The Veritas Conflict (63 page)

Claire started to jump in when his call waiting beeped.

“Hold on a second.”

Claire waited through the silence, watching the continuing coverage.

Ian came back on the line. “You’re not going to believe this.”

Claire took a deep breath. “Were going to have to stop saying that.”

“D. J. is on the line. He’s going to conference the three of us together.”

After a few minutes of introductions and explanations, D. J.’s voice grew thoughtful.

“Well, it raises more questions than it answers, but my bosses are really gun-shy, and this development puts me over the edge. I think its time to tell them a little of what you’ve found—if that’s okay with you.”

After a moment, Ian cleared his throat. “Sure. Once that happens, though, we’ve entered a whole new ball game. We’re potentially impugning a perfectly innocent company in a way that could drastically affect its financial future. We’ve got to be pretty darned sure of our research.”

“That’s true,” D. J. said. “Because once I share this with my bosses, the seed is planted. It can’t be taken back. So that means you have to come up with something more—to either clear their name or confirm your suspicions—in the next few days, before we choose the award for this year.”

“So what should we do?” Claire asked.

“I think my bosses need to hear this,” D. J. said. “They care about our credibility even more than the credibility of an innocent nonrecipient. So I’ll give you tomorrow to see if you come up with anything more, but at close of business I’ll alert them to the potential issue on the horizon. Then you’ll have the weekend to dig some more. But remember, for this issue to be settled one way or another—in a way that’s honoring to
God—we have to essentially
prove
or
disprove
these concerns. And if you prove them, well, this company will have a lot more to worry about than just losing an award.”

Claire put the phone down and sat for a long time, wondering what to do next. The sound of approaching voices startled her out of her reverie, and she stood up quickly, nervous.

She berated herself as she heard Mercedes’ familiar voice and the jangling of her keys. Claire went into her bedroom, closing the door behind her, and sank to the floor by her bed.

“O God, what is going on?” She poured out her heart to her heavenly Father, thankful that He, not she, was in charge.

FIFTY-TWO

T
HE NEXT DAY SEEMED TO PASS IN A DREAM
.

Sherry never came home, and Claire left for class before her roommate returned in the morning. Claire stuck to her normal class routine, saying hello to Jo Markowitz in biology, walking the paths of Harvard Yard, giving Bethany a quick hug after philosophy—all the while pondering how else to investigate a company that didn’t want to be investigated.

She unsuccessfully conferred with Doug right after biology class let out.

“I haven’t been able to think of a thing.”

There was the quiet noon conference with Ian, the meeting with Mansfield, and the visit to the business library to see if any of their resources showed anything more than Doug’s had. Nothing.

The day was unseasonably warm, the sky a perfect blue, but Claire couldn’t rid herself of this unsettled mood.

“I feel like I’m spinning my wheels,” she said to Ian as they conferred in the entryway of the Science Center. “Like there’s something really important just around the corner, or already staring me in the face, and I’m not seeing it.”

“Why don’t we walk back over to the office you were at yesterday and see if we can talk our way in? We don’t have anything to lose.”

They trucked over and approached the receptionist. She was no longer smiling.

“Listen, I don’t know what was going on yesterday or who you people really are, but I’m afraid you can’t come in here anymore. We received an angry call from Professor Pike’s office yesterday afternoon telling us that we could be prosecuted for divulging private information.”

“But we had authorization from Professor Mansfield!” Claire said. “Can’t we at least speak to the resource director’s clerk and—”

“It doesn’t matter if you had authorization from God himself!” The receptionist was quivering with indignation. “On Monday, at Professor Pike’s direction, the college is starting a wholesale investigation into our security practices, which we’ll have to spend ages dealing with.” She slapped a two-foot-high pile of files on her desk. “I have all these forms to fill out and all this administrative garbage to go through just because you decided to try to get around our security procedures.”

Claire’s heart sank. The receptionist had been so nice to her. “We weren’t trying to get around anything, honest. Everything we’ve told you is true. I’m so sorry we created extra work for you.”

Ian stepped forward, pulling out his billfold. “Let me show you something.” He flipped the wallet open and pointed to his drivers license.

The receptionist sighed, then leaned forward and looked at the name. She paused, and stared back up at him. “Well, if you’re really Ian Burke, then who was back there yesterday?”

Claire started to answer, then felt Ian’s restraining hand on her arm.

“I think the better question,” he said, sympathy in his voice, “is why on earth they’re investigating you, when you did nothing wrong?”

At the receptionist’s irate agreement, Ian sighed and shook his head. “Listen, we still have a lot of research to do back there. Is it possible that we can at least talk to the clerk?”

“He’s not in the office for the rest of the day. Still moving boxes.”

“Would you possibly,” Claire blurted out, “be willing—”

The phone rang with several incoming calls.

“—to leave him a note saying that we dropped by and showed you Ian’s identification?”

The receptionist stared hard at Ian and Claire, then shrugged before reaching for her phones. “If I can get around to it, I’ll try. But I can’t promise anything. Sorry.”

Claire started to protest, but Ian steered her firmly out the door.

“Look.” He turned to her in the empty hallway, his voice low. “That receptionist has been ordered not to let people back there. She’s not authorized to change that order, and we don’t want to get her in trouble. Besides, we have no idea whether it would even help: You didn’t recognize anything big the first time, and we don’t know what else is on that computer.”

“Yeah.” Claire was still antsy, shifting from foot to foot. “So now what do we do?”

