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  'I'm afraid contracts aren't my department,' she said, feeling her senses tingle under the caress of his probing gaze. 'Nevertheless, welcome to N.T.E.L. I hope your work with us goes well.'

  'I don't anticipate any problems,' he smiled, not bothering to conceal the frank interest palpable in his expression. 'I expect we'll be seeing each other around, Miss Halpern. Perhaps running into each other would be a better way to put it.'

  'I'll try to look where I'm going next time,' Anna laughed a trifle nervously.

  'I'd be interested to know more about your research work,' he added. 'It would help me to understand N.T.E.L.'s inner structure.'

  'Drop in to our office any time,' she invited. 'Debby or I would be happy to give you a tour, although you might find it somewhat boring.'

  With a sudden glance around her, she realised that the throng of employees crowding the corridor had engulfed Debby. The fascination exerted by Marsh Hamilton's imposing form had made her forget her friend's very existence.

  'I'll try to take you up on that,' said Marsh. 'I'm quite sure I wouldn't find it boring.'

  'Well,' Anna stammered, unnerved by the enfolding stillness which seemed to immobilise her in his presence, 'goodbye, then. It was nice meeting you.'

  'So long,' came his deep voice, its timbre seeming to echo the daunting warmth of his regard.

  As she started off down the corridor, Anna could hear Bob Samuels engaging Marsh in conversation. But a sixth sense told her that the stranger's alert glance remained fixed to her receding form, and she could not suppress the disturbing feeling that she was fleeing him toward the safety of her office, like a frightened prey before an aroused predator.

  Shaking off the impression with an effort, she pushed open the door and hurried to her desk. This morning's jarring events had distracted her from urgent work awaiting her and the employees working under her supervision. There was no time to lose.

  'You can't let him get away with this,' insisted Debby, speaking in low tones so as not to be overheard by the other patrons in the crowded cafe. 'Can she, Barbara?'

  Barbara Moore nodded, her pale blue eyes suffused with sympathy. 'Debby's right, Anna. If someone doesn't stand up to him, there'll be no end to this.'

  Anna smiled to acknowledge her friends' support. Debby Johnson and Barbara Moore, themselves best friends and each the other's closest confidante, had made Anna welcome since her first day on the job at N.T.E.L. Their valuable advice on computer programming and the processing of information had made Anna's first months of work a pleasant and exciting experience. And now that Anna had been given greater responsibility and was their office supervisor, Barbara and Debby were far from envious, but more cheerful and supportive than ever.

  Unlike her rather plump, impish friend, Barbara was a tall, willowy young woman whose shy demeanour and delicate beauty seemed to bring out the best in all who knew her. She touched Anna's hand concernedly now, as though feeling in her own breast the insult her friend had suffered.

  'I'm not sure what I can do,' Anna sighed. 'If Deman isn't bluffing, I'm going to be fired on some pretext or other. But I don't know what it will be, or when it will happen.'

  'Look,' said Debby, 'the important thing is that you acted properly. You did the right thing. You have nothing to feel bad about, except the insult of being threatened by that lecher. But now you have to go on doing the right thing. If you don't blow the whistle on this creep, he's going to terrorise every girl in this department, and get away with it. Think of everybody else, Anna.'

  'But suppose they don't believe me?' Anna said thoughtfully. 'Deman seemed certain that the executives would take his word over mine.'

  'You have to take that chance,' Debby insisted. 'But you may be too worried about it. Nobody around here is more respected than you. I think they'll take your word over his, even if they don't have the guts to fire him.'

  'Who should I see?' Anna asked hesitantly.

  'Well,' Debby sighed, 'there's no sense going to the President, he doesn't know you. You can try Chuck Robbins. He's in charge of Personnel, so it's really his problem. Or Bob Samuels: he's a good man, he would be fair. Also, he knows your work.'

  'But that would be going outside channels,' Anna objected. 'Bob is in Research. I don't think he would know what to do.'

  'I guess you're right,' agreed Debby, darting a glance at Barbara, who nodded uncertainly. 'Try Robbins, then. But don't wait: call him this afternoon. See him right away, if you can. If you tell him that Deman is going to try to get you fired, he'll know what's going on. What do you say?'

