“I want to go into marketing after college.”
“Where are you in school?”
“I’m taking a semester off to work.”
“Where are you working?”
Alex glanced at Callie. “I’ve got a couple of offers that I’m considering now.”
There was a pause, and when David spoke, his hands were so wet that he had to wipe them on a napkin. “With our reservation I think it’s about time we go, but first I have to ask a question. Has either of you ever heard of a video called Amateur Mid-East Bombshell Does It All?
Alex’s eyes widened. Callie looked confused. She shrugged her shoulders and shook her head. “No. Why?”
Alex shifted on the sofa and looked down at his hands.
Sawyer leaned forward. “What about you, Alex?”
“I, uh. Since I guess you’ve seen it, I obviously can’t pretend that I don’t know about it.”
“About what?” Callie asked, turning to him.
He continued to look at his hands. “I guess about ten days ago when we were, uh, you know, together, I put my video camera on the shelf and recorded us.”
David watched Alex’s explanation register on his daughter’s face.
“You mean”—lowering her head to see his eyes—“upstairs? Together?”
He finally looked up and nodded. “Yes.”
“And you put it on the internet?”
He nodded.
“On my company’s video share site.”
Callie looked at her father. “Your company has a share site for videos?”
“I’m not proud of it, but, yes.”
She turned again to Alex. “And you put us on the internet for everyone, including my father, to see?”
“I had no idea that he would see it.”
“Do you check the site often, Dad?”
“No. Never. A former colleague saw it and sent me the link.”
Now Callie looked down. “So my boyfriend put us on a website run by my father for the world to see. And I guess it will be there forever. Maybe our grandchildren will watch. What were you thinking?”
There was silence.
“The point is,” David said, talking faster and tapping his finger on the table, “I don’t decide what my company does. But you can decide what you do. Callie, how do you think your mother would feel, if she knew? What do you have to say?”
“Mr. Sawyer—” Alex started.
“I’m not talking to you.” David paused. “For all I care, you can go. In fact, you should probably leave.”
Callie held out both hands. “No. Wait.” She turned to Alex. “I can’t believe that you did that without telling me.” He lowered his head. Then she took a deep breath and faced her father. “I’m not a little girl any more—I guess that’s obvious. I didn’t know about the video, and I’m sorry that Alex did it and that you saw it. But, yes, I’m the one who participated. That was my choice. I love Alex, and he loves me. We plan to get married after school. So don’t talk to him like that.”
“What?”
She straightened. “Yes, we love each other.” She took Alex’s hand.
“He hasn’t got a job, he puts you on the internet for kicks, and you want to marry him? In my parents’ day you would both be dead. Or worse.”
She moved closer to Alex, who was still focused on the floor, and said, “Well, it’s not your parents’ day, and we’re not in Iran. How would your parents feel about your great website?”
Sawyer lowered his voice. “Alex, I think you’d better leave. I want to talk with Callie alone.”
She squeezed his hand. “No. Alex lives here. He can stay.”
“He lives here?”
“Yes, with me.”
Alex started “Callie, I think I should—”
“You’re staying. Anything Dad wants to say to me, he can say to both of us.”
Silence. Alex looked at Callie, who was returning her father’s stare.
Finally David asked, “Callie, what are you doing?”
“Nothing. I love you and mom. But I’ve grown up.”
“This isn’t growing up. This is making bad decisions.” Silence again. “Do you think I should continue to send money so that you can keep this piece of crap in your bedroom?”
Now Callie leaned forward. “Alex is a good man. He was an A student. He’s very talented. It was my decision for him to live here. He’s just had some bad luck.”
“Looks to me like he’s fallen into some very good luck. Alex, are you proud of this?”
“I…”
When Alex didn’t answer, David took a deep breath. “That’s what I thought. Well, I tell you what. Since you two are so in love, I think that you should figure out how to support each other with that love. Callie, either Alex leaves now and never comes back, or I’m not going to send another dime to pay for anything. No school, apartment, or anything. You can’t live like a married couple when you’re not married, on me.”
“So I have to choose between my father and my fiancé?”
“Fiancé?” Sawyer laughed. “When’s the wedding? Usually the father of the bride is let in on the details.”
Callie turned to Alex. “I know we can do it, somehow. I’ll work this summer, and I can probably graduate in three semesters. You can get a job, and then I’ll help you finish.”
He nodded.
Sawyer felt as if a hole were growing in his chest. “So you’re going to pick Alex and poverty over remaining our daughter?”
“It’s not my idea. It’s yours. I don’t want to choose.” He noticed a tear in the corner of her eye, but her back was straight.
“I can’t have our daughter living unmarried with a man, a man who has no money and no common sense. And you want me to support you?”
“That’s enough about Alex, Dad. You don’t know him.”
Sawyer rose. “I know enough. And I guess I know enough about all of this. Callie, we live by the consequences of our choices. You seem to be making yours. I can’t imagine what I’m going to tell your mother. Or your grandmother.” He shook his head and looked down as the two young people on the sofa stared back.
