Part 29 (1/2)

As her spirits sank from despondency to black despair, she remembered the disk with the FBI data. She rummaged through the contents of the plastic sack, but there were no floppy disks. Her results, the backbone of her defense, were locked inside the room.

She pounded futilely on the door with her fist. A pa.s.sing student who took her statistics cla.s.s gave her a startled look and said: ”Can I help you, Professor?”

She recalled his name. ”Hi, Ben. You could kick down this G.o.dd.a.m.n door.”

He studied the door, looking dubious.

”I didn't mean it,” she said. ”I'm fine, thanks.”

He shrugged and walked on.

There was no point standing and staring at the locked door. She picked up the plastic bag and walked into the lab. Lisa was at her desk, keying data into a computer. ”I've been fired,” Jeannie said.

Lisa stared at her. ”What?” ”What?”

”They locked me out of my office and dumped my stuff in this f.u.c.king garbage bag.”

”I don't believe it!”

Jeannie took her briefcase out of the bag and extracted the New York Times. New York Times. ”It's on account of this.” ”It's on account of this.”

Lisa read the first two paragraphs and said: ”But this is bulls.h.i.+t.”

Jeannie sat down. ”I know. So why is Berrington pretending to take it seriously?”

”You think he's pretending?”

”I'm sure of it. He's too smart to let himself be rattled by this kind of c.r.a.p. He has some other agenda.” Jeannie drummed her feet on the floor, helpless with frustration. ”He's ready to do anything, he's really going out on a limb with this...there must be something big at stake for him.” Perhaps she would find the answer in the medical records of the Aventine Clinic in Philadelphia. She checked her watch. She was due there at two P.M P.M.: she had to leave soon.

Lisa still could not take in the news. ”They can't just fire fire you,” she said indignantly. you,” she said indignantly.

”There's a disciplinary hearing tomorrow morning.”

”My G.o.d, they're serious.”

”They sure are.”

”Is there anything I can do?”

There was, but Jeannie was afraid to ask. She looked appraisingly at Lisa. Lisa was wearing a high-necked blouse with a loose sweater over it, despite the hot weather: she was covering up her body, a reaction to the rape, no doubt. She still looked solemn, like someone recently bereaved.

Would her friends.h.i.+p prove as fragile as Ghita's? Jeannie was terrified of the answer. If Lisa let her down who would she have left? But she had to put her to the test, even though this was the worst possible time. ”You could try to get into my office,” she said hesitantly. ”The results from the FBI are in there.”

Lisa did not answer right away. ”Did they change your lock, or something?”

”It's easier than that. They alter the code electronically so that your card no longer works. I won't be able to get into the building after hours either, I'll bet.”

”It's hard to take this in, it's happened so quickly.”

Jeannie hated pressuring Lisa to take risks. She racked her brains for a way out. ”Maybe I could get in myself. A cleaner might let me in, but my guess is that the lock will no longer respond to their cards either. If I'm not using the room it won't need cleaning anyway. But security must be able to get in.”

”They won't help you. They'll know you've been locked out deliberately.”

”That's true,” Jeannie said. ”They might let you in, though. You could say you needed something from my office.”

Lisa looked thoughtful.

”I hate to ask you,” Jeannie said.

Then Lisa's expression changed. ”h.e.l.l, yes,” she said at last. ”Of course I'll try it.”

Jeannie felt choked up. ”Thanks,” she said. She bit her lip. ”You're a friend.” She reached across the desk and squeezed Lisa's hand.

Lisa was embarra.s.sed by Jeannie's emotion. ”Where in your office is the FBI list?” she said practically.

”The information is on a floppy disk labeled SHOPPING.LST, in a box of floppies in my desk drawer.”

”Got it.” Lisa frowned. ”I can't understand why they're so against you.”

”It all started with Steve Logan,” Jeannie said. ”Ever since Berrington saw him here, there has been trouble. But I think I may be on the way to understanding why.” She stood up.

”What are you going to do now?” said Lisa.

”I'm going to Philadelphia.”

32.

