“I can’t, either.” The general straightened in his chair, tapped his fingers on his broad knees for a moment, then nodded at Brad. “Thank you for your honesty. You have shed a great deal of light on this situation.”
Brad felt his shoulders slump in relief. “Thank you, General . . . for keeping this to yourself. I don’t know if there’s a statute of limitations on snooping through old files, but I wouldn’t want to broadcast my activities in that regard.”
“Oh, we can prosecute spies and thieves anytime we wish,” the general said, standing. He moved behind his desk, then stood directly in front of the picture of President Stedman and gave Brad a steely smile. “And if you do not wish to be prosecuted, you will convince Daniel Prentice to cooperate with us.”
Brad’s mood veered sharply to anger. “You said my confession would remain in this room!”
“And it will, as long as you cooperate.” General Archer pressed his hands to the back of his chair and squeezed the leather cushion. “You will fly to New York and meet with your good friend, and you will convince him to join the president’s committee.”
The muscles in Brad’s face tightened into a mask of rage, and General Archer laughed. “Don’t waste your energy, Hunter,” he said, pulling out his chair and falling into it. “This is not a dangerous mission like Desert Storm. The man is a computer genius; we just want to pick his brain for a few days. That’s all. Surely you can convince him that your friendship is worth a few hours of his time.”
Biting back an oath, Brad stood and faced the general. He had stumbled into one of the most blatant traps one soldier could set for another, and he hadn’t even seen it coming. Eight years in a Washington office had dulled his wits.
“Am I dismissed?” he asked, throwing his shoulders back.
“You are. But I will expect to see Mr. Prentice in Washington within a week. Good day, Colonel.”
EIGHT
4:00 P.M., Tuesday, November 10, 1998
“SO WE’LL HAVE THE PROGRAM OPERATIONAL BY NEXT WEEK?” DANIEL GLANCED up at the four men who sat in the casual conference area of his office—Dr. Kriegel, Taylor Briner, Ron Johnson, head of production, and Bill Royce, director of development.
“No problem, boss,” Ron said, his brows rising in obvious confidence. “My people are already in touch with plants in Singapore. When you say the program is ready, we’ll start production.”
“We’re running a series of tests through a demographic survey,” Royce added. “By next week I’ll be able to show you how we plan to develop different versions of the product. We’re thinking governmental, corporate, and individual, with versions for DOS systems as well as Windows-based workstations that will examine and correct the machine code for mainframes.”
“Dr. Kriegel—” Daniel pointed to the professor—“don’t let us forget that First Manhattan is still our top priority. When your team is finished with the debugging, I want you to oversee the First Manhattan project. Could we have their systems ready by Christmas?”
“Think spring, Daniel.” The professor smiled. “Definitely by Passover.”
Daniel mentally translated the professor’s Jewish holiday to his own calendar. “An Easter present,” he mused, nodding. “Why not? We’ll still be months ahead of schedule.”
“The press will love that,” Taylor said, spilling a sheaf of papers in his enthusiasm. “I’ll write up a press release when we make the presentation, and Daniel can go on national television—”
“That reminds me.” Daniel cut Taylor off with an uplifted hand. “The name. We need something elegant, something that addresses the problem, and it came to me this morning.”
The professor painted on a look of disappointment. “You don’t like X 2000?”
The others laughed.
“No offense, Professor, but that name just doesn’t do it for me.” Daniel paused until the last man had stopped laughing, then spread his hands in a dramatic gesture. “How about the Millennium Code.” He shot a look to Royce. “What do you think?”
Royce screwed up his mouth, then nodded. “I like it. You’re right—it’s elegant, and it’s laymen’s language. By now everyone has heard of the Y2K problem, and they’ll know almost instinctively that this is the answer.”
“Yeah, it’s good.” Johnson added his vote of approval. “We can market that name internationally. It’s got real panache.” He nodded again. “I like it. It’ll sell a zillion copies.”
“However many that is.” Daniel swiveled his gaze to the professor, who sat silently on the couch, his hand absently stroking his cat. “Dr. Kriegel? I should have spoken to you first. After all, it was your team that came up with the code.”
