"She's probably planning some kind of protest at the press conference."
Proust said: "Shit, not in front of all the cameras!"
"That's what I'd do in her place - wouldn't you?"
Proust thought for a moment. "Will Madigan keep his nerve?"
Berrington shook his head. "I couldn't say. He'd look pretty foolish, canceling the takeover at the last minute. On the other hand, he'd look even more foolish paying a hundred and eighty million dollars for a company that's about to be sued for every penny it's got. He could go either way."
"Then we've got to find Jeannie Ferrami and stop her!"
"She might have checked into the hotel." Berrington snatched up the phone beside the toilet. "This is Professor Jones at the Genetico press conference in the Regency Room," he said in his most authoritative voice. "We're waiting for Dr. Ferrami - what room is she in?"
"I'm sorry, we're not allowed to give out room numbers, sir." Berrington was about to explode when she added: "Would you like me to connect you?"
"Yes, sure." He heard the ringing tone. After a wait, it was answered by a man who sounded elderly. Improvising, Berrington said: "Your laundry is ready, Mr. Blenkinsop."
"I didn't give out no laundry."
"Oh, I'm sorry, sir - what room are you in?" He held his breath.
"Eight twenty-one."
"I wanted eight twelve. My apologies."
"No problem."
Berrington hung up. "They're in room eight twenty-one," he said excitedly. "I bet Harvey's there."
Proust said: "The press conference is about to start."
"We may be too late." Berrington hesitated, torn. He did not want to delay the announcement by a single second, but he needed to forestall whatever Jeannie was planning. After a moment he said to Jim: "Why don't you go on stage with Madigan and Preston? I'll do my best to find Harvey and stop Jeannie Ferrami."
"Okay."
Berrington looked at Steve. "I'd be happier if I could take your security man with me. But we can't let Steve loose."
The bodyguard said: "No problem, sir. I can handcuff him to a pipe."
"Great. Do it."
Berrington and Proust returned to the VIP room. Madigan looked curiously at them. "Something wrong, gentlemen?"
Proust said: "A minor security question, Mike. Berrington is going to handle it while we go ahead with our announcement."
Madigan was not quite satisfied. "Security?"
Berrington said: "A woman I fired last week, Jean Ferrami, is in the hotel. She may pull some kind of stunt. I'm going to head her off at the pass."
That was enough for him. "Okay, let's get on with it."
Madigan, Barck, and Proust went into the conference room. The bodyguard came out of the bathroom. He and Berrington hurried out into the corridor and pressed the button to summon the elevator. Berrington was apprehensive and worried. He was not a man of action - never had been. The kind of combat he was used to took place on college committees. He hoped he was not about to get in a fistfight.
They went to the eighth floor and ran to room eight twenty-one. Berrington rapped on the door. A man's voice called: "Who is it?"
Berrington said: "Housekeeping."
"We're okay, thank you, sir."
"I need to check your bathroom, please."
"Come back later."
'There's a problem, sir."
"I'm busy right now. Come back in an hour."
Berrington looked at the bodyguard. "Can you kick this door down?"
The man looked pleased. Then he looked over Berrington's shoulder and hesitated. Following the direction of his glance, Berrington saw an elderly couple with shopping bags emerge from the elevator. They walked slowly along the corridor toward 821. Berrington waited while they passed. They stopped outside 830. The husband put down his shopping, searched for his key, fumbled it into the lock, and opened the door. At last the couple disappeared into the room.
The bodyguard kicked the door.
The door frame cracked and splintered, but the door held. There was the sound of rapid footsteps from inside.
He kicked it again, and it flew open.
He rushed inside and Berrington followed.
They were brought up short by the sight of an elderly black man pointing a huge antiquated pistol at them.
"Stick up your hands, shut that door, get in here, and lie facedown, or I'll shoot you both dead," the man said. "After the way you bust in here, ain't no jury in Baltimore going to convict me for killing you."
Berrington raised his hands.
Suddenly a figure catapulted off the bed. Berrington just had time to see that it was Harvey, with his wrists tied together and some kind of gag over his mouth. The old man swung the gun toward him. Berrington was terrified that