Beneath the Ivory Tower

PRAISE FOR WARREN ADLER “Warren Adler writes with skill and a sense of scene.” —THE NEW YORK TIMES BOOK REVIEW ON THE WAR OF THE ROSES “Engrossing, gripping, absorbing… written by a superb storyteller. Adler’s pen uses brisk, descriptive strokes that are enviable and masterful.” —WEST COAST REVIEW OF BOOKS ON TRANS-SIBERIAN EXPRESS “A fast-paced suspense story… only a seasoned newspaperman could have written with such inside skills.” —THE WASHINGTON STAR ON THE HENDERSON EQUATION “High-tension political intrigue with excellent dramatization of the worlds of good and evil.” —CALGARY HERALD ON THE CASANOVA EMBRACE “A man who willingly rips the veil from political intrigue.” —BETHESDA TRIBUNE ON UNDERTOW WARREN ADLER’S POLITICAL THRILLERS ARE… “Ingenious.” —PUBLISHERS WEEKLY “Diverting, well-written and sexy.” —HOUSTON CHRONICLE “Exciting.” —LONDON DAILY TELEGRAPH Beneath the Ivory Tower by Warren Adler (Originally published as The Womanizer - Copyright © 2010 by Warren Adler) Copyright © 2023 by Adler Entertainment Trust LLC ISBN (EPUB edition): 978-1-953959-11-9 ISBN (Paperback): 978-1-953959-12-6 All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any form without permission. This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination based on historical events or are used fictitiously. Cover Design: Jane Dixon Smith Editorial Production: The Book Whisperer Inquiries: [email protected] For Sunny CONTENTS Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Also by Warren Adler About the Author More from Warren Adler CHAPTER ONE The rain came down in slanting torrents adding vastly to the sense of impending doom Allen Harris felt for the task that lay just ahead. Heading his car slowly through the tree-lined, sloping driveway that led up the hill to the Georgian-style house that stood as an imposing landmark above the university, he felt like someone about to announce an accidental death of a loved child to an unsuspecting parent. The mansion had been built thirty years before to house the university president. Gordon Sandborn was its second occupant, a figure as imposing as the house itself. With his well-coifed silver mane, piercing Wedgwood-blue eyes, which stared out over high cheekbones, and a smile that revealed spangling-white capped teeth, he was the living embodiment of commanding dignity and charisma. When he spoke, he intoned, his voice deep and sonorous, his words authoritative and articulate, suggesting that they originated from some mysterious heavenly source. Harris had represented the university as legal counsel for the ten-year tenure of Francis Gordon Sandborn and had attended most of the board of trustees’ meetings during those years. They offered a ringside seat to Sandborn’s mesmerizing qualities, as he held the board in thrall during these sessions. Even the crusty septuagenarian chairman of the board, Charles Evans Blassingame—no slouch himself in the spellbinding oratorical department—was no match for Sandborn. Founded by a Methodist preacher, Charles Canfield, in the 1920s, Canfield University had fought gallantly to retain its academic credentials over the years and had grown from a single building to an imposing campus complex with staff and students now numbering more than twenty thousand souls and offering degrees in a number of disciplines. Some considered a Canfield education a prestigious alternative to Ivy League schools. Midwestern, founded on more rigid values, although it tolerated polite and orderly dissent, Canfield provided a middle-of-the-road approach that attracted parents who believed in the old verities and hoped their progeny would follow suit. It was not an easy road for the university to pursue, and Sandborn had steered the university caravan through the minefields of a frenetic and disorderly modern-day America with great skill. It was, of course, a challenge, but both staff and students had learned to respect the boundaries and, with some exceptions, were well aware of the reputation of their university as an ethical and traditional bastion of academia. Others outside this orbit tended to characterize Canfield as a relic of the fifties, when accommodation and acceptance of the status quo was the order of the day. To keep this middle-of-the-road posture, Sandborn was able to mitigate the tensions that existed between the board of trustees dominated by rock-ribbed conservatives like Blassingame and the staff of professors and students who were open to the seductions of a more liberal bias under the rubric of academic freedom. The university’s success in many areas, its enormously prosperous alumni, its sports teams, its cutting-edge research and scientific achievements, and high academic standards, its well-paid staff of professors, its long reach in the geography of academia, made Canfield a name to be reckoned with. Francis Gordon Sandborn had been, up to now, its unassailable icon. Sandborn was a well-respected national figure as well, a celebrity and frequent guest on talk shows, and an eagerly pursued speaker at numerous academic conventions. He was sought out for counsel by many of the country’s most prominent citizens and was a frequent White House guest. His memoirs had become best sellers. Although his natural bent and perceived reputation was as an enlightened conservative, he was able to walk a safe path through both ends of the political spectrum. His presence, his charisma, his debating skills, his charm and good looks, and especially his persuasiveness brought national attention to the university and assured its continuing prestige. Like most everyone associated with the university, Allen Harris was in awe of him. Indeed, it was more emulation than awe. Harris had observed Sandborn as a role model and had assumed a guise that often imitated his idol’s speech patterns and movements, perhaps in a subconscious effort to enter Sandborn’s skin. At times, Harris had even sensed, especially when he made a presentation to the board, that he had developed a shadow version of Sandborn’s charisma. To make his present task even more daunting, Harris