by Greg Rucka
Sexton laughed, looking from Hayes to his father, inviting them to join in. Doctor Murray chuckled politely, but Hayes couldn’t manage even that, and instead turned his attention away from the model, looking out the large bay windows of the study. Outside the windows and beyond the porch, a perfectly manicured lawn ran down to the shores of Lake St. Clair, where a secured boat-dock ran out onto the water. An elegant sailboat rested at its moorings, masts folded down; painted along its bow in a feminine script was the name Arrowhead Sure.
Hayes thought it was a stupid name for a boat.
“Please, both of you, take a seat,” Sexton said. “Would you like anything to drink? Maria’s just squeezed a fresh pitcher of orange juice.”
“No, thank you, Paul, that’s very kind,” Doctor Murray said, picking a position on the nearest couch and lowering himself carefully, as if afraid he might plant himself on something unexpectedly sharp. He motioned for his son, and Hayes took a seat at the end.
Sexton picked the center one of the three chairs arrayed opposite and sat, immediately leaning forward, his elbows on his knees.
“This is irregular, I know—” Doctor Murray began, but Sexton immediately cut him off, and again Hayes felt the stab of anger, his resentment increasing at the treatment of his father.
“Before you get started, Fred, I want to get this out in the open, up front,” Sexton said quickly. “Just hear me out, it won’t take a second, but it might spare you a lot of wasted air, so just listen to me. All right? Is that all right?”
“By all means,” Doctor Murray said.
“I’m not dropping out, Fred. Nothing you can say is going to change that. I realize you’re in a strong position to challenge me, but I think we both know that I can take you. The Nobel is nice and all, but the Board wants to see bottom line, they want to see vision, and they want to see a leader who understands growth. I’m not going to drop out.”
“I absolutely agree,” Doctor Murray said.
Hayes watched as Sexton reacted, puzzled. “You do?”
“Absolutely, Paul. I’m a scientist, a researcher, that is my calling and my passion. Fate more than ambition has conspired to put me at the helm of pharmaDyne. It would be the height of arrogance for me to believe that my destiny was to run the greatest corporation on Earth. No, I leave that for minds better attuned to the nuances of business in a global market than my own.”
Sexton straightened in his chair, slowly, bringing his arms up and then resting them across his chest. Hayes thought his expression was now more one of naked suspicion than surprise.
“Really?” Sexton asked.
“I’m flattered that the Board even sought to put me in contention, Paul,” Doctor Murray said almost wearily. “But as you just pointed out yourself, I would not be the best choice for the company.”
“If that’s true, Fred, then why haven’t you withdrawn your name from consideration?” Sexton asked.
“Because while I believe that I would be a poor choice, I am certain there are others who would be even worse.”
“I trust you’re not referring to me?”
“I wouldn’t be here if I was, Paul.” Doctor Murray smoothed his necktie, sighing, as if having difficulty choosing his next words. “No, as I already have said, I agree with your assessment, and it’s my hope that the Board will agree with you as well. You are the logical choice, and more, you are the best choice. But I also believe you are wrong about one thing.”
“Please.” Sexton glanced at Hayes, then back to his father. “Go on.”
“They will not pick you.”
“And why won’t they?”
“Because I’ve seen the numbers, and while R-C/Bowman has turned a staggering profit, it is only dataDyne’s third largest money-making division this last fiscal year.”
“Waterberg’s no threat, she’s a victim of her own success,” Sexton said, annoyed. “Of course Patmos turned a larger profit—their overhead is at least a thousand times less than ours. You know what insurance is, Fred? It’s a license to print money, the Board knows that. They won’t move her, they don’t want to kill the goose that’s laying the golden egg.”
“Waterberg isn’t the problem,” Murray said. “The problem is DataFlow.”
