Almost to herself, she said, “I always wondered what that meant.” She moved toward him. “What about Callie?”
“I…I’m glad you saw her. I wish this had worked out differently. I don’t know what I’ll do now.”
“She’s a very angry and confused young woman, David. Angry at you.”
“I know.”
“You should go see her. Anyway, I’ve started something with her, and I’ll see her again if I go to L.A. while job hunting. Not for you, but for her.”
He tried to smile and took a half a step toward her. “That would be appreciated.” He held out his hand. She didn’t take it.
Instead, she turned. “We’ll see. I’ve got a lot to think about and a lot to do. Obviously none of this was on my USNet To-Do-List this morning.” She began walking toward his door.
“I know.”
She stopped and turned. “David, you were a great mentor and, I thought, a good man. But I don’t think a lot of you now. You can call the reporter who interviewed me and confirm I told her that my personal comments were off the record. And if Knox is pushing you, you should have the guts to quit. You’ve apparently sold out.”
“Kristen, I hate it. I just can’t leave. I’m sorry.”
“Sure. Have a nice day.” She opened the door and was met by a uniformed security person. As they turned to walk to her office, she looked at her boss.
Any words he might speak had been drained from him. He just watched her walk away. After Kristen left, Julie put her head through the door. “I’ve got all the papers for her to sign.”
“Fine. Please take them down to her office. Thanks.”
He turned and stared out the window. I just fired Kristen, one of the best people I’ve ever known or worked with. Can it get any worse?
21
FRIDAY, MAY 27TH
Late the same afternoon David was on the phone at his desk when Todd appeared at his door. He motioned him in. Todd walked over by the conference table but did not sit down. When he hung up, David said, “How does our space in Orlando look? Can we sublet some of it?”
“Sure. It’s fine. Look, I just got back, and I wanted to ask you about Kristen. She left?” His tone and facial expression indicated disbelief.
David put his hands on the desk. “Yes. She resigned this morning. Said she had other things to do.”
Todd stared at his boss for several heartbeats. “When I called in from the airport, I heard that she was gone. I couldn’t believe it, so I called her at home. She said the same thing, but I still can’t believe it.”
David leaned forward again. “Yes, well, it’s a dynamic market. Lots of opportunities. I just hope that you won’t quit! In fact, you’re now my senior exec, and I hope you can help take up the slack on some of Kristen’s projects. And, oh, there’s a raise and increased bonus that go along with the promotion to vice president.”
Todd smiled. “I do like the sound of that.”
“Starting with Capital Tower. It’s your project again. Julie has pulled together all of Kristen’s files. Whatever has happened to Bill Porter, whether he’s missing or whatever, I want you to follow up with the owners and find out what we have to do to buy it.”
Todd’s smile broadened. “Good. I’ll read the file and get back to you after I call them.”
“Move quickly. I imagine that they’re struggling with a decision, and I want to be there with the highest offer when they’re ready to move.”
“What else?”
“Here are the other properties I need you to take over. You and I are going to be working closely together, and hopefully we can add some more people shortly.”
There was a loud knock on the door that awakened both Omid and Morad from their chairs in the living room. Neither had shaved or showered for days, and the kitchen was full of trash.
As he pulled himself up, Omid heard boots running down the stairs.
The two men looked at each other, knowing that their arrest or a bomb might be next. Morad nodded.
Omid, his heart racing, moved to the door, unlocked and opened it.
No one was there. No policemen. No bomb. He looked over to the side, where there was a pile of clothes. A hand in the middle of the pile made him realize that he was looking at his wife.
“Morad!” He knelt quickly and rolled the pile over. Goli was dressed in a full burka, her face and hands bruised and scarred, her lips swollen. One eye was closed from a bruise, but the other tried to open.
Omid lifted her and carried her into the living room. Morad tossed his coat and some books off the sofa, and Omid lay her there. She groaned.
Kneeling beside her, he started to pull off the burka, then realized that she was naked.
He turned to Morad. “I will take her into the bedroom. Call her parents, and find out if a doctor is available to come now.”
Morad went into the bedroom and switched on a light by the bed, then withdrew, pulling out his cell phone.
Tenderly Omid lifted his wife and took her to their bed. As gently as possible he lowered her, but still she moaned as her left leg stretched out on the cover, its angle not natural.
He knelt again and whispered as he stroked her matted hair, “Goli, sweet Goli. You’re home. It’s going to be all right.”
She opened one eye partway, but both were filled with tears. She imperceptibly shook her head.
His own tears came, but he wiped them with his sleeve and kept stroking her hair. “What did they do to you?”
She continued to move her head slightly from side to side, her eye closed. Finally, her lips parted.
“Everything. They beat me. Omid…Omid.” She grimaced and she raised her hand to touch him. “They raped me. Many, many times. I…”
“Shh,” he whispered and lowered his head next to hers.
“They said. They said that unless you stop, they will kill you. And…and if you try to leave, they will kill both of us.”
