Enemy In the Room

by Parker Hudson

  Todd turned off the ignition and surveyed the gleaming new vehicles in the showroom window in front of them. “I’ve got some bonuses coming on deals we’ll be closing.” He opened his door and moved to help her with the toddlers. “We’ll put half down and finance the rest. No problem. Wouldn’t you like to have a new one? It’ll be much safer.”

  Hoisting one son to her hip, Mary said, “Of course. But I just don’t want us to go any further into debt. It worries me, Todd.”

  “No sweat,” he smiled. “Let me worry about our finances. You just choose the one you want.”

  Closing the door, she responded, “OK. But let’s be careful.”

  Sounding confident, he replied, “We will.”

  Alex insisted that they have dinner at their favorite neighborhood Chinese restaurant, which Callie knew they could not afford, but he said that he had big news for her. Because they were underage, they each took a pill and had a drink of tequila—Alex had two—before walking to the restaurant.

  They arrived early and found a table in the back, away from the families with children near the fountains in the front. After they ordered she turned to him, feeling the effects of their “hors d’oeurves”. “So, what’s the news? Did you get a job?”

  He smiled and faintly shook his head, looking directly at her. “Not exactly. But close. I have a quick and easy way to make two thousand dollars.”

  “Two thousand dollars! That’s a lot of money. What do you have to do? It better be legal!”

  “Not just me. Us. That video that we made. It actually won an award for the best amateur couples video last month. You were voted the most beautiful new talent by over a hundred thousand viewers! A producer saw it and sent me an email. We videocalled yesterday, and he has offered us two thousand dollars to make another thirty-minute video. It can be just like the first. Just us. No cameramen or anything.” As he watched her face, he talked faster. “They’ll give us three cameras to set up at different angles, and then it’s just us. A little more light, probably. But just us. It’s a paid acting job, which is better than being in a production at school. And two thousand in cash for thirty minutes. Isn’t that incredible?”

  She stared at him, trying to process all that he was saying.

  He took her hand and smiled. “No one will ever know who we really are. We can make up names. There will be no connection to our real lives.”

  “We’ll be making a porn movie.” She couldn’t help smiling.

  “So what? Like, we’ve already made one. Well, I did, but you’re in it. Apparently we’re pretty good actors. You certainly are. Porn is strong now—a huge following. Lots of actors and actresses do it. With one already out there, what difference does it make if we do another? No one we know has connected it to us, and this won’t be any different. And even if they do, it’s actually sort of cool.”

  “Well my dad and his friend connected the last one to me. And I didn’t even know about it.”

  “I should have told you in advance, but I thought you’d say no. Anyway, this is a paying job. And as for your dad”—he shrugged—“he’s already disowned you. He doesn’t care a thing about you. He told us to make it on our own, and this way we’ll be doing exactly what he said. And think what we can do with that money. How long would you have to work at your uncle’s office to make two thousand dollars?”

  “Would we be, like, again, in our own bedroom?”

  “Probably. Or maybe a hotel. I’m not sure. But it will just be us. Very natural.” He smiled.

  She shook her head a little but continued to smile. “That is a lot of money, and we could really use it. Two thousand?”

  “Yes. For thirty minutes.”

  “Crazy.”

  The waitress brought their soups and egg rolls.

  He picked up a spoon and waited.

  “I’ll think about it,” she finally said.

  He nodded, filled his spoon, and took a sip.

  David spent much of Saturday in his study, continuing to work through the pile of papers that had to be finished. That night they attended the wedding of the daughter of Elizabeth’s college roommate. David could only think about Callie and Alex. Sunday morning they slept late. Over brunch they debated how much of the internet was enough for Rob. Elizabeth wanted to unplug it completely, while David wanted to limit their son’s time on the computer. Elizabeth asked how it would be possible to enforce with all the equipment in his room. They debated moving a simplified system, minus the virtual reality gear, to their den, to encourage “legitimate” uses of the web.

  After supper on Sunday evening David sat in his study, preparing for the week ahead. His immediate thoughts were about Elizabeth. She was, rightly, pushing to intervene in Rob’s life, as he had done in Callie’s.

  He laid aside the summary report on their Moscow opportunities.

  We’ve given them everything. There must be an answer. Are there counselors who deal with what we’re going through? How would I find one we could trust? Not some psycho who blames everything on the parents, or some “born again” Christian who thinks a baptism will fix anything. I’ve got to help them, and I will.

  11

  MONDAY, APRIL 25TH

  As was his custom, retired General Yevgany Beleborodov was up early that Monday morning in Moscow, finishing his breakfast with his wife, before his driver took him to the offices of NovySvet. He did not expect his cell phone to ring, but was pleased to hear the voice of Simon North, calling from London, where it was even earlier. He stood up and walked into their bedroom.

  “My dear General,” the Englishman began, “our employers want to know if we would each like to earn an extra million dollars this month.”

  The Russian smiled. “I’m sure about my vote.”

  “Yes, well, it’s unanimous then. Do you know anyone in Arzamas-23?”

  “Of course. Many old friends. The ‘closed’ city is the center for military research in several fields. And manufacturing of weapons systems.”