  Anna sighed, chagrined at the prospect of admitting to an executive she knew only slightly that she had been the victim of harassment. Debby's words rang true, however. Chuck Robbins had the reputation of a demanding but fair boss. Nevertheless, Anna reflected with an involuntary shudder, there might be truth in Porter Deman's words. Perhaps the battle was lost already.

  'All right,' she said determinedly. 'It can't do any harm, even if it doesn't do any of us any good—least of all me. Porter Deman promised me I would never find work again if I said anything about this.'

  'All the more reason,' insisted Debby, 'to go to Robbins. If he's warned before anything happens, he can use his influence in your behalf. After all, who's to say that Deman won't make good on his threat regardless of what you do? You might as well have someone on your side, Anna. Isn't that right, Barbara?'

  Barbara nodded weakly. Since the beginning of the conversation, Anna had noticed, Barbara seemed even more diffident and quiet than usual, and her face bore a pained expression.

  'I'm going to have to go,' she said. 'I have a call to make before I go back to work. I'll see you in the office, okay?' She squeezed Anna's hand gently. 'It will work out,' she said. 'You'll see, Anna.'

  As she watched Barbara's slender form wending its way among the restaurant's crowded tables, Anna felt a pang of sympathy for her. Barbara was such a sweet, gentle creature. If something like this ever happened to her…

  All at once the truth glimmered in Anna's mind. Barbara had disappeared through the revolving door. As she turned back to Debby, she could see a look of sad confirmation in the woman's brown eyes.

  'You mean…?' asked Anna.

  'That's right,' said Debby. 'Barbara. Deman has been putting the same number on her that you're getting now. She's such a sweet girl, so vulnerable… She's no match for him. She really needs the job. It's an absolute crime!'

  Waves of impotent sympathy for Barbara shook Anna, who thought with horror of Porter Deman's cruelty.

  'That's why she just left,' Debby continued. 'I knew she wanted me to tell you. Don't you see, Anna? She doesn't have your strength. That's why it would mean a lot to her if you talk to Robbins. You'll be doing it for Barbara as well as for yourself.' Abruptly, she laughed. 'And maybe for me. I know I'm not good-looking, the way you two are—that's why he hasn't bothered me. But if somebody doesn't do something, he'll get around to me eventually. I know his type.' Her face darkened. 'It isn't sex he's after: it's power. He gets his thrills out of terrorising women. The physical part is the least important.'

  'All right,' Anna said firmly. 'Before I leave work today, I'm going to call Chuck Robbins. I'll make an appointment to see him.'

  'That's the spirit, Anna,' Debby smiled. 'He'll listen to you, don't worry.'

  'Whether he listens to me or not,' Anna frowned, 'he's going to get an idea of what's going on around here.'

  But in Debby's eyes there was more sympathy than hope, Anna reflected.

  As she walked the short block separating the restaurant from N.T.E.L.'s headquarters, Anna was nearly oblivious to the throng of traffic and pedestrians around her. Chicago's bustling Loop seemed even more vibrant than usual on this crisp autumn day. An El train roared overhead as Anna waited for the light to change. In the distance she could see Lake Michigan, its blue expanse broken by a solitary sail. The enormous public parking lots adjacent to the Art Institute heightened the impression of urban v
itality crowded close to the Lake's cold, choppy water.

  With a firm smile of determination Anna approached the revolving doors leading to N.T.E.L.'s spacious lobby. Her thoughts absorbed by the turn of events which now menaced the job she had pursued with pleasure for four years, she imagined herself telling the unpleasant truth to a shocked Charles Robbins.

  On one hand, Porter Deman's behaviour seemed absurd and almost laughable. One reads about sexual harassment in the newspapers, Anna thought, but when one meets it face to face in the form of an arrogant, ageing executive, it seems both pathetic and ridiculous. Porter Deman had received the brisk slap he richly deserved. Although her meeting with Chuck Robbins would be intensely embarrassing, the ordeal would be well worth her trouble.