“DeVries?” Sexton snorted. “She’s too young, too inexperienced. If the Board wanted to bang her that’d be one thing, but for running the show? Really. Did you even read the last statement she made about AirFlow.Net 2.0? It’s like reading Polly-goddamn-anna, blah-blah-blah make the world a better place for everyone blah-blah-blah. No mention of bottom line, no mention of profit margin, resource management, cost oversight. No way the Board’s taking her seriously, Fred, no way.”
Hayes watched as his father raised his right hand, began ticking off points on his fingers.
“First, DataFlow has turned a staggering profit in the last three years through AirFlow.Net 1.0 alone,” Doctor Murray said. “And we both know that software application profits do not derive from initial sales, but rather from the purchase of continued upgrades and revisions. DataFlow is about to release version 2.0, Paul, and will be selling the program to over two hundred countries worldwide. While you are supplying almost eighty percent of the null-grav vehicles, DeVries is supplying the air-traffic control software used in all of them, plus the remaining twenty percent. That’s total market domination, I believe you would call it.
“Second, what you believe is a detriment is rather, in my view, one of the reasons the Board is so smitten with her. DeVries is relatively young, and is certainly attractive. Our previous CEO was an elderly Chinese gentleman who eschewed public appearances, something that has come back to hurt the company since his disappearance. The Board wants a public face for dataDyne, one that will allay investor fears. DeVries would need to do nothing but smile in front of a camera to accomplish that end.
“Third, and certainly related, DeVries is the youngest of us in contention, and in excellent health. Her appointment to CEO would be seen as move toward stability, an assurance that dataDyne will continue as it has for the foreseeable future.”
Doctor Murray lowered his hand.
“She is much more of a threat than you think.”
Sexton was scowling now. “What’s your point?”
“My point is that Cassandra DeVries is liable to be the next CEO of dataDyne, Paul, and that would be disastrous for us both,” Murray said. “She will most likely relocate R-C/Bowman oversight to work more closely with DataFlow, in order to facilitate full integration of AirFlow.Net in your vehicles. She would leave your company gutted, and give its organs to her own.”
“That’s me, then. What does she do to you?”
“I have no doubt that DeVries would micromanage pharmaDyne into complete stagnation. Her preoccupation with public safety would undoubtedly result in a cowardly business model that would force upon me an endless cycle of clinical trials and advanced testing. pharmaDyne would go from the world leader in pharmaceutical treatments and technologies to a distant third behind Beck-Yama InterNational.”
“I see,” Sexton said.
“We must prevent her from becoming CEO, Paul,” Doctor Murray said.
“Easy enough to do. You withdraw your name from consideration and tell the Board that you endorse me in your place.”
“My thought exactly,” Hayes’s father said with a smile.
Sexton caught it, and that surprised Hayes, because so far he’d thought that Sexton only saw what he wanted to see, and only heard what he wanted to hear. Hayes realized he should have known better. Much as he didn’t like Sexton, there was no way Sexton would have survived as the R-C/Bowman CEO if he wasn’t in his own way—like his father—brilliant at what he did.
“I’ll take care of pharmaDyne, Fred,” Sexton said. “I’m not somebody who forgets the people who help me. You can be assured that I’ll look after you once I’m CEO.”
“That’s to be expected,” Murray said.
“That’s not enough?”
Sexton sighed, then looked to Hayes, this time letting his gaze linger. There was no smile any longer, but no obvious suspicion either, as if he was simply pondering whether or not to indulge Hayes and his father.
He’s trying to figure this out, Hayes thought. He’s trying to figure out if he’s being played. He’s trying to figure out why I’m here.
“What do you want in exchange?” Sexton finally asked Murray.
“Show him,” Doctor Murray told his son.
“There an interface in here?” Hayes asked Sexton. “Terminal, entertainment console, anything?”
“There.” Sexton pointed to the windows furthest along the wall, floor-to-ceiling panes of glass with another black leather couch positioned opposite them, a low chrome-andglass coffee table set in between. “Panel’s on the table.”
