The Warning Read online

  A familiar woman’s voice answered with, “The Korda Trust.”

  Buddy dropped into a chair. “The what?”

  “Mr. Korda, is that you?”

  “Yes. Lorraine, what are you doing there?” But he knew the answer even before he formed the question.

  “They fired me, Mr. Korda. Well, he did. Thad Dorsett. He’s up in New York, and the notice came from the office of somebody at headquarters I’ve never even heard of before. But it was him, all right. I knew he’d be gunning for me.”

  “Lorraine, I can’t tell you how sorry—”

  “Don’t let it bother you, Mr. Korda. It doesn’t bother me. Agatha had already offered me a job last week. They need my help, and I love it here. She’s promised me something permanent afterward.” She paused and then added quietly, “If there is an after. Wait, here she comes now.”

  Before he could say anything more, the phone was handed over, and a cultured voice said, “Buddy?”

  “Yes. I’m terribly sorry to hear about Lorraine being fired.”

  “Don’t be. She’s not. And my attorneys had a field day with the bank, warning they were going to file suit for wrongful dismissal. Got her quite a nice severance package. And we need her. Desperately.”

  Buddy found himself most comforted by Agatha’s matter-of-fact tone. “What was it she said when she answered the phone?”

  “Oh, the Korda Trust. My accountant filed the papers last week. We’re spending quite a lot of money, and they wanted to set it up as a tax-deductible trust.”

  “Agatha, I don’t like your spending so much on me.”

  “It’s not the money. Well, it is, but it’s not important. My accountant asked me to do it, and Alex agreed.”

  Buddy started to object and then remembered what Molly had told him about not putting up a fuss when people wanted to help. “Is Alex there?”

  “No.” A long pause, then more quietly, “He started chemotherapy last Friday. He goes in every third day.”

  Buddy felt himself drain away, all will, all energy, all desire. It was as if an unseen tap had been opened and his life was pouring out in an unstoppable surge. “How is it going?”

  “He’s handling it extremely well.” A pause, then, “He was hoping we wouldn’t even need to mention it to you. I suppose I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “No.” Buddy tried to find strength to put behind Agatha’s words. “No, you did right. He’s my brother, Agatha. He shouldn’t try to hide things like this from me.”

  “It wasn’t hiding, really. He just didn’t feel like you needed to worry about this along with everything else.”

  “It’s fine. How is everything else?”

  “Oh, we’re moving right along here.” But Agatha did not sound convinced. “Alex checked with everyone. Paul, Jack, the girls’ families, me, Lorraine, Pastor Allen, the others at church. We’ve all bought put options through the same broker you’ve been using.”

  “That’s good, Agatha.” His voice sounded dull to his own ears. Poor Alex. “Please thank him for checking.”

  “Oh, dear. I was horribly wrong to tell you, wasn’t I.”

  “Don’t talk like that. You were absolutely right. How am I supposed to pray him through this if I don’t know what’s going on?”

  She sighed long and hard. “I feel like I’m surrounded these days by all my mistakes and clouded motives.”

  “Agatha, I don’t know what I’d do without you there, and that’s the truth.”

  But it was as though she had not heard him. “You know when it hit me the hardest? Yesterday. Watching Alex go up to the front of the church. It felt as though I was seeing the most unselfish man I had ever met do what he was always destined to do.”

  “And you were the one who finally got him to church,” Buddy pointed out.

  “He went because I pestered him. He did it for me, do you see what I’m saying? And I did it for me too. Not for God. For me.” Unshed tears filled her voice, but she forced herself to continue. “Just like I’ve railroaded the church, not allowing them to have my money unless they spent it on missions. Do you know why I’ve done that?”

  “No, I—”

  “Because my own two children have run away from God. No wonder, the way I bullied them at home. After Joe died, I used the children as a way to fill the empty days. I ruled their every waking hour, most especially on Sundays. I never let them build their own relationship with the Lord. Oh, no. I forced them to live according to my standards. And they did, at least until they were old enough to leave. One went to Berkeley and the other to the University of Hawaii, about as far away from home as they could get.”

  “Agatha, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.”

  “No, of course not. How could you? I pretended to all the world that everything was fine. Even when one joined a rock group and quit school and now spends his money on drugs and alcohol. And the other . . . Oh, I just can’t stand the mess I’ve made of their lives.”

  “Agatha, even the Lord lost his first two children to the lures of this world. The perfect Father could not offer them freedom and then be sure they would hold to the proper course.”

  The sniffling slowly subsided. “I suppose that’s true.”

  “Of course it is. You mustn’t be too hard on yourself. Look at what you were up against, raising two kids on your own, trying to keep Joe’s business going. You did the best you could. Yes, you made mistakes. We all do. But you cannot take their blunders on your own shoulders. Hurt for your children, yes; pray for them always. But accept that they are adults and free to find their own ways.”

  Agatha responded with a few moments of shaky breathing before she said, “It’s strange how Alex has forced me to be so honest with myself.”

  “He is a remarkable man.”

  “Yes, he is.” The words came easier now, though the voice remained an octave lower than normal. “I’ve spent years condemning him. I owe you as much of an apology for that as I do him.”

