60

'Drive off,' Myron said.

Christian started the car and pulled out. The reporters parted grudgingly.

'I'm sorry, Mr Bolitar.'

'What happened?'

'The guard wouldn't let me in. He said he had orders to keep me out.'

'Son of a bitch,' Myron muttered. Otto Burke and his damn tactics. Little weasel. Myron should have been looking for something like this. But a lockout? That seemed a tad extreme, even by Otto Burke's standards.

Despite the posturing, they had been fairly close to signing. Burke had expressed strong interest in getting Christian to minicamp as soon as possible, to get him ready for the season.

So why would he lock Christian out?

Myron didn't like it.

'Do you have a car phone?' he asked.

'No, sir.'

It didn't matter. 'Turn back around,' Myron said. 'Park by Gate C.'

'What are you going to do?'

'Just come with me.'

The guard tried to stop them, but Myron pushed Christian past him.

'Hey, you're not allowed in there!' he called after them. 'Hey, stop!'

'Shoot us,' Myron said without stopping.

They strode onto the field. Players were hitting the tackle dummies hard.

Very hard. No one was holding back. These were tryouts. Most of these guys were fighting for a spot on the team. Most had been high school and college superstars, accustomed to unadulterated greatness on the field. Most would get cut. Most would not allow the dream to end there, scrounging other teams' rosters for a possible opening, holding on, slipping endlessly, dying slowly all the while.

A glamour profession.

The coaches blew whistles. The running backs practiced wind sprints.

Kickers were knocking down field goals at the far goal post. Punters boomed slow lazy arcs high into the air. Several players turned and spotted Christian. A buzz developed. Myron ignored it. He had spotted his target, sitting in the first row on the fifty-yard line.

Otto Burke sat like Caesar at the Colosseum, that damn smile still plastered to his face, his arms spread over the seats on either side of him.

Behind him sat Larry Hanson and a few other executives. Caesar's senate.

Occasionally Otto would lean back and award his entourage a comment that brought on aneurysm-like fits of laughter.

Myron!' Otto called out pleasantly, waving one of those tiny hands.

Come on over. Have a seat.'

'Wait here,' Myron told Christian. He climbed the steps. The entourage, led by Larry Hanson, stood in unison and marched away.

61

Myron snapped a salute at them. 'Hut two, three, four. Right face.' No one laughed. Big surprise.

'Sit down, Myron,' Otto said, beaming. 'Let's have a chat.'

'You haven't been returning my calls,' Myron said.

'Did you call?' He shook his head. I'll have to get on my secretary about that.'

Myron let out a deep breath and sat. 'Why was Christian locked out?'

'Well, Myron, it's pretty simple, actually. Christian hasn't signed his contract yet. The Titans don't have time to invest in someone who may not be part of our future.' He nodded toward the field. 'Do you see who's here for a tryout? Neil Decker from Cincinnati. Fine quarterback.'

'Yeah, he's great. He can almost throw a spiral.'

Otto chuckled. 'That's funny, Myron. You're a very amusing man.'

I'm so glad you think so. Mind telling me what's going on?'

Otto Burke nodded. 'That's fair, Myron. So let's talk frankly, shall we?'

'Rationally, frankly, whatever you want.'

'Great. We'd like to renegotiate your client's contract,' he said. 'Downward.'

'I see.'

'We feel your client's value has depreciated.'

'Uh-huh.'

Burke studied him. 'You don't seem surprised, Myron.'

'So what is it this time?' Myron asked.

'What is what this time?'

'Well, let's start with Benny Keleher. You invited him to your house, plied him with booze, then had a cop arrest him on his ride home for drunk driving.'

Otto looked properly shocked. 'I had nothing to do with that.'

'Amazing how he signed the next day. And then there's Eddie Smith. You had compromising photographs of him taken by a private eye and threatened to send them to his wife.'

'Another lie.'

'Fine, a lie. So let's cut to the chase, then. What has caused this sudden devaluation?'

Otto sat back. He withdrew a cigarette from a gold case with a Titans emblem on the cover. 'It's something I saw in a rather lewd magazine,' he said. 'Something that truly disheartened me.' He didn't look disheartened.

He looked rather pleased.

'A new low,' Myron said. 'You should be proud.'

'Pardon me?'

'You set it up. The magazine.'

Otto smiled. 'Ah, so you knew about it.'

'How did you get that picture?'

'What picture?'

62

'The one in the ad.'

'I had nothing to do with it.'

'Sure,' Myron said. 'I guess you're just a charter subscriber to Nips.'

The had nothing to do with that ad, Myron. Honestly.'

'Then how did you get a hold of the magazine?'

'Someone pointed it out to me.'

'Who?'

'I am not at liberty to discuss it.'

'Very convenient.'

'I'm not sure I like your tone, Myron. And let me tell you something else:

You're the one who has done wrong in the case. If you knew about the magazine, you had an ethical responsibility to tell me.'

Myron looked up at the sky. 'You used the word ethical. Lightning did not strike. There is no God.'

The smile flickered but stayed on. 'Much as we'd like to, Myron, we can't just wish this away. The magazine exists, and it must be dealt with. So let me tell you what I've come up with.'

'I'm all ears.'

'You're going to take our current offer and knock it down by a third. If not, the picture of Ms Culver goes public. Think about it. You have three days to decide.' Otto watched Neil Decker throw a pass. It looked like a duck with a broken wing, crashing well short of the receiver. He frowned, stroked his goatee. 'Make that two days.'

63

10

Dean of Students Harrison Gordon made sure the door to his office was locked. Double-locked, in fact. He was taking no chances. Not with this.

He sat back down and stared out his office window. Esteemed Reston University in all its glory. The view was a mesh of green grass and brick buildings. No ivy adorned these towers of learning, but it should have. The students were gone for summer break, but the commons still had a sprinkling of people on it - campers from the football and tennis camps, local people who used the campus as a park, the old throwback hippies who pilgrimage to liberal arts institutions like Moslems to Mecca. Lots of red bandannas and ponchos and granola-types. A bearded man tossed a Frisbee. A small boy caught it.

Harrison Gordon saw none of it. He had not spun his chair around to enjoy the view. He had done so to avert his gaze from the… thing on his desk. He wanted simply to destroy the damn thing and forget about it. But he couldn't. Something held him back. And something kept drawing him toward it, toward that page near the back.

Destroy it, you fool. If somebody finds if…

What?

He did not know. He spun his chair back around, keeping his eyes away from the magazine. The student file marked culver, katherine lay to the right. He swallowed. With a shaking hand he sifted through the stacks of transcripts and recommendation letters. It was an impressive file, but Harrison had no time for that now.