Tyson outlined the plan, step by step, and he could see the faces before him changing. Several still looked confused, but most grasped the possibilities. And a few savvy businessmen asked astute questions, carefully considering his answers. Good. Good.
An hour later, Tyson turned off the screen. “We recognize that more analysis is needed before we decide which markets and distribution channels hold the least risk and the most promise. Therefore, we’re putting together a special task force to consider all the options and will present our findings and recommendations to you within the month.”
Several of the captains began to raise their hands. Tyson pretended not to notice and busily tapped his presentation papers together on the podium. “As you leave, please remember to pick up the latest CD-ROM with the quarterly spreadsheets and your new codes. Thank you for coming.”
As he stepped down off the stage, he was besieged by several of the leaders.
“What do you mean ‘a special task force’?”
“If you think you’re going to push me aside …”
“Who will serve on this thing? If it’s Magnus instead of me, I swear—”
“Gentlemen, gentlemen!” Tyson held up his hands and gave his best placating smile. “This task force is merely an administrative formality. We need to crunch the numbers and ensure that our market recommendations to you are accurate. After all, we’re here to serve you.”
Several voices rose again. “But you can’t …”
Tyson heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Okay, listen. If you feel that you have a head for statistics and really want to spend several weeks doing regression analyses of purchasing trends, then by all means let me know.” He made a pained face, and several of the captains chuckled and relaxed slightly. “But otherwise, we’ll appoint just a few people who have a track record in this sort of thing and get back to you soon on our recommendations. Sound fair?”
As the group nodded and turned away, Tyson went looking for his intended targets. Within a few minutes he had discreetly invited all five of them to attend a private meeting in his office after the others had left. As expected, no one declined the invitation.
He stepped into a quiet corner and pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. Proxy was expecting an update, a message in his anonymous, internet-based voice-mailbox. Tyson flipped open the phone and pushed a few buttons. He glanced around to ensure he would not be overheard.
The electromagnetic wave signal from Tyson’s phone left the third floor of the building, sped to a nearby cell tower, and was relayed to a switching office, where the signal was instantaneously routed into the nations vast telecommunications network. The signal—like the millions of others being handled at that same moment—raced through multiple relay circuits and was beamed to a communications satellite five hundred miles above the earth.
The geostationary satellite’s transponder received the uplink, and its electronic brain checked the ultimate destination—an internet voice mailbox hosted by a foreign company. The electronic intelligence amplified the signal and bounced it to the next satellite along. The signal raced through the sky network just as it had been passed on the ground, side-by-side with hundreds of thousands of other digital telephone signals, television broadcasts, and credit-card transactions.
Less than two seconds after the call was initiated, the final satellite downlinked the original signal—intact and undamaged—to a ground station outside the United States. It was quickly passed to the appropriate, anonymous voice mailbox, where a quiet, satisfied message was left.
The message would be picked up later that day via another telephone call, one that would find another random routing through the edge of space, along with a cacophony of other signals.
Purely by chance, one of those signals originated from a ground station outside Washington, D.C., where a satellite engineer was testing a connection with a colleague in Silicon Valley, California. He stared at the data on his computer screen, let out an exasperated expletive, and rapidly typed something on his keyboard. Hundreds of lines of code flickered across his computer screen, but the necessary program didn’t run. It was his colleague’s turn to swear.
The engineer had to fix this problem with the LEOSAT repeaters, and do it fast. Reprogramming a ton of old code wasn’t the most enjoyable job in the world, but it was necessary and he had been working around the clock. His company’s satellites were tasked with passing billions of bits of sensitive data for major television networks, banks, and airlines—as well as for several homeland security defense contractors, such as the one he was on the phone with now. Those applications were secret, of course. None of the engineers knew the full story—they just programmed their pieces of the puzzle.
Both the engineer and his counterpart were exhausted, but kept working. These low-earth-orbit satellites were not just used to grease the wheel of commerce—they were used to catch the bad guys. With the right tracking technology, their satellites could see through walls and into corners.
Too bad that no satellite, no matter how sophisticated, could peer into the human heart.
Tyson perched on the edge of his desk, an aide hovering nearby. “First of all, I’d like to thank you for interrupting your plans in order to stay for this meeting. I think you’ll find it to be a profitable use of your time.”
An elderly man with thinning hair chuckled. “Any time Proxy has a new idea, it’s always profitable.”
“That’s right, Waggoner. You’ve been in on quite a few of Proxy’s brainstorms, haven’t you?”
“Yep. That’s why I’ve stayed in this network, even though some of these young ’uns don’t have the work ethic of my kitchen cabinets. All they want is a quick buck. No effort, no vision.” He gave a sharp nod. “But Proxy—now he’s got vision. Picked you. Picked us. Now he’s got something new up his sleeve. Can’t wait to hear it.” The old man sat back in his chair and crossed his arms.
