Enemy In the Room

by Parker Hudson

  Mustafin and Kamali said nothing. Knox continued. “We must get rid of this meddling President before she does serious damage to our plans for America.”

  Knox stood up, and Kamali said, “Mr. Knox, I’m sure we can do it. But it will be quite a challenge.”

  “That’s why I have the two of you. We’ve got our usual quarterly review coming up in about ten days. I want to be able to brainstorm some specific solutions then.”

  Knox sat down again and raised his hand. “Oh, and that real estate guy who’s trying to steal fifty million from us. What’s his name? Porter. If there’s no response to your message by next week, go ahead and get rid of him. Allah abhors thieves.”

  When Kristen returned from a quick sandwich, she noted a strange look on Trish’s face. As she neared her assistant’s desk, Trish said, “I almost just put your phone on voice mail and went to lunch myself, but instead I have these.” She held up a stack of message slips. She smiled. “And I think there are at least ten more who asked to leave voice mails. What have you been doing since I saw you an hour ago?”

  “I guess you missed the news,” Kristen said, taking the stack of message slips.

  “I guess so.”

  “Well, the President and the Sullivans are back in the news.”

  “So we are, too?”

  “Apparently.”

  “Maybe you could record a special greeting, giving your latest views and news.”

  Kristen actually laughed. “I don’t think so.”

  She turned and went into her office. As she sat in her chair, the phone rang. After two rings, she answered.

  “Kristen?” The voice sounded familiar.

  “Yes.”

  “Hello, Kristen. This is Claudia Coleman from the Journal. How are you?”

  “Fine. Just fine. How are you?”

  “Good, thanks. Listen, I was wondering if you had any comment on the news today about passage of the President’s media bill in the House.”

  “Well, no, I don’t.”

  “But didn’t you support it?”

  “Yes, of course, as I told you.”

  “Well, I watched Janet Sullivan a little while ago, and she mentioned the attempted blackmail again, and you. Do you have any comment that we can use in our article?”

  Kristen paused. “No, I don’t. I’m not a politician or policy person. I’m in real estate. I certainly have my personal views, but I don’t think they’re relevant to a story on the President’s legislation.”

  “Can’t you give me some additional insights into your relationship with the Sullivans, now that you helped the President’s victory in the House?”

  “Let me ask you a question. Did you follow up on Mrs. Sullivan’s assertion that she and others were blackmailed with threats to change their vote?”

  “No, not really.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, you know, time is always a problem, and there are so many stories. We probably should have. But it seemed far-fetched.”

  “OK, well, I just don’t have anything more to say. But if you ever do track down what Mrs. Sullivan was talking about, I bet you’d have a pretty interesting story.”

  “Perhaps. But right now can’t you help us with your thoughts on this bill’s chances, from inside USNet?”

  “I told you, I don’t speak for USNet—unless you want to talk about office lease terms. So, please, call folks in Washington or in the entertainment business, but not me. OK?”

  “Yes, certainly. Well, good-bye, Ms. Holloway.”

  “Good-bye.” I hope that’s the end of it.

  Simon North received an email from his anonymous employers including a packet of what appeared to be intercepted telephone calls with several young Russian men in the city of Arzamus-23. And on several calls what appeared to be a potential buyer for their unique product. But the sender indicated that the buyer was actually a member of the Russian police.

  Also included were the outlines of a plan for intercepting the purchase.

  Which was why North was on the afternoon British Air flight to Moscow.

  That evening the Sawyers were seated at their mahogany dining room table, a thick Persian rug underfoot. David would be leaving for Moscow on Friday, and Elizabeth had been organizing extra clothes for him.

  “What will the weather be like?” she asked, as she passed the salad bowl to Rob, who was attacking his plate as if he hadn’t eaten in a week.

  “I got an email today from our broker, saying that it will actually be pretty warm, now that it’s almost May. Though there could still be a stray snow storm.”

  “Hard to imagine,” Elizabeth said, shaking her head.

  “Yes, so please just include a few sweaters with my regular stuff.”

  “Don’t you need to take drinking water and toilet paper?” Rob asked, in one of his rare voluntary utterances.

  Sawyer smiled. “Maybe years ago. But not today. Certainly not to Moscow. I haven’t been there since our first exploratory mission in ‘93, but I’m told that there are all the comforts of home. How was the tenth grade today?”

  Without looking up, their son replied, “OK.”

  “Anything good or bad happen?”

  “Nope.”

  “How did you do on the chemistry test?”

  Still not taking his eyes off the food in front of him, Rob responded, “I think it was a seventy-eight.”

  “Rob, you did much better in physics last year.”

  “Mm.”

  David looked at Elizabeth and then said, “Rob, your mother and I have been talking about moving the computer down here, to the family room.”

  Now he looked up, first at his mother, then his father. “No way! Why?”

  “Because you’ve become attached to it—from games to chat rooms to email. Think about how little time you have left for anything else, including homework. So if you use it down here, it won’t take up as much of your life.”

  “But what about those awesome internet games?”

