Tom Hyman by Jupiter's Daughter Page A

the meeting today? We could have competition.”
    “I wonder. You can count Harry Fairfield out, for one. He’s aggressive, but he’s no good at development. He’s after the quick buck. His attitude gave him away. He didn’t take Goth seriously.
    And he’s also in trouble with the British government.”
    “Tax evasion. That’s nothing to Fairfield.”
    “Not that. Rumors are going around that he’s been selling bad drugs through a generic-brand subsidiary. Scotland Yard is going to whack him hard. He’ll be too distracted to get involved with Goth’s program.
    Prince Bandar is out, too. He was too lazy to bother to do his homework. He didn’t ask a single question during Goth’s presentation.
    I think he was half-asleep.”
    “Yamamoto?”
    “Hard to tell. He has big government connections. I can see him trying to buy Goth out. And if that doesn’t work—which it won’t—he might try to steal the program. The Japs would rather develop something like this on their own.”
    Ajemian nodded in agreement. “And I guess the baroness is out.”
    Stewart stroked his chin. “I don’t know. She may be the one to worry about.”
     
    “I thought she pretty much told Goth no during the meeting.”
    “The baroness is clever. I’ve got a hunch that’s the way she wanted it to look. But what did she actually say? She told Goth she’d demand ninety percent, not fifty. So she’s already negotiating with him. And she knows as much about genetic research as any of us.”
    “Then she’s trouble. Beneath that glamorous exterior of hers there’s one tough bitch, no matter what you read in the magazines.”
    “Hell, we’ll beat her pants off,” Stewart said. He grinned.
    “Figuratively speaking, of course.”
    Ajemian wasn’t convinced. “It just feels wrong to me.”
    Dalton laughed. “What kind of argument is that?” He banged the top of the seat back in front of him. “Come on, let’s go for it.”
    Ajemian just grunted.
    “As soon as we get back to the hotel I want you to do the JUIzr LJuurz u/
    following,” Stewart said. “Find out who owns the medical school, and buy the whole thing, cash. They ought to be eager to unload it, considering the shape it’s in. Get a binder on the property. Fly in a couple of our lawyers if you have to. Set up a shell company as owner.
    Then set me up with a date to see President Despres, ASAP. We’ve got to get his balls in our pocket right away.”
    “Should I scout out some beach front properties as well?”
    “That can wait. Let’s not tip our hand. But call New York and put R&D
    on notice that when I get back I want to see on my desk a complete profile of this island—voting lists, tax lists, realestate ownership, phone numbers, arrest records, gossip, everything they can lay their hands on. Then I want three detailed biographies—Harold Goth, Yuichiro Yamamoto, and Baroness Gerta von Hauser. Everything there is to know about them—their work, personal habits, friends, enemies, sex life, financial status, health, eating habits—the works. I want them fast. Put the whole department on them full-time.”
    Ajemian scribbled some notes to himself, then looked up.
    “What about this afternoon? You’re scheduled to fly to Puerto Rico to look at that new chemical plant.”
    “Cancel it. I’m going back to make Goth an offer. I’ve just thought of a way to find out if this Jupiter program of his is the real thing.”
    Dalton Stewart found Dr. Harold Goth in his laboratory, hunched over a computer terminal. On a stand nearby, an old dot-matrix printer was cranking out a continuous strip of fanfold paper that spilled to the floor in an erratic, untended pile. The pages were covered with charts and diagrams.
    Stewart was surprised that Goth was so careless of his security; he had walked right into the building and the lab unannounced and unseen. He was now standing ten feet behind Goth, and the doctor, riveted to his computer screen, was still oblivious of his