“Good.” Tyson pursed his lips a moment. “Before I begin, let me ensure that each of you wants to be involved. The ‘statistical market analysis’ was just a smoke screen. This task force will be creating a business model that’ll make your current levels of wealth look like peanuts. We’ve chosen you because we believe you share the core philosophy behind our plan and are willing to leave sentiment behind. We’ve chosen you because we believe you’re capable of the total commitment this plan will require; in time, you must be willing to drop your current operations and perhaps even leave the country. Therefore, once I outline Proxy’s plan, there’s no turning back.” He gave a matter-of-fact smile. “You all know the penalty for disloyalty or mismanagement. If you’re uncertain about whether you want to hear the plan, the time to leave is now.”
He paused and scanned each face before him. No one moved.
“All right then, here’s the deal. We believe that our largest underground business opportunity to date comes out of the most popular, most above ground industry that we’ve seen in years: the domestic security industry.”
“So it begins.” A giant figure with shining features straightened from his vantage point, his expression somber. “Sinful man has put into motion what we are directed not to stop. Only the obedience of the Redeemed will determine the outcome.”
Loriel turned and addressed the group before him. “For now, our orders are clear: protect the young woman and stir the Body of Christ. We must keep an eye on the machinations of those who have given themselves to the darkness, and stir up those who can cast a great light. If only they will.”
Loriel cast his gaze over the ranks of the heavenly host. In earthly time, ten years had seemed to pass in the blink of an eye. The preparations were over, and the time had come for a battle that carried vast consequences. He began making his assignments, taking comfort in the certain knowledge that his Master was in control.
As he often had since being given this command, he could feel the Lord’s deep love for His wayward children, His longing for fellowship with them … and His boundless pain at
their preoccupation with so many things other than Him.
SIX
Honey! Where are my shirts?”
Doug Turner stood in his walk-in closet, frantically flicking through his hangers. He brushed past the half-full garment bag that hung nearby and leaned out the closet door.
“Honey!”
“I can’t hear you!” A distant voice sounded from the kitchen. “Hold on, I’m coming.”
He ducked back into the closet, jamming his work shoes into the slots in the garment bag. He had his suits, his ties, his toiletries, but—
His wife appeared in the doorway, a dish towel in one hand and frustration on her face. “You know I can’t hear you all the way in the kitchen. What did you say?”
“Where are my work shirts?”
Sherry’s face went from annoyed to ashen. “Oh my gosh, I forgot to pick up your dry cleaning!”
He brushed past her and grabbed his tennis shoes. He quickly sat on the bed and pulled them on. “I’m going to miss the plane.”
“No, hold on. You keep packing and I’ll run and get them. It’ll only take ten minutes, tops. I’m so sorry; the kids were crazy after church yesterday and I just—”
“Sherry, I keep telling you that I can pick up my own dry cleaning. You know that.”
Sherry dropped the dish towel and grabbed a jacket from her closet. “I know, but I want to help you out.”
“But it doesn’t help me if you keep—”
“Keep forgetting. I know, I know.” Sherry trotted down the hallway after him. She grabbed the keys before he did. “Seriously, let me make up for this. I can just run in and out. It’ll only take ten minutes and—”
“Fine, just go!” Doug made an exasperated motion with his hands. “The more you explain, the later it’ll get!”
He caught a glimpse of the hurt look on her face before she raced out the door. His conscience niggled as he headed back toward the bedroom. But if she kept forgetting these things he might as well just do them himself. And he was already working too hard as it was. He hadn’t even been able to go to church yesterday because of that Tokyo deal, and that was the second time this month. Unacceptable.
He grabbed the garment bag from the closet and threw it on the bed. Everything else was packed. There wasn’t much he could do but wait.
He headed for the kitchen. He had skipped lunch to come home and pack his things, at Sherry’s insistence. He knew she wanted to spend time with him before he left, and he wanted to accommodate her, but next time she offered to drive him to the airport, he was going to have to say no. It was just too stressful. He’d leave straight from the office instead. And he’d get his dry cleaning himself from now on.
The refrigerator was cluttered with diet sodas. Doug pushed them aside, looking for something to eat. Diet this and diet that. Why couldn’t Sherry buy normal food?
He grabbed a jar of peanut butter and stuck a spoon into it, his conscience niggling again as he ate. He knew his wife hated the extra weight she had carried around since the kids came along. And it was nice that she wanted to slim down, just for him. Why couldn’t he be more supportive these days? It was like every little thing set him off.
Peanut butter and spoon in hand, Doug wandered out to the living room and turned on the television in their built-in entertainment center. He settled into the corner of the comfortable sofa and picked up his remote control. Maybe he could at least glance at the regional weather forecast before his flight.
The channels scrolled by as he bounced from station to station. He found the news, but didn’t stay long; the usual details on the war on terrorism, blah, blah, blah. Unused to being home during a weekday, he was amused by the images from soap operas, infomercials, and syndicated reruns that flicked by.
Whoa, what was that?