Hayes nodded, moving down the length of the room, taking his lifeCard from the customized sleeve he wore on his belt. He heard Sexton and his father both getting to their feet to follow him. Hayes took the credit card-sized digital assistant between two fingers, setting his thumb into the slight recess in the center. The lifeCard chimed softly, indicating it was active and that it knew him.
“It’s all linked?” Hayes asked, looking down at the coffee table, at the dimly lit console surface pressed into the glass.
“It’s hiPad accessible,” Sexton confirmed, sounding mildly annoyed and more than a little impatient.
Hayes nodded, used the coffee-table console to bring down the lights in the room to half. “Interface,” he told the lifeCard. “Solomon Islands, map and briefing.”
The lifeCard chimed again, this time two quick rising chords in succession. The floor-to-ceiling window flickered, the view of Lake St. Clair beyond the glass vanishing, replaced by a three-dimensional grid-line overview of the Solomon Islands. The image moved, as if the camera POV were dropping down toward the waters of the Pacific, then began racing north. As each new island appeared on the screen, a call-out accompanied it, identifying it by name. San Cristobal, Guadalcanal, Malaita, Santa Isobel, Choiseul, one after the other, until the camera rose up again, skyward, then dropped, turning, reversing its direction to the south until it settled over the New Georgia Group, Guadalcanal still some ninety miles to the southeast.
“Overview,” Hayes told the lifeCard, and the image shifted, redrew, now compositing a satellite surveillance photograph of the New Georgia Group with a computer-drawn map overlaid upon it. More call-outs appeared, naming the individual islands of the group, centered on New Georgia itself.
“This is the Core-Mantis R&D facility in the Solomon Islands,” Hayes heard his father explaining to Sexton. “You’re looking at New Georgia Island, Paul, the site of the Core-Mantis Solomon Islands Health and Healing Research Center. This is the nerve center of their medical research and development.”
As his father spoke, Hayes continued working his lifeCard, speaking commands softly. More information appeared on the window monitor, zoomed satellite surveillance shots and computer-drawn renderings of the various research compounds and facilities. Statistics about the Core-Mantis operation flowed along one side of the display like water dropping from a fall, listing the known history of the operation, the estimated personnel in both staff, subjects, and security. Best estimates put the science staff at nearly five hundred, with five times that number in support, with positions from clerical administration to janitorial services.
“On the northeastern shore of the island, near Hovoro, is their Experimental Technologies facility,” Doctor Murray said. “The home of their most cutting-edge research and testing, where their most brilliant minds reside. For years now, I’ve been hearing rumors of something called the Hovoro Project being developed at this facility.”
“What sort of rumors?” Sexton asked, and Hayes thought he did a good job of trying to sound only vaguely interested.
“All sorts of things, from the plausible to the absurd. Everything from a cure for AIDS to an elixir that will halt, or even reverse, the aging process. I’m sure you know how it is, Paul. In the absence of facts about what your competitor is up to, the most outlandish stories appear.”
Hayes worked the lifeCard, bringing up a closer view of the Hovoro facility, a walled compound of seventeen buildings, bristling with security checkpoints and watchtowers. Once again, computer-drawn overlays appeared, identifying the buildings, their suspected purposes and estimated staffing. He froze the program, turned away from the window displays to face his father and Sexton.
Sexton stepped forward, peering closer, then shook his head, as if amused. He looked at Hayes, then at Doctor Murray.
“But presumably you know what they’re doing in Hovoro, Fred? Presumably they’re up to something that’ll hurt you and pharmaDyne, is that it?”
“Not just pharmaDyne,” Doctor Murray said. “dataDyne, Paul. What Core-Mantis is developing at Hovoro will move us from the world’s leader in health and medicine to a distant second, and if my intelligence is correct, they’re less than seven months from bringing their product to market.”
“So let’s hear it.”
Doctor Murray hesitated, giving his next words added weight, and Hayes had to fight to keep from grinning.
“Cancer, Fred,” his father said quietly. “Core-Mantis OmniGlobal is curing cancer.”
