The Constantine Conspiracy by Gary Parker Page A

Steve Carson’s death and no funeral arrangements for Mr. Carson were yet in place.
    Rick thought of the man at Rolling Hills—obviously a professional. But who employed him? How had he gotten access to such a high security facility? How had he known of Rick’s presence? Who told him? If the police had his mother under surveillance, why hadn’t they shown up? Was the man in league with the police or not? If so, that signaled a whole level of deeper issues, more knotted problems.
    Stretching out on the sagging bed, Rick tried again to rest but still found it difficult. Although he knew better than to trust his mother’s babblings, she had latched onto the word “conspiracy,” as if it actually meant something. But what? Yes, conspiracy started with CONS, but why did his dad capitalize the letters if that’s all it meant? Capital letters fit on proper names. So why had his mom zeroed in on that word? Just her crazy ramblings? Or something else, something real?
    But if a conspiracy existed, then what kind? Related to what? Corporate espionage? Although his dad had never excelled in business boardrooms, he did manage a couple of start-up technology companies, small ventures that Pops had handed him from his vast portfolio of subsidiaries. Had his dad uncovered a conspiracy related to one of the businesses? Had he threatened to reveal it? But what kind of corporate espionage led to murder?
    Rick tried to remember the focus of the companies. Nanotechnology? That sounded right; something about making everything in the chip industry smaller, faster, and cheaper. Had one of the company’s discovered a breakthrough of some kind? Or stolen a secret from someone else?
    His mind reeling, Rick weighed his options. He could turn himself in to the police. But what would that accomplish? He’d make bail, but the cops would force him to stay in Atlanta, prevent him from investigating further. He could tell the authorities what his mom had said, but they’d almost certainly reject the ravings of a disturbed woman. And, if they really did see him as a suspect, a trial would follow; huge publicity but not the favorable kind. And who knew how a trial might end? With the stock market falling apart and people losing homes and jobs by the millions, regular people liked to make examples of the über-rich these days, take a pound of wealthy flesh as revenge for what they’d recently suffered.
    Rick rolled over and threw his feet to the floor. Big things were at work here and he didn’t have a clue how to handle them. He grabbed Tony’s cell phone and punched in his grandfather’s number but again reached an answering machine and left no message. Where was Pops? Avoiding the media, he concluded. Pops disdained the fawning of the cable channels as much as Rick enjoyed them. But still, somebody on Pops’ staff should have answered the phone.
    Rick started to close the cell but then realized something— he’d called Pops on Luisa’s phone, then on Tony’s. Both were unfamiliar numbers and he’d left no messages, so Pops had no reason to return the calls. He considered calling Pops again to leave a voice mail, but then rejected the idea. Since he’d missed his chance to break the bad news to his grandfather, it made more sense to leave him alone for now. Pops would just insist that he turn himself in, something he wasn’t ready to do yet.
    Rick tossed the phone onto the bed and ran his hands through his hair. A dead father, a delusional mother, a beloved but sometimes distant grandfather—a family tangle fit for a whole season of Dr. Phil episodes.
    Rick’s spirits suddenly fell. How fast things changed. Alive one minute, dead the next. A celebrity one day, a fugitive the next. Everybody’s friend one day, nobody to trust the next. People all around one day, alone in a cheap hotel the next. He felt like a man who owned everything he wanted but possessed nothing worth having.
    Fighting off the mood, Rick stood, trudged to the window,