Extreme Measures by Michael Palmer Read Free Book Online Page A

read voraciously in a number of areas. He occasionally spoke of royalty he had dealt with in various countries, but had a self-effacing way about him that warned against being impressed by anything he said or did. He was a whiz with computers—or so he had said. And except for a brief stab at marriage, he had apparently lived a life as solitary as her own.
    He had a post office box in D.C. and a phone number that invariably was picked up by an answering service. Laura would not even have known the name of the company he worked for—Communigistics International, someplace in Virginia—had he not mentioned it once in passing.
    As the 727 glided over the runway, Laura felt a knot of apprehension tighten in her gut. There was so little for her to go on. Almost certainly she was overreacting. Scott had probably left Boston weeks before, and was now on the Riviera, sipping cappuccino with a beautiful model. Maybe she should just take the return flight to Cayman and wait things out for another month or so. Make some more calls.
    But in truth Laura knew there would be no turning back, and no calls. As it was, she had had to beg the operator to search harder for the number of a company called Communigistics, in Virginia, before the woman finally came up with one in the town of Laurel. Laura’s call was routed to the person in charge of personnel, who was far less helpful, denying that anyone named Enders had ever worked there. In fact, when Laura pressed matters the woman had actually become rude, and finally as much as hung up on her. Laura had tried a second time, and a third, but her attempts to be connected with someone other than the personnel director were stonewalled. Now, she decided, Communigistics International would find her someone else to talk with, or deal with an all-night sit-in at their offices.
    The cab ride to Laurel cost sixty dollars, ten ofwhich was spent trying to find Communigistics. After stopping twice for directions, the cabbie at last turned into an industrial park, drove past several nondescript gray marble buildings, and pulled to a stop before one that was indistinguishable from the others except for the number 300 on a small sign in front. Then he offered to wait.
    “I may be a while,” Laura said.
    “I got a meter.”
    “Okay,” she said. “Here’s twenty. If that gets used up, it’s okay for you to take off.”
    A week’s budget just for cabfare. Laura could see that some of her perspectives were about to undergo a change. The world beyond Little Cayman clearly viewed money differently than she did.
    Even though the woman in the Communigistics personnel office had denied that Scott worked there, Laura felt certain of what he had told her. It seemed strange now, entering Scott’s world without his knowing—it was like looking through his closet. She crossed the sterile foyer to the directory of offices. Communigistics was on the fourth floor. She tried to imagine her brother dressed in a suit and tie, carrying a briefcase through the brass-rimmed doors and across to the bank of elevators. The image did not fit with the easygoing, independent man who dived with her on Little Cayman, and who cared so much about natural beauty and the nature of things. It was easier to imagine Scott as a professor someplace, or perhaps a foreign correspondent.
    Communigistics International occupied the entire floor. A trim receptionist was typing behind a huge, solid-front desk with the name of the company emblazoned in gold across it.
    “I’m looking for my brother,” Laura began. “I don’t know what department he works in, but his name’s Enders. Scott Enders.”
    The woman checked her directory.
    “I’m sorry,” she said, “but I don’t have anyone listed here by that name.”
    “And you don’t know him?”
    “No, I’m afraid I don’t.”
    Laura fished in her purse and brought out a photograph. It was a picture the club manager had taken of Laura and her brother, dressed in wet suits,