Moon For Sale
Page 14
“See, I told you.”
“Well anyway, the point is, I told your new secretary not to put them through if they call.”
“You realize that's not a new secretary right?” K asks.
“She's not new?”
“That's Hannah,” K replies.
“Oh god,” Brittany replies, “I made a joke to her about not having sex with the boss. Why does she look so different?”
“Why don't you want me to talk to the new president, Henderson.”
“Hendricks, and I've talked to legal, they don't think you should be talking to the competition, especially not before a Congressional hearing that's focused on monopolistic and corrupt practices. We don't want anything to look like anything, nothing shady, no secret meetings, no hushed conversations with our competitors, nothing that can be construed as an anti-trust violation.”
“Well that's why it won't be a secret meeting or a hushed conversation. Just put him through next time he calls. We can record the conversation if you want. I'm not the monopolist, they are. You need to stop acting like we're the ones about to get spanked here. Just put him through next time he calls.”
“Absolutely not,” Hammersmith says. “I've had them block the calls.”
“Fine,” K says, getting up.
“Where are you going?”
“Since you won't let me take a damn phone call, I'm going to Colorado to meet with him in person.”
“Kingsley, do you want them to take the company away from you?”
“Yeah, that's my dream, to retire in California as a failure,” K replies, heading for the door.
“See, this is why I insisted on coming,” Caroline says to Kingsley as they exit the car rental place.
“What?”
“Give me the fastest car you got? Really? Why do you need that?” Caroline asks.
“To lose my tail.”
“Why would you need to lose your tail?” Caroline asks as they find the four-door sedan Caroline insisted on.
“Because I don't want anyone to know I'm meeting with ULA,” K adds. He clicks the unlock button on the keypad, searching for the right car.
“You said it wasn't illegal.”
“It's not illegal,” K insists, holding the keypad underneath his chin and pressing more buttons.
“What are you doing?”
“Using my skull to magnify the weak-ass radio signal coming out of this thing.”
“Is that a thing?” Caroline asks.
“No, it's complete nonsense, but you know me, I'm just a superstitious fella.”
“Shut it.”
“There it is!” K says seeing the lights flashing on the rental car.
“So it's perfectly legal,” Caroline says as Kingsley drives away from the airport. “But you didn't fly in town in your own plane, nor are you driving around in a Tezla. You're trying to keep a low profile, and you wanted a sports car so you could lose your tail. But it's not illegal.”
“There's a Congressional hearing on anti-competitive practices in a few weeks, it's not the best idea that I publicly meet with my biggest competitor,” K says. He whips the wheel, hitting the accelerator, making an abrupt left turn across a busy street. From the passenger seat, Caroline finds herself staring down the headlights of three cars speeding right at her. Kingsley ducks quickly onto a side street and makes another turn rapidly. The quick turn in front of traffic has left K's tail waiting for a break in traffic to turn.
“And that's how you do that,” Kingsley says. Caroline slaps him on the arm.
“Don't do that!”
“I lost the tail.”
“You about killed me!”
“Hey, if I had the sports car we would have fit through that opening a lot quicker,” K says.
Forty-five minutes of driving later, Kingsley pulls up to the gated entrance to ULA headquarters. The drive should have taken less than fifteen minutes, but Kingsley started driving in the opposite direction, lost his tail, doubled back, and still took a circuitous route to make sure there wasn't another tail. Now he just had to get past a lone security guard.
“Name?” the guard asks without looking up.
“Let's not use names,” K says. The guard is alarmed, looking up from clipboard suspiciously.
“Sir, are you expected?”
“Not exactly. The new president wants to see me. But I assure you he would rather my name not appear on that registry. So just let me in.”
“Sir, I can't let you in without a name. I'm going to see some ID, and some for her as well.”
“Do you not know who I am?”
“No, I don't, that's why I'm asking you for your god damn name sir.”
“Let's get your supervisor or someone else up in here who knows who I am.”
“Sir, give me your name, show me some ID or you're not getting in. Period.”
“Okay,” K says. “How about this. I'll tell you my name and show you ID, but you can't write it down or record it. Instead, I want you to call a higher up and tell them who I am, they will know me and they won't want you recording this visit, I assure you.”
“Alright,” the guard replies.
“Alright, so you won't write anything down?”
“Yeah whatever. Name?”
“Kingsley.”
“And your first name?”
“That's all you need. Just tell them Kingsley is here to see Mr. Hendricks. They'll know.”
“How do you spell that?”
“You don't need to be spelling anything. Just say it out loud.”
“I do have a taser sir, so don't test me.”
“Just make the call,” K says. The guard stares at K for a moment, then picks up a phone. “Yeah. He's being a bit difficult. A man named King Lee. Sounds made up. Won't show me ID.”
“Kingsley!” K shouts.