  On the other hand, she thought with a suppressed shudder, the loss of her job at N.T.E.L. would be a crisis requiring immediate and perhaps desperate action. The slightest gap in her earnings would upset the delicate balance which maintained her own life while paying her sister Sally's college tuition.

  Five years ago, when she had first moved to Chicago, life had been far simpler, for she had only herself to consider. She was fresh out of college, and looking for an interesting career. The family was safe and happy in Bloomington, and Sally was a freshman in high school.

  Then abruptly, with Dad's crippling heart attack and Mother's illness, life had changed. Anna was still haunted by the memory of the two of them forcing smiles through their pain, and of her mute understanding that the impossible tragedy of losing both parents to incurable disease was actually to befall her. As the medical bills mounted, prompting concerned talks with the family's attorney, Anna realised that she must help Sally accept the inevitability of becoming an orphan at the age of seventeen.

  In the fearfully short space of two anguished years, Mother and Dad were both gone. Both their daughters had been forced to grow up quickly—too quickly, in Sally's case, Anna had feared.

  But somehow she had managed it. Sally had finished high school with good grades, and since Anna was now a resident of Illinois, she had agreed to attend college in Chicago, where the tuition was mercifully low. The urban university was certainly not the bucolic college campus Anna had wished for her sister, but it was better than nothing at all, and Sally had seemed to honestly want to be near Anna. The two sisters called each other often, and their relationship seemed cemented by the tragic circumstances that had left them alone in life.

  Despite the strain on her meagre finances, Anna was delighted to be able to assure Sally of the advanced education she herself had enjoyed under happier conditions. Her salary increases at N.T.E.L. had somehow kept pace with the high cost of living, and in another two years, when Sally was on her own, Anna would be proud to think that her parents' wishes for their younger daughter had come true.

  But now the loathsome scheming of Porter Deman threatened to jeopardize everything. Sally held a part-time job already, and could not possibly earn more without sacrificing the precious hours required for her studies. If Anna were to lose her position at N.T.E.L., she would have to find work at a comparable salary without delay.

  'It can't happen,' she thought determinedly as the elevator stopped at her floor. 'I won't let it happen.' Whatever Chuck Robbins' attitude might be, she would somehow make him see the truth.

  'I told you we'd be running into each other.' A deep voice startled her from her reverie, and she looked up to see Marsh Hamilton standing before her in the carpeted corridor.

  'Mr Hamilton!' she exclaimed with a little gasp of surprise. 'I didn't see you. I guess I was lost in thought again. This is turning out to be a busy day.'

  'Marsh,' he corrected, his black eyes holding her with their penetrating gaze. 'Remember?'

  'Marsh,' she smiled. 'Yes, of course.' Her diffident glance once more encountered the hint of mockery in his expression. But warm friendliness was evident in his relaxed demeanour as he returned her smile.

  'To be entirely truthful,' he said, 'I was hoping I'd cross your path again today.'

  Still a trifle stunned by his sudden appearance, Anna could think of no response.

  'You might be able to help me out with something,' he went on. 'If you'd be willing, that is.'

  'Of course,' she smiled, 'if it's in my power—which I doubt. I'm just a small cog around here, you know.'

  'I don't feel I quite have a handle on the flow of information within your company,' he told her. 'You seem to me the sort of person who would have a good understanding of it.'

  'That's an overstatement,' Anna laughed, doing her best to suppress the tingle of fascination she felt in his tall presence. For the first time she noticed the careless waves of black hair over his tanned face, their expanse accentuating the roguish energy which harmonised mysteriously with his air of taut determination. 'I know where our data comes from, and where we send it, if that's any help. Would you like to see how our office runs?'

  'No, I won't interrupt your work,' he answered, 'since you say it's a busy day. How about dinner tonight?'

  Taken aback by the abruptness of his invitation, Anna struggled to collect her thoughts.

  'This is rather sudden,' she replied weakly. 'Are you sure you wouldn't do better to speak with someone else? I mean, someone in a more responsible position?'

  'Positive,' he said simply, his slight smile betokening amusement at her hesitation. 'Eight o'clock?'

  'Really, Mr…' she began.