Then he turned and left.
Five minutes later he was still sitting in the car just down from Callie’s townhouse replaying everything that had just happened. Twice he almost went back inside to plead with Callie, the love of his life after Elizabeth. But he wasn’t going to beg. Clearly she was in the wrong. Then the couple came out and turned the other way, walking down the sidewalk hand in hand. He started the car and turned toward the hotel. Even though tomorrow was Saturday, he had a full day of visits scheduled to review several adult movie properties for USNet.
This is insane. My company has helped make our daughter into an amateur porn star, and now she’s left us..
7
SATURDAY, APRIL 16TH
Knox spent the weekend at his private compound, built into the side of a wooded hill on a lake far outside the city. Divorced for three decades with no children, Knox’s female companionship had consisted of a string of mistresses, the latest of whom he now kept in seclusion at his large home. And his company’s constantly revolving talent in California.
But he was pursuing a different passion this Saturday morning.
Concealed in one wing of the home, partially extending into the rock of the hill itself, was a prayer room. Only he had the key and the code to enter. He had spent an hour alone on his face, praying to Allah. Thus cleansed, he rose and walked through a doorway, swinging a heavy metal door shut behind him. The rustic wood paneling hid the lead lining that made this the most secure of all the places from which he could contact the rest of the world.
There were chairs for three people, and all of the usual USNet monitors and equipment. He slid into the chair in front of a unique video conference console. At the appointed time he typed in the numbers and letters from the next one-time code on the pad that he and his fellow believers had exchanged in Paris all those years ago. The
y had assembled in France at a secret summit called to write The Project, the blueprint for much of what had since occurred. And the code pads which they had exchanged were virtually unbreakable, since each page was used for only one transmission, and then discarded. A moment after accepting the code the screen came to life, and there, in Saudi Arabia, was Saeed Zeini.
Knox smiled and greeted his old friend in Arabic. “You don’t look a day older. Only broader.”
“May Allah be kind to you as well, Tarik,” Saeed replied.
Trevor had not heard his real name spoken by anyone in several years. “He is. He certainly is. How are you?”
“Well. We continue to use the information you send us to amass great wealth and advantage for his purpose. And to ‘encourage’ others to work with us.” He smiled. “Other than to see your face and hear your voice, for what purpose did you wish to speak today?”
Turning serious, Tarik—Trevor—said to his friend, “In line with our strategy in The Project, I think our imams, mullahs and politicians should adopt a conciliatory tone toward the West for several months. I hate these infidels more than you can imagine—I have to live here—and the Easter attack on the church and yesterday’s work at the English school were perfect in their messages. So now, as we agreed, we should reduce the violence for a while, and use other means to advance our cause. We will, of course, return to violence again when the opportunities are right. And we are working here to create such an opportunity later this year.”
“I understand, but occasionally we also have to remind our own people who the enemy is. And how we will defeat our enemies—even those ‘intellectuals’ who live among us. Like the ones we crushed a week ago in Iran.”
“Yes, but not so powerfully that we provoke the enemy to act against us. Look at France. Sharia Law is now ruling in many areas, and the authorities are afraid to question us. In England there are more mosques than churches. In America we are using ‘one man-one vote’ to elect our believers in all the large cities. Soon we will have whole towns and several cities’ districts where we are the majority of those who vote. And their own educators and media are using ‘separation of church and state’ to rewrite their history and question their own beliefs. I tell you, Saeed, in just a few years we will control Europe, challenge the Church of England, and rewrite the laws in at least five states to Allah’s principles. Just using their own weaknesses against them. I’m here; I know. We will control Europe in one generation, and America in two. Then we can eliminate anyone who disagrees with Allah’s truth, wherever they live.”
“These are indeed great advances, Tarik, and the funds that Allah and you provide have helped in many ways to accomplish them. Right in line with The Project’s goals. But we must keep our own people aware, especially the young. The seduction of the West is powerful. Look at Egypt, Libya, and Iraq. We must whip up hate against the Great Satan to keep them from straying. And continued attacks in America and Europe remind them of the consequences they face if they oppose us.”
“Yes. But right now we should pull back for a short time. Some here are starting to realize that Islam is on the rise, as if that were not Allah’s plan. They are moving to put Jewish and Christian precepts back into education and even their laws. We have made such progress, and so many non-believers are doing our work for us that I don’t want too much violence to awaken our enemy. Next week we have the special election in Tampa, which we’ve been supporting, for example.”
“I understand. I will speak with the others.”
“Thank you. Tell them to reduce the attacks for only a few months, and then we will strike again. In fact, I think it is time to rid the world of this female Crusader President. We will talk more about that soon. But for now Allah is delivering our enemies into our hands while they sleep and watch videos.”
“I will do as you say”
“Allah is great,” Trevor concluded.
That Monday the USNet real estate team was assembled at the home office. After arriving from the West Coast at 5:45 am with three hours sleep, David had driven home, showered, said hello to Elizabeth and Rob, gulped a quick breakfast, and then headed to the office. He made no mention of his meeting with Callie.