“But it is you, Daniel, who will carry it to the world.” The professor’s eyes glowed with enjoyment. “It is a good name. And it will bring the world safely into the next millennium.”
Daniel sat back, momentarily basking in the approval of his associates. The professor was right, of course—without this program, untold computers would crash and burn in the first weeks of the new century; but Prentice Technology’s Millennium Code would provide an answer. Corporations, governments, and individuals would rush to buy it, and TIME magazine might choose Daniel Prentice as its Man of the Year.
Aware that the others were watching, Daniel looked down at his notes and abruptly slammed the door on his imaginings. “Well—” he scanned his notepad— “if there’s no more new business . . . wait.” He glanced up at Taylor. “Don’t forget to send flowers for my mom’s birthday on the sixteenth. And remind me to call her.”
Taylor shrugged. “Done. I set the reminder on my computer calendar this morning. And I told Roberta to remind you to call. On the sixteenth, she’ll remind you every hour or so until you take care of it.”
Daniel groaned. “I’ve created an electronic nag.”
“Mr. Prentice?”
All five men grinned as the aforementioned nag broke into the conversation.
“Yes, Roberta?”
“You have an urgent e-mail message.”
Daniel looked up at his employees. “Are we finished here?”
“All done,” Johnson said, standing with Taylor, Royce, and the professor. “We’ll get busy and let you know if there’s a problem.”
“There won’t be any problems,” Dr. Kriegel muttered, pushing his glasses up on his nose as he followed the other men out of the office. “It’s as simple as A-B-C. Why should there be a problem?”
Daniel waited until his office door closed, then tapped his touchpad. The monitor blazed with color, then he clicked his e-mail program. A dozen messages waited in the incoming mailbox, but one was marked with a red flag. Daniel felt the corner of his mouth twist when he recognized Brad Hunter’s screen name. It certainly hadn’t taken the White House long to discover that connection.
He highlighted the message, then tapped the touchpad.
Daniel:
What’s this I hear about you snubbing the commander-in-chief ? Not very smart, my friend. Now they’re sending me out to rough you up. I figure we can start by hitting that steak place around the corner from your shop, then venture out for a drive in the speedster.
Whaddaya say? Care to put me up for a few days? They won’t be happy until you crack, you know. So make it easy on me.
Brad
With his finger on the touchpad, Daniel moved the cursor to the reply button, then tapped the key. He was just about to peck out an answer when Roberta interrupted.
“Mr. Prentice, a visitor on the street has requested to see you.”
“Identify, please.”
“He is not entered in our company database. But his thumbprint matches FBI file number 268350474002. His name is Brad Milton Hunter.”
Milton? Daniel pressed his finger over his lips, stifling the urge to laugh. Brad was up to his old tricks; he must have sent this e-mail from his cell phone. “Allow Mr. Hunter to enter, please.”
He pushed back from the keyboard, resigning himself t
o the fact that he’d have to either fortify himself against his best friend or agree to participate in the president’s brain trust or whatever it was. Perhaps—if he was very lucky—his capital visit would coincide with Brad’s wedding, and he could kill two birds with one stone.
He heard a rap on the door. “Mr. Prentice?” Taylor called, remembering to display a little dignity before a visitor.
“Send Mr. Hunter in,” Daniel called, leaning back in his chair.
A moment later the door blew open with the force of a whirlwind. Nattily dressed in an expensive black suit, white shirt, and black tie, Brad stood in the open doorway and stared at Daniel in a pose designed to be boldly intimidating.
“Great heavens,” Daniel drawled. “You’ve joined the Men in Black.”
“Get real, computer nerd,” Brad called, striding across the room.
In an instant Daniel was out of his chair, then the two men embraced and slapped each other on the back.
“How long are you here?” Daniel asked, pulling away. He gestured toward one of the empty chairs near the sofa.
“Didn’t you get my message?” Brad dropped into the chair and grinned up at Daniel. “I’m here to annoy you until you agree to come to Washington and let the Feds pick your brain. This is a no-win situation, buddy. They’ve got you where they want you.”