“Alright,” the guard listens, “alright. Alright. Alright. Got it.” He hangs up. “Please put your car in reverse, back out of here, and don't come back, have a nice day.” The guard shuts the plastic cover over the opening into his station.
“So this is going well,” Caroline says. K turns the car off. “What are you doing?”
“I'm not giving up.”
“So, was making a scene part of your plan of staying under the radar?”
Ten minutes after it becomes clear that Kingsley isn't going anywhere, the guard's supervisor jogs out from the glass and steel building a half-mile away. He heads right for Kingsley's window. K has to start the car to open the window, finally getting it open.
“Mr. Pretorius. I know who you are. We cannot allow you into the building. This is not a matter of us not knowing who you are, this is because we do know who you are. There is a small list of people who are not allowed on the premises, and you are one of them. This will not happen. If you don't leave, we'll have you towed away. If you try to enter, you'll be tazed. Now please leave.”
“Did you tell Hendricks I'm here to see him?”
“The president is aware of your presence,” the supervisor adds. “Now put the car in reverse.”
“Alright, I guess I have no move here,” K says. “Unless you guys have a helipad on the roof. Is there a helipad on the roof?” The supervisor simply turns up his mean stare to show he means business.
“Kingsley, come on,” Caroline says. K puts it in reverse and backs out, heading back out onto the street. “Now what?”
“Get on Google Earth, see if they've got a helipad on the roof.”
“What are you going to do, rent a helicopter?”
“No, but I could sky dive and land on the helipad no problem. Take the guards by surprise, snap their necks like twigs, infiltrate the building.”
“Kingsley,” Caroline says sternly.
“That's clearly a joke. Come on. You don't think I'm that crazy do you?” Caroline's silence answers that question.
“So what are we really going to do then?”
“K,” Caroline says cautiously.
“Yeah?”
“I just got a text. All it says is 1746 Broadway.”
“From who?”
“The number's blocked.”
“Do they have a Broadway street here?”
“Who doesn't?” Caroline asks.
“Navigation,” K says loudly. “Navigation.”
“What are you doing?”
“How do you get the sat nav on this thing?”
“You realize not every car is as advanced as a Tezla right?” Caroline asks.
“Just tell me how to get to that address.”
Five minutes later, they arrive at 1746 Broadway, discovering that it's a six story parking garage. Kingsley pulls into the garage, heading up the ramp.
“Did they say anything else? A floor? A time?” K asks.
“No, just the address.”
“Text them back, say fourth floor, northwest corner.”
“Alright. We're not about to be murdered or anything right?”
“Probably not,” K says, backing into a parking space.
Fifteen minutes go by with no new developments. No more texts, no response, no sign of anything. “Is that somebody?” K asks, looking over a car as it passes by slowly.
“I don't think so.”
“Are we sure this text was from them.”
“How should I know?” Caroline responds.
“You weren't waiting for any cryptic texts?”
“Nope, can't say that I was.”
“Wait, there's someone coming,” K says, eying a middle-aged woman in the mirror. The woman had parked several cars away and seemed to be heading this way. K turns around to get a better look out the back window. The woman walks past the driver's side, right past Kingsley and to the front of the car. She puts her hands on the four-foot tall concrete retaining wall and leans outside, looking around. K gets out of the car, the woman doesn't turn back.
“Ummm, hi?” K doesn't quite know what to say.
“Hi Kingsley,” she says without turning. K approaches.
“And you are?”
“What do you mean?” the woman asks.
“I want to talk to Hendricks, the new president. Who are you?”
“Sarah Hendricks,” she says, giving K a dirty look.
“Oh. Okay. I was expecting a man.”
“You just assumed I was a man, because women can't be presidents of things?”
“I'm pretty sure I was told you were a he at some point. I don't think I made that up.”
“I don't give a shit,” she says, brushing it off. “We've got some important business to conduct.”
“Go on,” K says.
“They fucked up, they know it. They fired Granderson, I'm in charge now and it's my job to get past this. When we go before congress, it's mea culpa, mea culpa. Or, they-a culpa. I'm the new face and I'm cleaning house.”
“Okay,” K says cautiously.
“You can't repeat any of this, but the cargo missions, we're taking a huge loss on those.”
“I knew it!” K says.
“I don't know what the fuck Granderson was thinking, but we're losing about a hundred million per launch.”
“He was trying to screw me.”
“Well what he accomplished was to screw us over. I'm not letting any of this shit go on. So here's the deal. I want to give these cargo flights to you.”
“Why would I do that?” K asks.
“NASA is paying us 105 million a piece, I'll pay you 130 per mission. You make more than you would if you'd won the contract and we only lose twenty-five million per instead of a hundred.”
“But, if I say no, then you guys are on the hook for a billion in losses,” K replies.