“Hey,” Kristen said from his office doorway at 8:45, her computer bag over her shoulder.
He smiled. “Hey yourself. I guess I shouldn’t feel so bad. I only came from L.A.”
“Tell me about it. I actually made it to the ballgame yesterday. Good thing it was a blow-out. I took Terrell Myers from Glenn and Ashworth, and I kept nodding off in the sun and apologizing for falling asleep on his shoulder.”
“Sounds exciting.”
“Strictly business. Anything to further USNet’s relationship with our lead lawyers.”
“Your sacrifice is noted.”
“See you at ten.”
Kristen walked to her office, deposited her bag on the chair, and headed for coffee. After catching up with her colleagues, she returned to her desk and checked her inbox. Full. She quickly went through it, looking for the rare important or personal letter in the midst of all the junk.
She was reviewing the week’s to-do list, which she had created on her handheld during the long flight east, when her phone rang.
“Ms. Holloway, hey, this is Davis from USNet News downstairs. There’s a piece that just came in on the wire from New York. Some group called Truth in Politics. Never heard of ‘em, actually. But, like, hey, anyway, this piece says that Janet Sullivan—you know, the Congresswoman—like, that her husband had an affair a few years ago. And, anyway, I’m calling because it says they have recordings of calls between her husband and this other woman, and it’s someone named Kristen Holloway. Isn’t that weird? I’m just calling to give you a head’s up that you may get some crazy calls today.”
“Thanks, Davis. Thank you very much.”
“No sweat. Be interesting to know who the real Kristen Holloway is.”
“Yes. Yes, it will. Thank you.” She hung up.
As soon as she did, the phone rang again. She almost didn’t answer, but she noted the area code on the digital read-out and picked it up.
A familiar voice. “Kristen?”
“Yes, Richard.”
“I’m glad I caught you. You’ve been traveling, and I wanted you to know that guy called again. I told him that my wife already knew about the issue, so there was no one to blackmail. He didn’t seem to care. I don’t know if these people will really do anything, but I wanted you to know.”
“They’ve already done it.”
“What?”
“They’ve just issued a press release in New York. The news desk downstairs just called to warn me about someone with my name in the story. It shouldn’t take long for your phone to start ringing, or for them to figure out that I’m the other woman.”
“I’m sorry.”
Kristen closed her eyes. “Richard, surely, given that there can be no blackmail, this will blow over.”
“I hope so. Janet may have to issue a press release…just a minute.” There was a long silence, then he came back. “Kristen, I’m sorry. The phones have lit up here at the office, and my assistant needs help.”
“It’s hard to believe this is happening. Call me when you know more.”
“Thanks, Kristen.”
She hung up, then whispered a prayer for wisdom and strength.
On the other side of the real estate group, Todd Phelps was going through the same boot-up process in his somewhat smaller office. While waiting for his email to appear, he quietly closed his door and pulled out his cell phone, dialing a number on the Isle of Man that he had been given the previous Thursday, along with his initial account information and passwords.
“Mr. Blevin, good afternoon. It’s Todd Phelps.”
“Oh, hello Mr. Phelps,” came a cheerful reply with a British accent.
After an exchange of pleasantries, Phelps gave the required passwords in the proper sequence for that day of the month. Satisfied, Mr. B
levin said, “The delivery that you expected has been satisfactorily received.”
$125,000. Thank you, Mike. No strings. No taxes. And only the first half.
“Thank you, Mr. Blevin. I’ll be back in touch in a few weeks with additional instructions.”
“Very well, sir. Have a fine week.”
“I certainly will. Thank you.” He smiled.
A new day is starting for us. Mary is going to be very happy.
As he walked to their conference room, David nodded into the offices of several members of his group as they finished up early Monday phone calls. They gathered and took places in no particular order, except that David sat at the head of the long mahogany table nearest the credenza on which were the coffee service and two boxes of bagels and doughnuts. The latter were a tradition from David’s earliest days in the industry. The men were in shirtsleeves. Everyone had notepads. The view, as usual in good weather, was filled with real estate.
“Good morning. We’re obviously handling a lot of projects right now, so let’s help each other—brainstorming and questions are, as usual, more than welcome. But we’ve also got to move along or we’ll be here until lunch. Kristen, would you like to start?”
Kristen reported on her trip to Singapore and Seoul, where she found reasonable replacement space for their aborted Hong Kong office. Then she turned to Capital Tower. “I spoke with Bill Porter as I was leaving Singapore, and he said we can expect the owners’ decision this week. As you know, we bid significantly more than the asking price, so we certainly should get it.”
Kristen then went on to her other projects, and she was followed by her colleagues. When it was Todd Phelps’s turn, he described their progress on the successful sale of a surplus warehouse in south Texas, and on an industrial lease in New Jersey.
“In Minneapolis, our evaluation of the proposals offered by Brookglen and Overlook is almost complete. While they are close, it looks like Brookglen is offering us a better product and a better rate. We’ll be making the decision next week.”
Enemy In the Room Page 7
