Death Match Read Free Page A

It’s been four years since I gave an entrance interview, and the screens have changed.”
    â€œIs that what this is?”
    â€œOf course not. But there’s some similar initial processing to be done.” He typed again. “Here we are. The address of your Stamford office is 315 Front Street, Suite 2?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œGood. If you could just fill out this information for me, please.”
    Lash scanned the white card that was slid across the desk: date of birth, social security number, half a dozen other mundane details. He took a pen from his pocket and began jotting on the form.
    â€œYou used to give entrance interviews?” he said as he wrote.
    â€œI helped design the process, as an employee of PharmGen. That was early on, before Eden became an independent company.”
    â€œWhat’s it like?”
    â€œWhat is what like, Dr. Lash?”
    â€œWorking here.” He slid the card back. “You’d think it would be magic. Listening to all those testimonials in the lobby, anyway.”
    Mauchly glanced at the card. “I don’t blame you for being skeptical.” He had a face that managed to look both candid and reticent at the same time. “Two people’s feelings for each other, what can technology do about that? But ask any of our employees. They see it work, time after time,
every
time. Yes, I guess magic is as good a word for it as any.”
    On the far side of the desk, a telephone rang. “Mauchly,” the man said, tucking the phone beneath his chin. “Very well. Good-bye.” He replaced the phone, then rose. “He’s ready for you, Dr. Lash.”
    He?
Lash thought to himself as he picked up his satchel. He followed Mauchly back out into the corridor, to an intersection, then into a wider, plushly appointed hallway that ended in a set of brilliantly polished doors. Reaching them, Mauchly paused, then knocked.
    â€œCome in,” came a voice from beyond.
    Mauchly opened the door. “I’ll speak with you again shortly, Dr. Lash,” he said, motioning him inside.
    Lash stepped forward, then stopped again as the door clicked closed. Before him stood a long, semicircular table of dark wood. Across it sat a lone man, tall and deeply tanned. He smiled, nodded. Lash nodded back. And then, with a sudden shock of recognition, he realized the man was none other than John Lelyveld, chairman of Eden Incorporated.
    Waiting for him.

THREE
    T he chairman of Eden Incorporated rose from his seat. He smiled, and his face broke into kindly, almost grandfatherly lines. “Dr. Lash. Thank you so much for coming. Please, take a seat.” And he motioned toward the long table.
    Lash took a seat across from Lelyveld.
    â€œDid you drive in from Connecticut?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œHow was the traffic?”
    â€œI was parked on the Cross Bronx about half an hour. Otherwise, okay.”
    The chairman shook his head. “That road is a disgrace. I have a weekend place not far from you myself, in Rowayton. These days I usually take a helicopter. One of the perks.” He chuckled, then opened a leather portfolio that lay beside him. “Just a few formalities before we get started.” He took out a sheaf of stapled pages and passed it across the desk. It was followed by a gold pen. “Would you mind signing this, please?”
    Lash looked at the top page. It was a nondisclosure agreement. He flipped quickly through the pages, found the signature line, signed.
    â€œAnd this.”
    Lash took the second proffered document. It appeared to be some kind of guarantee of confidentiality. He turned to the back page, signed.
    â€œAnd this, if you please.”
    This time, Lash simply signed without bothering to review the verbiage.
    â€œThank you. I do apologize, I hope you understand.” Lelyveld returned the sheets to the leather portfolio. Then he placed his elbows on the desk, resting his chin on tented fingers.