Hastings’ hand reached the table and gripped its edge.

The bony shoulders stirred. “It’s inoperable, of course. The first doctor told me it was a medical opinion, not a fact-not then, yet. I’d want to consult another doctor, he said. So I did. Naturally I hoped for a different opinion-I do not want to die. Who does? There were tests, X rays, a biopsy. It’s a malignant melanoma-bone cancer. No way to cut it back or stop it. Once it starts moving, it’s faster than the telegraph, all through the skeleton. I can live a month or two or three. That’s all. The pain’s already damned severe, as you can imagine, but I control it with drugs. A few more days, and I suppose I’ll have to confine myself to the house, because I’ll be too doped up to walk. I’ll regret that-walking around this place has been one of my greatest pleasures the past few months.”

The old man took a breath; miserably, Hastings did not speak, but Judd saw his eyes and nodded. “We all get uncomfortable in the presence of sickness and pain. Don’t search your mind for the right thing to say-your expressions of sympathy will only make you feel stupid, and they won’t do anything for me. I can see in your face the love between us, like son and father-let it go at that. I’ve learned to live with it, if that’s the word. There are times when I get touched with panic and dread-I’m no superman. Sometimes I sit alone in a room, and I try to sit absolutely quiet, waiting for the pain to touch me again. But there’s nothing you or I can do about it. Now, then-you did come out here on some sort of business. I suppose we’d better talk about it now, since I happen to be feeling up to it.”

“I don’t think it’s important enough to-”

“Nonsense. Let’s hear about it, and then we’ll decide whether it’s important.”

Feeling morose and reluctant, he turned the wineglass in his fingers by the stem and said, as briefly as he could, “For the past few weeks a large number of dummies have been buying up blocks of NCI shares. Up to this point they seem to have accumulated about a million shares. You’ve got something over eighty million outstanding. Either a raider is moving in from outside, or somebody’s moving up from inside.”

He wasn’t sure the old man had been listening, until Judd gave him a small smile. “Interesting,” he muttered. “All right, it’s not me, if that’s what had you worried, and it’s not anyone I know about.”

“Then it’s trouble.”

“I suppose it is. I suppose I ought to work up a great deal of indignation and rage. If it had happened a few months ago I might have enjoyed winning one last fight, but I’m afraid it’s too late now, Russ. Anyhow, I’m too well protected-I’m still the chairman of NCI, only because there hasn’t been a stockholders’ meeting yet this year. I’ve assigned almost all my personal holdings to the population and wilderness trusts-I haven’t got any NCI stock left in my own name. Of course, the trusts will be able to vote the stock when the time comes, but I’m pretty much out of it. And frankly, I don’t care that much about the corporation any more. I’d just as soon have all the corporations gutted by raiders. It might destroy our civilization, but if our damned production machinery came grinding to a halt, we might have a chance that at least a few human beings would survive.”

“I’m afraid I can’t look at it that way. Putting a company like NCI in the hands of a buccaneer could never possibly do anyone any good.”

“Except the buccaneer,” Judd said dryly.

“Yes.”

“Well, you’re loyal to your hire, which is an honorable thing-though I sometimes wonder if there’s any room left in this world for values like honor and loyalty. At any rate, you do what you see fit, in your little Wall Street battles. You have my authority to get in touch with the members of my board of directors and inform them of any suspicions you have, or any facts you dig up to support the suspicions. Let the directors handle it-I’m sure they’ll want to fight. Fighting the jackals is the oldest and most firmly established of all animal activities. They’ll enjoy the struggle. And maybe that’s all there is left, now. It’s possible to enjoy a good fight, you know, even when you’re losing it.” The old man grinned, sparkling.

Hastings began to speak; Lewis Downey appeared at the door. “Bedtime,” he announced without fuss. “And you haven’t taken your medicine. It was due an hour ago.”

“Nonsense,” the old man growled. “You know what that junk is as well as I do. I take it when I feel the need, not on any hidebound pharmacist’s schedule. God, Lewis, you’ll make a morphine addict of me yet.”

“Sorry, sir.”

Downey crossed to the old man’s chair and took his arm to help him up. Judd looked over his shoulder. “Think about that proposition of mine, Russ.”

“I will. Sleep well.”

The old man went away, leaning on Downey’s arm, feeble and full of pride.

Hastings left his wineglass behind and went outside. When he hit the open air he waited for it to revive him. The night air held a chill; he rammed his hands into his pockets. Under the stars it was as if he had stepped back a hundred years through time, and he felt tensions drain out of him as if he had pulled a plug. He heard the mourning hoot of a mountain owl. Somewhere on those slopes prowled the night-hunting predators; the world here, for a brief time perhaps, was still in balance. He stood in the empty silence, not reckoning time, thinking about Judd’s offer.

22. Steve Wyatt

Wyatt went over Hackman’s file on Arthur Rademacher for the third time, closed the folder, and sat back to blow smoke out of his nostrils and stare toward the ceiling, going back over it and making sure he had all of it ready on the tip of his tongue. He had to have it letter perfect; there was too much at stake this time to play it by ear. He spent half an hour rehearsing just how he would do it, and in the end he smiled and got up from his couch and sauntered into the bedroom.

She lay curled in a tight knot. Her sleeping face was composed, gentle, reflecting quiet happiness; she made a small curved mound under the sheet. He glanced at the clock and got onto the bed with her, snuggling close, fitting tight against her back; he slid his hand under her arm and cupped her breast.

Anne turned her face up, smiling to herself, her eyes half-closed; she looked warm and drowsy. She moved her shoulder under his chin so he could kiss her. She made him think of all the sagging middle-aged ones he had hustled-she had so much that none of them had ever owned. It was too bad her name had to be Goralski. He printed light kisses on her nose, her cheek, her mouth and chin. Sweet and warm, she turned over slowly, burrowing, and twisted her torso to feed him a saucy little breast. She murmured, “Aren’t you going to take your clothes off?”

He grunted and got out of bed, reaching automatically for a cigarette. Anne’s frown was like a child’s, solemn and innocent. Wyatt lit up and moved to the mirror to check his tie, and she said to him, “You’re smoking too much-do you know you’re smoking almost three packs a day?”

“Now that’s starting, is it?”

“What?”

“Don’t be a nag, darling,” he said, shooting his cuffs and inspecting his teeth in the mirror.

She said, “What are you doing?”

“What do I appear to be doing? I’ve got to go out.”

“Now? Tonight?”

“It’s only eight-thirty.”

She looked in puzzlement at the clock. “So it is. When did I fall asleep?”

“About an hour ago. You were exhausted.”

“As well I might be. You sex maniac.” She was grinning gaily.

“It’s business,” he said, “and very important. I should be back around midnight.”

“Business? On a Saturday night?”

“Don’t you believe me?” He gave her a warm look of amusement. “I suppose you think I’ve got energy left over to go out and rape some other woman.”