I studied the pages for a few moments, flicking through them randomly. Then I came across the ‘Todd’ calls. His surname was Ellis.

‘That’s a New Jersey number, isn’t it?’

‘Yeah. I checked. The calls were to a place called United Labtech, which is somewhere near Trenton.’

‘United Labtech?’

He nodded, and said, ‘Yeah. You want to take a drive out there?’

*

His car was parked just up the street, so within a few minutes we were heading down the Henry Hudson Parkway. We took the Lincoln Tunnel to New Jersey and then

got on to the Turnpike. Kenny Sanchez had given me the envelope to hold when we got into the car, and after a few minutes on the road I’d taken the pages out and

had started examining them. It was obvious that Sanchez was a little uncomfortable about this, but he didn’t say anything. I managed to keep things ticking over by

talking, and asking him questions – about cases he’d worked, about anomalies in the law, about his family, whatever. Then, suddenly, I was asking him questions about

the list. Who were these people? Had he tracked all of the calls? How did that work?

‘Most of the numbers,’ he said, ‘are connected to the business end of Dekedelia – publishers, distributors, lawyers. We can account for them, and for that reason

have eliminated them. But we’ve also isolated a list of about twenty-five other names that don’t check out, that we can’t account for.’

‘Who are they to? Or from?’

‘To and from – and fairly regularly, as well. They’re all individuals living in major cities throughout the country. They hold executive positions in a wide range of

companies, but none of them seems to have any connection to Dekedelia.’

‘Like … er,’ I said, homing in on one of the few out-of-state numbers I could find, ‘this … Libby Driscoll? In Philadelphia?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Hmm.’

I looked out of the window, and as the gas stations, factories, Pizza Huts and Burger Kings flitted past, I wondered who these people could be. I tried a few theories

out for size. But I soon became distracted by the fact that Kenny Sanchez now seemed to be looking in his rearview mirror every couple of seconds. For no apparent

reason, he also changed lanes – once, twice, and then a third time.

‘Anything wrong?’ I said eventually.

‘I think we’re being followed,’ he said, switching lanes again and then accelerating.

‘Followed?’ I said. ‘By who?’

‘I don’t know. And maybe we’re not. I’m just being … cautious.’

I craned my neck around. The traffic coming from behind was flowing across three lanes, the whole busy highway winding back serpent-like over a hilly, industrial

landscape. I found it hard to imagine how Sanchez could have isolated one car from all of these and thought it was following us.

I didn’t say anything.

A few minutes later, we took the exit for Trenton and after driving around for what seemed like ages finally arrived at an anonymous single-storey building. It was

low and long, and looked like a warehouse. There was a large parking area in front of it that was about half-full. The only identifying mark in the whole place was a

small sign at the main entrance to the car park. It had the name ‘United Labtech’ on it, and underneath a logo that strained for scientific effect – a kind of multiple helix

set against a curving blue grid. We drove in and parked.

It suddenly occurred to me how close I might be to meeting Vernon Gant’s partner, and I felt a rush of adrenalin.

I went to open the door, but Sanchez put a hand on my arm and said, ‘Whoa there – where are you going?’

‘What?’

‘You can’t just walk in there. You need some kind of a cover.’ He reached across me and opened his glove compartment. ‘Let me do it.’ He took out a handful of

business cards, flicked through them and selected one. ‘Insurance is always good for this type of thing.’

Undecided about what to do, I chewed for a moment on my lower lip.

‘Look, I’m just going to establish that he’s in there,’ Sanchez said, ‘It’s the first step.’

I hesitated.

‘OK.’

I watched Sanchez get out of the car, walk over to the entrance of the building and disappear inside.

He was right, of course. I would have to approach Todd Ellis very carefully indeed, because if I blurted out something inappropriate as soon as I met him –

especially if this was where he worked – I might easily scare him off, or blow his cover.

As I sat there waiting in the car, my cellphone rang.

‘Hello.’

‘Eddie, Carl.’

‘What’s up.’

‘I think we’re there. Vision lock. Hank and Dan. I’ve asked them both to dinner in my place this evening, and it looks like we could be getting a final handshake.’

‘Great. What time?’

‘Eight-thirty. I’ve cancelled your meetings for this afternoon, so … where are you, by the way?’

