the Third Twin (1996)

Steve went cold. He had no idea what Berrington was talking about. It seemed to be a catchphrase, like “See you later, alligator,” but a private one. Obviously there was a reply, but it wasn’t “In a while, crocodile.” What the hell could it be? Steve cursed inwardly. The press conference was about to open—he needed to keep up the pretense for just a few more seconds!

Berrington frowned in puzzlement, staring at him.

Steve felt perspiration break out on his forehead.

“You can’t have forgotten it,” Berrington said, and Steve saw suspicion dawn in his eyes.

“Of course I haven’t,” Steve replied quickly—too quickly, for then he realized that he had committed himself.

Senator Proust was listening now. Berrington said: “So give me the rest of it.” Steve saw him cut his eyes to Proust’s bodyguard, and the man tensed visibly.

In desperation, Steve said: “In an hour, Eisenhower.”

There was a moment’s silence.

Then Berrington said: “That’s a good one!” and laughed.

Steve relaxed. That must be the game: you had to make up a new response every time. He thanked his stars. To hide his relief, he turned away.

“Showtime, everybody,” said the publicist.

“This way,” Proust said to Steve. “You don’t want to walk out onto the stage.” He opened a door and Steve stepped through.

He found himself in a bathroom. Turning around, he said: “No, this is—”

Proust’s bodyguard was right behind him. Before Steve knew what was happening, the man had him in a painful half nelson. “Make a noise and I’ll break your fucking arms,” he said.

Berrington stepped into the bathroom behind the bodyguard. Jim Proust followed him and closed the door.

The bodyguard held the boy tightly.

Berrington’s blood was boiling. “You young punk,” he hissed. “Which one are you? Steve Logan, I suppose.”

The boy tried to keep up the pretense. “Dad, what are you doing?”

“Forget it, the game’s up—now where is my son?”

The boy did not answer.

Jim said: “Berry, what the hell is going on?’

Berrington tried to calm down. “This isn’t Harvey,” he said to Jim. “This is one of the others, probably the Logan boy. He must have been impersonating Harvey since yesterday evening. Harvey himself must be locked away somewhere.”

Jim paled. “That means that what he told us about Jeannie Ferrami’s intentions was a blind!”

Berrington nodded grimly. “She’s probably planning some kind of protest at the press conference.”

Proust said: “Shit, not in front of all the cameras!”

“That’s what I’d do in her place—wouldn’t you?”

Proust thought for a moment. “Will Madigan keep his nerve?”

Berrington shook his head. “I couldn’t say. He’d look pretty foolish, canceling the takeover at the last minute. On the other hand, he’d look even more foolish paying a hundred and eighty million dollars for a company that’s about to be sued for every penny it’s got. He could go either way.”

“Then we’ve got to find Jeannie Ferrami and stop her!”

“She might have checked into the hotel.” Berrington snatched up the phone beside the toilet. “This is Professor Jones at the Genetico press conference in the Regency Room,” he said in his most authoritative voice. “We’re waiting for Dr. Ferrami—what room is she in?”

“I’m sorry, we’re not allowed to give out room numbers, sir.” Berrington was about to explode when she added: “Would you like me to connect you?”

“Yes, sure.” He heard the ringing tone. After a wait, it was answered by a man who sounded elderly. Improvising, Berrington said: “Your laundry is ready, Mr. Blenkinsop.”

“I didn’t give out no laundry.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, sir—what room are you in?” He held his breath.

“Eight twenty-one.”

“I wanted eight twelve. My apologies.”

“No problem.”

Berrington hung up. “They’re in room eight twenty-one,” he said excitedly. “I bet Harvey’s there.”

Proust said: “The press conference is about to start.”

“We may be too late.” Berrington hesitated, torn. He did not want to delay the announcement by a single second, but he needed to forestall whatever Jeannie was planning. After a moment he said to Jim: “Why don’t you go on stage with Madigan and Preston? I’ll do my best to find Harvey and stop Jeannie Ferrami.”

“Okay.”

Berrington looked at Steve. “I’d be happier if I could take your security man with me. But we can’t let Steve loose.”

The bodyguard said: “No problem, sir. I can handcuff him to a pipe.”

“Great. Do it.”

Berrington and Proust returned to the VIP room. Madigan looked curiously at them. “Something wrong, gentlemen?”

Proust said: “A minor security question, Mike. Berrington is going to handle it while we go ahead with our announcement.”

Madigan was not quite satisfied. “Security?”

Berrington said: “A woman I fired last week, Jean Ferrami, is in the hotel. She may pull some kind of stunt. I’m going to head her off at the pass.”

That was enough for him. “Okay, let’s get on with it.”