“Shh. It’s going to be all right, my sweet Goli.”
She began to sob.
Todd had gone back to his office after meeting with David. He sat at his desk, but his mind was racing. New responsibilities here, as well as with RTI. But I really don’t want RTI to be listening to all that we’re doing. He frowned. What if I can get our team to cut down on cell phones and email, while I can listen to our competitors? Seems like that would give us a huge advantage in the market—and not bad for my career.
But how can I get us to cut down in some way that will never be traceable to me? Victor would not be happy if he knew I was mixing RTI with work.
Victor Mustafin was at the special room in the RTI center early the next morning, and Akbar Kamali joined him by video. The two were anonymously watching events in central Russia on their large screen.
“This time it will work.” General Beleborodov was standing next to Simon North on the observation post at the edge of the same broad valley. There were sounds of engines and heavy equipment moving in the distance. “With the added edge you’ve given us, there’s no reason to run a test. Of course the missile will find its target.”
North nodded in agreement. “This time we’re running one red car and five blue decoys very near and parallel to it as it stops and starts. We’ve put the USNet ID card in the back seat of the red car and dialed the mock employee’s ID number into the satellite guidance system over in the control room.” He motioned to his left, off camera. “The 4 C was launched a little while ago. Let’s take a look.”
The screen view was magnified as the camera zoomed down on the red target car moving along a broad open area, similar to a large square in a European city. The other cars were right around it. They heard Beleborodov start to say, “Here it—” when the red car was suddenly torn apart by the missile splitting its windshield.
After a moment of surveying the shredded car, the camera panned back to take in the two men, now smiling on the platform. “I think we can say that your suggestion worked,” said the general, beaming. “I just
wish our enemies in the old days had worn GPS locators!”
Mustafin switched off the feed from the valley and looked at Kamali on the split screen. He smiled. “That should work really well on the broad avenues of Moscow.”
Kamali nodded. “Or, better yet, coming through a window of the Kremlin to take out all the key people in both governments at the same time.”
“Hi, Callie. It’s Kristen. Sorry I missed you. I’ve unexpectedly got some time on my hands, and I’m going to visit my dad in Texas, and then some friends. I don’t want to be an imposition, but I’m planning to visit L.A. again after Memorial Day, on my way to San Francisco, and I’d love to see you. By the way, everyone says the clothes look great, especially the purplish dress I worried about. You were right! Anyway, let me know your schedule, so we can get together. I won’t be on the expense account, so please give me some recommendations on places to stay. Talk with you soon. Thanks. Bye.”
Bradley Fuller was President Harper’s domestic policy advisor, his office in the White House. Because Monday would be a holiday, early that Saturday afternoon he was sitting at his desk reviewing a synopsis of the latest legal maneuvers filed in several jurisdictions to thwart the administration’s Entertainment and Media Reform law. He was growing more frustrated with the unending legal logjam when his phone rang.
“Yes?”
“It’s Senator Bulloch, sir.”
Senator Joe Bulloch was from the other party, but was known in the capital as a thoughtful and honorable man. On many occasions he had sided with the President on social and moral issues, including the Entertainment Reform legislation, although he still tended to want to spend more than the Chief Executive. Fuller would certainly take his call.
“Hello, Senator. How are you today?”
“Fine, Bradley. Except for all the flack I catch in the backside for supporting the President on so many issues,” he quipped.
Fuller knew how important that support was, and how much the two elected officials thought of each other. With genuine sincerity, the advisor said, “Your support on those issues is very much appreciated, not only by the President, but also by the American people.”
“Maybe. I hope so. I’m just doing what I think is right. Anyway, I’m calling about a fellow from our state who hasn’t always seen eye to eye with the President but who wants to make amends.”
Fuller knew that there was always a reason for a call like this. “Really? Who is that, and how can I help?”
“Trevor Knox.”
Fuller almost interjected an immediate note of skepticism, but Senator Bulloch continued, “Trevor and I go way back, since before his uncle died. He called a little while ago and asked me to put forward an invitation to President Harper on his behalf.”
Fuller shifted in his chair and took out a pen. “We’ll be glad to listen, Senator, and to respond, of course.”
“Good. Trevor has heard rumors that the President is considering a trip to Moscow to visit President Temirov this summer, probably around the Fourth of July.”
“I’m not sure of the dates, but there are discussions going on about a trip.”
“Yes. Well, Trevor’s company, USNet, has the longest running joint venture in Russia—a software company—dating from the early days of Perestroika. It’s actually quite profitable and moving to new headquarters not far from the Kremlin. Mr. Knox would like to extend an invitation to the President to visit the new facility. Sort of a grand opening to promote Russian-American business and good will.”
“I’m taking notes, Senator. Foreign policy is not my strong suit.”
