She had declined any comment to Sam Bartholomew, one of USNet’s on-the-air reporters, who had interviewed a Ms. Amanda Martin-Davis of the group Truth In Politics. The interview, slotted for the second segment of the Noon News, was just beginning, and Kristen was watching on her computer.
“As you know,” Ms. Martin-Davis began on screen, “Truth In Politics, as a public service, searches out untruths and hypocrisy in the public square. Over the weekend one of our supporters sent us tape recordings captured from several cell phone conversations between Janet Sullivan’s husband, Richard, and another woman, which clearly shows that they were having an affair. This from the husband of a woman who pushes ‘family values’”—Martin-Davis made quotation marks with her fingers—“and wants the rest of us to live by her own narrow definition of morality.”
The camera came back to Sam Bartholomew. “We have a portion of one cell phone conversation.” Kristen felt her stomach tighten. As the audio played, the transcribed words were simultaneously printed on the screen over a still picture of Richard Sullivan appearing to be leaving a church with his wife, a Bible in his hand.
“Richard, how did you like lunch today?”
In her office, Kristen gasped at the sound of her own voice, all those years ago.
“It was awesome.” He laughed.
“What about the new sheets?”
“All the better for the main course.”
She laughed. “Do you have to go back to the office?”
“Hey, I just left your parking deck. Give a guy some time to regroup.”
“All right. But what about Thursday? And when are you going to tell Janet that you’re through?”
“Thursday is definite. You know the other is more difficult. We’ll talk about it then.”
“All right. But I hate sharing you.”
As she listened to the tape, tears flowed down Kristen’s cheeks. She blotted them with her handkerchief, trying not to smear her make-up.
“OK. We’ll talk. So, go sell some real estate, and I’ll see you in two days.”
“Bye. I love you.”
“See you then.”
The camera came back to Ms. Martin-Davis. “As you can hear, we think it is ridiculous for Janet Sullivan, or anyone else in Congress for that matter, to be telling the American people how they ought to live their lives.”
“Ms. Martin-Davis,” said Sam from a small insert superimposed next to her, “how exactly did you come by this tape? Is it recent?”
“Our supporter is a technical person who has apparently been scanning cell channels for years and only recently realized what he had. And, no, it’s from several years ago. But that doesn’t make any difference since Sullivan, President Harper and others are trying to tell us that there are ‘eternal truths’ on how to behave.”
“USNet has, by the way,” said the reporter, “matched the voice print to be that of Richard Sullivan, a well-known attorney, and we’ve tried today to contact him and Congresswoman Sullivan. Neither has yet responded to our calls. We should also say that the woman on this and other tapes released today by Truth In Politics is Ms. Kristen Holloway, who, ironically, now works in the real estate group here at USNet. Thank you Ms. Martin-Davis.”
As the news program cut to a commercial, Kristen moved the mouse on her desk and closed her computer. She sat alone for several minutes. Everyone in the department and everyone I know will have seen that report, or its repeats during the afternoon. And my dad. I’ve tried to do everything so differently since those days. She closed her eyes, the tears coming again. She wanted to talk with Richard but knew that she should not initiate the call. She prayed for strength and wisdom.
Todd Phelps had just finished watching the same interview in his office when his phone rang.
“Hey, Todd, it’s Mike. What’s up?”
Todd smiled. “Not much.”
“Say, do you know this Kristen Holloway woman, the one that’s been sleeping with the Congresswoman’s husband?”
“Well, yeah. Sure. She’s right here in our department.”
“Really? Hey, what’s she like? Have you been getting any?”
Todd shook his head. “No. No. She’s good looking, even hot. But I mean, you would never have imagined if you knew her. Never.”
“Really? Well, bring her up to Minneapolis on your next inspection, and we’ll see about it. Don’t hide assets like that from your friends!”
He smiled again. “OK. But, I promise, Kristen is not what you’d think from that story. It might be nice if she were.”
“Well, listen, did you get the package we sent to the islands?”
“Yes, thank you. It arrived in good shape.”
“Everything all right?”
“Yes, as far as I can tell. But, listen, what about the overruns in Chicago on that project you did for Data Plus?”
“Not our fault. The city issued the drainage permits and then revoked them for three months to study the site again. In the end they didn’t change a thing. Insane. We couldn’t help it.”
“Well, just be sure this one goes OK.”
“It will. No sweat. Hey, we’ll see you soon. And give that Kristen a squeeze from all of us.”
Kristen checked her face in the compact a final time, then opened the door of her office. Her assistant, Trish, looked up from her work station and smiled. She stood and hugged her boss. Kristen whispered, “Thank you.” As she backed away, Trish handed her a fistful of message slips.
“I figure you need something to do.” Trish smiled.
Kristen felt that everyone in the office was looking at her, but she took a deep breath, nodded to Trish, and started toward David’s office. As she walked, she leafed through the stack in her hand and noticed a message from Bill Porter.
She knocked on David’s open door. He looked up. “Can I buy you a sandwich?” she asked.