  “You don’t owe me a thing.”

  But she did not let him stop her. “I let myself be fooled by his exterior. I saw his size and his strength, and I classed him as a drinker and a brawler. He told me about his fiancée and how he never could seem to get over being abandoned.”

  Buddy was so surprised he had to pull the phone away from his ear and look at it. He brought it back to hear Agatha say, “Are you still there?”

  “I’m here. I’m just amazed Alex told you about that. He never talks about it. Not ever. He’s not mentioned it to me once in all these years.”

  That gave Agatha food for thought. Eventually she said, “It’s nice to think that our working together has been good for him as well.”

  “More than just good.” Strange how Buddy could be so worried over Alex and yet so happy at the same time. “Maybe talking with you about what happened released him to go forward and accept Christ.”

  “Perhaps you’re right.” Another pause, and then, “He’s a wonderful man, your brother. He has the biggest heart and the gentlest spirit I have ever known in a man.”

  Buddy searched for something to say and finally settled on, “I wish there were some way to turn back the hands of time and have Alex meet you earlier.”

  “That is the nicest thing anyone has said to me in years.” Agatha’s voice found a new calm. “Maybe it just wasn’t time. Not until now.”

  “Maybe not,” Buddy agreed. “I’m glad you’re there now, though. Very, very glad.”

  –|| THI RTY–ONE ||–

  Thad Dorsett must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew there was a knock at the door. He rose and checked his appearance in the mirror, straightened his tie, and swept back his hair. Then he opened the door to reveal the larger of the pair. “Everything taken care of?”

  “Come on over to our room,” the security guy replied, which for him was a full lecture.

  Thad followed him across the hall, where the guy rapped twice, paused, then knocked once more. Instantly
the chain was drawn back and the lock released. Thad followed him inside, but he halted at the sight of the two women seated on the sofa. He inspected them carefully, then said to the guard, “Nice work.”

  “I’m Dawn,” the blond one said. She was beautiful in a hard-edged way, so long as Thad did not look too closely at her eyes. She motioned to the redhead seated beside her. “This is Crystal.”

  “You’re both perfect, is what you are,” Thad said. He turned to watch a stranger erecting a camera tripod by the window. He demanded of the guard standing beside the closed curtains, “He knows what to do?”

  “No problem.” The stranger answered for himself. He wore a greasy ponytail and worked with bored efficiency. A battered metal case was flung open to reveal a huge amount of photographic equipment. He lifted a camera housing attached to a motor drive and fastened it to the tripod. Then he brought out the longest telescopic lens Thad had ever seen. He hefted it like a rifle and swung it around so the larger end was pointed toward Thad. The outer lens was the size of a dinner plate. “With this thing we’ll get every wart and wrinkle in living color.”

  “You’d better.” Thad turned to the second guard and asked, “You arranged things with the front desk?”

  In response, the man turned to where his mate still stood by the door and said, “Lights.” Instantly the room was bathed in shadows.

  Thad walked over to where the guard was peeling back the curtains. He peeked through, excited by the voyeuristic power.

  The hotel was shaped in a three-story U. The guard’s room faced the narrow, inner courtyard. Overhead the sky was giving way to night. Thad followed the guard’s pointed finger and saw a man knotting his tie in the mirror in the second-floor room directly across from their own. A moment’s observation was enough for Thad to declare, “That’s our man.”

  The guard motioned to the two women and commanded, “Over here.”

  They rose in languid motions, used to having men watch. The soft light from outside was kind to their calloused features. Thad pointed and said, “Over there. Directly across from us. What’s the room number?”

  “Two-fourteen,” the guard tonelessly replied.

  “Here,” the photographer said, snapping the telephoto lens into place. “You’ll get a better look through this.”

  Dawn leaned over, looked a moment, and said, “It’s a snap.”

  Crystal then focused through the lens. She exclaimed, “Yeah, sure, I thought I’d seen him before.”

  All eyes turned toward her. Thad demanded, “Where?”

  “His picture was in the paper yesterday. What’s his name?”

  “Buddy Korda.”

  “Right. That’s the guy. Korda.”

  Dawn asked, “You read the papers?”

  Crystal straightened from the camera. “Something about a speech or interview or something. Wait, wait, I remember now. The economy, am I right?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Thad snapped. Anger billowed in fiery waves. “All you need to know is do it when he’s back from his meeting tonight and he’s gotten ready for bed. Just move in and set it all up fast.”

  “Sure,” Dawn said, weaving her way back to the sofa. “We got it, no problem.”

  “There better not be. You only get one chance. And remember, he’s not going to want to let you in.”

  “I’m a big girl,” Dawn declared.

  “We both are,” Crystal agreed, as indifferent as Dawn. “A guy like that won’t stand a chance.”

  “And be fast with the clothes,” Thad said. “We need these pictures to be hot.”

  “We’ll be in and on him so fast the guy won’t even know what hit him,” Dawn promised.

  “There’s a bonus for getting it right,” Thad said. It was going to be a real pleasure to bring Korda down. “A big one.”

