The intern was Maura Greer.

That was when Manwaring took center stage again. He explained that he had met Maura several times when he'd gone to meetings at the Hubert Humphrey Building, the home of the FDA. She was flirtatious, she was attractive. They'd begun an affair several months before Maura had spent the weekend with Helen. After a while, Maura came to Man-waring and told him about the conversations she'd had with Helen. This was exactly at the time when he was struggling with his own conscience and suspicions. He encouraged Maura to become Helen's contact and to pa.s.s all information on to him. He didn't know what to do with it; he didn't know exactly to whom he could turn. But he knew he had to do something. And he knew he had to turn somewhere.

Then all h.e.l.l broke loose. Maura was killed. He, Manwaring, was set up and his credibility destroyed. He explained that the powers that be even managed to provide women who told the media that he'd been having affairs with them, that he'd become violent when they had discussions about leaving his wife. He'd never even met any of those women, he told Justin and Deena. Never met them, never heard of them. They were complete and utter fabrications. But they were smart fabrications. Manwaring had been unfaithful, and with women other than Maura. It was his weakness, and they were able to exploit it to their advantage. He knew that the more he denied these specific affairs, the more likely it was that other women would step forward to denounce his credibility. Once the media jumped on board and he became the favorite topic of talking heads and tabloid headlines, he was fairly helpless to combat the smears. Everything was a brilliantly executed ploy, organized by masters of manipulation, to remove him from office and stop him from talking, and to install Chase Welles, who would go along with any and all cover-ups.

Helen was then close to panic mode, she said. She wasn't sure whom she could talk to next. She waited for two weeks, then went to one person. One of her college professors. A mentor. His name was Joseph Fennerman. She showed him files she had stolen and notes she had compiled. He was the only person she knew who might have the scientific knowledge to perceive what was happening and the connections to do something about it. She was afraid he would laugh at her but after listening to her and studying the material she gave him, he didn't laugh. He told her he had people he could see in Washington and that he would look into it. He called her to say that he had made two appointments. One was with a scientist who worked for one of the top pharmaceutical companies. It was someone Fennerman trusted. The second appointment was with the head of the FDA. He would get to the bottom of this, he told Helen. Don't worry.

Three days after he told her not to worry, Dr. Fennerman was mugged and murdered after a lecture in London.

"I felt trapped," Helen said now. "I couldn't prove that Dr. Fennerman's death was connected to Aphrodite. But I knew that it was. I felt responsible for the deaths of two people. Two people I cared about." She sipped at a gla.s.s of water, her lower lip trembling at the memory. "Also," she said, putting down the gla.s.s, "I was afraid that somehow they'd find out what I'd been doing. And that I'd be next."

"I'd say you were right to be afraid. What did you do?" Justin asked.

"Maura had dropped a lot of hints about her ...relationship ... with Frank. I knew that she trusted him. So, despite everything that was in the press, that everyone was saying about Frank, I decided to go with Maura's instincts."

"She got in touch with me," Manwaring said. "I didn't really know how to help her, so I urged her to stay at Aker and to keep reporting to me. Directly to me, this time."

"Which you did," Justin said.

"Until Maura's body was discovered. Then I got too scared. So I ran. To Frank. I didn't know anyone else I could trust. Or who'd even believe me."

"How the h.e.l.l," Deena spoke up, "could this possibly get so out of hand? It's insane!"

"It's the nature of business and government," Manwaring said. "This is the reality now. It's the way things play out."

"No more rules?" Deena asked. "Just greed and chaos?"

"There are rules," Manwaring said. "But both sides broke the rules. That's why it all happened. And then it became a race against time. Kransten needed to keep his new product under wraps until it was perfected-because if it was announced to the public and it didn't work, the damage would be irreparable. Unless he could prove that what he'd developed was legitimate, and make that proof as visible as possible, the FDA would shoot it down and destroy it because of the financial danger it presented. If that happened, his company would go under. The government-using the FBI-eventually understood that Kransten was ignoring their longtime agreement, and they were determined to prevent his experiments and product from ever being revealed. It's why Kransten disappeared. He wasn't only protecting his formula, he was trying to stay alive until he could go public. Both sides had been successful for so long playing their little game. Both sides had stopped outsiders from interfering or discovering too much. Or if they had had discovered too much, they were stopped from revealing it. Both sides have played to a draw so far. But now the game's coming to a close. And both sides are determined to win." discovered too much, they were stopped from revealing it. Both sides have played to a draw so far. But now the game's coming to a close. And both sides are determined to win."

"At any cost," Justin said.

"Now you've got it," Frank Manwaring said. "And now you know most of the story."

"Most?" Justin was sitting in a chair across from the secretary. "What's the rest?"

"You're the rest."

Before Justin could ask exactly what he meant, there was a knock on the door. Everyone froze, then they heard the words "Room service."

