Book of Nathan (18 page)

“Visio Dei is reserved for those who are in a position to do
more than just talk about stopping abortionists,” she said. “It is open to
people like you who have the resources to fund the battle to protect the
unborn. The question is—do you have the determination to use some of those
resources to fight for life? Because if you do, then you’ll pledge yourself to
Visio Dei. It won’t be cheap and it won’t be easy.”

Russet let the group ponder the picture she had painted.
Then she opened the floor for questions. A few hands went up, and soon there
was discussion about the responsibilities and price tag for a Visio Dei
membership. The
Quia Vita
CEO distributed a handsome folder stuffed with brochures and leaflets. One
insert explained the financial hurdle that needed to be cleared if one were to
make it into the top tier of the organization. While there were different ways
to join the club (tithing, living trust, property transfers), it would take a
minimum of $7,500 a year to remain a member in good standing.

An hour into the meeting, Russet unfolded a note that had
been left on the podium. Had she arrived for the meeting on time, she probably
would have read the message earlier. The way she glared at Doc and me after
scanning the note, I was relieved she had waited.
  

The crowd split in two. Half surrounded Russet and half
headed for a roll-in table loaded with desserts, coffee, tea, and an assortment
of after-dinner liqueurs.
 

The commotion made it easy for Doc and me to slip out. We
took a few steps into the adjacent hallway before Russet rumbled through the
doorway.

“Follow me,” she ordered. There was no salutation—just a
requirement. We trailed the woman into a small room two doors down from where
the prospective Visio Dei members were stuffing themselves with cream puffs and
petit fours. Jane, the Hyatt group account manager, was alone in the room.

“Do you know these men?” Russet asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” Jane said. “Well, not really, ma’am.”

“Not really is the right answer,” Russet snapped. “You’re
the gatekeeper to Visio Dei. I trusted you to make sure only the right people
get into the meetings. And you let us down. You opened the door to two men
whose mission is to stop us from defending the unborn.”

“But they’re pro-life,” Jane said. “That’s what I was told.
They’re pro-life.”

Russet approached her like a demon from hell. “Told by
whom?”

Jane could have mentioned Douglas Kool, but she didn’t cave,
mainly because she was crying so hard she had lost the power of speech.

“I want to make it clear to you what you’ve done,” Russet
said, three inches from Jane’s face. “You let these two steal information—information
they can twist and warp in a way that could prevent hundreds or thousands of
babies from being born.”

“But, I—”
 

“I want you to leave,” Russet demanded. “Now!”

Jane tried to muffle her hysterics with a hanky the size of
a credit card and then dashed out the door.
 

Russet turned to Doc and me.
 

“I know who you are.”

“And we know who you are,” I said calmly.
 

“You got lucky, Mr. Bullock. Lucky I didn’t get the message
about you and your friend here until minutes before the meeting ended. Had I
known, I’d have exposed you to the others in the room. And I can assure you, it
would have been a most unpleasant experience.”

My curiosity plowed through my fury. Who sent the note that
tipped Russet off? Who gave us away? It certainly wasn’t Jane. Best guess was
that Doug had slipped the information to Silverstein who, in turn, made contact
with Russet. But it didn’t make sense that the billionaire would let
Quia Vita
know two interlopers had penetrated its defenses. Which brought me back to
Doug. There was no good reason to think he ratted me out on purpose, but my
friend was notorious for his loose lips.

“Why are you here?” Russet asked.
 

“Fact finding.”

“And I know the facts you’re looking for. You’re checking
out just how deep
Quia Vita
’s
pockets are. Well, I’m happy to give you that information. All you have to know
is that we have sufficient funds to pay for whatever God tells us we need to
purchase.”

“Enough funds to buy some common sense?” Doc asked.

“I’m not going to stand here and wallow in your insults.”

Doc returned fire. “Why not? We spent an hour wallowing in
your pro-life twaddle.”
  
 

“Pardon me?”

Here we go
I
thought.
 

The professor stretched out his arms to make sure he had
Russet’s attention. “Where do you find all these people who have more money
than brains?”

“What each of them has is a soul. Something you appear to be
lacking.”

“The world has its share of fanatics. You happen to be one
of them and so be it. What turns me purple are the people who sit there and soak
up your drivel as if it were nectar.”

Russet was unflappable. “The nectar you’re talking about has
another name. The truth.”

“Half truths, at best. You let people think there’s no
difference between a single-cell zygote and a six-year-old kid.”

“That single-cell zygote has forty-six chromosomes and
everything it needs to grow into that six-year-old child. You seem to have
forgotten your biology. The only difference between a zygote and a baby is a
trip down the birth canal.”

“Crap. That single-cell zygote also has the same DNA makeup
as a hair follicle. Hello, Ms. Russet. We’re in Dolly the Sheep’s world. We’re
a whisker away from taking a strand of your short, gray hair and turning it
into a living, breathing thing.”

“Your immorality astounds me, professor,” said Russet. There
was a reverberation in her words that reminded me of a volcano about to spout.
Disgusted, she began working on me. “What about you, Mr. Bullock? Are you as
determined to kill babies as your friend?”

