Free Critical Judgment (1996) by Michael Palmer

man-in-black had piqued her curiosity. She glanced over at where Josh was hoisting large sacks of potatoes and corn on the cob with the same frantic vigor he had exhibited chopping wood.
    “Sure,” she said.
    He guided her away from the barbecue pits and toward the lake.
    “I heard about your saving Bill Tracy’s life,” he said.
    Abby looked at him uncomfortably.
    “Are you connected with the hospital?”
    Quinn favored her with another practiced smile.
    “In a manner of speaking. I’m on the board of trustees. Have been for, I don’t know, six … no, seven years now.”
    There was a smugness to the man that had already impressed Abby negatively.
    “Exactly what is it you do?” she asked.
    “For Colstar?”
    “If that’s who you work for.”
    She was finding Lyle Quinn more annoying by the moment. Even worse, she had the strange sense that he wanted her to.
    “It is,” he said. “I guess you could call me chief security officer, head of security, something like that.”
    Abby recalled asking Josh why the entire plant was surrounded by an eight-foot-high chain-link fence, topped by three rows of tightly strung barbed wire, slanted outward. His only response was that they were working on a number of classified government projects.
    “Classified batteries?” she had asked.
    Batteries of the future
, was the way he had phrased it.
    “So,” she asked now, “is this walk we’re on security business?”
    Looking at the strange fellow striding purposefully beside her, all she could think of was G. Gordon Liddy.
    Quinn laughed, but his pale-blue eyes did not.
    “Hardly. I just wanted to meet the woman who has become such a sensation at the hospital in such a short time.”
    Obviously you haven’t been speaking with the same people I have
, Abby thought.
    “Please thank whoever said that about me,” she said.
    “You
did
save Bill Tracy’s life. I have that on the best authority.”
    “How do you know Bill Tracy?” Abby said, reluctant as always to acknowledge that she had saved anyone’s life. “Is Colstar involved with insurance?”
    For a moment she thought Quinn was going to say that Colstar was involved with everything.
    “Bill’s a friend,” he said. “He writes the health insurance for a lot of our folks.”
    “Well, I’m glad I was there when he came in.”
    “So are a lot of people.”
    They reached the tree-lined lake. Several brightly colored pedal boats were already out on the water. The laughter of children echoed through the sparkling morning. For a time neither of them spoke. Abby sensed that Quinn had more of an agenda than he had presented so far, but she could wait to find out what it was. She just hoped it had nothing to do with Josh.
    “Nice place to live,” Quinn said finally.
    He motioned that he had seen enough and turned back toward the path.
    “Very nice,” Abby replied. “Do you have children?”
    “Two. Grown and gone.”
    “But you like it here?”
    “I do. And I like working for a company that takes its responsibility to the community seriously.”
    The agenda
, Abby thought.
    “It certainly seems like Patience wouldn’t be much without Colstar,” she said.
    “Correction, Doctor. Without Colstar, Patience wouldn’t
be
. That’s why we’re all very concerned when people with an antibusiness mentality try to impugn our company in any way.”
    “And are there such people?”
    “A few. Very few. They’re harmless because no one takes them very seriously. But anyone new to Patience is fair game to them, especially physicians, who often tend to be swayed by so-called liberal causes. I don’t knowyour politics, or anything about you that wasn’t in your application for staff privileges. But I’m sure that sooner or later they’ll be approaching you to join them.”
    Abby had to control a knee-jerk flare-up of outrage. An application for staff privileges was, in most hospitals, personal and confidential—even from members of the board of trustees. She