“They don’t have me at all.”
“No.” Brad’s broad smile faded. “Actually, they’ve got me. They know I showed you the file about your father. And General Archer, brilliant strategist that he is, is willing to do his utmost to twist my arm. If he doesn’t try to send me to jail, he’ll have me fired.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Daniel sank into the chair opposite Brad, then gestured toward the hallway. “You thirsty? Want me to send for some coffee?”
“Whatever.” Brad shrugged. “Sure, I could use something with caffeine.”
Daniel turned his head toward the computer microphone. “Roberta?”
“Yes, Mr. Prentice?”
“Would you have Taylor bring in the coffee service, please?”
“Right away, Mr. Prentice.”
Brad let out a long, low whistle. “Daniel, you’ve been keeping something from me! Who is that woman?”
“Roberta?” Daniel lifted a brow. “She runs things around here.”
“I didn’t see her when I came in.” Brad shifted toward the door as if Roberta might magically appear there at any moment. “The only person I saw was that shaggy guy you’ve posted to keep the thugs out.”
“Actually, Roberta keeps the thugs out.” Daniel leaned his elbow on the armrest of his chair and rested his chin on his hand. “So tell me how I can get out of this Washington gig. What if I came down with a communicable disease? I could break my leg in a freak accident—”
“Won’t work. You’d have to be in a coma to be brain-disabled.” Brad flicked an imaginary speck of lint from his dark suit, then looked back at Daniel. “I’m telling you, buddy, you’re it. You’re the only guy they believe in.”
“What about Robert Bemer?”
“The man’s a hundred years old. Sure, he’s a genius, but it was his original COBOL language that got us into a large part of this mess, remember?”
The door clicked, and Taylor came in, wheeling a cart loaded with coffee mugs, a coffee pot, sugar, and cream. Brad craned his neck to catch a glimpse of the hallway, and Taylor gave Daniel a questioning look.
“He’s looking for Roberta,” Daniel explained.
“Oh.” Taylor laughed as he poured the coffee. “Mr. Hunter, do you take cream or sugar?”
“Neither.” Brad put out his hand and accepted the mug. “Where do you keep that sultry little vixen? Man, what a voice!”
“Roberta is very nearly omnipresent,” Taylor said, handing a mug to Daniel. “Just when you least expect her, she’s there.”
“Man.” Brad shook his head, then sipped his coffee.
Taylor pushed the cart aside, then slipped out of the room. For a moment the two men drank their coffee in silence, then Brad lifted his brows and met Daniel’s gaze straight on.
“I’m not kidding, Daniel. We need you to do this. Right now, my bosses are asking politely. For your sake—and mine—don’t make them ask forcibly.”
Daniel swirled the liquid in his coffee cup. “It’s just a committee? Meetings and briefings and the like? No midnight jaunts through the desert with mad Iraqis at our heels?”
“Nothing like that, I promise you.” Brad cupped his mug in one hand while he thumped his chest with the other. “Look at me, a prospective bridegroom! I’m days away from becoming a family man! Would I lead you into something I thought was dangerous?”
“You’ll be along for the ride?”
“Of course—and I’ll probably be bored to tears the entire time.”
Daniel sighed and placed his mug on the desk. “We’ve an awful lot of work to do here, Brad. Did you see last week’s Newsweek? The entire world is betting I won’t get the First Manhattan project done on time.”
Brad stared into his coffee cup. “Tell me the truth—will you succeed?”
“Oh, yes. No doubt about it.”
“Then you aren’t needed here.” Brad looked up, his eyes shining. “Let your staff handle First Manhattan.”
Daniel leaned forward. “There’s more to it, Brad. I can’t forget how I feel. I went to Iraq because I believed in the American way. But then I discovered that the idiots who run this country stole my father, my childhood, even the life my mother should have enjoyed. Politicians have already taken too much from me. Why should I give them my time and energy?”
