The Veritas Conflict (57 page)

“Don’t apologize. Just tell me what happened.”

“I don’t think …” She closed her eyes, her emotions drained. She just wanted to go to sleep. “I don’t think I can.”

A pause. Ian’s voice was quiet. “What?”

“I don’t think I can tell you. I was helping a friend with something personal, and I don’t think I should talk about it.”

“Claire, you have a job. If you’re going to keep this job, we have to depend on you. Three days ago you were assigned a task—a fairly simple one—and I didn’t find out that you weren’t doing it until tonight. And by then, all the offices I could have called were closed.”

“But—”

“I can’t spend time calling around tomorrow morning. I have class. Can you do the advance work tomorrow morning before Mansfield’s class?”

Claire’s voice was quiet. “I have class at 9:30, and then Mansfield’s test at 11:00. I’ll have to do the advance work in the afternoon.”

“Well, if that’s the case, it looks like we’re not going to be able to start the research until Friday. And that means that anything we find is going to have to be investigated next week, which will be too late. I just found out there’s something going on that’s even more strange than we thought, but we have to know something by this Friday.” Claire heard a short sigh on the other end of the line. “I’m sorry to get irritated. But this is really frustrating.”

“I know. I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah.” A short laugh. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow in class. Good luck on the test.”

“Okay.”

There was a click, and Claire put down the receiver slowly. She crept to the bed, not even bothering to change her clothes, and crawled under the covers. She pulled Eeyore tight to her chest and curled up into a ball.

God, I know I made the right decision. Thank You for Bethany and the choice she
made. O God, defend me with Mansfield and Ian, and help me still do well on the test
.

She thought of all the heavy books stacked on her desk, and her eyes opened with a jolt. She groaned, then jammed her face into her pillow.
And God, help me find a stupid backpack tomorrow before class. And give me a way to find that information for Mansfield in the morning!

God cared even about the little things, she told herself. Her prayers trailed off as her weary mind drifted into sleep.

Across the room, the gaze of a giant angel was gentle on his charge. “Trust, Claire. The plans of God Almighty are perfect.”

Gael watched from above as the class broke up, the test takers stretching in their seats. The professor left by the side door, and the young woman tentatively approached the unsmiling TA on the podium.

The angel kept an eye on the smirking enemy forces in the room, as the two young people exhanged words. Gael shook his head at the tone Ian was using. That was not going to get them anywhere. And with the events playing out today…

Gael took a position above the young man, speaking urgently to him.
“Tell her about D.J.”

“You won’t know until
when?”
Ian’s voice was sharp as he looked at Claire.

“I’m sorry, Ian. I tried. I even left my sociology class hallway through and called around. I think I found the right office—over in one of the finance areas—but they said I need to talk to the resource director, and he wouldn’t be back until three o’clock. I’ve left a message for him to call me then.”

A short sigh. “Well, thanks for trying.”

“Ian, I wish I could explain. I think you’d—”

“That’s okay.”

Gael tried speaking his message again, but the young man didn’t even pause. “And we’re obviously not going to worry about lunch today. Mansfield said he’d take the opportunity to get in on some meeting he should be at, and I’m going to try to catch up on my studying. Call me tonight with where we’re meeting tomorrow. I’ll explain the whole thing then.”

“I will. Definitely.”

Gael watched in frustration as Ian nodded and walked out the side door. Claire headed back to her desk. Several HCF students came up, and one clapped her on the shoulder.

“You okay?”

“Oh. Yeah.” Claire smiled. “Just got a lot to do.”

“Well, can you do it after lunch?” At Claire’s nod, the student began steering her out the door. “We’re meeting up with the gang for lunch at Annenberg to talk about the barbecue on Saturday.”

Gael shot across campus, pulling up near several angels in conference on the lawn by Memorial Hall, the lunchtime crowd like city traffic at rush hour.

Gael gave a respectful, if brief, salute to his commanding officer. “Kai, she intends to go to Annenburg with the other saints. Has the second thread been pulled?”