Manwaring glanced at his watch, relaxed and nodded: "I ordered lunch for twelve-thirty. After our ma.s.sages were supposed to be over."

"Just leave it outside the door," Justin called out. "We'll get it in a minute."

They waited five minutes; then, as Justin kept his gun in his hand, Manwaring went and opened the door. All that was there was a serving cart.

Manwaring wheeled it in. "I only ordered for two," he said. "I didn't realize we'd have company."

"What do you mean, we're the rest of the story?" Deena asked.

"I mean that I'm a middle-aged bureaucrat given to intellectual obfuscation. I'm fairly helpless when it comes to translating my knowledge into action. They've also rendered me impotent. My access to the White House is gone, the media has turned me into a pariah, and the police consider me a murder suspect. I wouldn't be believed by anyone, even if I could get anyone to listen to me." He nodded in Justin's direction. "You, on the other hand, have managed to beat them so far. Or at least equalize the playing field."

"So far. The closer I get, the more they're going to turn up the heat."

"Probably. But now that you know what's really transpiring, maybe you can do something about it."

"Such as?"

"Find Doug Kransten and stop him."

"Stop him how?" Deena asked.

Manwaring stared pointedly at the gun in Justin's hand. "However you can. You've got both sides after you. The government will do anything to keep the Aphrodite project secret. And Kransten will do anything to prevent it from being sabotaged. Right now, both of them see you as their number-one enemy. That's my definition of a rock and a hard place. But if Aphrodite is ... abandoned, shall we say, you've eliminated any reason for either side to keep squeezing."

"And just coincidentally," Justin said, "you'll manage to escape their squeeze too."

"I'm not pretending I don't have a personal interest in this," Man-waring said. "But I've done quite a bit of thinking about this and I don't see any other choice."

Justin was shaking his head as if trying to clear it, but also to show that he was resisting what he'd been hearing. "There are just too many connections I can't get my mind around."

"Such as?" Manwaring asked.

"I'm as cynical as the next person about politicians. But this ... Democrats and Republicans can barely be civil to each other. How the h.e.l.l can they join forces for a conspiracy like this?"

"I've spent most of my life in politics," Manwaring said. "People don't understand what really motivates those of us who run this country. Not just politicians, but business and financial leaders too."

"So tell me."

"Two things. One is simple and practical: demographics. Even before Kransten's Aphrodite project began, the elderly were the fastest-growing segment of the population. Their political and buying power can't be underestimated. If there's one sacred trust, for the left and the right, it's Social Security. Screw around with that, you're out of public life. But now think if the elderly, who are facing death and frightened as h.e.l.l about it, get a chance to escape it. For twenty, thirty, forty more years. Screw around with that that, you'll be crucified."

"What's the second?"

"Fear. And it's even more powerful than the first. We're all afraid of failing. Of losing our power or our access to power. Of public humiliation. Of becoming ... insignificant. Fear is a much greater force among these people-me included, I'm ashamed to say-than any kind of political philosophy."

"Why haven't you done anything up till now?"

"Because when I finally realized how desperate the situation was, I didn't have the means."

"And I'm the means?"

"It's why we wanted to try to find you," Helen Roag said.

"It's a sick and deadly game they're playing. But you seem to know how to play it using their rules," Manwaring said, lifting the silver covers off the two serving dishes.

"Why do you think he's doing this?" Justin asked, half to himself. "Kransten's made his fortune. Why break the agreement and risk everything?"

"If you stumbled onto the fountain of youth," Manwaring said, "what would you do? Jump in or board it up so no one could find it?"

Justin didn't answer. Wasn't sure he could answer. He ran his fingers through his hair, pulled tight at the ends. When he put his hands down, the expression on his face was set and determined. All he said was, "Do you know how to find Kransten?"

Manwaring and Roag shook their heads.

In the ensuing silence, the aroma of the food began to fill the room.

"I hate to sound gauche," Deena said, "but I'm starving."

"You're welcome to it," Manwaring said. "It's lobster Newburg. It's their specialty here. Absolutely delicious."

Manwaring began doling out a portion onto a plate for Deena, but Justin stood up and grabbed his hand, stopping him.

"What did you say this was?"

"What we ordered?"

"Yes," Justin said. "Say it again."

"Lobster Newburg," Manwaring told him. "Is something wrong?"

Justin turned to Deena. "Remember what I told you about criminals, how they always make one stupid or arrogant mistake? How they can't resist wordplay?"

"Yes," she said.

"Well, we just found our mistake. I can't believe I missed it."

"What the h.e.l.l are you talking about?" Manwaring asked.

"Make sure you enjoy this lunch," Justin said. "Because it just told me how to find Kransten."

32.

According to the report Roger Mallone had provided, the address for the Lobster Corporation was 289 Park Avenue. Justin parked the stolen Toyota in a garage on Forty-seventh Street, half a block away.

