Free Side Effects by Michael Palmer Page B

would ask.
    "And how are the negotiations coming with the union people at Granfield?"
    "Fine. Almost over, I think. We're meeting with them this afternoon. If that idiot shop steward can understand the pension package we've put together, the whole mess should get resolved with no more work stoppage."
    "I knew you could do it. I told Toby Granfield you could do it."
    "Well, like I said, it's not over yet."
    ,-. %^
    "But it will be." The words were an order, not a question.
    "Yes," Jared said. "It will be."
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    "Excellent, excellent. How about a little vacation for you and Kate when everything is signed and sealed. Goodness knows you deserve it. Those union thugs are slow, but they're tough. Bert Hodges says his place in Aruba is available the week after next. Suppose we book it for you."
    "I don't ... what I mean is I'll have to talk with Kate. She's got quite a bit going on at the hospital."
    "I know." Win Samuels swung around slowly to face his son. At six feet, he was nearly as tall as Jared and no more than five pounds heavier. His rimless spectacles and discreetly darkened hair neutralized the aging effects of deep crow's feet and a slightly sallow complexion.
    "What?"
    "I said that I knew she was having a busy time of it at the hospital." Samuels paused, perhaps for dramatic effect.
    "Norton Reese called me this morning."
    "Oh?" The statement was upsetting. For five years, Jared had handled all of Boston Metro's legal affairs. There was no reason for Norton Reese to be dealing directly with his father, even allowing that the two of them had known each other for years.
    "He tells me the head of pathology is retiring." Jared nodded that the information was not news. "He also said that this head pathologist, Willoughby, wants Kate to take over for him."
    "She mentioned that to me," Jared understated.
    "Did she now? Good. I'm glad you two communicate about such minor goings on." The facetiousness in Samuels's voice was hardly subtle.
    Kate's independence had been a source of discussion between them on more than one occasion. Somewhere in the drawer of that Louis Quatorze desk was a computer printout showing that while he had received forty-nine percent of the total vote cast in the congressional race, he had garnered only forty-two percent of the women's vote.
    To Win Samuels, the numbers meant that if Mrs. Jared Samuels had been out stumping for her husband instead of mucking about elbow deep in a bunch of cadavers, Jared would be packing to leave for Washington. Self-serving, contrary, disloyal, thoughtless--the adjectives had, from time to time, flown hot and heavy from the old man, though never in Kate's presence. Toward her, he had always been as cordial and charming as could be.
    "Look, Dad," Jared said, "I've still got some preparation to do for that session at Granfield. Do you think
    ..." "Donna," Samuels said through the intercom, "could you bring in another tea for me and another coffee for my son, please?"
    Jared sank back in his seat and stared helplessly at the far wall, a wall covered with photographs of politicians, athletes and other celebrities, arm in arm or hand in hand with his father. A few of them were similar shots featuring his grandfather, and one of them was an eight by ten of Jared and the President, taken at a three-minute meeting arranged by his father for just that purpose. With a discreet knock, Samuels's sensuous receptionist entered and set their beverages and a basket of croissants on a mahogany stand near the desk. Her smile in response to Jared's
    "Thank you" was vacant--a subtle message that her allegiance was to the man on the power side of the Louis Quatorze.
    "So," Samuels said, settling down with a mug of tea in one hand and his Havana in the other, "what do you think of this business at Metro?"
    "I haven't given it much thought," Jared lied. "As far as I know, nothing formal has been done