Chapter 12
Offices of Willem van der Linden...
"Mr. van der Linden," said Naomi Hatch, as she pushed open the door on the plush, executive suite. "Here are the files you requested."
"Thank you, Naomi," replied the stout man behind the desk. Looking up with kind, blue eyes, he ran a tired hand over his bald head. "Thank you, too, for coming in early. The changing situation is worrisome. We can cover for Mr. Boyle for a while, but his presence in England will be discovered sooner, rather than later. I fear, we shan't be able to keep our secrets much longer. When news of my cousin's 'illness' hits the fan in London, then elsewhere, we'll have to fend off an all out offensive from the Legacy's bureaucratic faction... as well as the general take-over artists, who have no idea what the Luna Foundation really is, but want a piece of the pie. Then... there's the press to consider. Our drawbridge had best be up and our larders prepared for a siege."
"Yes, sir," the secretary replied. "The staff wanted me to assure you of their absolute loyalty... and they all wanted me to express our wishes for Dr. Rayne's recovery."
She thought sadly of the tall, distinguished man with elegant manners and a soft, Dutch lilt, whom she'd often welcomed to Willem van der Linden's US offices. How in contrast he was to his portly cousin... no two could be more unalike. Sometimes it seemed that all they had in common were finances, their Dutch accents, and the van der Linden blood. Yet she knew that both cared deeply... both wanted great good to be accomplished with the foundation they guided and the monies they held in trust.
Naomi cleared an emotional huskiness from her throat, then continued in a professional monotone. "I took the liberty of perusing Mr. Boyle's accounts... both for the museum and that extra bit of nonsense that London dropped on him. I'm sure it was done to befuddle him... or maybe as a test. He's actually done quite a good job, even if he doesn't understand what he's done. He's a clear, linear thinker." She handed over the thick folders, then glanced at her watch. "If you'll care to initial my memo to Mr. Cross, I'll fax it to London immediately. It's going on two over there.... Oh... and I contacted Mr. Mellon and Mr. Phillipse, both were agreeable to a change in tee time to later this afternoon. Shall I call the country club?"
"Yes," replied Willem, opening the first file to give it a quick skim. "See if you can get a time around three... at Knollwood."
As she stood, waiting for her boss to read and approve her memo, Naomi scanned the office to be sure that all was in order. Not a thread was out of place on the deep, velvety, freshly vacuumed carpet. Not a single piece of crystal, which blossomed from every black, lacquered shelf, was out of place or lacking its proper lighting. It was the one thing that Willem van der Linden collected, besides money. No one was allowed to touch. Each morning, dusting and positioning were her employer's private chore and delight. He had once casually confided that he found a mental and emotional peace in the prismatic colors and the infinite depths of a fine piece of glass. Jokingly, he had added that they served as his crystal ball. She sometimes wondered if there was a hint of truth there.... His financial anticipations were rarely wrong... and she had heard the rumors about Dr. Rayne's unusual talents.
The woman's gaze shifted to the broad windows and the spires of uptown Manhattan. On this clear, blue morning, she could see all the way up the Hudson to the wide, shining Tappan Zee and the ocean of green beyond. A whimsical thought struck her.... She wondered if people all the way up there, crossing the bridge at Newburgh, were looking at her. She silently chuckled. Perhaps, she'd put Schlomo in his kitty carrier and go up to the Catskills for the weekend. It would be good to get away from the city's concrete heat.
A flash of light caught her eye... far upriver. It grew closer, larger, brighter... a jet... she realized... a big one. What was it doing? It was way off course. It grew still larger.
"Mr. van der Linden... look."
A moment later, Willem van der Linden turned to look and Naomi Hatch turned
to run. The North Tower of the World Trade Center shuddered and swayed, staggered
by a death wound. A jet fuel fireball exploded horizontally through its structure. In an
instant of hell, crystal melted, flesh became ash, and the world changed.
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