the Third Twin (1996)

He took a shower, shaved, and dressed for high authority in a charcoal gray suit with a faint pinstripe, a white shirt, and a black tie with small red dots. He wore monogrammed gold cuff links, he folded a white linen handkerchief into his breast pocket, and he buffed the toecaps of his black oxfords until they gleamed.

He drove to the campus, went to his office, and turned on his computer. Like most superstar academics, he did very little teaching. Here at Jones Falls he gave one lecture per year. His role was to direct and supervise the research of the scientists in the department and to add the prestige of his name to the papers they wrote. But this morning he could not concentrate on anything, so he looked out of the window and watched four youngsters play an energetic game of doubles on the tennis court while he waited for the phone to ring.

He did not have to wait long.

At nine-thirty the president of Jones Falls University, Maurice Obeli, called. “We’ve got a problem,” he said.

Berrington tensed. “What’s up, Maurice?”

“Bitch on the New York Times just called me. She says someone in your department is invading people’s privacy. A Dr. Ferrami.”

Thank God, Berrington thought jubilantly; Hank Stone came through! He made his voice solemn. “I was afraid of something like this,” he said. “I’ll be right over.” He hung up and sat for a moment, thinking. It was too soon to celebrate victory. He had only begun the process. Now he had to get both Maurice and Jeannie to behave just the way he wanted.

Maurice sounded worried. That was a good start. Berrington had to make sure he stayed worried. He needed Maurice to feel it would be a catastrophe if Jeannie did not stop using her database search program immediately. Once Maurice had decided on firm action, Berrington had to make sure he stuck to his resolve.

Most of all, he had to prevent any kind of compromise. Jeannie was not much of a compromiser by nature, he knew, but with her whole future at stake she would probably try anything. He would have to fuel her outrage and keep her combative.

And he must do all that while trying to appear well intentioned. If it became obvious that he was trying to undermine Jeannie, Maurice might smell a rat. Berrington had to seem to defend her.

He left Nut House and walked across campus, past the Barrymore Theater and the Faculty of Arts to Hillside Hall. Once the country mansion of the original benefactor of the university, it was now the administration building. The university president’s office was the magnificent drawing room of the old house. Berrington nodded pleasantly to Dr. Obell’s secretary and said: “He’s expecting me.”

“Go right in, please, Professor,” she said.

Maurice was sitting in the bay window overlooking the lawn. A short, barrel-chested man, he had returned from Vietnam in a wheelchair, paralyzed from the waist down. Berrington found him easy to relate to, perhaps because they had a background of military service in common. They also shared a passion for the music of Mahler.

Maurice often wore a harassed air. To keep JFU going he had to raise ten million dollars a year from private and corporate benefactors, and consequently he dreaded bad publicity.

He spun his chair around and rolled to his desk. “They’re working on a big article on scientific ethics, she says. Berry, I can’t have Jones Falls heading that article with an example of unethical science. Half our big donors would have a cow. We’ve got to do something about this.” “Who is she?”

Maurice consulted a scratch pad. “Naomi Freelander. She’s the ethics editor. Did you know newspapers had ethics editors? I didn’t.”

“I’m not surprised the New York Times has one.”

“It doesn’t stop them acting like the goddamn Gestapo. They’re about to go to press with this article, they say, but yesterday they got a tip-off about your Ferrami woman.”

“I wonder where the tip came from?” Berrington said.

“There are some disloyal bastards around.”

“I guess so.”

Maurice sighed. “Say it’s not true, Berry. Tell me she doesn’t invade people’s privacy.”

Berrington crossed his legs, trying to appear relaxed when he was in fact wired taut. This was where he had to walk a tightrope. “I don’t believe she does anything wrong,” he said. “She scans medical databases and finds people who don’t know they’re twins. It’s very clever, as a matter of fact—”

“Is she looking at people’s medical records without their permission?”

Berrington pretended to be reluctant. “Well … sort of.”

“Then she’ll have to stop.”

“The trouble is, she really needs this information for her research project.”

“Maybe we can offer her some compensation.”

Berrington had not thought of bribing her. He doubted it would work, but there was no harm in trying. “Good idea.”

“Does she have tenure?”

“She started here this semester, as an assistant professor. She’s six years away from tenure, at least. But we could give her a raise. I know she needs the money, she told me.”

“How much does she make now?”