now Xanadu will go twenty times as much.”

“It was my money,” Judd said. “I never spent a penny of the foundation’s. It’s always been my own money.”

“I’m not complaining about that,” the attorney said. “I simply pointed out that it was a waste, whether it’s your money or someone else’s. Now I’m saying the same thing about Xanadu.”

Judd looked at him coldly. “You have anything else to say?”

Judd saw him drop his eyes to the table. He turned to Merlin. “Sell everything we’re allowed to,” he ordered.

“That will blow another thirty or fifty billion dollars,” Merlin said.

“Net after taxes?”

“No,” Merlin answered. “Net, maybe four billion. That’s still a lot.”

“I’ll reimburse the foundation,” Judd said. “I’ll take all the losses myself.”

“That will bring your net worth down to less than half,” Merlin said.

“I’ll still have more than enough,” he retorted. He glanced around the table. “Any more arguments?”

“One question,” Paul said, eyes still fixed on the tabletop. “Who runs the show if you take off?”

“Sawyer can take care of the medical corporations,” Judd said. “Merlin can handle everything else. Between the two of them, they probably know more about them than I do.”