The Third Twin by Ken Follett

overlooked the gymnasium building, closed because of yesterday’s fire. Across the road, two boys were using the tennis court, despite the heat.
    Berrington rubbed his eyes. “Damn, damn, damn,” he said with feeling.
    He had persuaded Jeannie Ferrami to come here. Her paper on criminality had broken new ground by focusing on the components of the criminal personality. The question was crucial to the Genetico project. He wanted her to continue her work under his wing. He had induced Jones Falls to give her a job and had arranged for her research to be financed by a grant from Genetico.
    With his help she could do great things, and the fact that she came from a poor background only made her achievement more impressive. Her first four weeks at Jones Falls had confirmed his judgment. She had hit the ground running and her project got under way fast. Most people liked her—although she could be abrasive: a ponytailed lab technician who thought he could get away with sloppy work had suffered a scorching rebuke on her second day.
    Berrington himself was completely smitten. She was as stunning physically as she was intellectually. He was torn between a fatherly need to encourage and guide her, and a powerful urge to seduce her.
    And now this!
    When he had caught his breath he picked up the phone and called Preston Barck. Preston was his oldest friend: they had met at MIT in the sixties, when Berrington was doing his doctorate in psychology and Preston was an outstanding young embryologist. Both had been considered odd, in that era of flamboyant lifestyles, with their short haircuts and tweed suits. They soon discovered that they agreed about all sorts of things: modern jazz was a fraud, marijuana was the first step on the road to heroin, the only honest politician in America was Barry Goldwater. The friendship had proved more robust than either of their marriages. Berrington no longer thought about whether he liked Preston: Preston was just there, like Canada.
    Right now Preston would be at Genetico’s headquarters, a cluster of neat low-rise buildings overlooking a golf course in Baltimore County, north of the city. Preston’s secretary said he was in a meeting, and Berrington told her to connect him anyway.
    “Good morning, Berry—what’s up?”
    “Who else is there?”
    “I’m with Lee Ho, one of the senior accountants from Landsmann. We’re going over the final details of Genetico’s disclosure statement.”
    “Get him the fuck out of there,”
    Preston’s voice faded as he moved the phone away from his face. “I’m sorry, Lee, this is going to take a while. I’ll catch up with you later.” There was a pause, and he spoke into the mouthpiece again. Now his voice was peevish. “That was Michael Madigan’s right-hand man I just threw out. Madigan is the CEO of Landsmann, in case you’ve forgotten. If you’re still as keen on this takeover as you were last night, we’d better not—”
    Berrington ran out of patience and interrupted him. “Steven Logan is here.”
    There was a moment of stunned silence. “At Jones Falls?”
    “Right here in the psychology building.”
    Preston immediately forgot Lee Ho. “Jesus Christ, how come?”
    “He’s a subject, he’s undergoing tests in the laboratory.” Preston’s voice went up an octave. “How the hell did that happen?”
    “I don’t know. I ran into him five minutes ago. Imagine my surprise.”
    “You just recognized him?”
    “Of course I recognized him.”
    “Why’s he being tested?”
    “It’s part of our twins study.”
    “Twins?” Preston yelled. “Twins? Who’s the other goddamn twin?”
    “I don’t know yet. Look, something like this was sure to happen sooner or later.”
    “But now of all times! We’ll have to pull out of the Landsmann deal.”
    “Hell, no! I’m not going to let you use this as an excuse for going wobbly on the takeover, Preston.” Now Berrington wished he had not made this call. But he had needed to share his