The Circle of Sodom
Page 8
Ruth Whiteside watched Kate and Owen close the front gate, climb into their car and wave to her as they departed; she remembered again.......
She was the tiniest, prettiest baby I had ever laid eyes upon. A China doll. Except that she wasn't Chinese; three-quarters American and one-quarter Korean. And she's all mine, all ours. All those years that Harry and I tried. I couldn't love her anymore if we had created her ourselves. She was only two weeks old and less than five pounds in weight. A premature baby but perfect in every way. I had brought her home just two hours earlier and I hadn't taken my eyes off her since. She was still asleep and I couldn't see her breathing. She was motionless. But she had the longest eyelashes and the most perfect heart-shaped mouth. That's what I remember. And Harry was happy to see me so happy. He had doted on that child. And she on him. Oh, yes, Harry, we were very privileged to have Kate, but will she be strong enough without you?
At six p.m. Owen and Kate were lifting off the runway at Logan headed for La Guardia in New York. Nena had a limousine waiting for them at la Guardia. Owen had no appointments the next day, Friday. He had told Nena he'd be in his house in the Hamptons if anything urgent was needed. She could be the judge of that. That was one of Nena's strengths. His clients often accused her of protecting him. On the way to La Guardia, Owen had already persuaded Kate to spend the weekend at his house on Dune Road. There was no-one waiting for her at her apartment on Madison and 92nd and she was between jobs. Her assistant curator's position at the Metropolitan Museum of Modern Art had ceased to be funded so she only had the Art Appreciation class that she taught at the New School. And the next class was not until Tuesday evening. So she was free. The way Owen put it was difficult to refuse.
"I could use the company. Since Michelle left I watch sunsets alone. It's not the same."
He had already told Kate about Michelle and the nomadic German she had followed to Australia.
"Kate, this is not a proposition. You have your own bedroom, your own bathroom. There's no obligation to share anything but the scenery. It'll be good for the artist in your soul."
"Owen, I agree. You know you're an excellent salesman. I'm sure you've been told that before," laughed Kate, deep down in her throat in the same kind of husky way that reminded him of Lauren Bacall.
On Friday night they shared a bottle of Chateau Meaume '90 and watched the sunset. On Saturday night Kate went to Owen's bedroom. They made love and missed the sunset.
Before the weekend was over Owen called Ken Baker. Baker Security had offices in New York, Boston and Chicago. They were one of the top five security companies in the north-east. By the age of forty Ken Baker had made Assistant Chief Inspector in the New York City Police Department. But he had been unhappy that he earned much less than his friends in business and other professions. So he had retired early and founded Baker Security with one contract and five employees, all retired NYPD police officers. That was ten years ago.
MacDara had chosen Baker Security a number of times to fill contracts with GMA's clients. He had liked Ken Baker the very first time they met. Over the years they had become good friends. So Ken thought nothing unusual of it when he got a call from Owen at ten o'clock on Sunday evening at home.
"Ken, hate to bother you at this time, but I need a favor," said Owen.
"Owen, no trouble at all. What can I do for you?" answered Ken.
"There's a lady, a friend not a client, that I think may be in some danger. It's not something that I can take to the police. I have no specific evidence to back up my fears," explained Owen.
"So you want to keep her under surveillance, is that it?" asked Ken.
"Precisely. But be discreet. No need to alarm her unduly. She's a fiercely independent woman and she might feel badly about someone watching her, even if it was for her own protection," said Owen.
"Tell me a little about her," said Ken.
So Owen talked about Ruth Whiteside, the mysterious loss of her husband, where she lived, and his suspicions that she might be in danger if her husband's disappearance had been the result of foul play. He told Ken no more than that. Ken didn't probe the matter any deeper with Owen. They trusted each other.
"I've got just the man for the job," said Ken, "Frank Nagle. Frank was one of my first five employees. I think of them as the founding fathers. Frank always had a summer home up on Cape Cod. With the children gone, he and Sally wanted to spend more time on the Cape. So, three years ago, he moved to our Boston office."
"Sounds good to me, Ken," said Owen.