‘New Jersey.’

‘What the—’

‘Don’t ask.’

‘Well haul your ass back in here as quick as you can. We’ve a lot to go over before this evening.’

I looked at my watch.

‘Give me an hour.’

‘OK. See you then.’

My head was reeling as I put the phone away. Too many things were happening at once now – locating Todd Ellis, the deal, the new apartment …

Just then Kenny Sanchez re-appeared. He walked briskly over to the car and got in.

I looked at him, silently screaming well?

‘They say he doesn’t work there any more.’

He turned to face me.

‘Left a couple of weeks ago. And they don’t have any forwarding address, or number where he can be reached.’

[ 24 ]

WE DROVE BACK TO THE CITY in almost total silence. I had a jumpy, nauseous feeling in my stomach at the thought that Todd Ellis had just disappeared into thin air. I

also didn’t like the fact that he no longer worked at United Labtech, because if that’s where they produced MDT, what chance would I stand of getting any more

without an inside connection? When we were about half-way through the Lincoln Tunnel, I said to Sanchez, ‘So, do you think you’ll be able to trace him?’

‘I’ll try.’

I sensed from his tone that he was a little fed up. But I didn’t want to leave him like that. I needed him on my side.

‘You’ll try?’

‘Yes, but I wish …’

He stopped and sighed impatiently. He didn’t want to say it, so I said it for him.

‘You wish you had more to go on than just my frankly implausible story.’

He hesitated, but then said, ‘Yes.’

I thought about this for a moment, and when we were coming out of the tunnel, I said to him, ‘These people on the list, the twenty-five or so names you can’t

account for? Have you spoken to any of them?’

‘A few of them, when we first started tracking his calls.’

‘When was that?’

‘About three months ago. But it was a dead end.’

I took out my cellphone and started dialling a number.

‘Who are you calling?’

‘Libby Driscoll.’

‘But, how did—’

‘I have a good memory … Libby Driscoll, please.’

A couple of moments later, I put the phone down in my lap.

‘She’s out sick. Has been for a week.’

‘So?’

I took the pages out of the envelope and went through them. I found another of the out-of-state numbers, checked it with Sanchez and then called it.

It was the same story.

We were on Forty-second Street now and I asked Sanchez if he could drop me off at Fifth Avenue.

‘It’s just a guess,’ I said, ‘but if you call every name on that shortlist, I think you’ll find that they’re all sick. Furthermore, you’ll also probably find that the three

people you’re looking for – the missing cult members – are, in fact, people on that list—’

‘What?’

‘—living out successful new identities, fuelled up on MDT-48 supplied by Deke Tauber.’

‘Jesus.’

‘But the supply has run out and that’s why they’re getting sick.’

Sanchez pulled up just before Fifth Avenue.

‘My guess,’ I went on, ‘is that everyone on the list is really someone else. Like you said, they re-create themselves in an alternative environment.’

‘But—’

‘They probably don’t even know they’re taking it. He gives it to them – I don’t know, somehow – but the most likely pay-off is that he gets a percentage of their fat

executive salaries.’

Kenny Sanchez was staring straight ahead now and I could almost hear his mind working.

‘Look, I’ll get on this straightaway,’ he said, ‘and I’ll call you as soon as I have anything.’

I got out of the car, still feeling mildly nauseous. But as I walked up Fifth Avenue towards Forty-eighth Street, I also felt vaguely satisfied at how deftly I’d managed

to keep Kenny Sanchez onboard.

*

I spent the afternoon with Carl Van Loon going over stuff we’d gone over a hundred times before, especially our public relations strategy for dealing with the

announcement. He was very excited about finalizing the deal, and didn’t want to leave anything to chance. He was also excited about having it happen at his apartment

on Park Avenue, which – although he’d forgotten it now – had been my idea. In all the hectic activity of the past few weeks, Hank Atwood and Dan Bloom had only

met face to face twice – fairly briefly and in formal business settings. I had suggested, therefore, that a casual dinner in Van Loon’s apartment might be a better setting

for this next and most crucial meeting, on the basis that a congenial, clubby atmosphere with brandy and cigars would more easily facilitate the one thing that remained to

be done in this whole affair – which was the two principals eyeballing each other across a table and saying, Fuck it, let’s merge.