“How about a drink?” he replied. They both smiled. “Actually, I have to meet a broker at Foster’s with a possible tenant for our Channing Green space. But thanks. I saw the interview. I’m sorry, particularly for the tape and all of that personal stuff. It was tough.”
She looked down. “Yes, it was. I saw it, too. But, like I said, we don’t often think through what we’re doing, especially when we’re told that if it feels good we should do it. They leave out the consequences part.”
“Kristen, you’re one of the best people and best real estate executives I’ve ever known. I’m sure this will blow over.”
She nodded. “Thanks. I feel like I’ve let everyone down.”
“We’ll make it.” He paused. “I’ve got a phone slip from Bill Porter. I hope it’s about Capital Tower and not this mess. Shall we call him?”
“Yes.” He moved the phone. Standing in front of the desk, Kristen pushed the button for the speaker and dialed the number.
Porter came on the line and, after some pleasantries with Sawyer, Porter said, “David, I don’t enjoy telling you this, but your offer was not the highest. It was beaten by another buyer.”
Kristen had been silent while the two men talked, but now her eyes narrowed, and she slowly shook her head. “Bill, this is Kristen. Listening to you, it just doesn’t make sense. Do you or your firm have any connection to the winning bid?”
“The money is foreign.”
“Fine. But do you or your firm have any connection to the buyer?”
“Kristen, I can’t tell you who the buyer is. I signed a non-disclosure agreement.”
“I’m not asking you to tell us who the buyer is. We just want you to confirm who the buyer isn’t.”
“I can’t say.”
“Sure you can. Just confirm that it’s not you. If you don’t, then we must assume that you are either the buyer or part of the buying group.”
“Assume what you want. We have several subsidiaries under our umbrella here. One is in development. I just can’t say.”
Rising from his seat and leaning over the speaker phone, David injected, “But,
Bill, you are the marketing agent. You saw all the offers, including ours. You could simply bid more. That is clearly unethical.”
“Even if what you say were true, my job is to get the best price for the seller.”
Kristen added, “But not by misrepresenting your role as both an agent and principal.”
“Think what you want, Kristen. I’m not saying anything more until after the due diligence period.”
“Bill, if this is true, we will be really upset. And I’m sure it’s illegal, too.”
“Hey, looking at this morning’s news, you’re in no position to judge anyone.”
Kristen turned in her chair and looked out the window.
David spoke. “That has nothing to do with this. Bill, one last time, are you the buyer or part of the buying group?”
“No comment.”
“Then we’ll have to alert our attorney.”
“Go ahead, Sawyer. I’ve got nothing to hide. I did the best possible for my client. Sue me if that’s what you want.”
“It’s not what I want. But I also want to know that the broker with whom I’m negotiating all the details of my offer is not also a competitor.”
“Get a life. This is business.”
“Thanks, Bill. You’ve clearly been a great help.”
“Go to hell, Sawyer. Sorry, Kristen. Good luck to both of you.” The line went dead.
Kristen, still facing away, said in a whisper, “It’s been a great morning.” She turned to him. “I’ve always said that Bill doesn’t miss any chance to look out for Bill. I hate to be cheated out of that building.”
“I’ll call Terrell at Glenn and Ashworth and tell him what we think has happened. Hopefully he can propose a solution.”
“That combination is so perfect for our headquarters. It was a great idea, David. I’m sorry if I botched it.”
“You didn’t botch it, Kristen. As you said, it looks like Porter literally stole it from us by bidding more than we did, once he knew our offer.”
“Well, on that note I’ll have a sandwich with Todd and some of the guys”
“I’ll find out what we can do about Porter. Now I’ve got to update Knox and Burke on all of this.”
“Thanks, David.”
Pavel Sivyakov had been sitting at the kitchen table in their one bedroom apartment in Arzamas 23, a “closed city” 500 km southwest of Moscow, for almost thirty minutes. His wife and baby daughter were asleep. He nervously strummed the table and sipped his beer. The caller was late.
When his cell phone rang, he jumped. The caller did not introduce himself, but said, “I understand that you have a special product for sale.”
Pavel started to speak, turned the phone away, cleared his voice, and began again. “Yes. Three GoFor prototypes. They are copies of the American Tomahawk Block IV cruise missile. Plus one mobile ground launcher which carries all of them.”
“What is the range?”
“1,800 kilometers.”
“How did you acquire them?”
“I work at the factory where we make them, and these were declared ‘defective’ by my friend and supervisor, Dmitri. We were supposed to destroy them, and the paperwork says that we did.”
“But they are operational?”
“They are perfect.”
“How much?”
“Five million dollars, including the launcher. Cash”
“We’ll take them.”
Pavel smiled for the first time. “How shall we do it?”
“Where are they?”
“In the launcher. In a warehouse. We have welded sides to the launcher to disguise it as a long-haul lorry. It looks just like a thousand other trucks.”
“OK. I will call you back at the same time tomorrow.”
“Good.”
The line went dead. Pavel took a pull on his beer, then opened the refrigerator to get another.
Less than a minute later, their conversation came up on an RTI screen.