"Frank's not on any contract at present. And he's not working on any proposals. So I can make him available right away," said Ken.
"I want twenty-four hour, seven days a week protection for Ruth Whiteside, Ken. I'll pay for it. Just send the bills to me personally, not GMA," said Owen.
"If that's what you want, Owen. I'll let Frank decide who he wants to support him. I'll call you in a week's time with a security report. Usual corporate procedure," said Ken.
"Thanks, Ken. I owe you one. Are you keeping score?" said Owen.
"I think we're even. Don't worry about it," laughed Ken.
Owen hung up the phone and explained to Kate the arrangements he had made. She was relieved but still worried. Kate was convinced that her father's disappearance was not an accident
NINE
University Club
Manhattan, New York
An array of lucite blocks, tombstones to banking people, sat on the table near the dais. They displayed project milestones and warm words of praise for those whose accomplishment had been truly exemplary. Fat bonus checks, in discreet envelopes, also awaited those whose performance had far exceeded expectations. It was one of those necessary morale building events that MacDara used to maintain esprit de corps on all of GMA's very visible and high-risk projects. He was hosting this function, to acknowledge progress on the Connecticut project, at the University Club in Manhattan.
MacDara added his own touch to the evening, handing out 'gag gifts' specially selected to match the idiosyncracy of the recipient or to commemorate a well remembered and, preferably, embarassing snafu. This was the 'roast' of the evening. Thick skins were expected.
Later, they headed for Costelloes. MacDara had set up an open tab at the bar for two hours. Everyone was welcome. Project members, GMA managers, suppliers, construction managers, interior designers, jacks-of-all-trades and invited guests. Within an hour Costelloes was packed to the rafters. Not even breathing space. Owen never ceased to be amazed at the drawing power of free drinks. Jay Russo couldn't make the event. He was in Atlanta presenting an interior design proposal for a new municipal office building. Liz Russo had come instead. Owen could see her squeezing her way through the throng with a tall, dark stranger in tow. Another liaison. Jay and Liz's 'open' marriage had become common knowledge. They didn't try to hide it any more. Especially Liz.
"Owen, I've got someone who'd like to meet you."
Liz Russo moved aside and MacDara came face to face with Tony Thackeray.
"Mr. MacDara, Tony Thackeray. Glad to meet you." The handshake was firm and not prolonged. But it was Thackeray's eyes that held Owen. Marbled blue, the bluest eyes he'd ever seen. Intelligent, sparkling, yet cold. The eyes were level with MacDara's, making Thackeray about the same height, nudging six feet. Dark complexioned, blue pinstriped suit, Cambridge old boy tie, expensive Italian shoes all combined to define power, confidence, ability and a distinctly European aura.
"Call me Owen. Tony, I take it you're not one of Russo's stable of architects. They keep springing someone new on me all the time."
"Hardly", responded Tony Thackeray. Owen could detect a thinly veiled tone of indignation. Liz jumped in to salvage things:
"Tony heads a 'think tank' called The Thackeray Institute. He's in the States giving lectures to a number of groups around the country."
"Yes. The Thackeray Institute. I have heard of you but I'm afraid that's all I know. What are your lectures about?", asked Owen.
"Maybe we can get you to talk to us, if your schedule permits"
"I'd be happy to."
The crush of the crowd, now completely uninhibited thanks to Guinness, Jameson, Dewars, Budweiser and other household names, prevented any further conversation. MacDara had been intrigued by the meeting with Thackeray and asked his Executive Vice President, Dick Massey, to follow through and prepare a briefing for him on Tony Thackeray and The Thackeray Institute.