He backtracked a couple of channels and paused. A bikini-clad model posed on the beach. Now she was under a waterfall. The camera pulled back to show a host of make-up artists, lighting equipment, and producers surrounding the waterfall shot. A male announcer’s voice described the long hours and technical effort that went into creating a series of popular college co-ed calendars.
Doug’s eyes drank in the parade of pictures. Wow. That next girl actually looked a lot like Sherry … like Sherry had looked ten years ago when they were in college together. The girl shook her head and her glossy, dark hair cascaded over her eyes and around her shoulders. The camera panned down a bright yellow bathing suit over a perfect tan.
“And we’ll be right back with Calendar Co-Eds after these messages.”
Doug looked at the remote in his hand. What was he doing? He lowered his head and shut his eyes tight. He could still see the waterfall, still see the long view of the perfect tan. That last five-second glimpse would probably stay in his mind for an hour. He heard the soft music of the calendar show returning, and changed the channel.
He changed the station several times, but his eyes weren’t focusing. They were seeing the pictures in his head.
After a minute, he clicked the remote quickly backward. It would just be a couple minutes, and then Sherry would be home so he’d have to stop.
When he heard their SUV pulling into the garage, he quickly turned the channel to CNN, and then turned the television off. He hurried into the kitchen and put the peanut butter back where he found it, then met his wife at the door. She was trying to open the door with one hand, while holding a mass of plastic-wrapped clothes with the other.
“Here, honey, let me do that.” Doug took the dry cleaning out of Sherry’s hands. “Thanks for doing this.”
Sherry was out of breath. “I drove—I drove as fast as I could.”
“I’m sure you did.”
“What? You don’t believe me?”
“That’s not what I said!” Doug tightened his grip on the mass of hangers and headed back to the bedroom. He could hear his wife’s sigh all the way down the hall.
“Why do you always run away from me when I’m upset?”
He shut his mouth tight, not trusting himself to answer. He jerked at the hangers, trying to pull some shirts free, his fingers clumsy with anger and haste. If he missed this plane—
Sherry appeared in the doorway. “I’m sorry. I really want to help. And I think you’re still fine for the flight if we leave right away, so stop going nuts.”
Doug felt his face going red. He forced himself to calmly detangle the last hangers and pull three shirts free.
“I should’ve left from the office. I don’t think coming back home really works.”
“I was just trying to get a little time together. I’ve hardly seen you since you came home from the last trip. You’ve been working late every night—”
“Please, Sherry, don’t start.”
“Well, I can’t help it. What am I supposed to think? I feel like you enjoy work more than me and the kids.”
Doug bit his tongue at the common refrain. He slotted the shirts into his bag, zipped it up, and headed toward the garage. He threw the bag into the backseat of the SUV, picked up his laptop case and stuck it behind the front seat, then climbed into the driver’s seat.
Sherry appeared in the doorway, her purse over her shoulder, looking confused. “I can drive.”
“Please hurry, Sherry.”
“Fine.” Sherry climbed into the passenger seat and shut the door, a little too hard. She buckled her seat belt and sat stony faced as Doug raced out of their neighborhood and onto the highway.
The silence crackled between them.
Why did she always start nagging him about his work hours when he was the most stressed? Did she think he liked working this many hours? Why didn’t she trust him, that he tried everything he could to get home to her? He was working his tail off to support this family!
Sherry had her head turned firmly toward the window, and he could hear her sniffle. Hadn’t he shown that he cared by trying this ridiculous plan of coming home to pack and having her drive him to the airport so they could spend so
me time together?
He sighed to himself. Some time together.
Sorry, Lord. I guess I’m being a jerk. Forgive me.
He took a deep breath. “Sherry.”
A pause. “What.”
“I’m sorry.”
Another pause, then she reached over to take his hand. “I love you, Doug. I just want to be with you more. That’s all.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I just—I just wish you were able to recognize that I do want to be with you, and Brandon and Genna. It makes me feel terrible that you somehow don’t think that I do.”
Her voice was very small. “Well, what am I supposed to think? I wouldn’t mind the long hours so much if you’d really be home when you’re home. But you’ve just been so stressed that …” She sighed. “I don’t know.”
“You know it’s not going to be forever. We went into this with our eyes open.”
“Look, I know that! Anyone with a technology-related company works long hours these days—and I want you all to succeed as much as you do! But can’t you leave work at work? Instead, you come home grumpy and snap at the kids.”
He took a deep breath. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ll try to be better about that. I really will.”
“And we hardly ever … you know … do it any more.”
“Yeah, I know. I just—” he felt awkward, searching for the right words. “I guess I’m just preoccupied.”
“That’s true—you have been.”
“Well, it’s not just me, you know! You’re tired a lot, too.”
Sherry looked down and didn’t respond. In the uncomfortable silence, Doug sighed to himself, feeling deflated. It wasn’t only his fault. And with the pressure of his job, it would be nice to regularly have that means to de-stress. Every now and then he couldn’t take the pressure, and that bothered him. But he didn’t tell her that. It would hurt her feelings.
The Lights of Tenth Street Page 6
