Thorn rubbed his face with both hands and sighed. ‘That doesn't mean you can exclude me from the running of my own company,' he said. 'You don't activate anything without calling me first. If I didn't make that sufficiently clear before, I'm doing so now.'

'You were away on holiday,' Buher protested. 'I thought it best not to disturb you.' Even as he spoke the words, he was aware of how false the explanation sounded.

'I was always at the end of a phone,' Thorn said. Then he dropped his head onto his chest in exhaustion and added quietly, 'Bill would never have made those decisions without informing me.'

'I'm not Bill,' Buher said.

'I don't expect you to be!' said Thorn sharply. But I do expect you to observe the rules of company conduct!'

There was a long silence. When it became obvious that Buher had no reply to that, Thorn softened the blow a bit. 'Paul,' he said, 'you're as brilliant as they come. You deserve to be at the top. But don't screw it up for yourself. Don't ever forget whose company this is.'

'It won't happen again.' Buher sounded sincerely penitent. He waited silently until he felt enough time had passed, and then he tried changing the subject. ‘You were looking for Pasarian,' he said. 'Why?'

'Something's wrong with his design of the P-84 unit,' Thorn said. 'Walker's getting very agitated about it.' With that one sentence, his entire manner had changed, just as Buher had hoped it would. The bone of contention had been discussed, and Thorn had made himself eminently clear. Now the issue was past. It would never be discussed again unless, or until, Buher made the same transgression. And if he did, then the axe would fall, and no explanation would be necessary.

'I know Walker's always doom and disaster,' Thorn went on, ‘but this time he's got me going.'

'I'll take care of it, Richard,' Buher said, getting up to leave. He could sense that the meeting was over.

'See that you do,' Thorn said. He waited until Buher had left the room before standing up and walking over to the large window that looked down on the elegant old Water Tower in midtown Chicago. The view usually afforded him some kind of comfort, but on this particular morning it didn't. Thorn was far too upset.

Something had been gnawing away at him since the tragedy of Atherton's death, but just what it was, he had no idea. No sooner did his mind get a hold of the idea, than it skittered away again, out of reach.

Chapter Six

CHAPTER SIX