MacDara was even more intrigued after the briefing. Tony Thackeray was in reality the Honorable David Anthony Llewellyn Thackeray, son and heir of Lord Haverford, and scion of that great Anglo-Welsh family. The Thackeray fortune was one of the legacies of Empire, derived from South African mines, Australian sheep ranching and Hong Kong financial institutions. As well as an Imperialist, Lord Haverford had been considered a fascist in his prime. It was rumored that he had funded Oswald Mosley and his Blackshirts in Britain during the war years. But that had never been proven. He had founded The Thackeray Institute in the sixties just about the time Anthony Eden was withdrawing from Suez, another loss to the power and influence of Great Britain. Lord Haverford had written a controversial book at the time, "The Decline of the Realm", postulating that Britain was suffering from a malaise that would lead to the destruction of the nation and infect the body social, politic and economic of Western civilization. His thesis centered on the diminution of order, patriotism and solidarity and their corrosive effects on the economic and political life of the nation. He foresaw a bleak future for Britain at the Millennium : devolution of the United Kingdom, absence of value systems and national ethos, endemic corruption, moral depravity, anarchy in the inner cities, chaos and thuggery masquerading as patriotism, and finally economic collapse. The book's publication started a furore at the time. Lord Haverford was accused of scaremongering and he was vilified in the media. But Lord Haverford was thick-skinned. He took it all in his stride, firm in his beliefs and convictions. He founded The Thackeray Institute to reverse the trend he had forecast, to build up a cadre of people schooled in his values, a cadre of people who would inherit the leadership of Britain and steer it away from its own destruction. A number of well-placed people in Britain and the West today are graduates of Oxford, Cambridge, Harvard, Trinity, Princeton, Yale - and the Thackeray Institute. Young Tony Thackeray got the proper education : Eton and Cambridge, followed by two years of postgraduate work in Zurich at the Malocco Centre for Strategic Studies, under the guidance of Nobel Laureate, Dr. Johann Malocco, winner for his economic theories in the twenties and again for his genetic research in the forties. Dr. Malocco was the Eminence Gris of the conservative right. Tony had then completed a year of advanced work at the Thackeray Institute before joining the management of the Institute. It was always understood that he would succeed his father as head of the Institute. And he did. But not before he had redefined its mission for the nineties and into the twenty-first century. He had split the Institute in two : the traditional role would continue under a Chancellor serving at his pleasure and a new mission would commence, the mission of examining and thinking about the future. Tony would actively direct this new "Think-tank". Lord Haverford was ninety-three years old. Upon his death Tony Thackeray would become the next Lord Haverford.
Every January GMA hosted its annual extravaganza for clients, prospective clients, management, friends, associates and anyone that it might make good business sense to invite. The festivities always commenced with a sumptuous reception, usually in the Helmsley Palace Hotel, followed by dinner and presentations of gifts to those who had excelled at GMA's business during the past year. Each year MacDara chose a keynote speaker for the dinner. Sometimes it was someone of the caliber of a Tom Peters or an Alvin Toffler. At other times the speaker was chosen not so much for the message but, rather, for the massage, as Marshall McLuhan might have said.
It was an understatement to say that MacDara had found all this information about Tony Thackeray intriguing. He had extended an invitation to him to be keynote speaker at the GMA dinner. Tony Thackeray had accepted.
GMA's dinners were noted for their food, drink and fun. Wine connoisseurs were always sated by evening's end. MacDara never failed to select the best. Tonight he walked into the reception promptly at six p.m., bypassed the trays of exotic hors d'oeuvres, and went straight for the oysters on the half shell. An attentive waiter brought him a glass of Corton Charlemagne, Grand Cru 1988, one of the great white Burgundies. Almost everyone had arrived and there was a buzz of excitement in the air. MacDara was soon surrounded by GMA staff who seldom encountered him in the normal course of business and by clients who wanted to get his attention on pet issues or proposals. And surrounded too, every year, as his old English professor at St. Columb's used to say, by the usual number of "sycophants and obsequious poltroons."
"Are you afraid or are you excited tonight?" Thackeray's voice carried strongly and clearly to even those who sat at the tables on the perimeter of the dining room. A trained voice, well able to command an audience. The tinkle of glasses stopped, the conversation ceased and everyone turned to look at the figure standing at the podium.
