Free Second Opinion by Michael Palmer Page B

work so far, with the exception of having to assist the Reverend Gideon Bohannan, had been clean.
    Hatred, envy, and greed. As long as there were hatred, envy, and greed, his employer had assured him, there would be business.
    They were on a totally deserted beach on Pamlico Sound, North Carolina. Anchored a hundred yards off the coast was Gregory Rose's yacht, Zoe May. This would be Prevoir's second meeting with the shipping magnate, who was reputed to have begun amassing his considerable fortune from drug money, but had long since turned his illegitimate enterprises over to others. The previous meeting between them had taken place almost three months ago.
    With Rose's man watching, Prevoir undressed unhurriedly, and meticulously folded his black pants, sports coat, and turtleneck, setting them on a towel outside the tent. Then he pulled on the short-sleeved, knee-length, eighth-inch-thick wet suit and zipped it up the back. He was a muscular man, six feet even, more wiry than bulky, and without a bit of flab. He honed his body through two or three hours a day of aerobic exercise, Kenpo karate, and weight lifting when he was not on the road, and at least an hour a day when he was. At the interview in the Kittery Motel, he had done a hundred push-ups for the camera and could easily have done more.
    Rose's man inspected Prevoir front and back, but didn't bother patting him down. There was no need. Then he led him down to a ten-foot inflatable Zodiac powered by an eight-horsepower Yamaha, and drove him out to the Zoe May, a sleek though not particularly pretentious Palmer-Johnson yacht, which Prevoir estimated at 120 feet—maybe six or seven million depending on the add-ons. Gregory Rose was waiting for him at a table on the second deck. He was a slightly built man, with small, feral eyes.
    Rose ordered two bottles of Dos Equis. By the time they arrived, Prevoir felt quite confident that if necessary, he could use the bottle and his skills to dispatch his host and both his bodyguards. At the moment, however, there was no reason to believe he would have to.
    'So, Mr. Prevoir,' Rose said, 'you said there have been developments with our little snipe.'
    'Very important developments,' Prevoir said. 'Namely, that she has cancer.'
    'Of the pancreas.'
    'Of the pancreas,' Prevoir echoed, genuinely impressed with the reach of the man's intelligence network. 'Exactly.'
    'That is just so sad,' Rose said, his narrow eyes dancing.
    'I told you when we last met that was going to happen.'
    'Yes. Yes, you did.'
    'And I also told you that we were aware that through her stubbornness and unwillingness to commit to a merger of her Wildwood Enterprises and your Seven Palms resort chain, Ms. Hayley Long was in the process of costing you, what was it Forbes estimated, one hundred and fifty million dollars?'
    'You shouldn't believe everything you read in magazines,' Rose said, scowling. 'Their estimate of what she is costing me is low.'
    'I'm sorry to hear that. If that indeed is the case, then we have strong grounds to believe what was written about the bad blood between you and the lovely Ms. Long, yes?'
    There was a pregnant silence during which Rose finished his beer.
    'Hayley Long is a bitch,' he said with sudden vehemence, 'a back-stabbing bitch, who delights in causing others pain.'
    'You in particular, from all we have heard. Am I correct in believing that you have openly wished her ill?'
    'If I wished for such a thing, then my prayers have been answered. Cancer is a bad business and cancer of the pancreas is one of the worst, most painful of all. Such a pity.'
    'Mr. Rose,' Prevoir said, 'please don't ask me how we know, but we promise you that Hayley Long is going to receive chemotherapy for her cancer according to one of the latest experimental protocols, and is going to survive and be cancer-free. We guarantee it.'
    'What an odd thing to guarantee.'
    'But it's the truth. I promise you that.'
    'But how^?'
    'I asked you not to question me on