  'Marsh,' he insisted, his teasing grin widening.

  'Marsh, then,' she said, exasperated by his bluntness no less than by the undeniable ferment his powerful presence was creating in her senses. 'I'm afraid I really couldn't make it tonight,' she went on, her thoughts returning to the unpleasant interview she must have with Charles Robbins. Against the background of this morning's events, it seemed essential to maintain an attitude of grim concentration. Marsh Hamilton's disturbing effect on her could hardly contribute to the mood of determination she sought.

  'Tomorrow night, then?' he pursued. 'Really, you'd be doing me a favour. Will you be busy?'

  'No,' she admitted. 'But are you quite sure…?'

  'For the second time,' he interrupted, 'yes, I'm sure, Anna. May I call you Anna?'

  She nodded in consternation. 'It's awfully nice of you,' she said, 'to invite me…'

  'It's settled, then,' he concluded simply. 'Eight o'clock?'

  'All right,' she gave in. 'Let me give you my address.'

  She could feel the caressing warmth of his gaze upon her as she fumbled in her bag for a piece of paper. After hurriedly writing her address, she held it out and watched his large hand cover it.

  'It's on the near north side,' she explained.

  'I'll find it,' he said without looking at the paper which had disappeared into his palm. 'I'll be looking forward to seeing you.'

  With a calm smile he took his leave of her, and she went into her office, still disconcerted by the gamut of emotions she had been through in one short morning. Coming on the heels of the disgust and exasperation occasioned by Porter Deman's threats, Marsh Hamilton's handsome form and obvious interest in her had shocked her senses. But there was no denying the frank attraction she felt in his presence, she reasoned, and no sensible pretext for refusing his invitation.

  Perhaps, indeed, things would be straightened out by tomorrow night, and she would be in a more relaxed frame of mind. If, that was, her meeting with Charles Robbins accomplished its purpose.

  With a deep breath she reached for the telephone, hoping that his secretary would be able to fit her in for an appointment as soon as possible.

  As though to nip her hopes in the bud, a memo caught her eye on the desk before her, and she returned the receiver to its place without completing the call.

  'Please come to my office tomorrow 10 a.m.,' the memo read. Charles Robbins' hasty signature was scrawled under the message.

  For a long moment Anna sat in silence, regarding the blunt words before her. She had not dealt directly with
Charles since a new research assistant had been hired for her department several months ago. In her four years at N.T.E.L. she had never received such a message summoning her to his office.

  Suddenly the image of Porter Deman's cold eyes entered her consciousness. Perhaps she had underestimated the immediacy of his threat. Perhaps, after all, he was not bluffing.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Charles Robbins' physiognomy had always seemed to Anna the very incarnation of the Middle American man. With his greying hair, his amiably rounded features, and the slight bulge of his midriff, Chuck called up images of lazy Saturday afternoons, noisy children, and a front lawn not yet mowed, because Dad was watching a baseball game after his hard week of work. Indeed, Chuck's friendliness bordered on sheepish diffidence as he reluctantly gave orders to his assistants and secretaries. Although he did his work well, and had dealt with many a delicate crisis in Personnel, the gentle look in his blue eyes always seemed to betoken the secret wish that he were somewhere else, reclining beside a fishing pole by a stream perhaps, or watching from a lazy porch swing as his children played.

  But this morning Charles Robbins' apologetic smile was not in evidence as he ushered Anna to the chair before his desk. His expression was pained as he settled himself into his swivel chair and cleared his throat.

  'Anna,' he said uncomfortably, 'I wonder if you could tell me whether you've ever had occasion to use our computers on the WR-3-A material.'

  'WR-3-A?' Anna repeated in perplexity. 'Isn't that military?'

  'It's arms sales and agreements,' he informed her. 'The Middle East, to be exact.'

  'No,' she said, wondering what on earth such a subject had to do with her own difficulties. 'Our department hasn't touched a military subject in my four years at N.T.E.L. That would be the fifth floor, if I'm not mistaken—Mr Panariello's department. Why do you ask?'

  'You're quite sure,' he insisted uneasily, 'you've had no contact with that material.'