The effect was exactly what Hayes and his father had hoped for, and it froze Sexton in place for fully ten seconds before he managed a muttered, “Jesus Christ.”
Doctor Murray nodded sadly.
“You’re sure?”
Doctor Murray looked to Hayes, who said, “We’ve been working a double agent in Core-Mantis Melbourne for the last eight months, code-named Felix. He confirmed the Hovoro Project for us the week before the Luxe Life retreat.”
“And you believe this?” Sexton asked. “This ‘Felix’ is on the level?”
Hayes held up the lifeCard. “I’ve included all of his reports here. I’ll upload them to your console, if you want, you can take a look.”
“He sent us a sample of the recombinant DNA being used for Stage I vaccine development,” Doctor Murray said. “I reviewed it myself, Paul, it’s the real thing, brilliant work and easily ten years ahead of where pharmaDyne is in the same field. We’re not going to catch them in time. They’ll have cured cancer and stolen dataDyne’s market share, and we’ll still be scratching our heads wondering how they did it.”
Sexton looked back to the window, to the glowing display of the Hovoro facility on the screen. Hayes thought the man was still rattled by the news his father had imparted, but now less so, and it was clear from Sexton’s expression that he was thinking furiously, trying to see a solution to a problem that belonged not only to pharmaDyne, but to the mother corporation as a whole.
“So it’s time to get aggressive, right?” Sexton said. “Start with the proxy fight, and if necessary, take more … active measures.”
“No,” Doctor Murray answered. “We won’t be doing that.”
Sexton turned sharply, almost glaring at Hayes’s father. “You’re just going to let them bend us over our desks like this?”
“I don’t have many options, Paul. I have neither the security forces trained for such an action, nor the capital required to hire forces who do.”
“With all due respect, Fred, that’s a load of crap. You have the money, I know you do. I see the same ledgers and bottom lines you do.”
Doctor Murray shrugged.
“So this is the thing you want? You want me to eat this? You want me to launch a hostile takeover of the Core-Mantis Solomon Islands operation, shut down this Hovoro facility, and then hand you the fruits of their labors?”
“In exchange for which you would have my unqualified support before the Board, my unquestioning loyalty for you as CEO, and my eternal gratitude.”
“I’d expect the first two; what would the last look like?”
“Anything you needed that I could giv
e. You’re wealthy already, you’ll be even wealthier as CEO, so my offering you money is nothing. But you name it, and it would be yours.”
Sexton thought about that, looking at the window display yet again. “How far out is the cure?”
“They’ll have it on the market in its earliest form before the end of the year, I’m positive,” Doctor Murray said. “They’ll certainly begin leaking word of the cure before the end of the month. They may even attempt to time the first rumors to coincide with the Board’s appointment of our new CEO.”
Sexton nodded slightly, then said, “I want credit.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Not complete, but shared. You’ll put my name on the research along with your own when you publish it.”
Hayes thought his father did an admirable job of looking appalled. “I can’t possibly—”
Sexton turned back to Doctor Murray, and now his look was cold, the look that Hayes suspected the R-C/Bowman CEO used when closing a deal.
And that’s what this is, Hayes thought. Just another deal.
“If you want my help, yes you can,” Sexton said. “You’re looking at a second Nobel for this, Fred, we both know it. You’ll be remembered throughout time as the man who cured cancer. I know you, I know your ego, and I know that this is as much about your reputation as it is about ensuring pharmaDyne’s survival. Well, I want a piece of that legacy. Since I’ll be the man making it possible, I think I deserve as much.”
“You’re not a scientist!” Murray objected. “You’re not even a physician! Nobody will believe—”
“So we’ll give me a degree or three, it doesn’t matter.”
Doctor Murray shook his head, angrily. “Absolutely not. It’s a debasement of science, it’s absurd to even consider it. Ask for something else.”
“I’ve told you what I want.”
“Absolutely not.”