  “There’s a slightly complex situation involving three prototypes of the new GoFor cruise missile that they want us to help with. If it becomes necessary, do you have access to any ‘muscle’?”

  The older man was silent for a moment. “Actually, I still have many friends at all levels in the active military. As you may have guessed from our conversations, I and my friends are not exactly happy with our nation’s current weak president, and the direction in which he is taking us. There are many of us who long for the old, powerful Russia, restored to the greatness that we deserve. We meet and we talk. We may even have some organizations of our own. And so, yes, I believe that I can arrange some ‘muscle’, as you put it. And it will be easy to do so in Arzamas-23, with many military bases nearby.”

  “Very good. Then I expect to call you again later today.”

  “We will do whatever we can. I’ll await your details.”

  Kristen was plugging in her laptop when David arrived at her door.

  She looked up. “Hi.” She inserted the cord and straightened up. “Long time no see. I ought to take a day off more often. After the quick trip to D.C. to look at space on Thursday, sleeping in on Friday morning was just incredible.”

  He returned her smile, noting how refreshed she looked, and then thought of Trevor’s order. His expression quickly changed. “I want to hear all about it, but right now I want you to hear a voicemail that Bill Porter left on my phone last night. He’s not a happy camper.”

  “Why?”

  ”You’ll hear for yourself.” She followed him to his office and took a chair. He sat at his desk and accessed his voicemail.

  “Listen, David,” came the angry voice, “I’ve been in this business a long time, and no one has ever threatened me like you have! You’re mad that I did a great job for my client on Capital Tower. So now you’re threatening me, trying to get your way, and I really don’t like it. Just because you’re a giant corporation doesn’t give you the right to push around a little guy like me. I
got the best price for our client, and that’s how America works. You can’t threaten me and my family over a business deal. It won’t work. So back off, or I’ll call my attorney.”

  There was a long moment of silence. David looked at Kristen. “Welcome back.”

  Kristen asked, “Who would threaten him over a building?”

  “I don’t know. We certainly didn’t. I’ve never heard of anything like that. At least not here in the States. Maybe overseas.”

  “Or the U.S. Congress. Remember what just happened to the Sullivans—and to me.”

  “I hadn’t thought about that. You’re right.”

  Rising, she added, “There is a lot of money involved, David. I can see how someone could be really mad at Mr. Porter.”

  “And the fact that there appears no way for the legal process to intervene. I guess that might anger one of the other bidders.”

  “But who?” Kristen started for the door.

  David shrugged. “Hopefully Bill will sort it out. Kristen, wait a minute. Let’s talk. Close the door, please.”

  She did as he asked and took her chair again.

  “Kristen, look, I’m glad you’re back, but I hadn’t planned on Porter’s call to be our first conversation.”

  She continued to look at him, waiting.

  “We’ve obviously got a lot to go over. I want to hear about the office space in D.C., catch up on the Far East, and brief you before I leave for Moscow. But right now I just want to ask you to cool it when it comes to remarks about Knox, or the Media Bill, or any of that stuff.”

  She looked both surprised and relieved, then asked, “Why? Can’t I have opinions?”

  “Sure. Of course. I mean in public. Like the interview you did with that reporter. You know that Knox doesn’t like it when employees contradict him.”

  She gave an expression of disbelief. “But I’m only a lowly real estate exec. I think I said so. Way down the USNet food chain. The reporter asked my opinion, and I gave it. David, do you think we ought to be making porn films at USNet? Does that give you a sense of pride in our company?”

  He looked away and paused.

  “Kristen,” he spoke slowly, “have all the opinions you want. Tell them to your friends. Tell me. But please don’t talk to any more reporters about them. OK?”

  She continued to look at him. “Is this message from Knox?”

  “This message is from me.”

  More silence. Finally, she said, “Well, for the moment I’ll agree. But I may want to talk with you about it once I think a bit. I doubt I’ll have too many reporters calling me again, anyway.” She smiled.

  He returned her smile. “Thank you.” He rose. “Now, we both have a lot to do.”

  She stood. As they moved to the door and he opened it for her, she asked, “Is there anything we ought to do about Porter?”

  “I can’t think of anything.”

  “Me either. Maybe call Terrell Myers and tell him?”

  “Sure. See you at our meeting after lunch. I hope you’re able to dig out.”

  Elizabeth Sawyer finished her sandwich. She had nibbled on it for an hour while sitting in their family room making calls for the upcoming tenth grade spring dance. The thought of a high school dance seemed soothingly “normal,” compared to the daily reality that caused her stomach to churn whenever she thought about their children, which was several times every hour.

  She had asked David to take some action on Rob. But so far, other than to talk briefly with her, he had done nothing. If he isn’t going to do anything about Rob, I’m not going to ostracize Callie. Elizabeth put down the student directory, picked up her personal phone book and dialed.

  “Hello.”

  “Callie? Were you asleep?”

  “Huh? Oh…Hi, Mom…Yeah…uh…try-outs this week. I studied late.”

  “I’m sorry, honey. It’s just good to hear you. How are you?”

  “Um, I’m fine. Fine. How are you?”