“Yes, by the good hand of God, the unraveling is beginning at this moment.” Kai pondered. “Annenburg will not work.” He looked at the lunch rush in and out of the building.

Gael followed his eyes. The traffic through the main doors was heavy as students headed for the Sanders Theater classroom or Annenburg dining hall. Gael shifted his view to the outside steps that led to the basement of Memorial Hall. He tapped Kai’s shoulder, drawing his attention to the relatively clear stairway. “Loker Commons has a television near the food court.”

“Good. Make it so.” Kai turned to one of the other angels. “Metras, go to the law school and ensure the timing will work. Listen for the Spirits direction when the press conference starts.”

He turned back to Gael. “Do not delay. Once you know the number of saints who will be eating with Claire, call for reinforcements to hold a table.”

“Gladly. I’ll even get in on the action myself.”

“Nuts.” Claire and seven others approached the throngs heading for Annenberg. “Were never going to sit together.”

She felt a tug on the sleeve of her coat. Doug Turner was pointing toward another set of stairs. “Anyone up for pizza?”

The group hurried down the outside stairs and through the doors. Claire frowned at the packed tables near the food court, trying to stifle her impatience. Maybe she should just go back to her room.

“I don’t think—”

Suddenly she spotted a large group rising from some nearby tables that had been pushed together. They began gathering up trays, empty glasses, and burger wrappers. She hurried over.

“Are you all leaving?”

A tall young man smiled down at her. “Absolutely.” He gestured to the tables. “Be our guest.”

Claire beckoned to the others standing by the doors. Her friends pushed through the tables, passing the outgoing group with nods and thanks.

Teresa pulled up next to her. “How do you always
do
that?”

Claire shrugged, a genuine grin growing on her face.

Ten minutes later, Claire thankfully tucked into her food. Doug cocked an eyebrow at her, a humorous expression on his face. “You’re weird, you know that?”

“Hey! Everyone uses a fork and knife to eat pizza.” The others at the table looked on in amusement as Claire cut another piece and used the fork to pop it into her mouth.

“Not everyone where I come from, babe. In fact, in my uncles pizza parlor, that could get you tossed out the door on your hind end.”

“Your uncle owns a pizza parlor? Cool. Where?”

“In Lansing, Michigan.”

“No kidding? I didn’t know you were from Michigan!”

“Really? I thought you did. I met you at the Michigan students dinner during orientation.”

“You were there?” Claire bit her lip as several of their friends guffawed. “I totally don’t remember meeting you.”

Doug smiled slightly. “Well, I remember meeting you.”

Claire watched the fleeting look on his face and ducked her head before the others saw the flush on her cheeks. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Teresa grinning into her soda.

A commotion of some kind erupted from the lounge area beside the food court. Several students came hurrying out of a side room that held a giant television screen, gesturing for friends at nearby tables to join them.

Doug caught one such student on the fly. “Hey—what’s going on?”

The young man delivered the news with great relish. “its wild! The FBI just busted an investment banker for embezzlement—some guy who graduated from here just a few years ago.” The young man moved toward the lounge, speaking over his shoulder. “The networks are all interrupting their shows and talking about it. CNN’s on in the lounge.”

Claire, Doug, and the others glanced at each other, then rapidly pushed back their chairs and piled toward the side room, mingling with the dozens of other students who
were pressing into the small space, staring at the large screen on the wall.

The television transitioned from a commercial to CNN’s musical introduction, and the camera tightened in on the good-looking male and female anchors sitting behind their long desk.

“Good afternoon.” The woman’s face was intent. “Thank you for joining us. I’m Dylan Keelan.”

“And I’m Bob Hummer.”

A logo appeared on the screen beside his head, the gold letters
KCP
intertwined on a black background.

“Let’s go right to our top story,” he looked down at some notes. “This morning, rumors hit the street of a possible federal investigation into the business practices of venerable investment bank Keppler, Collins, and Preston.”