“We can default on the contract for less than that. But we'd take a big hit in the press and remember you quoted NASA 100 million. We cooperate and you make an extra thirty million per mission, we save seventy million a mission, the press never gets wind of this and maybe we can save NASA and their fat budget from scrutiny. It's win-win.”
“Maybe,” K admits.
“What do you mean maybe?”
“NASA's budget isn't exactly fat,” K says. “And if I let you guys roast in the media, maybe that makes my life easier.”
“Yeah or maybe it instigates a massive investigation into everything NASA does. Remember, you don't need to find anything, you just need the headlines to say you're being investigated. People will hear NASA-Gate and assume the worst.”
“Why does everything have to be a gate nowadays?” K asks. “If Hillary Clinton were president, FoxNews would dig up her driver's license and say she lied about her weight and thus she's probably lying about something else. They'd call it Weight-Gate.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Media sexism,” K says.
“Why?”
“Do you know who I'm dating? I spend half my time at charity fundraisers for politically correct whatever. She's a duchess, she was conceived at a fundraiser, born in a charity. She's been molded by it.”
“Now what are you talking about?”
“I was doing the thing from the third Batman. Trust me, it's funny. Point is, she's always got some issue or injustice to tell me about. She's probably having me Incepted. This is why I don't fly on regular planes.”
“You know, bringing up sexism because you're talking to a woman is just more, sexism right? Just talk about what we were going to talk about, don't obsess over my genitals. So where were we?”
“At this point I don't even remember my own name,” K replies. “We were talking about your company saying it had the cheapest dildos in town. No not dildos, spacedicks, I mean rockets!”
“They told me this was a boy's club, but I didn't realize it was a little boy's club.”
“Now who's bringing up gender?” K says. “This has to be least intense Deepthroat meeting ever.”
“Look, we can work together on this, you get these cargo missions, we both end up with more money in our pockets, and there doesn't have to be a NASA-Gate.”
“You didn't have anything to say about the Deepthroat reference?”
“I was ignoring it.”
“Look, I can't trust you. You guys were-”
“Not me, the previous dicks,” Sarah insists.
“Fine, the previous dicks were willing to eat a billion dollars if it meant keeping me from getting a contract. If I help you now, what's to stop you from turning around tomorrow and undercutting me again on something else? I mean if you guys have the war chest to eat losses, you can out-bid me on every payload until we go bankrupt. Sure cooperating now means a little more money, but it also means letting my biggest competitor escape with that war chest. Why not just let you default, make it a big spectacle, you take a huge hit in the press, a spanking from congress, and then we swoop in to save the day.”
“K, you know better than anybody that any kind of space scandal is likely to hurt everyone. If this blows up in our faces, it blows up in yours too. NASA will get its budget slashed, who knows if there will even be a space program. Besides, you need the missions right now, I know what your finances look like. These cargo missions will keep SpacEx alive for three more years while you work on reusability. And do you really think a billion dollars is going to put a dent in our war chest?”
“Alright,” K sighs.
“Alright?”
“I'll take them.”
“Remember, you are doing these launches for ULA, under contract to us, and we're under contract to NASA. We are your customer, I don't want to hear anything about you beating us or taking over, we are fulfilling our contract. And I don't want to hear any money figures in public. Got it?”
“I have one
stipulation,” K says. “Not so much a stipulation as, well, a threat. If I do this, I bail you out of a billion dollars in losses, then I don't want to have to ever again deal with you guys lying about your prices. I catch a whiff of you undercutting me in the slightest and I will blow the lid off of it.”
“I hear you.”
“And one more thing. Stop fucking tailing me. I'm sick of these PIs following me around.”
“We're not tailing you,” Sarah replies.
“You sure about that?”
“I'm positive.”
“I don't know if you're lying or if the right hand doesn't know what the left hand is doing.”
“I've cleaned house, if you're being followed, it's not by us.”
“You realize what this means right?” Caroline says as they head back to the airport.
“What?”
“You're now a sub-contractor,” Caroline says. Kingsley shudders.
Chapter 9
“What are you doing?” Caroline asks from the door into the garage at five in the morning. Kingsley flips up his welding hood and looks to her, eyes clearly searching for a lie.
“Working on my car,” K says.
“Why are you working on the old K-mobile? After the. . . incident with the new one, I thought this thing would just collect dust. What are you doing?”
“Strengthening it,” K says.
“You know you can't bring him back right.”
“I'm aware that I'm not Dr. Frankenstein,” K replies.
“I mean, you can't solve an engineering problem and undo the mistake.”
“Thanks,” K says sarcastically and flips the visor back down and turns the welding torch back on.
“Did you charter a cargo plane to South Africa?” Caroline asks K in his office at SpacEx headquarters.
“What are you doing here?” K asks, looking up from his computer.
“Did you?”
“Yeah...”
“Why are you tweeting that you're chartering a cargo plane if you're so paranoid about people following you.”
“Paranoia is an unfounded fear. My fears are real.”