“I know, Bradley, but domestic policy is. And I think you’ll like the next part. Trevor asked me to tell you that he’s considering dropping his opposition to the President’s initiatives in media reform, and to announce that change before the President’s visit in Moscow. He’s willing to embrace the reforms as good for both countries. Now he’s not going to get out of the adult movie business, but he’ll agree to the President’s ideas on how to operate, and he’ll also stop funding legal challenges to the new laws. Trevor would like to have a sort of ‘bury the hatchet’ ceremony with the President in Russia.”
Fuller sat back. “Senator, that is a lot to think about. It seems like quite a change for Mr. Knox.”
“I know. And that’s why I called you today. I believe he’s sincere, and I’d like to set the wheels in motion so that the President can respond back to him pretty quickly. What do you think?”
“Again, I’m not up on the foreign policy issues as they relate to that visit. But I’ll certainly check today with my counterparts and then ask the President. As for domestic policy, it sounds like it would be a great step.”
“Yes. That’s what I thought. So I can tell Trevor that you are cautiously positive and will get back to me in a few days?”
“Yes. I think you can say that. I’ll call you back. And thank you, Senator Bulloch.”
“Don’t mention it. I just hope it turns out to help both of them.”
That afternoon Todd Phelps worked alone in his home office. Using the internet to check names and addresses, but pulling from his recent experience at RTI to create the content, he wrote to David Sawyer what looked like a well-crafted marketing piece from a company specializing in communications security. In great detail it described how cell phones and email were being intercepted by government agencies and private groups, and the information then used to the detriment of those communicating. The letter encouraged alternate connectivity, like landlines, and made a plug for encryption software.
Todd hoped that he would get David’s attention by listing at the start of the letter the names of several people whom Todd knew David corresponded with regularly. He dropped them in a list to look like they came from a spreadsheet of intercepted calls.
When he finished, he looked all over the house for a large envelope and stamps—items that he no longer used regularly. Late that afternoon, he deposited the piece in a snail-mail box outside their local grocery store.
“Hi Kristen, it’s Callie.”
“Oh, hi! How are you?”
“Fine. I got your call.”
“Good. Listen, I don’t mean to intrude on your life, but I’m planning to be out there again, and I’d love to see you. You’ve done wonders for my wardrobe, so I’d like to at least buy you another dinner. Maybe meet Alex.”
“Yeah, sure. Thanks. When do you think you’ll be coming?”
“Sometime next week, after Memorial Day. I’m going to visit some other people, and maybe my dad in Texas, then head to the coast. I’m just chillin’ a little.”
“Sounds good. I’ll be here. Let me know. You said you needed ideas on a place to stay?”
“Yeah. I’m not on the USNet ticket any more.”
“How come?”
“Well, actually, I’m not working there any more.”
“Why not?”
“Well, I’ll tell you more about it, but basically your dad let me go.”
“I can’t believe it! Why?”
“It’s a bit of a story. I’ll tell you when I’m there.”
“Wow! Well, look, I think Jane, my roommate, will be away for a week. She’s, like, in movies, and she and Alex have gone down to Mexico to try out for small parts. Alex is supposed to come back, but she’s staying a week, so there’s a spare bedroom. Anyway, I’d love to hear that story, so if you’re not working, why don’t you just stay with me to save some money?”
“Really? Are you sure it would be all right?”
“Yes. It won’t be a problem.”
“Well, that would be great. I promise not to get in your way. Thanks a lot.”
“Sure. Call me when you know you’re coming.”
“OK. See you then.”
The Sawyers had just finished dinner, and Rob was headed upstairs to play some parent-sanctioned weekend Street War 2100 when the home phone rang.
“David, it sounds like Omid,” Elizabeth said from the kitchen, hand
ing him the walk-around phone.
David took the phone but stood so that Elizabeth could hear the conversation. “Hello.”
“Cousin, how are you?”
“We’re fine, but how are you?”
“Not so good tonight. My uncle is very angry and took it out on my wife. A doctor has seen her.” Elizabeth gasped.
David spoke. “What can we do?”
“I will let you know soon.”
“Next week will not be soon enough.”
“I know. We’ll see. David. It is not easy. There is one other thing.”
“Tell me.”
“Our friend, Ramin. He was missing for a week. Now he can’t walk. We don’t know if there has been any breech, but we have destroyed the first cards you gave us and have moved to the second set. I’m using one now.”
“That sounds like a good idea. Shall I send some more?”
“Yes. Please deliver them to the same address in Turkey. Our friend will be there in a week.”
“Of course. I’ll send fifty new ones.”
“That will be expensive.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You are kind, cousin. I will let you know if we can work out a plan.”
“I’ll visit you in Turkey and work to get you to the States.”
“As Allah wills. I hope to call again soon.”
“Please be careful.”
Omid hung up, and David looked at Elizabeth. “The thugs are clearly in control.”
Elizabeth stepped back and gently shrugged. “Poor Goli. I can’t imagine. They just want to have some freedom.” She paused and then said, “Is that so dangerous?”
“I guess it is to those in power.”
Enemy In the Room Page 23
