The Fool's Run by John Sandford Read Free Book Online

I’ll want a second contract. Two million for computer consulting work. Security or something. So if I declare it with the IRS, it’ll be clean.”
    “Agreed.”
    “And I want the Whistler.”
    “The what?” He seemed puzzled.
    “The Whistler pastel down in the sitting room.”
    Anshiser glanced at Maggie, who said, “It’s the one next to the mantel, to the right.”
    “Oh, that, the gray one,” he said, the wrinkles disappearing from his forehead. “My wife bought it years ago. That was the last time I looked at it. Sure. Two million and the Whistler.”
    “I’ll think about it,” I said. “I have to do more research. On you, on Whitemark, on what we might do. I’ll get back.”
    “How long?”
    I shrugged. “A week.”
    He nodded. “A week, then. If you would go with Ms. Kahn, she will give you a copy of a report on Whitemark. And you can take this copy of Dillon’s report.” He pushed the black-bound typescript across the desk at me, stood, and rubbed his big wrinkled hands together. “Goddamn,” he said. “I’m going to enjoy this.”
    Maggie said, “Follow me, please.”
    Dillon, who hadn’t said a thing, followed us out of the office and turned the other way down the corridor, leaving Anshiser alone. Maggie led me to a smaller office and gestured at a chair as she settled behind her desk. There were two walls of bookshelves packed with texts and references, another window overlooking the lake, and a long oak table stacked with more books.
    “You need a painting in here,” I said.
    “Send me one.” She turned on her desk terminal, typed in a series of passwords, and punched a PRINT command. The Whitemark report churned out of a high-speed printer. In thirty seconds I had a sheaf of computer paper that ended with a list of names and job titles.
    “That’s as up-to-date as we can make it. It was good last week.” She looked a bit haggard. For the first time I noticed the fine lines near the corners of her eyes, incipient crow’s-feet.
    “Frightened?” I asked.
    “No, no. I’m a believer,” she said, looking up at me. “But there will be problems. They’re inevitable. We have a lot of complicated operations in our business. I’ve learned one thing about them: something will go wrong. Nothing ever works out quite the way you wanted it to. Nothing. With this operation, the consequences of error could be severe.”
    We talked for another minute, then she led the way back to the stairs and we circled down the staircase to the front entry. The chauffeur was waiting there with a package wrapped in brown paper.
    “What’s that?” Maggie asked.
    “A painting from the waiting room,” the chauffeur said. He handed it to me. “Mr. Anshiser said you should look at it while you think.” He spread his hands in a gesture of incomprehension. “I don’t know what it means. That’s just what he said.”
    The picture, even with the thick fruitwood frame, was light in my hands. A Whistler.

Chapter 5
    W ITH THE WHISTLER under my arm, I decided against another night in Chicago and had the chauffeur drop me at O’Hare. On the flight back to St. Paul I thumbed through Dillon’s report.
    Whitemark headquarters, which included design and research facilities, were in Virginia, outside Washington. The company’s main assembly plants were in North Carolina. If I took the job, we’d work out of a Washington suburb, so we’d be in the local call area of the Whitemark computer center. The report listed the names of the company’s top officers, manufacturing personnel, and engineers. I made a note to call Bobby with the list.
    Whitemark was founded by an eccentric electronics enthusiast named Harry Whitemark in the mid-twenties. Originally, the company manufactured radios. It barely survived the ’29 crash, and in the thirties went into avionics. During World War II, the company rebuilt civilian planes as specialized light observation aircraft. When Korea came along, it refitted helicopters with