BERRINGTON STARED OUT OF THE WINDOW OF HIS OFFICE. NO one was using the tennis court this morning. His imagination pictured Jeannie there. He had seen her on the first or second day of the semester, racing across the court in her short skirt, brown legs pumping, white shoes flas.h.i.+ng.... He had fallen for her then. He frowned, wondering why he had been so struck by her athleticism. Seeing women play sports was not a special turn-on for him. He never watched one was using the tennis court this morning. His imagination pictured Jeannie there. He had seen her on the first or second day of the semester, racing across the court in her short skirt, brown legs pumping, white shoes flas.h.i.+ng.... He had fallen for her then. He frowned, wondering why he had been so struck by her athleticism. Seeing women play sports was not a special turn-on for him. He never watched American Gladiators, American Gladiators, unlike Professor Gormley in Egyptology, who had every show on videotapes and reran them, according to rumor, late at night in his den at home. But when Jeannie played tennis she achieved a special grace. It was like watching a lion break into a sprint in a nature film; the muscles flowed beneath the skin, the hair flew in the slipstream, and the body moved, stopped, turned, and moved again with astonis.h.i.+ng, supernatural suddenness. It was mesmerizing to watch, and he had been captivated. Now she was threatening everything he had worked for all his life, yet he still wished he could watch her play tennis one more time. unlike Professor Gormley in Egyptology, who had every show on videotapes and reran them, according to rumor, late at night in his den at home. But when Jeannie played tennis she achieved a special grace. It was like watching a lion break into a sprint in a nature film; the muscles flowed beneath the skin, the hair flew in the slipstream, and the body moved, stopped, turned, and moved again with astonis.h.i.+ng, supernatural suddenness. It was mesmerizing to watch, and he had been captivated. Now she was threatening everything he had worked for all his life, yet he still wished he could watch her play tennis one more time.

It was maddening that he could not simply dismiss her, even though her salary was essentially paid by him. Jones Falls University was her employer, and Genetico had already given them the money. A college could not fire faculty the way a restaurant could fire an incompetent waiter. That was why he had to go through this rigmarole.

”The h.e.l.l with her,” he said aloud, and he went back to his desk.

This morning's interview had proceeded smoothly, until the revelation about Jack Budgen. Berrington had got Maurice good and riled in advance and had neatly prevented any rapprochement. But it was bad news that the chair of the discipline committee was to be Jeannie's tennis partner. Berrington had not checked this out in advance; he had a.s.sumed he would have some influence over the choice of chair, and he had been dismayed to learn that the appointment was a done thing.

There was a grave danger Jack would see Jeannie's side of the story.

He scratched his head worriedly. Berrington never socialized with, his academic colleagues-he preferred the more glamorous company of political and media types. But he knew Jack Budgen's background. Jack had retired from professional tennis at the age of thirty and returned to college to get his doctorate. Already too old to begin a career in chemistry, his subject, he had become an administrator. Running the university's complex of libraries and balancing the conflicting demands of rival departments required a tactful and obliging nature, and Jack did it well.

How could Jack be swayed? He was not a devious man: quite the reverse-his easygoing nature went along with a kind of naivete. He would be offended if Berrington lobbied him openly or blatantly offered some kind of bribe. But it might be possible to influence him discreetly.

Berrington himself had accepted a bribe once. He still felt knots in his guts whenever he thought of it. It had happened early in his career, before he had become a full professor. A woman undergraduate had been caught cheating-paying another student to write her term paper. Her name was Judy Gilmore and she was really cute. She ought to have been expelled from the university, but the head of the department had the power to impose a lesser punishment. Judy had come to Berrington's office to ”talk about the problem.” She had crossed and uncrossed her legs, and gazed mournfully into his eyes, and bent forward so that he could look down the front of her s.h.i.+rt and glimpse a lacy bra.s.siere. He had been sympathetic and had promised to intercede for her. She had cried and thanked him, then taken his hand, then kissed him on the lips, and finally she had unzipped his fly.

She had never suggested a deal. She had not offered him s.e.x before he had agreed to help her, and after they had screwed on the floor she had calmly dressed and combed her hair and kissed him and left. But the next day he had persuaded the department head to let her off with a warning.