  “You’ll have to stop, or play them less.”

  “No way.”

  “Rob…”

  “No. I like the games and I’m not flunking any courses. And I like the chat rooms with my friends, too. We talk every day about strategy. I can’t move it down here!”

  He got up, his plate virtually licked clean. He walked into the kitchen, rinsed his plate and put it in the sink. As he was about to leave for his room, he said to his parents, who were still eating, “The computer is a big part of my life. I have real friends because of it. Please don’t take it away.” And he bounded up the stairs.

  “I guess we showed him,” Elizabeth said.

  David picked up a forkful of lentils and raisins, but kept it near his plate. “I didn’t want to start a war one day before I leave.”

  “Well, we’ve got to do it sometime! And soon. David, he’s a different person than a year ago.”

  “He’s fifteen. It happens to everyone.”

  “Not like this. We’re losing him.”

  “OK. OK. Just let me get back from this trip and I’ll tackle it.”

  “I called Callie today.”

  “What?” He put down his fork.

  “I wanted to talk with her.” She met his look.

  He glanced down and said nothing, his anger obvious.

  Elizabeth pushed on. “I told you that I wouldn’t cut off our daughter for long. She probably needs us now more than ever.”

  He filled the fork again and chewed slowly. After swallowing, he said, “She cut us off.”

  “No. She made a bad choice, and you—we—cut her off because of it.”

  “It’s the same thing. Choices have consequences, and I gave her the choice.”

  “What about love? What about our relationship with her?”

  He was silent again, digesting her words. “I think they call it ‘tough love’.”

  It was her turn to be silent, staring at him. After a few moments, she took a deep breath and said,
“David, I’ve been to this Bible study group twice.” He started to speak, but she raised her hand. “I’m not going to give you a sermon—I couldn’t possibly. I’m just saying that we read the Bible and talk. Some of these ladies are amazing. They have such wisdom. Anyway, we’ve been talking about relationships, not religion, at least not as I’ve ever heard anyone talk about religion. They talk about a relationship with God—as if that’s His desire for us. And our earthly relationships being more important than things, or schools, or anything.”

  She leaned forward. “They actually mentioned tough love the other day, and they said that you have to hate the sin, but love the sinner. Now I’ve heard that before and always just nodded my head. But here is Callie, and that’s just what this is. We’ve got to love her—keep the relationship—while telling her how much we disagree with what she’s doing, and why.”

  He shook his head. “I never heard about all that God and relationship stuff. In my family there was nothing about that. Only making Allah happy by doing what is right. Making the right choices. It’s simple. In our family, God is not our friend. He is Allah, and his will is for us to do right.”

  “Not our friend? But he made us. What happens when we don’t do right?”

  “Then he punishes us.”

  “How can we always do right?”

  “We can’t. Like Callie.”

  “And you and me. These women would say that Callie needs her parents, and that all of us need a savior.”

  “The savior. Jesus. Always back to him. Islam says that God has no son.”

  “David, I don’t want to argue about religion. I’m just pointing out that I think God thinks relationships are important, and that none of us is perfect.”

  “But as parents, we’re to set the right example.”

  “Exactly! Look at the father in the Prodigal Son story. He loved his wayward son and celebrated his return.”

  “And I’ll celebrate when Callie returns.”

  “What if Callie thinks she can’t return? What if she thinks we’ve closed her out?”

  David thought for several moments. Finally he shrugged. “OK. Talk with her now and then. Keep the door open. But let her know how much we disagree with what she’s doing.”

  Elizabeth smiled. “I will. Who knows what may happen.”

  12

  SATURDAY, APRIL 30TH

  David arrived in Moscow on Saturday morning at 10:30. He felt unexpectedly refreshed because he was able to sleep for five hours on the long flight.

  Sheremetevo Airport’s gleaming new terminals were nothing like what he remembered from 1993—a chrome and glass Soviet-style structure that seemed far too small to be the portal to Europe’s largest city. Unlike his previous visit, there were now bright lights, advertisements, and a high speed train to downtown.

  Andrei Selivanov had volunteered to meet David at the airport and emailed a picture of himself—tall with dark hair. And today he also held a small sign with Sawyer’s name on it. They shook hands, and Andrei took one of his bags. “Welcome to Moscow.”.

  “Thank you. I’m glad to be back after so many years.”

  “I think you will see many changes since your last visit,” Andrei expressed in nearly perfect English, as they turned and began walking toward the glass doors leading to the parking lot.

  “I’m sure I will.” Motioning toward all the panel displays and advertisements, he said, “Back then there weren’t many choices in anything.”

  Andrei nodded. “But now there are as many choices as you have in the States. Even in office buildings.”

  The sun was shining brightly in the cool air. “Yes, you’ve lined up quite a number of possibilities for our software group. But will we have time to see them all?”

  “You’ve come on a holiday weekend—May Day is Monday. We’ll drive past the list tomorrow afternoon, when the traffic won’t be bad, and review them on my laptop as we go. You can decide which ones you want to see in person. Peter Goncharov, your local manager, is in Helsinki on business today, but he’ll join us tomorrow.”

