Everything!Ellis wanted to shout.Every fucking thing!
“I’m afraid I can’t go into that either.”
“It has something to do with the sealed section then.” A statement.
The sealed section…only a handful of employees in the basic research building knew it existed, and even they didn’t know that most of it was underground. No access through the main areas; the only entry and exit was through an enclosed loading dock on the northwest corner of the building. Sealed staff never mixed with other employees; they ate and slept where they worked, leaving only on weekends in enclosed trucks.
This he could answer truthfully. “No, Harry. It does not.”
Harry stood silent a moment. “Then what? I would think that I’ve proven myself loyal enough by now to be entrusted—”
“Please, Harry,” Ellis said, holding up a hand. “It’s not a question of trust. It’s a matter of…” Of what? What could he say? “A matter of deciding which way the company should go in the future. We haven’t agreed—haven’t decided on which way that will be. But when we do, I assure you, you’ll be the first to know.” Ellis noted that this seemed to salve Harry’s wounded pride.
“But until then,” he added, “bear with the frustration. I promise you, it will be well worth it in the end.”
IfI succeed.
Harry’s smile was lopsided. “I’ll trust you on that.”
Harry left and Ellis was alone with the chrome-framed faces of his children staring at him across the desktop. Robbie and Julie…God, he missed them. Somewhere along the course of his consuming monomania he’d forgotten about them. He didn’t know exactly when he’d metamorphosed from husband and father to something other, something distant…obsessed…a shadow…a ghost drifting through their lives, through his own life as well.
But Judy and the kids hadn’t been able to live with what he’d become, and so he’d lost them.
He wasn’t bitter though. Just lonely. Didn’t blame Judy. He’d deserved to lose them. But he was working toward getting them back—earningthem back.
And when he deserved to have them call him father again, he knew he’d win them back.
But not until he’d fixed SimGen.
11
MANHATTAN
The green room of theAckenbury at Large show was neither green nor roomy, but Patrick had it to himself. Half a dozen upholstered chairs surrounded a maple table that had seen better days; a small refrigerator against the wall sported a fruit bowl and a coffee maker. A wall-mounted monitor leaned from a corner near the ceiling; Patrick repeatedly glanced at it as he paced the beige carpet.
Reverend Eckert was running his line for the late-night network TV audience, but in a far lower key than on his own show. Instead of working himself into a red-faced, spittle-flecked frenzy, he was coming on as a calm, intelligent man with a mission: SimGen was doing evil by producing sims, and so it had to be shut down. Any products made by sims were the devil’s handiwork and all God-fearing people should shun them.
Not good, Patrick thought, drying his moist palms on his slacks.
That was the role Patrick had planned to play—a calm, reasonable, compassionate counterpoint to Eckert’s frenzy.
Now what?
Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea.
Upon leaving the sims this morning he’d placed a call to Ackenbury’s offices. After being shuttled around for a good ten minutes, he’d finally found himself on the line with one Catherine Tresor, assistant producer. She didn’t recognize his name, but when he explained that he was the attorney for the sims union, she jumped all over the idea of putting him on tonight’s show. She said she’d have to run it by Alan first, but she’d get back to him right away.
She wasn’t kidding. Less than five minutes later his car phone rang and he was scheduled for the show. But she told him not to trumpet the news. Alan wanted to surprise the Reverend Eckert.
As a result, Patrick had been ushered into an empty office when he’d arrived at six—the show was recorded hours before air time—and kept out of sight until the Reverend had gone on. After a quick trip to makeup, he was led to the green room and left alone.
He wished Pam were here. He’d asked her to come along but she had to work late. She was involved in some Pacific Rim deal that would tie her up till midnight. She’d promised to watch at her office, though. She sounded as though she’d recovered from this morning. Patrick was glad for that.
“Mr. Sullivan?”
Patrick looked up. In the doorway he saw a short, owlish, clipboard-toting woman with large round glasses. She extended her hand.
“I’m Cathy Tresor.”
“And I’m wondering if this was such a good idea,” Patrick said, shaking her hand.
She squeezed his fingers. “You’re not backing out, are you?”
“It’s not as if you need me,” he said, wondering at the panicky look that flashed across her features. “I wasn’t even on the horizon until I called this morning.”
“We do need you,” she said. Her blue eyes looked huge through her thick lenses. “Ineed you.”
“I’m not following.”
“I pitched your appearance with the Reverend as my own idea.”
Patrick stared at her. “Let me get this straight: You take my suggestion, pitch it to your boss as your own brainstorm, and pocket the credit?”
She bit her upper lip. “Well…yeah.” She looked away. “Sorry, but it can be hard to get noticed around here.”
“Sorry!” He laughed. “Don’t be sorry. I love it! Just remember the name: Patrick Sullivan. You owe me one.”
She smiled. “I’ll remember.”
“You do that.” Patrick liked her. Then he glanced at the monitor and sobered at the sight of Eckert’s face. “And while you’re at it, figure out a way for me to steal that guy’s thunder.”
“Best way is to get under his skin. Goad him.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“You kidding? We’d love it. ‘Let’s you and him fight’—that’s the Alan Ackenbury philosophy of quality TV.”
Patrick jammed his hands into his pockets and did a slow circuit of the green room.
Goad him…how?
Patrick’s gaze came to rest on the fruit bowl and an idea sparked…a last resort if nothing else worked.
“Almost time,” Cathy said, glancing at her watch. “You go on after the next break. Let’s get you in position.”
He followed her down a hall and to a spot behind a curtain just off stage. Patrick’s eyes fixed on the blank monitor.