I wasn’t here to get into a firefight over abortion. I knew
my take on the issue would only fan Russet’s flames, so I picked my words
carefully. What I wanted to say was that
Quia
Vita
should spend more time in my world where squalor, alcoholism, drug addiction,
and penury make for a lousy bassinette. I never castigated a woman who didn’t
want a child born into such a morass. I didn’t find fault with a mother who
ended an unwanted pregnancy because she had already produced too many kids who
were pulling her into inescapable destitution. No one could sell me on the idea
that the end product of rape or incest should be allowed to go full term. In my
opinion, trying to pin down whether an abortion was appropriate or immoral
three minutes after conception or three months down the line was much less
important than figuring out how to stop people from conceiving by accident or
stupidity. That’s what I could have said. Instead: “Given your religious
beliefs, I can understand why you feel strongly about—”

“You don’t understand
anything
about me,” Russet charged. “What I understand
is
that both of you are here to inflict as much damage as you can on my
organization.”

Doc threw a counterpunch. “Like you inflict guilt and shame
on innocent women?”

“Make sure you hear me,” said Russet. “I know what you both
want. Coming here hasn’t helped you. Not in the least. All that you
accomplished tonight is to prove to me how disgusting each of you are.”

“If someone like you finds me disgusting, then I’ve been
paid the ultimate compliment,” Doc roared.

It wasn’t a knockout blow, but it put the woman back on her
heels. For the first time, I spotted something behind Russet’s iron-plate
exterior. Sensitivity.

“You’re truly cursed,” she said to the professor.

“Cursed because I want you off the back of any woman who has
the right to decide whether to continue or end a pregnancy? I don’t think so.”

Russet stormed out of the room. “
Liberate te ex Inferis!
”
she called back to us.

“Advice you might want to heed yourself!” Doc yelled after
her. “Oh, and if we should meet again,
da
mihi sis crustum Etruscum cum omnibus in eo!”

I waited until Russet had disappeared. “I thought we agreed
this wasn’t the time or place to get into an argument,” I said to the
professor.

“Couldn’t help myself. Sorry.”

“What was the Latin shouting match about?”
 

“She told me to save myself from hell,” Doc translated.

“What was your comeback?”

“The only Latin phrase I could remember. Bring me a pizza
with everything on it.”

Chapter 12

“Enough
bitching!” Doug snapped. “You
were
the one who wanted me to dig for whatever I could find about Silverstein’s
daughter!”

“You could have done your digging without telling
Silverstein I was going to Judith Russet’s meeting last night,” I yelled into
the phone. It was nine a.m. and I was as exhausted as I was irritable.
 

“I didn’t tell him,” Doug said.

“Give me a break.”

“Look, I never talked to Arthur. He wasn’t in. I spent a
half hour with Abraham Arcontius yanking out as much information as I could
about Ruth Silverstein. Your name happened to come up.”

“Which is when you told Arcontius I’d be infiltrating
Russet’s party.”

“What if I did? I tried to smooth things over between you
and Silverstein. Arcontius says Arthur’s not sure he can trust you, and I
wanted to put a little polish on your credibility. The old man thinks you’ve
got a hidden agenda—that you’re out to do more than save Zeusipath’s ass.”

I can’t explain why I called Doug a friend. We weren’t
bonded by trust, that’s for sure. Whatever commitment or promise Doug made
usually came peppered with loopholes. Even so, I knew if I were really in
trouble, Doug would be one of the first to hold out his hand.

“Just remember,” Doug went on, “if Arthur gets word I was
asking about his kid because you wanted me to, then you
and I both have a problem.”

I already had one problem—Twyla Tharp. I didn’t need
another. I let my friend continue talking.

“Nailing down Ruth Silverstein’s history wasn’t easy. When I
was on the phone with Arcontius, I fed him a fairytale about an auditor who was
looking into an endowment Arthur set up with one of the charities he supports.”

“Keep going.”

“The endowment is restricted—it can only be used to fund the
kind of medical and health care programs that could have prevented Ruth’s death
or improved her treatment. I said the auditor wanted evidence the endowment was
being used properly and that meant we had to revisit Ruth’s medical records.”

I could almost see Arcontius’s pencil-thin eyebrows cocking
up like a minitent. “He fell for that load?”

“You forget who’s on my end of the phone. There’s nobody
better at selling fiction as reality.”
 

I couldn’t debate that point. After all, Doug was a
professional fundraiser, and being able to invent a storyline for any occasion
was what made him so good at his profession. “Doesn’t sound like it took much
pressure to convince Arcontius to dive into Ruth’s archives,” I said.

“You’re wrong. I had to kick him to get him to put in a
couple of hours of search and find. He said that if he was going to do me a
favor, he wanted something in return.”

“That’s when you rolled over and told him where I’d be last
night.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Doug insisted. “Arcontius has orders
from Silverstein to watch you. You never told me you signed a contract to keep
the old man in the know about what’s happening with the Kurios murder
investigation.”