  David smiled. “That’ll be great. And I can go to a museum or something—I can always use more culture.”

  Andrei placed David’s bags in the trunk of his ten-year-old Audi, and the two men began the thirty-five km journey into Moscow along the ribbon of six-lane thoroughfare that was more than a boulevard but less than a highway. The route led southeast from Sheremetevo Airport; once they passed inside the Ring Road, the traffic increased dramatically, even on Saturday, and their pace slowed. More than ten million people lived inside the Ring Road. As in many continental cities, the driving seemed to be a frenzied free-for-all, and David was glad that Andrei was behind the wheel.

  They talked about their businesses, the world markets for real estate, and their families. Andrei was nearly forty with a wife and three children, an almost unheard of family size by Russian norms.

  “How did you get into the business?”

  “Out of university I was an engineer. Back in ‘92 when people could start to buy and sell apartments, I made a little money helping friends find what they wanted. I liked it. Then in ‘95, just as real estate was starting to be a real business, and office buildings and new apartments were going up everywhere, a friend from school introduced me to an American and a Brit with a small commercial firm here. They taught me the basics, from market analysis to ethics. They were great teachers, and now we’re partners. Every year we add more Russian staff, and I do most of the training.”

  “Sounds pretty normal, actually.”

  Andrei looked over from the driver’s seat. “Yes. Just normal, really. But it’s amazing that it has happened in this country after seventy years of the communists trying to deny everything from free markets to God. I guess they found out that God and markets are much more permanent than they were!”

  David nodded and smiled. They continued along Tverskaya Street, a combination of Fifth Avenue and Madison Avenue, lined by diverse five-to eight-story buildings, all with bright shops on their ground floors. Sawyer’s hotel, a modern remake within a handsome nineteenth-century façade, was near Red Square, right in the heart of the city. They pulled up to the door, and a smartly dressed bellman helped with the bags.

  “I’ll park the car and make some calls in the hotel lobby,” Andrei suggested. “You unpack, then we’ll have lunch and head over to the History Museum on Red Square.”

  “So far so good,” David acknowledged. “Thanks for the ride in, and I’ll see you in the lobby in thirty minutes.”

  In his room, David splashed water on his face and took two aspirin for the dull ache in the front of his head. With a fresh shirt he felt ready to tackle the rest of the day, and he joined Andrei in the lobby restaurant for lunch.

  After they ordered, Andrei took a sip of water and asked his guest, “What brought you here back in ‘93?”

  “Back then I came here with a team of five division heads from USNet, hoping to pick up an operating company, or a cheap building, or new technology, or something that we could use—and help the new Russian economy as well.”

  “How long did you spend here?”

  “Almost two weeks. Our one success was finding the software company to invest in. I think we were one of the first joint ventures, and we’re still going strong today. Now we need more space. By the way, can we start our tour in the morning?”

  Andrei buttered a piece of bread. “Well, we could, but my family goes to church on Sunday morning, so I’d like to pick you up about one, which will give us plenty of time. We’d love for you to join us at church, by the way, or you can walk to many interesting places from here.”

  “That’s OK,” David said, as their soup arrived. “My family came from Iran, where they were Muslims, though I don’t practice any religion myself. My wife grew up in a Christian family, but she doesn’t attend, either. So please go to church with your family, and I’ll walk around Red Square and meet you here at one.”

  “What about yo
ur two children?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Religion. Faith. Do you teach them any beliefs?”

  “Well, we teach them to be good people, of course. But we think all religions are about the same. Different ways to the same place—or to no place.” David smiled.

  “How do they know what’s right from what’s wrong?”

  “We’ve taught them to respect other people, and to help others. I think people generally just know, and we’ve tried to emphasize examples of good and bad behavior. ”

  “I see.” Andrei returned his smile, and they dug into their food.

  Several hours of walking through the museum later, David was ready for an early night. He said good-bye to Andrei at six, had a solo meal in the hotel restaurant, checked in with Elizabeth, and then walked up to Red Square. The sun was setting and couples were walking arm-in-arm through the square that had witnessed almost a millennium of sometimes violent history, and yet that night it was nearly silent, and peaceful.

  While her father was sleeping in Moscow, Callie Sawyer, after two glasses of wine, agreed with her boyfriend that two thousand dollars was too much to pass up, and they made plans to cash in that night.

  David and Andrei were joined on Sunday afternoon by Peter Goncharov, USNet’s local manager. Fifty, tall, and a former engineer in the army, Peter had transitioned well to private enterprise; USNet trusted his judgment on all operational issues.

  As they drove around Moscow looking at the properties that might fit USNet’s needs, David was impressed with how precisely the city’s road system matched a hub with spokes. The Kremlin was at the center, with spokes radiating out to the Outer Ring, an average distance of twenty kilometers. In between there were two other full rings: the Garden Ring and the Third Ring, recently completed by the city government atop the right-of-way of an old railroad line.