Falling Awake(21)
Author: Jayne Ann Krentz

“In the past couple of months Frey-Salter has come up with a new version of CZ-149. They’re calling it Variant A. My informant says it doesn’t appear to have the side effects that the earlier version of the drug has. I’m told that the initial tests have gone very well.”

“Get it.”

“That’s the problem. I almost didn’t tell you about it because, to be honest, I don’t know how to get it. There is only a very limited supply at the moment. Most of it is under tight security at Frey-Salter. Lawson gave the rest to the agent who is field-testing it for him.”

He went cold. “Which agent?”

“Ellis Cutler.”

“Bastard. Bastard.”

There was a dull thud. Pain crashed through his fist. He looked down and realized he had just struck the wall beside the window with such force that he had knocked a hole in it. Bits of painted wallboard lay on the carpet at his feet. There was blood on his hand.

Rage as red and fierce as the tsunami of his dreams washed over him. He looked at his companion through the crimson mist.

“Where is Cutler?”

“A place called Roxanna Beach.”

He started toward the door.

“Vincent, wait. You can’t risk exposing yourself. Lawson thinks you’re dead. If he gets even a hint that you’re still alive, he will hunt you down. He has the resources to do it. You know that. You won’t stand a chance.”

He stopped at the door. Some of the red tide ebbed from his brain. He was shaking and sweating now. He rubbed his temples, trying to think.

“I have to get the new drug,” he said.

“I understand. But first we need a plan.”

8

randolph stared at the tall, thin man standing in front of the desk, so stunned by the news that the high-priced, forensic accountant had just delivered that he could not immediately react. Webber had to be wrong.

“Th–that’s impossible,” Randolph finally got out. He was horrified to hear himself stutter. Whenever the old childhood speech problem returned, it was a sure sign that he was under enormous pressure.

Amelia Netley said nothing but her fine jaw clenched more tightly. She continued to stalk back and forth in front of the windows as she had been doing for the past few minutes, her arms folded beneath her elegant br**sts.

“I’m afraid it’s a fact, Dr. Belvedere.” Webber tapped the file against his palm and looked grim. “It took a lot of time and some very creative work to follow the money trail, but there’s no doubt in my mind that what I just told you is the truth. I can see this comes as something of a surprise.”

“Surprise? It’s a frigging bombshell. Give me that file.”

Webber handed it to him. “It’s an extremely sophisticated financial setup. I had to dig deep to understand it.”

“My father was not at all sophisticated when it came to business.” Randolph slapped open the file. “He couldn’t have done this himself.”

Webber nodded thoughtfully. “Then it must have been the clients who went to such extraordinary lengths to conceal the payments.”

“But why would they want to hide the fact that they were contracting with the center? It makes no sense.”

“I don’t know. I can tell you that one of them is a fairly small player. But the other, Client Number One, has obviously dropped some big bucks into the center over the course of the past several years. As you can see, the amounts got even larger in the last twelve months.”

Randolph stared at the figures on the page in front of him. “Forty-seven percent of the total operating budget of the center has been coming from Client Number One for two decades?”

“The figure shot up to fifty-seven percent of the total income this past year.” Webber leaned over the desk to point to another row of figures. “You will notice that Client Number Two came on board about a year ago. He doesn’t do anywhere near the same volume of business as the other one, but he is definitely a significant account.”

“This is unbelievable,” Randolph whispered. “B–between the two of them, these two anonymous clients accounted for over s–sixty percent of the center’s gross receipts for the past year.”

“Right. The rest of the income appears to come from a mix of small grants from some nutritional supplement manufacturers, sleep research foundations and a couple of small-time inventors who hired Belvedere to test various types of sleep aids.”

“Th–th–this is a disaster.” Randolph sagged into his chair. “Over sixty percent of the center’s funding is coming from two unknown sources. It doesn’t make any sense. What services was my father providing to them?”

Webber cleared his throat. “I’m still working on that. The records are all very vague. But as far as this past year goes, I did discover that the bulk of the billing for both accounts appears to have been connected to one particular department here at the center.”

Randolph’s stomach knotted. “Which one?”

“The Department of Dream Analysis.”

Amelia’s jaw clenched.

A great sense of impending doom settled on Randolph. He could almost hear Amelia saying I told you so. He made a fist with one hand to stop the tremor.

“Isabel Wright,” he muttered. “I c–can’t believe it. Who would pay that kind of money for some silly psychic dream analysis?”

Webber raised one scrawny shoulder in a mild shrug. “The pharmaceutical companies are rolling in cash. Maybe a couple of them decided to spend some of it on dream research. It might explain the secrecy. They’ve got a lot at stake when it comes to protecting their proprietary R and D data.”

Randolph shook his head. “No sane, sensible corporation that has to show its shareholders a p–profit would throw several million dollars at a low-profile research facility like the Belvedere Center for Sleep Research just to fund investigations into my father’s ridiculous psychic dream theories.”

Webber pursed his lips and canted his head an inch or so to one side. “I suppose one or both of the anonymous clients might be wealthy eccentrics or religious cults with a thing about dreams.”

“I told you there was something strange going on with the funding here, Randolph.” Amelia stopped in front of the window, her brittle tension clear in every line of her body. “And I told you that it probably had something to do with your father’s personal research interests. I also told you that meant that the extremely healthy cash flow was very likely connected to that ridiculous Department of Dream Analysis. Didn’t I tell you that?”