by Tom Clancy
Now Parker reached for his martini to wash down another chunk of steak, drank, produced an ahhh of sublime relish, and set his glass down on the white tablecloth.
“Okay, Gord,” he said. “We’ve talked plenty about my chronic political hankerings. How are you these days?”
“Very well,” Gordian said thoughtfully. “Older,” he added with a slight shrug. “And…”
His reflective expression deepened but he just shrugged again and cut into his steak.
Parker waited for about thirty seconds, then gave him a vague gesture that meant “What else?”
Gordian studied his friend’s curious face.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you in suspense,” he said. “Couldn’t come up with the exact word. You know how it is with me.”
Parker smiled a little. A brown-haired man of middle age and medium build, wearing a black hopsack blazer, pale blue shirt, and gray flannel trousers, his appearance was unremarkable in almost every respect until you inevitably noticed his eyes. In them was a look Dan had not lost since his days as wing man to Gordian in their hundreds of sorties over Nam, flying F-4 Phantoms through waves of antiaircraft fire as they searched the forested ground for VC entrenchments. It was a look so similar to the look in Gordian’s eyes that people would sometimes mistake the two for brothers.
“Granted, self-expression isn’t your most notable personality trait,” he said. “You want to try taking a stab at it anyway?”
Gordian hesitated, his knife and fork suspended over his plate.
“It’s a kind of feeling. Or my wanting to hold on to a feeling, if that helps at all,” he said. “I don’t think I can explain it any better. But sometimes when I’m getting out of bed on a workday, and my blanket’s tossed off, and I have one foot halfway to the floor, I look over at Ashley, and I’m perfectly content with how things are at that split second. It gives me incredible peace of mind knowing I don’t really have to leave her for UpLink to be okay. More than okay. That everything I’ve built is strong enough to stand, to grow, if I decide to stay right there in that house.” He paused, sipped his drink — mineral water with a lemon twist. “On the other hand, I don’t want to stay put, become complacent. Don’t want to stop. And that’s as essential to the mix as any sense of accomplishment or fulfillment. Wanting to stop and not stop… to keep attaining things and at the same time let go. I honestly don’t know the word for the feeling, Dan. It might sound like there’s some contradiction in it, but I’m not sure. And I want to figure it out, find whatever will let me keep riding it.”
Parker chewed his food quietly a minute, glanced at his martini, and frowned. There was nothing left of it but the rocks. He caught a waiter’s attention, motioned to his glass, and continued eating in silence until his refill arrived.
“The part about not leaving home might have to wait,” he muttered half under his breath, taking a deep sip of the cocktail and swallowing the words with it.
Gordian looked at him. “What was that you said?”
Parker flapped a hand in dismissal.
“Time for that later on,” he said quickly. “Right now, I’ll make you a proposition. After we’re done with business here in the capital, I’ll head back home to Saratoga, think about the word that keeps hiding from you, le mot juste, see if I can draw it out into the open. Meanwhile, you turn that resourceful steel-trap brain of yours to pondering how I can get back to where I belong.”
“Congress.”
Parker shrugged.
“Public service,” he said. “I’m open to broad and innovative suggestions.”
Gordian paused again. Then he reached for his lemon water and held it out across the table.
“Okay, settled,” he said. “Can do.”
They clinked glasses, then sat a moment.
“We should get on to the capital business you mentioned,” Gordian said.
Parker nodded.
“In my opinion, your coming here to make a closing pitch without a whole army of experts was a stroke of inspiration,” he said. “It’s going to make all the difference in the world.”
Gordian smiled. “Dan, we’ve already toasted to our deal—”
“I’m serious,” Parker interrupted. “Sedco’s about oil. It’s no insult to my fellow board members to say that’s what interests them. What they know. They’ve read the UpLink prospectus, the analyses and recommendations prepared by our advisory panel. They don’t need technical lectures on the ins and outs of fiberoptic communications. They don’t even have to appreciate all their properties, advantages, and capabilities. It’s enough for them to understand offshore drilling operations are becoming more computerized practically every day, and that high data transmission from the rigs to our onshore facilities is a necessity. Wiring up our platforms to your African telecom ring isn’t just to our benefit, it’s inevitable.”
“You’re convinced a majority of the board sees it that way?” Gordian said.
“Totally,” Parker said. “The few fence straddlers or outright dissenters might need some help trusting the rest, and maybe themselves. That’s what you’re about, Gord. Inspiring trust and credibility.” He paused. “It’s a very big reason I think your coming here alone was so important.”
Gordian rubbed his chin. “What’s your slant on them? The possible opposing voters?”
“There aren’t many, for one thing. I’m betting Bill Fredericks will need the most persuasion. With him, resistance to progress is a sort of reflexive crusade. He was a Sedco executive when the fossil fuel we sell was still living plants and protozoa—”
“I think it’s made from plants and bacteria…”
“Protozoa, bacteria, flying aardvarks, what-the-hell-ever,” Parker said. “Point is, Bill seems to be the only member with a problem getting a basic grasp on lightwave systems… which is no shocker to me, having been to his home. Don’t even try bringing up video conferencing to him. His phones have hammer and bell ringers, and I swear to God I saw some with rotary dials. He refuses to use e-mail or even check out the Internet. Mention increased bandwidth, and he thinks it’s got something to do with his wife’s rings and bracelets. Doesn’t see anything wrong with sticking to the marine radio links we’ve been using for decades and probably wonders what the hell’s wrong with using Morse code to contact the mainland.”
