The Last Day

TWENTY-NINE

Ward opened his eyes to find himself lying on the floor in his son's bedroom. He looked up at Barney, who was seated on his bed, staring down at Ward. He dangled his legs back and forth. “It'll be all right, Daddy.”

Ward knew this event wasn't real, but he hoped somehow he wasn't dreaming, but that he was dead, too, and this meeting could last forever.

Suddenly the windows darkened, as though fast- moving, rain- heavy clouds had blocked the sun, and Ward felt a sense of growing danger.

“You and Mama have to be together,” Barney said, looking at the windows. His legs stopped swinging.

Ward jerked awake on the couch to the sight of Natasha looking down at him, the odor of ammonia burning his nose.

“Ward?” Natasha said. “He's awake, Gene.”

Ward slowly sat upright and saw the ampoule in his wife's hand.

“What happened?” he asked.

“You fainted,” she told him.

“You okay, buddy?” Gene asked. He had a cell phone in his hand.

“I'm fine,” Ward said, putting his hand to the back of his head. “My head hurts.”

“You hit it on the floor,” Natasha said, studying her husband's pupils for signs of a concussion. “Just rest there for a few minutes.”

“Never mind,” Gene said into his phone. “I won't need EMS. Yes, he's with a physician and she says he's fine.” He closed the phone.

“I couldn't catch you in time. Sorry,” Gene said sincerely.

“It's okay.”

“As soon as you feel steady enough, you need to go lie down on your bed,” Natasha said, in her professional voice.

“I have to run,” Gene said. “I have a meeting with Tom Wiggins, who looks to be your other lawyer.”

Ward had met Wiggins at a formal dinner at the hospital to raise money for the children's oncology wing of the medical center. He was a mild-mannered man in his mid- sixties, and a top- notch criminal attorney from Charlotte who was the attorney of choice for the wealthy-whom everybody usually figured were guilty He was known to the legal establishment, and much of the public, as “Reasonable Doubt Wiggins.”

“I think he's going to be our best shot at getting this crap handled. Any problem with that?” Gene asked.

The bell rang, and Natasha went to the door. When she came back Leslie Wilde was with her. Leslie came over to where Ward was lying on the couch and peered down at her boss.

“Are you okay?” she asked. Her look of concern was comforting to Ward.

“Yeah,” he said. “I just passed out.”

After pausing to place his hand on Natasha's shoulder in a show of support, Gene left for the front door.

Leslie said, “I told the FBI that I started Mr. McCarty's computer, because mine was on the fritz. It's my fault it happened.”

“It wasn't your fault,” Ward said.

“They asked me if I'd put any disks into your computer and I said I had, that my computer was on the blink last week and I used yours a lot when you weren't in your office. I told them that I found some unmarked disks on my desk and that I looked at them to see what they were, but none of them had porn on them.”

“Is that the truth?” Natasha asked her.

She looked at Natasha and shrugged. “The FBI agents are jerks. The truth is that I came in early because I had something to do for Mr. Brooks in accounting, and when I brought my computer up, it started displaying the porn. I didn't call anybody for like ten minutes. If I'd called Paul Wolfe sooner, maybe he could have stopped it. I'm sorry. I have used Mr. McCarty's computer, which is the truth, but I've never put any disks into it that I can recall. So this is sort of my fault. And I know Mr. McCarty didn't do what they said.”

Ward told her, “You shouldn't have put yourself in such a position. I don't want you to lie to anybody. I appreciate your loyalty, but this is bad enough without you being pulled into it.”

The doorbell rang.

“That's probably Todd. I called him after the FBI left the office,” Leslie said. “I hope you don't mind.”

“Of course I don't mind,” Ward said. “Maybe he can offer some suggestions.”

Natasha shook her head. “I feel like the maid in a sitcom, except there's nothing amusing about this,” she said, leaving to answer the door.

When she came back, Todd Hartman was with her. He put his hand out and gently squeezed Leslie's before letting it drop, turning his eyes toward Ward.

“Leslie told me what happened,” he said. “Maybe I can help.”

“Mr. Hartman,” Natasha said, “can I get you something?”

“Nothing for me, Dr. McCarty,” he said. “Thanks anyway.”

“Todd,” Ward said. “This is all totally insane.”

“It's all over the radio,” Todd said. “I made some calls and found out from a friend in the sheriff's department that the deputies were going to be pulled off their guard detail here after the FBI finished their search,” Hartman said. “So I took the liberty of putting two of the security guys I use at the end of your driveway to make sure you aren't bothered. I hope you don't mind.”

“I had to take the phone off the hook,” Natasha said, frowning. “There was a constant stream of calls. Angry strangers saying hateful things.”

“If you'd rather use someone else, my guys can stay until you make other arrangements. But my guys are good at their jobs and no more expensive than any guards would be.”

“Do we really need them?” Natasha asked.

“This is a big story,” Todd said. “The media will be under pressure to get in here to it. The guys I use are professionals. Exmilitary mostly. They'll keep the press from bothering you.”

“That's great,” Ward said, relieved. “Glad you were on top of it.”

Todd said, “I don't know what else I can do, but if your lawyer needs any work done on this, I'll make myself available.”

“If you'll excuse me,” Natasha said, “I'm going to straighten up some.”

“I'll give you a hand, Dr. McCarty,” Leslie offered.

“That would be nice, Leslie,” Natasha said. “If you don't have anything else you need to do. This is a little overwhelming.”

Leslie said, “I'd like to help in any way I can, and I'm sort of a neat freak.”

“And both of you call me Natasha, and call Ward Ward.”

After the women went off toward the bedrooms, Todd sat down. “By the way, I spoke to Alice Palmer.”

“Who?”

“The car thief from the plane,” he said. “I guess that isn't the priority it was yesterday.”

“It's less pressing.”

Ward flashed an image of Barney and what he'd said in the dream. “I still want it back,” he said. “Let's say it's a secondary priority. The virus is number one.”

“I assume this whole virus thing is a setup of some kind.”

“It has to be. Before today I've never even seen any child porn.”

“Disgruntled former or present employee?”

“We don't have any disgruntled employees that I know of. We have very little turnover because my father and my uncle Mark believed in taking care of the employees and so do I. More likely it's related to the fact that someone wants to buy RGI and I won't sell to them. The Dibbles.”

“Flash and Trey?”

Ward nodded. “It's hard to imagine why anyone would pull this kind of crap for grins. I haven't had any enemies of any kind since fourth grade when Warren Pepper beat me up after school because I pitched a fastball into his ribs.”

“If you want to tell me about it, I'm already working for you.”

Todd opened his briefcase and pulled out his notebook and pen, and for the first time since Unk's call that morning, Ward McCarty felt some small measure of relief.