Tom Clancy Enemy Contact

by Mike Maden

  It was even possible to sail the boat by the long-handled rudder in the aft cockpit, where he now stood, sitting in the bucket seat featuring push-button winch controls for the sails.

  Built for luxury, speed, and convenience, the HH6 was painted in the custom blue-and-white CloudServe colors, and the Mylar/carbon fiber mainsail featured the company logo.

  The boat’s clean, sharp lines turned heads every time he took it out, much like the leggy brunette stretched out on the cushions before him. She was a series lead on one of the most popular network dramas, currently hiding her face beneath oversized sunglasses and a floppy hat but displaying more dangerous curves than Lombard Street just a few miles across the Bay. The morning sun was bright and warm. The cockpit sheltered her from the chill, gusting wind.

  “Elias!” A woman’s voice called from the dock.

  Dahm turned around. It was Dorothy Stamps, his CFO. The forty-two-year-old African American woman appeared years younger, thanks to her handsome face and athletically trim body. The former captain of the U.S. women’s Olympic volleyball team stayed fit these days by running ultramarathons, but her mind was even faster than her run times. She had earned a full-ride athletic scholarship to Pepperdine, where she double-majored in English lit and accounting, graduating summa cum laude, and later earned her MBA from Stanford.

  “Oh, Dorothy. Hello! What brings you here?” His eyes were red-rimmed and glazed.

  The curvy actress didn’t budge. AirPods were jammed in her ears and she was gently rocking out to an old Guns N’ Roses song blaring inside of her skull. A tall glass of white wine was on the table nearby.

  “I’ve left you seven messages. We were supposed to meet two hours ago.” She stood on the dock, towering over him. Alcatraz Island squatted in the middle of the white-capped bay churning beyond the harbor.

  “Oh, God. I totally forgot. I’m sorry. I woke up this morning and decided I needed some time on the water today. Real stress-reliever.”

  “I’m sorry about last night.”

  “Which is why you’re here, I’m sure.”

  Stamps had watched the live launch feed along with ten million other people, including several Wall Street analysts.

  The loss of the revenue from the launch alone cost the company nearly nine figures. Double that sum when material losses were factored in, net of insurance. But the lost opportunity costs from canceled future and potential contracts was in the billions. No wonder he looked like he hadn’t slept in twenty-four hours, she thought.

  Dahm raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun’s glare. “Won’t you come aboard?”

  She nodded at the brunette. “You look like you’re busy. This will only take a minute.”

  He flashed his famously boyish grin. A grin that had once charmed her panties down to her ankles on a Learjet to Vail on a ski vacation/business trip.

  She never made that mistake again.

  “So how can I help you?” Elias asked. “Or should I just listen to your messages?”

  “You already know what I’m going to say.”

  “Yes, I know. Our debt load is crushing us. We have four billion in short-term loans coming due in thirty days and we don’t have the cash flow to cover it. We’ve already discussed all of this at the last board meeting. We can issue more preferred stock to raise capital.”

  “But the board didn’t approve that move, remember? It dilutes the value of existing shares and, as far as my accounting practices are concerned, only adds to the debt load, even though preferred shares are technically equity.”

  “Then we borrow more money to cover the loans coming due.”

  “After last night, S&P Global downgraded us to junk-bond status. We’d have to pay far higher interest rates on the new money to pay off the lower interest rates on the old money.”

  “I can go back to my venture capital sources. This new solar farm has amazing potential—”

  “Elias, you’re not hearing me. Not only do we need to stop borrowing more money to acquire more assets, it’s time you faced the music. It’s time to start liquidating assets. Starting with SpaceServe.”

  The infectiously affable and charismatic man suddenly darkened like a storm cloud.

  “That’s not going to happen.”

  “You don’t have any choice. All of your money-losing assets will suck CloudServe into a black hole of bankruptcy. CloudServe is your only viable enterprise. You can’t afford to lose it. Everything else must go.”

  Dahm sprang onto the dock in a single leap. Stamps instinctively flinched as he brushed against her and headed toward the ship’s bow. She could smell the savory-sweet tang of dope on him even in the slightly gusting breeze.

  “The JP Morgan analyst following us gave me a heads-up this morning,” she shouted.

  He was fifty feet away now and kneeling down to untie the dock line from its davit. He didn’t respond.

  She continued. “They plan to issue a major downgrade in the next week if we can’t demonstrate some kind of a plan to rectify this situation.”

  He tossed the freed nylon line onto the deck and headed back her way, his face flint-hard and determined.

  “That’s really for the board to decide, isn’t it?” he said as he stomped over to the davit at her feet and knelt down. “And when push comes to shove, the board will do as I say.” He struggled to untie the knot.

  “One of the board members called me as well. They’ve all decided they want to address this crisis head-on before it’s too late. They want to teleconference this afternoon at four p.m.”

  Dahm finally worked the line free and tossed it onto the deck, then leaped back on board.

  He turned around. “I’ll be on the conference call, but I’m not selling any assets. That’s the old way of doing things.”

  “It’s the right way of doing things, Elias.”