“Because it’s your country!” With an intensity that matched Daniel’s own, Brad hunched forward and met Daniel’s gaze. “Because you’re an American citizen, and you know there are millions of hard-working, optimistic, loyal Americans who still believe in the good things, in right and truth.” He lowered his voice. “You’re right, of course—there are some politicians who’ve let power go to their heads, but there are plenty of others who still believe that every American deserves a chance to find his own way, to fulfill his destiny. And I happen to believe that this Y2K Crisis may be your destiny, Daniel. Think of it! You will have an opportunity to save the country, maybe even influence the world. Can you honestly tell me that the idea doesn’t intrigue you?”
Daniel sat back and grappled with his thoughts. As much as he hated to admit it, Brad had touched a nerve. Even as a child, he had felt that he was special, unique in some way, and his mother had constantly reinforced the feeling with her praise, support, and unceasing reminders that God himself had created Daniel with a purpose in mind. When Daniel grew older, he realized that nearly every mother loved her child with that sort of single-minded and blind devotion, but still the feeling had persisted. Even now it prodded him forward. Though part of him wanted to remain in New York and nurse his righteous anger, another part wanted to prove his abilities to the world.
Besides, an honorable man, a courageous man, always rose to a challenge.
His father would have.
“All right.” A reluctant grin tugged at Daniel’s mouth. “I’ll go. Just tell me where, when, and how long it will take.”
“Where is Washington, when is as soon as possible, and it will take as long as you need to come up with an idea to save the world.” Brad slapped his hands on his thighs in satisfaction, then leaned forward as if to stand up. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way, how about giving me directions?”
“To what?”
Brad winked. “To Roberta’s desk. I want to see if this female is as gorgeous as her voice.”
Daniel laughed. “Roberta lives on an entirely different plane,” he said, standing. “Besides, you’re getting married soon.”
As Brad frowned in bewilderment, Daniel pulled his coat from the antique clothes tree behind his desk. “Come on, I know a great place for dinner.”
By seven o’clock, Daniel and Brad were boarding t
he chartered Learjet that had brought Brad to New York.
“You were pretty sure I’d come, weren’t you?” Daniel said, tossing his briefcase into the empty seat beside him. “Keeping the jet at the airport— isn’t that like telling a taxi to keep the meter running?”
“I was hoping you’d come,” Brad answered. He sank into the pair of seats across the aisle. “But I wanted to get back to Washington. Christine’s waiting for me.”
“The joys of an almost-married man.” Daniel reclined his seat and folded his hands across his waist, ready for a catnap. He sat quietly, his mind whirling with thoughts and the trivial conversation he and Brad had shared over dinner, until the jet lifted and began to climb through the clouds.
Brad tapped his shoulder. “Awake?”
“Am now.”
“So how’d you do it?”Hanging over the empty aisle like a vulture, Brad managed a small, tentative smile. “You said you had come up with a way to fix First Manhattan’s mainframes. So how’d you do it?”
“It’s a program.” Daniel yawned and closed his eyes, hoping Brad would take the hint and back off. He had agreed to help the government, but he certainly hadn’t agreed to give away his corporate secret.
“Will the program work for us—for the government?”
Daniel turned his head until he stared directly at Brad. “I don’t see why not. But fixing the vital mainframe computers is only a first step. Millions of desktop computers will need replacement BIOS chips to operate properly after 2000. You’ll still have to replace embedded chips and take a few precautionary measures. There’s no simple fix when you’re talking about millions of computers and their parts.”
Brad backed off and settled into his seat, but from the preoccupied look on his face Daniel knew the conversation wasn’t over.
He turned and looked out the window, wanting to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. Just five days ago he’d been about to pull his hair out because he couldn’t determine how to repair 400 million lines of code, and now the United States government wanted him to repair a zillion lines in just over thirteen months. He could, of course, sell them copies of the Millennium Code, but the program would only fix obvious problems. Even if they fixed the code in every governmental computer, and corporate America followed suit, it would only take one tiny bank in Kalamazoo, or one lazy hospital administrator with a noncompliant system to bring the fragile house of cards crashing down. And when it fell, every accusing finger would point to Daniel.
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