fety to be guaranteed。 And maybe she couldn't get in touch with Rose with less than a twenty…four…hour notice。
'Besides； Sugar； a girl starts to wonder why you're so pitiful desperate if you're really presentable。'
All right。 Where tomorrow evening？'
'I'm goin' to give you the address of a gourmet coffee shop in Westwood。 We'll meet out front at six； go in and have a cup； see do we like each other。 If I think you really are presentable and you think I'm as sexy…smoky as my voice 。 。 。 why； then it could be a shinin' night of golden memories。 You have a pen and paper？'
'Yes；' he said； and he wrote down the name and address of the coffee shop as she gave it to him。
'Now do me one favour； sugar。 You have a paper there with this phone number on。 Tear it to bitty pieces and flush it down a john。' When Joe hesitated； Demi said； 'Won't be no good ever again； anyway；' and she hung up。
The three typed sentences would not prove that Dr。 Tucker had survived Flight 353 or that something about the crash was not kosher。 He could have posed them himself。 Dr。 Tucker's name was typed； as well； so there was no evidentiary signature。
Nevertheless； he was loath to dispose of the message。 Although it would never prove anything to anyone else； it made these fantastic events seem more real to him。
He called Demi's number again to see if she would answer it in spite of what she had said。
To his surprise； he got a recorded message from the telephone pany informing him that the number he had called was no longer in service。 He was advised to make sure that he had entered the number correctly and then to call 411 for directory assistance。 He tried the number again with the same result。
Neat trick。 He wondered how it had been done。 Demi clearly was more sophisticated than her grits…and…collard…greens voice。
As Joe returned the handset to the cradle； the telephone rang； startling him so much that he let go of it as if he had burned his fingers。 Embarrassed by his edginess； he picked it up on the third ring。 'Hello？'
'Los Angeles Post？' a man asked。
'Yes。'
'Is this Randy Colway's direct line？'
'That's right。'
'Are you Mr。 Colway？'
Startlement and the interlude with Demi had left Joe slow on the uptake。 Now he recognized the uninflected voice as that of the man who had answered the phone at Rose Marie Tucker's house in Manassas； Virginia。
'Are you Mr。 Colway？' the caller asked again。
'I'm Wallace Blick；' Joe said。
'Mr。 Carpenter？'
Chills climbed the ladder of his spine； vertebra to vertebra； and Joe slammed down the phone。
They knew where he was。
The dozens of modular workstations no longer seemed like a series of fortably anonymous nooks。 They were a maze with too many blind corners。
Quickly he gathered the printouts and the message that Rose Tucker had left for him。
As he was getting up from the chair； the phone rang again。 He didn't answer it。
On his way out of the newsroom； he encountered Dan Shavers； who was returning from the photocopying centre with a sheaf of papers in his left hand and his unlit pipe in the right。 Shavers； utterly bald with a luxuriant black beard； wore pleated black dress slacks； red…and…black chequered suspenders over a grey…and…white pinstripe shirt； and a yellow bow tie。 His half…lens reading glasses dangled from his neck on a loop of black ribbon。
A reporter and columnist on the business desk； Shavers was as pompous and as awkward at small talk as he thought he was charming； however； he was benign in his self…delusion and touching in his mistaken conviction that he was a spellbinding raconteur。 He said without preamble； 'Joseph； dear boy； opened a case of '74 Mondavi Cabernet last week； one of twenty I bought as an investment when it was first released； even though at the time I was in Napa not to scout the vintners but to shop for an antique clock； and let me tell you； this wine has matured so well that…' He broke off； realizing that Joe had not worked at the newspaper for the better part of a year。 Fumblingly； he tried to offer his condolences regarding 'that terrible thing； that awful thing； all those poor people； your wife and the children。'
Aware that Randy Colway's telephone was ringing again farther back in the newsroom； Joe interrupted Shavers； intending to brush him off； but then he said； 'Listen； Dan； do you know a pany called Teknologik？'
'Do I know them？' Shavers wiggled his eyebrows。 'Very amusing； Joseph。'
'You do know them？ What's the story； Dan？ Are they a pretty large conglomerate？ I mean； are they powerful？'
'Oh； very profitable； Joseph； absolutely uncanny at recognizing cutting edge technology in start…up panies and then acquiring them…or backing entrepreneurs who need cash to develop their ideas。 Generally medically related technology but not always。 Their top executives are infamous self…aggrandisers； think of themselves as some kind of business royalty； but they are no better than us。 They； too； answer to He Who Must Be Obeyed。'
Confused； Joe said； 'He Who Must Be Obeyed？'
As do we all； as do we all；' said Shaver； smiling and nodding； raising his pipe to bite the stem。
Colway's phone stopped ringing。 The silence made Joe more nervous than the insistent trilling tone had done。
They knew where he was。
'Got to go；' he said； walking away as Shavers began to tell him about the advantages of owning Teknologik corporate bonds。
He proceeded directly to the nearest men's room。 Fortunately； no one else was in the lavatory； no old acquaintances to delay him。
In one of the stalls； Joe tore Rose's message into small pieces。 He flushed it down the toilet； as Demi had requested； waiting to confirm that every scrap vanished； flushing a second time to be sure that nothing was caught in the drain。
Medsped。 Teknologik。 Corporations conducting what appeared to be a police operation。 Their long reach； from Los Angeles to Manassas； and their unnerving omniscience； argued that these were corporations with powerful connections beyond the business world； perhaps to the military。
Nevertheless； regardless of the stakes； it made no sense for a corporation to protect its interests with hitmen brazen enough to shoot at people in public places…or anywhere else； for that matter。 Regardless of how profitable Teknologik might be； big black numbers at the bottom of the balance sheet did not exempt corporate officers and executives from the law； not even here in Los Angeles； where the lack of money was known to be the root of all evil。
Considering the impunity with which they seemed to think they could use guns； the men that he had encountered must be military personnel or federal agents。 Joe had too little information to allow him even to conjecture what role Medsped and Teknologik played in the operation。
All the way along the third…floor hall to the elevators； he expected someone to call his name and order him to stop。 Perhaps one of the men in the Hawaiian shirts。 Or Wallace Blick。 Or a police officer。
If the people seeking Rose Tucker were federal agents； they would be able to obtain help from local police。 For the time being； Joe would have to regard every man in uniform as a potential enemy。
As the elevator doors opened； he tensed； half expecting to be apprehended here in the alcove。 The cab was empty。
On the way down to the first floor； he waited for the power to be cut off。 When the doors opened on the lower alcove； he was surprised to find it deserted。
In all his life； he had never previously been in the grip of paranoia such as this。 He was overreacting to the events of the early afternoon and to what he had learned since arriving at the offices of the Post。
He wondered if his exaggerated reactions…spells of extreme rage； spiralling fear…were a response to the past year of emotional deprivation。 He had allowed himself to feel nothing whatsoever but grief； self…pity； and the terrible hollowness of inprehensible loss。 In fact； he'd striven hard not to feel even that much。 He had tried to shed his pain； to rise from the ashes like a drab phoenix with no hope except the cold peace of indifference。 Now tha