"Has Doe Troutman gotten a second opinion on any of these cases?"
  "Nearest other doctor is sixty miles away," Sam said. "He did call the State Health 
Authority yesterday afternoon, asked for one of their field men to come up and have a 
look. But they can't send anyone until Monday. I guess they can't get very excited about 
an epidemic of night chills."
  "The chills could be the tip of an iceberg."
  "Could be. But you know bureaucrats." When he saw Paul glance at Rya and Mark again, 
Sam said, "Look, don't worry about it. We'll keep the kids away from everyone who's sick."
  "I was supposed to take Jenny up the street to Ultman's Cafe. We were going to have a 
nice quiet dinner together."
  "If you catch the flu from a waitress or another customer, you'll pass it on to the 
kids. Skip the cafe. Have dinner here. You know I'm the best cook in Black River."
  Paul hesitated.
  Laughing softly, stroking his beard with one hand, Sam said, "We'll have an early 
dinner. Six o'clock. That'll give you and Jenny plenty of time together. You can go for a 
ride later. Or
  I'll keep myself and the kids out of the den if you'd rather just stay home."
  Paul smiled. "What's on the menu?"
  "Manicotti."
  "Who needs Ultman's Cafe?"
  Sam nodded agreement. "Only the Ultmans."
  Rya and Mark hurried over to get Sam's approval of the gifts they had chosen for 
themselves. Mark had two dollars' worth of comic books, and Rya had two paperbacks. Each 
of them had small bags of candy.
  Rya's blue eyes seemed especially bright to Paul, as if there were lights behind them. 
She grinned and said, "Daddy, this is going to be the best vacation we've ever had!"
  2
  Thirty-one Months Earlier:
  Friday, January 10, 1975
  OGDEN SALSBURY ARRIVED ten minutes early for his three o'clock appointment. That was 
characteristic of him.
  H. Leonard Dawson, president and principal stockholder of Futurex International, did 
not at once welcome Salsbury into his office. In fact Dawson kept him waiting until three 
fifteen. That was characteristic of him. He never allowed his associates to forget that 
his time was inestimably more valuable than theirs.
  When Dawson's secretary finally ushered Salsbury into the great man's chambers, it was 
as if she were showing him to the altar in a hushed cathedral. Her attitude was reverent. 
The outer office had Muzak, but the inner office had pure silence. The room was sparsely 
furnished: a deep blue carpet, two somber oil paintings on the white walls, two chairs on 
this side of the desk, one chair on the other side of it, a coffee table, rich blue 
velvet drapes drawn back from seven hundred square feet of lightly tinted glass that 
overlooked midtown Manhattan. The secretary bowed out almost like an altar boy retreating 
from the sanctuary.
  "How are you, Ogden?" He reached out to shake hands.
  "Fine. Just fine-Leonard."
  Dawson's hand was hard and dry; Salsbury's was damp.
  "How's Miriam?" He noticed Salsbury's hesitation. "Not ill?"
  "We were divorced," Salsbury said.
  "I'm sorry to hear that."
  Was there a trace of disapproval in Dawson's voice? Salsbury wondered. And why the hell 
should I care if there is?
  "When did you split up?" Dawson asked.
  "Twenty-five years ago-Leonard." Salsbury felt as if he ought to use the other man's 
last name rather than his first, but he was determined not to be intimidated by Dawson as 
he had been when they were both young men.
  "It has been a long time since we've talked," Dawson said. "That's a shame. We had so 
many great times together."
  They had been fraternity brothers at Harvard and casual friends for a few years after 
they left the university. Salsbury could not remember a single "great" time they might 
have shared. Indeed, he had always thought of the name H. Leonard Dawson as a synonym for 
both prudery and boredom.
  "Have you remarried?" Dawson asked.
  Dawson frowned. "Marriage is essential to an ordered life. It gives a man stability."
  "You're right," Salsbury said, although he didn't believe it. "I've been the worse for 
bachelorhood."
  Dawson had always made him uneasy. Today was no exception.
  He felt ill at ease partly because they were so different from each other. Dawson was 
six feet two, broad in the shoulders, narrow at the hips, athletic. Salsbury was five 
feet nine, slope-shouldered, and twenty pounds overweight. Dawson had thick graying hair, 
a deep tan, clear black eyes, and matinee-idol features; whereas Salsbury was pale with 
receding hair and myopic brown eyes that required thick glasses. They were both 
fifty-four. Of the two, Dawson had weathered the years far better.
  Then again, Salsbury thought, he began with better looks than I did. With better looks, 
more advantages, more money...
  If Dawson radiated authority, Salsbury radiated servility. In
  the laboratory on his own familiar turf, Ogden was as impressive as Dawson. They were 
not in the laboratory now, however, and he felt out of place, out of his class, inferior.
  "How is Mrs. Dawson?"
  The other man smiled broadly. "Wonderful! Just wonderful. I've made thousands of good 
decisions in my life, Ogden. But she was the best of them." His voice grew deeper and 
more solemn; it was almost theatrical in effect. "She's a good, God-fearing, 
church-loving woman."
  You're still a Bible thumper, Salsbury thought. He suspected that this might help him 
achieve what he had come here to do.
  They stared at each other, unable to think of any more small talk.
  "Sit down," Dawson said. He went behind the desk while Salsbury settled in front of it. 
The four feet of polished oak between them further established Dawson's dominance.
  Sitting stiffly, briefcase on his knees, Salsbury looked like the corporate equivalent 
of a lap dog. He knew he should relax, that it was dangerous to let Dawson see how easily 
he could be intimidated. Nevertheless, knowing this, he could only pretend relaxation by 
folding his hands atop his briefcase.
  "This letter. - ." Dawson looked at the paper on his blotter.
  Salsbury had written the letter, and he knew it by heart.
  Dear Leonard:
  Since we left Harvard, you've made more money than I have. However, I haven't wasted my 
life. After decades of study and experimentation, I have nearly perfected a process that 
is priceless. The proceeds in a single year could exceed your accumulated wealth. I am 
entirely serious.
  Could I have an appointment at your convenience? You won't regret having given it to me.
  Make the appointment for "Robert Stanley," a subterfuge to keep my name out of your