By 5 p.m., Justin and Deena had been to a florist, a bookstore, a stationery store, and a Federal Express mailing office and returned to the shimmering gla.s.s Park Avenue office building, supplies in hand. Deena went in first, checked the directory on the large gla.s.s-enclosed case, then went back out to meet Justin on the sidewalk. She told him what she'd found, he nodded, then they went in together.

Justin held an enormous potted plant. Under one arm was an unfolded, flat Federal Express carton. Deena held an equally large and elaborate bouquet of flowers in a heavy gla.s.s vase. "For Carol Schloss-berg at Bailey and Potter," Deena said to the security guard. She checked the envelope that held the gift card. "It's room 2210. Must be her birthday."

The guard called up, said that flowers were being delivered, and waved Deena and Justin on through to the proper elevator bank.

"Packages usually go through the mail room," Justin said. "But flowers are almost always allowed to go straight up."

"I'll remember that," Deena said, "next time I have to break into an office."

They went up to the twenty-second floor, dropped off the plant and the flowers at the Bailey and Potter law offices, caught a glimpse of the very confused Ms. Schlossberg as she collected her gifts, then took the same elevator up to thirty-three. On that floor, Justin found the men's room, went in, checked it out. Seconds later, he came out, told Deena it was empty. They went in together.

"How long are we going to have to wait?" she asked.

"Building probably closes at seven," he told her. "I'd say eight, eight-thirty should be safe."

They went into one toilet stall, the middle one of three, closed and locked the door, sat and got as comfortable as they could.

"If anyone comes in, pick your feet up and keep quiet," he said.

She nodded and opened the book she'd bought. It was the true story of some guy who traveled around the world with his cat.

"I never would have thought of bringing this," she said, tapping the cover of the book.

"I've been on stakeouts," he said. "I know how boring it gets."

"The glamorous criminal life," she muttered, and started reading.

At ten-fifteen that night, the cleaning crew stepped out of office suite 3310 and made their way along the gray, tightly woven industrial carpet until they came to the next stop on their usual trek: the men's room.

They did the toilet stalls first, from left to right. The middle door had swung shut. One of the crew members jabbed at it with his mop and the door opened. He stepped in, found nothing unusual, began to swab the floor. It didn't take them long to clean the sinks and toilets and tiles. Neither the men's room nor the women's room, which they'd cleaned half an hour earlier, got much use on this floor. When they finished, their next stop was office 3325, the beveled door with the elegant gold lettering across it that read THE LOBSTER CORPORATION. THE LOBSTER CORPORATION. In front of the door was a medium-size Federal Express carton. In front of the door was a medium-size Federal Express carton.

"Mail room shouldn'ta left it here overnight," one of the crew members, a black man in his early fifties, said, and the other two nodded their agreement.

"Careless," the only woman in the crew said. "They're gonna get in trouble." And this time it was the two men who nodded.

The man who was the first to speak now took his skeleton key and opened the door to the office. The other two pushed the carton inside, into the reception area.

"Heavy," the first man said.

"Bet it's a computer," the second man told him.

"Shouldn't leave no computer in the hallway," the woman said, still angry that the mail room had been so lax.

It took them fifteen minutes to clean the entire office s.p.a.ce. They vacuumed the carpets, emptied every wastebasket, and swept off the tops of the ventilated air-conditioning ducts. They also dusted the doors that led to the two offices in the suite and cleaned the gla.s.s part.i.tion in the reception area as well as the top of the receptionist's desk. Then they left to get to work in the next office on their route.

Fifteen minutes after the crew left the Lobster Corporation, Deena sliced her way out of the small cardboard box, using the box cutter they'd bought at the stationery store. She slithered out and took a couple of minutes to unfurl and stretch her legs, which had been tightly wrapped around her body so she could fit into the FedEx package. It had been Justin's brainstorm to put her in there. "How long can you keep yourself that small?" he asked. When she told him she thought she could stay like that for two to three hours, he cackled and insisted she give him a high five.

While she stretched, Deena took in the entire office. There were two soft leather couches in the reception area. On the wall opposite the reception desk was a genuine Warhol Mickey Mouse. It was huge and dominated the s.p.a.ce. There was a door that led past the waiting room and into a hallway. Off the hall was one small office, plain and impersonal, and at the end of the hall was an enormous office, decorated in chilly chrome and black steel. As soon as she felt limber, Deena went back to the phone on the receptionist's desk and dialed.

"Come on up," she said and waited, tapping her fingers on the desk.

Two minutes later the receptionist's phone rang. It was the security guard in the lobby, saying that there was someone there to see Mr. Newberg. She told the guard to send the visitor up.

"Workin' late," the guard said.

"Always," Deena told him, hanging up.

Several minutes later, Justin was in the office with her.

"The couches look a little more comfortable than the toilet stall," he said.