A switch of view, and the female anchor spoke, a picture of a young man appearing in the air by her head. “Roughly one hour ago, FBI agents arrested this man, Murphy Barker, a banker and strategist with KCP, in connection with a drug-running operation in Peru. Mr. Barker, who graduated from Harvard University with honors just four years ago, is being charged with insider trading, embezzlement, money laundering, and possibly drug trafficking.”

The small lounge room began to buzz, the students talking over the sound of the anchors voice.

“Quiet!”

A woman sitting in the front of the room was holding up her arms for silence, her face intent on the screen above her.

The male anchor turned toward the camera. “Since the rumors began this morning, KCP’s stock price has taken a beating. After the arrest, KCP executives decried the actions of their associate and asserted that any embezzlement will have no material impact on their earnings this quarter. They have vowed to cooperate fully with the federal investigation.”

“Wait a moment.” He pressed his hand against his earpiece then looked back into the camera. “Okay. We will now go live to a press conference with the U.S. Attorney for the southern district of New York, who just a few minutes ago left the investment bank after meeting with KCP officers.”

The scene switched, and the camera showed a man in a trench coat answering reporters questions on the sidewalk in front of the massive KCP doors.

“… we do have some evidence that Mr. Murphy Barker had a long-standing connection with this drug cartel. In fact, its possible that Mr. Barker specifically took the job at Keppler, Collins, and Preston in order to infiltrate Wall Street on behalf of the cartel.”

The room of students began to buzz again, this time in whispers, all eyes riveted on the screen.

“Mr. Barker primarily worked in the division of KCP that did mergers, acquisitions, and financing for pharmaceutical companies worldwide. The records are very difficult to follow, but it appears that the drug kingpins were intending to finance his MBA when he entered business school next fall.”

A reporter shouted a question, and the U.S. Attorney responded, his expression sober. “Well, we think the reason was that once he got his MBA, he could return to his undercover work at a higher level. One last question.”

The U.S. Attorney called on the last reporter and leaned forward, trying to hear over the traffic noise. He stood straighter and looked back at the larger group. “We don’t know exactly how he originally got involved with the cartel. The records are spotty, and unless Mr. Barker cooperates fully—which he is not currently doing—its possible we’ll never know the full connection. One possibility arises from the summer internship Mr. Barker did in Peru after his sophomore year at Harvard. Its possible that he got hooked up with the cartel then, completed his major in business, and went off to Wall Street to work for his real bosses.”

The U.S. Attorneys expression turned ironic as he looked into the cameras. “It used to be that businessmen became criminals; Now it appears that criminals are becoming businessmen.” He held up a hand. “Thank you very much.” He pulled up the collar of his coat and stepped quickly to a waiting car. The cameras followed him as he folded himself into the car, and was gone.

The shot returned to the CNN anchors, who explained that they would be back after a short break. The small lounge room broke up in a flurry of discussions and excited gestures. Claire watched as the woman in front stood up slowly, her expression blank, and begin to make her way back through the crowd.

Claire caught her eye as she went by. “Pretty weird, isn’t it?”

The woman paused and looked at her, then back to the television screen. “Yes, it is. I’m really blindsided by this. I was in school with Murphy, and I was in Peru with him on that sophomore trip—”

Doug’s head whipped around. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.” She looked unsettled and her face was pale. “Look, I should be going. I have to write my third-year paper and—”

“Are you a grad student?” Doug gestured toward their abandoned table. “Please. Join us for a minute. Can I get you a soda or something?”

Claire scooted ahead to the food court and brought back a tall glass of ice. “What would you like—water, Coke …?”

“Oh, um, a Diet Coke would be great. Thank you.”

A minute later Claire was back with the drink. “Here you go.”

“Thank you.” The woman looked at the others around the table and smiled slightly. “I guess I’m pretty out of it. Sorry.”

Doug smiled and held out his hand. “That’s okay. I’m Doug.”

“I’m Patrice.”

Doug introduced the others around the table, and they nodded and murmured greetings.

Claire caught her eye and smiled briefly. “It must be awful to have one of your friends from school do something like this.”

“Yeah. Well, Murphy was never a close friend, but we did know each other. We had a lot of business classes together, plus the two Machu Picchu trips.”