"About the Future, I mean. Are you afraid of the millennium? Afraid of the new century? Afraid of technological tyranny, genetic manipulation, war, environmental disaster, destruction of the social order? Or, are you excited? Excited about the 21st century? Does the information superhighway turn you on? Do you believe that our advances in genetics will make you live longer and healthier? Do you believe that your life will be richer because you won't be stuck in a job? Do you believe that retirement is a nonsense? When someone predicts revolution, do you think information? Or, are you terrified? Terrified of an Orwellian Society threatened by an ignorant, deprived and violent underclass? Terrified of the destruction of the social order? Ask yourself now? Are you afraid or are you excited? Or, are you a little of both? And where is God in your future? Or, does that matter? Are you a Christian, a Buddhist, a Hindu, A Moslem, a Jew? Or, are you an Atheist? Will your belief, your conviction, your certainty about life be undermined or strengthened in the 21st century? What do you want it to be? Can you influence the future? Or, is it too late? Do you feel you are not in control?
Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to 'The Future'."
By now, Tony Thackeray had hooked his audience and, like the expert angler that he was, he never let that fish off his hook for the rest of the evening. His theme was The Future, his thesis was Vision. He took his audience back to the nineteenth century. Back to the confident ruling classes of Europe. Confident in technology. Confident in Capitalism. Confident in economic advance in the coming twentieth century. A vision that failed. The first half of the twentieth century was a disaster. He asked if we were going to repeat that. Were today's ruling classes just as confident of the 21st century? Is their vision flawed? If the millennium holds disaster, can it be avoided? If it can't be avoided, how do we survive it? And what is happening among those who are reacting to the destruction of the social order, the destruction of traditional beliefs and values? What is their common denominator? Is it their fundamental Christian beliefs? What is their Vision? Is it of a coming Armageddon? Is this exciting or is it terrifying? He foresaw a period of change like none in recent history. He saw a new world growing underneath the old, like a new fingernail emerging to replace a damaged one. The challenge : to survive and grow in the new world and not get discarded when the old one self-destructs. His premise : we can shape that new world and protect ourselves from annihilation when the old one dies. And Tony Thackeray was there to sell the excitement of that prospect to his captive audience. His admonition : ignore official forecasts, treat the planners with skepticism, beware of the gospel of the management gurus, be loyal to yourself firstly, understand tha
t we're in a meritocracy; above all, see don't look. Is Charles Murray correct in "The Bell Curve" when he predicts a future where the intelligent will marry the intelligent and the rest will sink into a genetic underclass? Is Charles Handy correct in "The Empty Raincoat" when he predicts "lots of customers and not lots of jobs" and the emergence of "portfolio" workers who will carry their skills around with them, a kind of 'have gun, will travel' career? Or, perhaps you see a bleaker future; perhaps you agree with Professor Ian Angell of The London School of Economics. He sees the world dividing into 'intellectual hot spots' and vast regions of outlaw territory. Just like your own Wild West! Existing social structures will be destroyed, the sanctity of human life will end, the death sentence will be routine for petty crimes, nations as we know them will cease to exist, the chief executives of multi-national companies will take their seats in the United Nations! Do you believe that that is our future?
How will you finance your life when governments can no longer afford to pay Social Security to a population that has a far greater proportion of elderly people? We have eight billion people on this planet. Do you think our supply of people far exceeds the demand?
And don't forget genetics. We'll soon be able to tell the genetic characteristics of every individual. How will we use that? Screening and elimination? Weed out the undesirables? Create a super race? Who will be given the power and the right to make such decisions? Will you be eliminated or will you survive? How can you assure your survival in this brave new world?
Tony Thackeray's voice invaded MacDara's consciousness again:
"I'll ask you again. When someone predicts revolution , do you think information? Or, do you think social? That's right! We're now in the midst of the greatest social revolution in history! Will anyone get married in the 21st century? Will most children be born out of wedlock? How will your children be educated? Are we throwing out our moral baggage? Are you a pendulum theorist? Do you believe that the pendulum of history swings between permissiveness and Puritanism? Are we reaching the apex of permissiveness? Do you believe, with the fundamentalists of the right, that the pendulum is swinging back toward them? Are they purposely tilting it toward themselves by controlling the power that moves it? How are they gaining that power? Are they going to save us or destroy us? What do you think? Will they bring about the Armageddon they've been predicting? Do you need to know how to survive if that Armageddon comes to pass? Am I scaring you?"