Callie unlocked their apartment door and was surprised to see it as she had left it that morning. She put her book bag and laptop on the breakfast room table and went upstairs to their bedroom. Alex was still in bed.
“You had an interview this morning,” she said in a loud voice, shaking his foot.
“What? Oh.” He pulled the pillow from over his head and rolled over. “I must have gone back to sleep.”
“Great. How are we going to make it if you don’t get a job?”
He propped up on one elbow, looked at the clock, and rubbed his face. “I’m sorry. I’ll call’em.”
She sat on the bed, looking out the window. “I was coming home to tell you that my Uncle Reza said that I could work ten hours a week in his real estate office. He’s always seemed kind of stern and mean, actually, but if he’ll give me a job, I’ll take it. They’ll pay me to do filing and help organize stuff on their system. His son, Yusef—we used to call him Joseph, but he changed it—is a few years older than me. He’s been back from the Army a couple of years, and doing pretty well in the business. My uncle said that I can shadow Yusef one day a week and learn all about residential real estate.” She turned to him. “I figure in California, that’s a good business to be in.”
“Yeah. That’s great.”
“But I can’t go to school full time and work at my uncle’s office while you do nothing. Since you’re not in school now, Alex, you’ve got to get a job.”
“I know. I will. I’ll call them in a few minutes.”
“And we really don’t have the money to buy booze and pills.”
“They’re not much, and they make us feel good.” He picked up a pill bottle from the table and shook it, moving towards her. “You like them as much as I do.”
She smiled but moved away. “Not now. Maybe on the weekends. But first we have to pay the rent.”
“We will. Don’t worry. We will. And I’ve got a plan to get some money.”
“What is it?”
“Give me a couple of days.”
She turned her head slightly. “It better be legal.”
He nodded. “It is. Trust me. A couple of days.”
After lunch David had finished his report on the Los Angeles studios and gave Paul Burke an impromptu briefing on the project, as well as on Kristen’s situation and Bill Porter’s seeming theft of their purchase. Burke concurred that they should seek legal advice.
Other than a gulped breakfast that morning, David had not seen Elizabeth or Rob since the previous Tuesday, before his trip to Los Angeles, so he was glad to pack his laptop at five o’clock and head home early.
“Hi, again.” He smiled as he came in the kitchen door.
Elizabeth put the day’s mail on the center island and returned his smile. “Hi yourself. Do you live here?”
He stepped over and hugged her tightly. “I think so. At least I have some vague recollection. This time, though, I hope to spend a little more time. Maybe even chew my food.”
“Good, because we’re having steak on the grill. You’re cooking.”
He leaned back. “Sounds superb. Where’s Rob?”
She glanced upstairs and frowned. “Where else?”
“Did I ever tell you that you’re beautiful?”
“Only after long trips.”
‘Come on.” He smiled. “You know I’m better than that. You’re always beautiful.” He walked to the refrigerator. “How did Rob do on his European history test?”
“He barely passed. Don’t you think we should…?”
David raised his hand. “Yes, but later. Let me change clothes and start the grill. Then we can talk. OK?”
She smiled. “Sure.” Then her expression changed. “What is all this news about Kristen Holloway and some Congresswoman’s husband?”
“Soon,” he said, as he walked toward their bedroom.
Twenty minutes later they were seated next to each other on their outdoor patio, the spring evening inviting them outside with the fragrances of dogwood and azaleas, and a hint o
f warmer days to come. David had changed into khaki pants and a knit shirt.
“I had no idea when I left this morning that we would spend much of the day on Kristen’s affair with Richard Sullivan.”
David told Elizabeth as much as he knew about Kristen’s history. “How would you react to the news if you were Janet Sullivan?” he asked her.
“I’d probably kill Kristen. And of course my husband. Can wives get away with that in Iran today? Or would the next woman just move in as a younger wife, sort of a relief pitcher for the husband’s later innings?” Elizabeth smiled, and he grimaced.
“Maybe we should move over there and take up baseball. Sounds interesting.”
“No thanks. Team building has its limits, and I draw the line at the front door. Anyway,” she went on, turning serious, “it was those tapes they’re playing every hour on the news. It would be bad enough to find out that your husband had been having an affair, even years ago. But when I heard those taped conversations today, it was like ‘now’, you know? The two of them sounded so happy. That would really hurt.” She took a sip from her glass and set it down on the armrest of her chair. “Especially after all the things Janet Sullivan has said about morality and the family.”
David turned to his wife. “Kristen says that all three of them have changed. And that Janet forgave them several years ago.”
Elizabeth paused then said more slowly. “Is that possible? Do you think that people can really change?”
“I didn’t know her then, but she seems completely different from the voice on those tapes.”
“How does someone change that much?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. In Kristen’s case, I think it’s her faith.”
“Hmm. We don’t do much in that area, do we?”
David was silent.
“Sally Schofield at work invited me to a Bible study at her home next week,” she continued, “and I thought I might go. Just to get back in touch. I like some of the other women. What do you think?”
Enemy In the Room Page 9