  –|| THI RTY–TWO ||–

  The talk had tired him out more than any he had attended up to that point. Perhaps it had been the size— well over a thousand people—but he didn’t think so. The crowds were growing larger with every passing day. And there were television or video cameras at almost every event these days. No, it was probably the increasing sense of pressure and juggling so much all at once—coordinating and planning and arranging and cramming more and more into every available minute.

  His head buzzed with confusing bits and pieces of logistics, keeping him silent on the drive back to the hotel. When they arrived, he bid everyone a weary good night and headed for his room. His feet seemed to stumble as he plodded down the hall. He fumbled with his keycard and tried in vain to open the door until he looked up and realized he was trying to get into the wrong room. That brought an exhausted chuckle. He was tired indeed.

  He scarcely managed to get into his pajamas and brush his teeth before falling into bed. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

  The pounding seemed to come from a long distance away. Louder and louder, until he was pushed upward by the noise. The door. Somebody was knocking on his door.

  He forced his eyes open. “Who is it?”

  The reply was indistinct, but it sounded like a woman. He rolled over, fumbled for the lamp, and blinked in the light. “What?”

  “Room service!” The pounding continued.

  He rolled out of bed with a groan. “Just a minute.”

  He padded over, switched on the main light, and said through the closed door, “You’ve got the wrong room.”

  “Look, this is two-fourteen, isn’t it?”

  He had to struggle to think. “Well, yes, but—”

  “Then you’ve got to sign for this.”

  “Oh, this is ridiculous.” He unlocked the door and swung it open. “I told you—”

  But the women were already in the room. Two of them. Beautiful and tough and strong. He was guided away from the door by the blond, while the redhead shut the door and then moved over to sweep back the curtains. So fast and so utterly unexpected that he could scarcely draw breath, much less speak.

  Finally he managed, “Look—”

  “No, buster, you look.” The redhead wore a leer as she reached up behind and began unhooking something. “We’re a little gift from a pal of yours.”

  “A special something you’ll never . . .” The blond dropped the hand holding his arm and took a step back. “Hey, you’re not him.”

  The redhead stopped shrugging off her dress. “What?”

  “Take a look.” The blond’s leer was gone, her expression hard as granite. “What’s your name?”

  “Clarke,” he stammered. “Clarke Owen.”

  The redhead gave him an angry frown. “Where’s the other guy?”

  “The other bed’s empty,” the blond said crossly.

  Suddenly he understood, and the realization hurtled him to full wakefulness. “We changed rooms.” He was no longer stammering.

  The redhead’s expression turned savage. “What? ”

  “There goes our bonus,” the blond said glumly.

  “We changed rooms,” Clarke repeated, glancing from one to the other. “He likes to have fresh air at night, and this window is stuck closed.”

  “Great, just great!” The beautiful face held an amazing amount of bitterness. “Come on, let’s go.”

  “Sleep tight, honey,” the blond said, following her friend from the room.

  Clarke stood frozen to the spot, listening to his rapid breathing, running the sequence over and over through his mind. His roving glance caught sight of the curtains. He realized with yet another startling jolt why they might have opened the drapes. As he stood there, the curtain to a darkened window across the courtyard flickered once, and was still.

  Clarke closed his drapes and moved back to the door. With trembling fingers he reset the bolt. Only then did he notice the empty screw holes higher up, and realize that someone had removed the night latch. He walked over to the desk, picked up the chair, walked back to the door, and jammed it hard under the knob.

  He turned off the lights and went back
to bed, as awake as he had ever been in his life. He wondered if he should even mention the visitation to Buddy and decided he had no choice. They would need to make careful arrangements in the future.

  Sleep was a very long time in coming.

  –|| THIRTY–THREE ||–

  Nineteen Days . . .

  The week was one hard push. Tuesday morning they made the six-hour drive to Akron, Ohio. Wednesday morning they moved on to Zanesville. Thursday they traveled to Dayton. It was not what had been originally planned, but very little was these days. Buddy’s message was spreading far faster than he could travel, and demands for him to speak grew by the hour. The press pestered Alex and Agatha continually. They called from everywhere under the sun, demanding immediate access. Agatha turned from cool to frigid, and even Alex responded to the television bullying with a stonelike hardness.

  Though tired from the week’s activities, Thursday found Buddy ready for another press conference. He did not particularly want to face the press and its hard-eyed skepticism again. But with less than three weeks left, he would do anything possible to make sure his message was heard. Despite his fatigue, he was able to trust in his newfound ability to remain steadfast to the central message. Which meant he entered the hotel conference room that afternoon, waited for the television lights to come on, greeted the gathered press while his microphones were tested, and then launched immediately into his message.

  “The idea that our economy will always continue to expand, that our government can fine-tune the economy and make growth a constant, is nothing more than a myth. A sad one.” He saw the smirks around the table. Such intelligent people. So certain of their attitudes and their ambitions. Buddy persisted. “All of life is cyclical. We are born, we live, we die. The same will happen with every economic cycle. There has never been a straight-line economic rise. There never will be. If you were to chart out the movements of just the last twenty years, you would need a huge graph, because the peaks and troughs are so far apart. But in peak times we tend to forget there were ever troughs. We would like to pretend that they can’t happen again.”