  “We’re OK. Just calling around to the parents about Rob’s spring dance in early May. How are your classes?”

  “They’re good. Like I said, auditions are coming up.”

  “Callie, Dad told me about Alex and that you’re living together.”

  Silence. Then, “Yes, we are. We love each other.”

  “Enough to get married?”

  “Mom, we’re not ready for that yet. People today don’t have to get married to live together. Dad acts like it’s something awful. Everyone does it.”

  Silence. Then, “Your father is still pretty traditional, and I guess I am, too. We just want the best for you, Callie, and besides the obvious issue of having a baby, Dad says that Alex has no job and no money. How are you going to support yourselves?”

  “You mean now that Dad has cut us off ?”

  “I think he would say that he never intended to support ‘us’. Only you.”

  “Whatever. We’ll do it somehow.”

  “He didn’t want me to call you for a while, but I’m not going to stop talking to you over any issue.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  “And I’ll try to send some money.”

  “No, don’t cross Dad like that. We’ll figure it out. We’re already talking about some ways to make extra money. In fact, Uncle Rezza is going to let me work part time at his office, and Yusef is going to teach me about selling homes.”

  “OK. Good. I may not mention that quite yet to your father. Now, tell me more about Alex.”

  Victor Mustafin was on duty that afternoon, and he had never seen his employer so angry. Following his prayers, Knox had been exercising in the private gym in his office when Mustafin paged him from his duty station. Knox had immediately called from the gym’s video panel, and Mustafin had told him about the House vote an hour earlier to approve President Harper’s media bill Turning red, Knox yelled into the screen on the wall of his gym, “Find Akbar and get us all on a videoconference together.”

  Thirty minutes later the two RTI specialists were on split screens on the videoconference set in Knox’s conference room; he still wore his gym clothes and carried a towel around his neck.

  “You said that our unique assets could stop this pseudo-Christian morality crap,” he said quietly, looking from one to the other. “And that we could then use the same approach on future votes.”

  Akbar Kamali finally replied. “We applied pressure wherever we could, plus the usual media spins through our people. In many cases it worked. In a few it didn’t. It was a close vote, Mr. Knox.”

  “And in some cases it backfired completely, like that Congresswoman Sullivan.”

  The two lieutenants nodded and waited. Knox leaned forward toward them.

  “Can we stop them in the Senate?”

  Mustafin took his turn. “Probably not. We can hope for some amendments from our friends to water it down, but in general the Senate is pretty conservative on social issues.”

  Knox stood and walked over to the window, then returned to stand next to the table, glaring at his subordinates on the screen. “I will not let these self-proclaimed saviors stop what we’ve spent years building. Americans want this stuff. It all comes from allowing their women to live with no modesty, and to mix with men every day. They want to experience sex and violence and everything else we give them. Their teenagers love it. We’ve had free access to them for years—right in their homes—pushing all this. And it’s working. Of course it ruins families! That’s exactly what we want to happen. It’s also very profitable. Only now President Harper wants to take it away. We cannot let her!”

  He paused, then continued, his right index finger tapping on the table as he spoke. “They think they’re God’s Christian Crusaders for America. Today it’s movies and television. Next they’ll push their agenda back into education. Then even politics and government. Soon they’ll be trying to export their ideas to other countries, like this new President Temirov in Russia. Those two are talking about having a summit this summer, and the first item on th
e agenda is supposed to be how to improve morality in both countries. Can you believe that?” Again he paused. “We cannot let this happen!” They waited.

  Finally he sat down, looked at each man, and then asked, almost in a whisper, “I was going to ask this at our next meeting, but instead I’ll say it today—is there any way to get rid of President Harper?”

  Kamali and Mustafin were silent, absorbing the full meaning of Knox’s question.

  “She’s a throwback Crusader, an infidel, and a woman. Think how much more effective our work will be if she is gone and the country is confused and on edge. The vice president is weak, and if we can somehow get rid of him, too, imagine the Speaker as President! There will be political chaos—fertile ground for more attacks. I’m asking you again, is there any way to get rid of President Harper—and soon?”

  “There must be, of course.” Mustafin answered vaguely. “She is so well guarded, though.”

  “I know. But isn’t the Secret Service mostly looking for a gunman or a sniper or a car bomb?”

  “Yes,” Kamali replied.

  “And with all of our technology, isn’t there some way—or ways—to go around what they’re looking for and take her out? I mean poisons, or lasers, or robots, or missiles?”

  Warming to the question, Kamali responded, “Yes, I’m sure there is. We’ve just never thought about it.”

  “Well, start,” Knox snapped, leaning back in his chair. “What about one of Salim’s Stinger missile martyrs from the Army, firing at Air Force One when it takes off ?”

  “Unlike commercial airliners, Air Force One has flares that may throw off a heat seeking missile.”

  “How would NovySvet’s new technology work on Air Force One?”

  “In a year or two. It’s not yet perfected against fast moving targets.”

  “We can’t wait that long. Take the time you need to get it right. Figure out a plan or plans. If you have to involve anyone else, obviously mask the real objective. Get back to me. And it should not only be foolproof, but untraceable, of course.”