Gordian laughed.
“I’ll try to be extra attentive while nursing him along,” he said, and finished his lunch. “Who else?”
“Paul Reidman. He’s savvy. Keen on the corporate security aspect, likes the idea that tapping a data stream carried as pulses of light is a damn hard task, going to be almost impossible when we get to practical photon encoding in the next few years.” Parker sipped his drink. “Reidman can be fiscally myopic, worries about short-term unit costs versus a reasonable investment in the future. But his stinginess cuts both ways. He’s seen the reports showing that postinstallation maintenance of undersea fiber systems is relatively cheap. Average is something like two, three major faults every quarter century, right?”
“Three, according to our preliminary risk assessment,” Gordian said. “We should have an update from Vince Scull soon… he flew out to Gabon separately from the rest of the advance team, but should have joined them by now. Also, we’re in the process of contracting a repair fleet for guaranteed rapid deployment.”
“Stress that to Paul. Remind him that Planétaire already had one of those statistical faults back in May, trimmed your odds some,” Parker said. He saw the wry amusement in Gordian’s face. “What’s to laugh at?”
Gordian shrugged a little.
“I was thinking you truly are made for the campaign trail,” he said.
Parker was unabashed. “I’m not trying to exploit anybody’s misfortune. Not gleefully anyway. But it’s the kind of market research that can sway Paul.”
Gordian shrugged again.
“I wasn’t being critical,” he said. “Just making an observation.”
�
�Good, you know how sensitive I am,” Parker said. He eyed the last morsel of his steak. “While we’re on guarantees, give me UpLink’s capacity timetable.”
“We can promise an initial secure multimedia transfer rate of between one and two terrabytes per second. Phone, video, Internet, or any combination thereof. After a year of upgrades we should be up to four terrabytes. By 2005, we can virtually assure you almost ten. Looking at the startup number, Megan Breen’s favorite example is that it’s equivalent to millions of simultaneous telephone calls, a ten-mile high stack of printed material, and twenty feature films.”
“Every second?”
“Right.”
Parker mouthed a silent wow.
“Make sure to refresh Paul about that, too.” He lifted his fork, then noticed Gordian glancing across the table at his plate. “What is it?”
“If Ash were here, she’d tell you to leave the gristle,” he said.
That elicited a snort from Parker. “To which I’d respond that it’s lean gristle.”
Gordian smiled, watching him eat. “All right. I’ve checked off Fredericks and Reidman for extra hand-holding. Any others?”
“You persuade those guys, you’re in crack-dandy shape.”
“Good,” Gordian said. “Then I’ve only got two more things on my mind.”
“Shoot.”
“I’ve wondered about your being taken to the carpet for a perceived conflict of interest.”
“You mean my urging along the fiber installation?” Parker said, and pushed his cleaned-off plate to the side. “That’d be ridiculous. If anything this is a clear instance of coinciding interests.”
“I know. It’s why I said perceived.”
“Don’t waste another minute thinking about it, Gord. Our friendship’s no secret. And I don’t believe anybody at Sedco would question my integrity.”
Gordian nodded. “All right, next,” he said, “I want you to explain your half intentional slip up. That comment about how my staying home will have to wait.”
Parker cleared his throat.
“I thought I said later on that one—”
“You did.” Gordian looked at him. “I’m saying give it to me now—”
“Gord—”
“Now, Dan. Your conscience is crying out to you, begging to be heard.”
“You sure?”
“Absolutely. You wouldn’t have made that blatant fumble unless you wanted me to ask about it.”
Parker sighed.
“Okay, you win,” he said. “The fact is that the company president and veep, who, as you know, are huge UpLink supporters, met a few days ago and came up with this idea for an event that would celebrate our new relationship. Working on the supposition the deal gets signed and sealed, needless to say, they put in a conference call about their idea to Hugh Bennett—”
“The chairman of Sedco’s board?”
“Right, King Hughie, the board chairman, who is also prepared to advise we move ahead with the fiberoptic system install. And he was seriously taken with their idea.”
“They want press coverage, photo ops,” Gordian said. “Understandable.”
Parker gave a nod.
“Sedco’s got terrific competition for offshore oil prospecting licenses in West Africa,” he said. “Some of the industry biggies involved in the bidding are Exxon, Chevron, Texaco, Elf Aquitain. There are state-owned companies — Petroleos Brasileiros out of Brazil, as a for-instance — and their subsidiaries. They’ve been leasing huge, contiguous blocks of deepwater acreage all down the equatorial coast from Nigeria to Angola. Some of these sites are what geologists call elephants… expected to yield upwards of a billion barrels of petroleum. Two blocks found by Texaco in the Agbami Basin — that’s off Angola — are geared to produce a hundred fifty thousand barrels a day before this year’s over, and might very well double that output when their operations are in full swing. To stay in the game, Sedco needs to raise its stock market profile. A headline-making affiliation with UpLink would accomplish that in a snap. Help us work with the U.S. Department of Energy to secure underwriting loans from OPIC.”