“I think we have to call D. J. and tell him no progress yet.” He smiled. “And then we come back here tomorrow morning—before your HCF barbecue—and see if the clerk is around. The resource director did say they’d be moving all weekend, right?”

Claire stood off to the side, trying not to eavesdrop as Ian used a pay phone to call D. J. After a few minutes, he hung up and stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

“Well, that was interesting.”

“What was?” Claire was fairly bouncing up and down.

“They got a phone call this afternoon. Someone from Pike Holdings called for a private little meeting with his boss. Seems they wanted to have an off-the-record discussion about whether they’re still a front-runner for the Excellence Award.”

“No kidding!”

“No kidding. Someone over there is nervous for some reason. To prepare for the meeting, D. J.’s boss walked around and asked everyone if they’d heard anything on the street, so D. J. went ahead and told him about our project. Apparently his boss took it very seriously. So in the meeting with Pike Holdings he told Pike’s people that,” he imitated a pompous voice, “they had some concerns that needed to be further investigated before they could make a decision.”

“Oh boy.”

“Yep. Which means that now its not just us that are wondering what’s going on.”

Victor put the phone gently in the cradle and leaned back in his chair. His face was set, hard. This was threatening to spin out of control, and it had to be stopped. Now.

He rose from his desk and went out the door of his office through the living room—now shadowed, its empty sofas looking out over the darkened stretch of lawn—and down a set of stairs. Not the stairs leading to the conference center on the ground floor, but another stairway, longer and steeper.

The air grew cooler, and he flicked on a light, illuminating the stone walls of the hallway. His footsteps echoed as he headed for one particular door.

He pushed the door open and paused, taking in the blackness. Then he flipped a switch. A single spotlight shone on a dark portrait hanging on the wall, the beam so focused that the rest of the room was pitch black. That was exactly what he wanted.

He moved along the polished conference table and slid into a chair opposite the large round speakerphone system embedded in the center. He reached down under the table and pressed and pulled until something clicked. He pulled the speakerphone out of its cavity and set it aside, turning back to the table in anticipation.

A pentagram was engraved into the lowered center of the table. Five holes held five votive candles, which he lit. Then he took his seat, staring at the portrait opposite his chair. The blackness seemed to press in on him as he closed his eyes.

An hour later two men walked away from the conference center hotel rooms, their steps purposeful. They got into a waiting car and headed across the island. There were still a few night flights left to the mainland.

“It’s not here tonight.”

Claire stared at Brad, uncomprehending. They were standing in front of the usual HCF meeting room, and Brad was telling each arrival to go to some other building Claire had never heard of.

Brad glanced at Claire and started to repeat himself. Then he stopped. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah. Just a lot on my mind, that’s all.” She gestured at the closed doors at Brad’s back. “What’s going on?”

“The meeting is at Phillips Brooks House tonight. You didn’t get the flyer?”

“Flyer?” Claire said, feeling stupid.

Brad motioned to the table beside him. A stack of brightly colored flyers proclaimed “HCF meeting at the famous Phillips Brooks House.” A map was printed at the bottom of the page.

Claire shook her head. “I haven’t checked my mailbox in a few days …” Had it really been just two days since she walked out of her dorm room for that abortion debate? It seemed like weeks.

“Well then, here you go.” Brad handed her a flyer.

Claire just stood there staring at the paper.

Brad raised an eyebrow. “On the other hand, the meeting has probably already started.” He laid a tentative hand on her arm. “How about I walk you over there?”

He taped a flyer to the door behind him, then steered Claire out of the building and across campus.

“You still with me?” Brad asked.

“What?” Claire looked up, startled.

“Whatever is going on with Mansfield’s project must be a big deal. Hopefully you can put it all aside and worship.”

Claire sighed. “I think I need to.”

The cheerful lights of Phillips Brooks House rose before them. It was, Claire thought, somewhat like a real multistory brick house, unlike the other houses, as the school called the sprawling upperclass dorms.

The heavy front door was propped open, and light spilled out. Through the clear night air, she could hear a guitar accompanying the soft singing of many voices. She caught a glance of students crowded into a large front room, sitting or standing in every available space, all looking at some point beyond Claire’s view.

Without warning, Claire was overwhelmed with sadness, joy, foreboding—a deep
sense of purpose. She stopped walking and stood very still, trying to come to grips with the inexplicable barrage.

Brad also stopped, not saying anything. After a few moments he reached out and lightly gripped Claire’s shoulder.

“You okay?”

Claire took several deep breaths. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Its like I suddenly have four peoples worth of emotion trying to fight to the surface.”

She took another breath and let it out slowly. She looked back up at the open doorway, the friendly lights, the familiar profiles inside. “Let’s go in.”

FIFTY-THREE

T
HE STUDENTS LISTENED, QUIET AND ENTHRALLED
, as Mansfield outlined the initial findings on the old Christian grants and endowments. The door had been closed to the cold, and a fire crackled in the fireplace behind him. The sofas and chairs were pushed back along the walls, making room for students to sit on the soft rugs in the center of the room.

“But keep in mind,” he cautioned all the young faces looking up at him, “that we have no idea where this will go from here. I spoke to Harvard’s new chief financial officer yesterday, and she hasn’t seen any indication that the administration is planning to investigate the issue anytime soon. We will simply have to wait for a response and go from there.”

Several students raised their hands, and Mansfield called on Sam, who was sitting on a crowded couch along one wall.

“Doesn’t it seem just totally unfair to you?” Sam’s outrage was reflected on the faces of many around the room. “its like they’re stealing money—pure and simple.”