Limitless

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 short-list, 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.