Gordian thought a moment. The Overseas Private Investment Corporation’s political risk insurance to American companies making investments in emerging nations couldn’t be undervalued.
“And if it motivates African governments that want in on our fiber ring to give Sedco’s bids and development proposals added consideration—”
“Then all the more reason for King Hughie to feel enthusiastic… and to do everything he can to make sure his enthusiasm becomes contagious with his boardroom colleagues,” Parker said.
Gordian drank the rest of his water with a twist.
“I gather Bennett would appreciate my attendance at this festive pageant of chief executives,” he said.
“I’d go so far as to say he’s going to hint at how much during tomorrow’s meeting with you,” Parker said.
Gordian lowered his glass. “Any inkling where the festivities would take place?”
Parker looked at him.
“In Gabon,” he said. “On one of our wellhead platforms.”
Gordian stared at him across the table.
“Who’s turn is it to pay for our lunch today?” he said.
“Yours,” Parker said.
“Right answer,” Gordian said. “Now let’s hear who’s actually picking up the tab.”
“Guess I am.”
“And who’s going to pay the next dozen times.” Gordian said.
Parker expelled a breath.
“Ah, me again, I guess.”
Gordian nodded once.
“Shall we call it an afternoon?” he said.
Parker looked around for the waiter, made a scribbling gesture in the air to indicate he wanted the check.
“You know, Gord,” he said. “I would genuinely like my conscience to go screw itself.”
* * *
Pescadero, California. Nine o’clock in the morning. Felicitous sunshine greeted Julia Gordian as she left the house for her morning jog, setting off honey gold highlights in the blond streak she’d Clairoled into her dark brown hair. The streak was new, as was her retro sixties’ shag, and she thought the combination made for a pretty spiffy look. It had occurred to her that the streak would bug her father when he saw it for the first time next week, which was unquestionably part of the kick. Immature, yeah, sure. But Julia had been bugging him on a constant basis since she hit puberty lo those many years gone by, and at thirty-two years old, an independent woman, figured she could do so however she wanted without hearing about it. Besides, Dad was at his most adorable when he overcompensated, tripped all over himself trying not to show he was irritated.
Julia could hardly wait until she unveiled her shoulder tattoo, a discreet little Japanese kanji symbol that meant “freedom.”
Accompanying her today, as every day, were her two rescued greyhounds — Jack, a brindle guy, and Jill, a teal blue gal. Julia did her stretching routine in her thickly hedge-rimmed lawn while the greys did their business out back. Then she hooked them onto a retractable leash with a two-dog attachment and started out onto the sidewalk, turning left toward the corner of her residential block.
A Subaru Outback drove by, heading in the same direction, slowing imperceptibly as it passed her.
Click-click-click.
This brilliant A.M. Julia had on black body-hugging athletic shorts, a black sports bra, a waistpack water bottle, Nikes, and a lightweight white pullover top to foil the early chill and neighborhood oglers… particularly Doug, the house dad across the street, who always seemed to be coming out to fetch his newspaper from the doorstep when she trotted past.
And here he was now, right on the mark. Just once, Julia thought, you’d think he’d be changing a diaper or giving the kid a warm bottle.
She ignored him as usual and concentrated on working into a rhythm. The less fretful of the two dogs, and the smoother runner, Jill trotted right along at her side, eager to ba
sk in the gushy praise she would receive for keeping a cooperative pace. Meanwhile Jack was cantering a little ahead of them to show his alpha-ness — and inevitably run himself into a tangle around a tree after getting spooked by the fluttering shadows of its leaves… or, worse yet, buzzed by a winged insect, the most fearsome of all God’s creatures from his neurotic perspective.
Julia got to the end of her block and hung left on Trevor Avenue, which by no coincidence happened to be where her favorite pastry shop was located, its hot cinnamon-raisin muffins beckoning from their giant display basket in the storefront about a third of a mile farther along her route.
Paused at a stoplight on the corner of Trevor, the Outback’s driver waited for the signal to turn green, then made the same left as Julia. His digicam ready, a man in the front passenger seat raised it to his window and snapped off a second rapid series of shots as the vehicle reached her.
Click-click-click.
The vehicle passed Julia again and drove off down the avenue.
Another would pick up her movements later on.
* * *
Jean Jacques Assele-Ndaki was one of 35 highly ranked Gabonese officials to find a copy of the photograph in his mail. Of those men, 16, including Assele-Ndaki himself, sat in the parliament’s 120-member lower chamber, or National Assembly. Another 6 held seats in the Senate, its 90-member upper chamber; 4 were secretaries in the presidential cabinet; 4 headed important government agencies. The remaining 5 recipients were ministres delegues, or economic ministers appointed to manage and regulate the partial privatization of national industries that had been under full state control before Gabon’s economic restructuring program commenced in the mid- 1990s.