  “Forget it. I’m not selling!” Dahm stormed toward the saloon and his automated helm.

  “Then I resign,” she whispered to the back of his head as he disappeared into the cabin.

  She turned and marched away to the sound of the boat’s diesel engines turning over. She wiped away the tears clouding her fierce eyes, saddened for her friend. He was a sailor heading into a storm he refused to see. Like “The Wreck of the Hesperus,” she thought.

  A line from another Longfellow poem swept across her mind.

  Whom the gods would destroy they first make mad.

  What was the poem? Oh, of course. But who said it? A chill ran down her spine.

  She turned around to see his yacht pulling away from the dock and into the harbor.

  The answer was written on the stern.

  Prometheus.

  55

  GDYNIA, POLAND

  Are you sure?” Liliana asked. “It seems like a waste of time.”

  “Why not?” Jack shrugged. “You work undercover. Sometimes people tell you things without meaning to.”

  “Oh. So this really is a criminal investigation? I thought it was a business trip.”

  “Just sayin’.”

  They sat parked in front of the Citi Handlowy building, Liliana’s Audi still idling. Christopher Gage’s office was on the tenth floor, according to his website. The bank building, like so many others in Gdynia, was modern steel and glass. Jack had called ahead for an appointment with Gage’s secretary, who booked him for this afternoon.

  Gdynia was just a few minutes’ drive from Gdańsk. Like Gdańsk, Gdynia was a port city, one of three (Gdańsk, Gdynia, and Sopot) making up the Trójmiasto lying on Gdańsk Bay, an area of more than one million people. The tricity Trójmiasto was expanding rapidly, thanks to Scandinavian tourists, who favored the much cheaper housing and cost of living, as well as to a recent influx of Chinese investments. Gage had located his headquarters in the middle of the action.

  “You coming?”r />
  “If you like.” Liliana killed the engine. “But I doubt he’s going to tell you anything you don’t already know.”

  * * *

  —

  Jack Ryan?”

  Christopher Gage stood up from behind his desk. He was Jack’s height and weight, but he was more flab than muscle stuffed inside a tailored gray Armani suit. His well-groomed hair was flecked with gray, like his neatly trimmed beard.

  Jack smiled. “Yes.”

  “Christopher Gage.”

  Jack didn’t detect any hint of recognition in the eyes of Dixon’s stepson, which was fortunate. Despite the fact that they were both children of D.C. politicians, Gage was several years older than Jack, they had attended different schools, and the Gage family fortune put them in a vastly different social circle from the Ryans’. To the best of Jack’s recollection, they had never met before.

  They shook hands. Jack noted the soft, uncallused hands. On the wall behind Gage were a dozen framed photos of Dixon-Gage charity projects featuring Christopher with smiling Africans in front of schools, water wells, bicycles, and farm equipment paid for by the trust. Jack gestured toward Liliana. “This is my assistant, Ms. Pilecki.”

  Gage’s eyes were a little too eager, but she shook his hand anyway. “A real pleasure, Ms. Pilecki.”

  “For me as well, Mr. Gage.”

  “Please, both of you, have a seat.”

  Gage waved at the two leather club chairs in front of his Danish-minimalist desk. “Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee? Tea? Something stronger?”

  “We’re fine, thanks.”

  “So, according to my appointment book, I understand you’re looking at investment opportunities here in Poland. How can I help?”

  “I know you’ve been on the ground here for a while. I just wanted your CliffsNotes on the lay of the land.”

  “Mine? My God, you’re with Hendley Associates. That’s one of the best financial firms around. Why would you need my advice? How’s Gerry, by the way?”

  “He’s great. Still the sharpest knife in the drawer. And thanks for the compliment, but we’re not in Poland, and Google is a poor substitute for hands-on experience.”

  “Well, my first advice would be to meet with my personal banker, Stanislaus Zbyszko.” A thin smile creased Gage’s mouth. “But then, you’ve already met him, haven’t you?”

  Jack didn’t pretend to be surprised. They both knew that Zbyszko had reached out to one of his most important American clients regarding his visit, especially after Jack flashed the $10 million letter of intent.

  “Very nice guy, but a little short on details. He suggested real estate, generally.”

  “I agree. They’re not making any more land, are they?”

  Just assholes, Jack thought. “Real estate is a great investment, but not very liquid, and the European situation is, well, how to put it? Fluid. We were hoping for something with a little more flexibility, in case things went sideways.”

  Gage waved a dismissive hand. “Europe is a real mixed bag these days. A few productive nations like Germany are subsidizing the shirkers, like the Greeks. I think the euro is doomed, and when it collapses, chaos will follow. Might be some interesting opportunities then.”

  “You picked Poland. Why?”

  “We liked the idea that they kept their own currency, which is good for us because the zloty is very weak against the dollar. And the government is very pro-business.”

  “Sounds ideal.”

  “Well, we’ve put a few chits down. Nothing spectacular has happened, to be honest with you.”

  “Transportation bets, right? Trucking. Shipping.”

  “That’s right. You met Stapinsky. Quite a character, isn’t he?”

  “Nice fellow, if you like your cookies in a plastic wrapper.”

  Gage laughed. “He’s a cheap bastard, for sure—pardon my French, Ms. Pilecki—but he’s a smart one, too.”

  “So, if you don’t mind my asking, what’s your overall goal?”

  “We wanted to start slow. A distribution warehouse in Warsaw—Stapinsky’s, the one you visited—and one in Gdańsk. We thought we’d start with setting up a regional distribution base and then expand into manufacturing. But the Chinese and the Germans are crowding everybody out around here.”

  “Looks like there’s a heck of a building boom going on.”

  “We were a day late and a dollar short in this market. Prices are out of line now, according to our valuation metrics. If I were starting over today, I’d think about Portugal. A lot of bargains over there right now, especially in real estate. Buy low, sell high, right?”

  “Aren’t the Chinese moving there, too? I just read something about Portugal wanting to get on board with the BRI.”

  “Yeah, but it’s still early. Strike while the iron is hot is my advice. The best deals to be had in Poland have already been struck.”

  “Hu Peng is your partner here at BGS, right?”

  “You have done your research.”

  “What’s his background?”

  Jack kept pushing the questions, trying to rattle Gage. But Gage was playing it very cool.

  “He comes from banking. I wish he was here. He’s the big-picture man. I’m just the smile-and-dial guy.”

  “I’d say you’re more than that. You’ve built up a great portfolio for yourself, and for your dad’s company as well.”

  “Thanks. I try.”

  “I was thinking that maybe we could come up with some kind of partnership. Your expertise, our cash.”

  “Zbyszko said you had some serious money in your wallet. Thirty million?”

  “Well, that’s what the letter of intent says.” Jack leaned slightly forward and winked. “Between you and me? Gerry will double that if the deal’s right.”

  Gage made a long face, nodded. “Wow. Impressive.”

  “You know Gerry. He’s a serious man,” Jack added. “A good man to be in business with.”

  “He must have a lot of faith in you to give you that kind of walking-around money.”

  “Thanks. I try,” Jack said. “So, interested?”

  Gage rubbed his face. The money clearly tempted him. But something was holding him back.

  “Man, I wish you would have come to me six months ago. Right now, we’re tied up in several contracts that don’t give me much wiggle room. And you’re right, there’s no substitute for being here on the ground. You’ve got to pick your targets very carefully, and know when to pull the trigger. The worst thing you can do is just start throwing money around this place. The people around here have been separating fools from their cash since the Hanseatic League in the fourteenth century. I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  “How long are you in town? I’d love to take you to lunch next week.” Gage shifted his gaze to Liliana and smiled. “Both of you, of course. We can talk more business, and I can introduce you to a few folks. I’d offer to show you around but I’m betting Ms. Pilecki is a better tour guide than I am.”

  “I’m leaving tomorrow, but I hope to be coming back next month. Let’s definitely set something up for next time.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Gage stood, ending the meeting. He handed Jack a card. “Don’t hesitate to call me if you have any questions before then. But like I said, Portugal is a better bet right now. You’re wasting your time in Poland, and maybe even your clients’ money.”

  “Thanks for the advice. I’ll check it out.”

  Gage handed his card to Liliana as well. “And if I can be of any service, please call that number, anytime.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Gage. I appreciate it.”

  Gage’s phone rang.

  Jack shot out his hand. So did Liliana. They shook.

  “We’ll see ourselves out. Thanks again for your time.”

 
Gage picked up the phone receiver. “Good to see you again, Jack. Ms. Pilecki.” He punched the button to speak, smiling and nodding at Jack as he shut the door behind them.

  * * *

  —

  Jack and Liliana thanked the receptionist and headed out of the office and into an empty elevator.

  On the way down, Liliana said, “I don’t like that man.”

  “Why not?”

  “He kept undressing me with his eyes.”

  “There’s something about that meeting that doesn’t add up.”

  “Why? Because he turned down your sixty-million-dollar offer?”

  “If business is so bad for him here, you’d think he’d welcome the chance to offload some of it onto a sucker with cash burning a hole in his pocket.”

  “At least he acknowledged the fact he knew you met with Zbyszko and Stapinsky.”

  “Gage isn’t stupid, and he knows I’m not, either.”

  The elevator dinged and the doors slid open to a busy lobby.

  “What do you want to do about it?”

  “I’d like to take a look around Gdańsk, if you don’t mind, and check out his other two properties.”

  “Shouldn’t be difficult. I know the area. They aren’t far from here.”

  “Good. With any luck, we might be heading back to Warsaw tonight.”

  * * *

  —

  Gage stood at his window, his phone stuck to his ear, watching Jack and Liliana pull away from the curb in her silver Audi coupe.

  “They just left. This can’t be good.”

  “Are you sure he isn’t just looking for an investment opportunity like he said?” Hu Peng asked. Gage had had his phone on conference mode during the meeting so Hu could listen in.

  “I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck. With all of the opportunities available to a firm like Hendley Associates all over the world, what are the chances he would show up in my two-bit office looking for a deal? Or, for that matter, that penny-ante douche Stapinsky’s?”