He has been asked to appear before the entire board of directors as well as the president of the United States in order to help assuage fears that the election will not go as planned. Although the seventy-third floor boardroom appears full to Florian, he is actually the only one physically in the room. Everyone else is projected onto one another’s retinas via tiny lasers embedded inside titanium-rimmed, synthetic sapphire-lens glasses, each virtualized individual matched to his or her own unique pattern on the back of a conference room chair at a table purposely round to avoid the usual contention of who should be positioned where. Aside from the occasional millisecond or two of lag from network congestion or processor contention, the illusion is very close to flawless; the programmers even thought to use real-time, content-aware filters to dynamically remove the glasses from participants’ faces.
The president of the United States is opposite and to the right of Florian. Despite her years, she has a warm, almost seductively youthful look framed by her medium-length, flirtatious blonde hair. She is wearing a red blazer with a mandarin collar and a string of fat cultured pearls—a symbol which, considering her corporate hosts, is at once blatant and subliminal. To her right is the chairman of the board, Nolan Hardebeck. Hardebeck has managed to turn his middle-aged balding into a high-fashion look by trimming his remaining hair to the length of his facial stubble; by somehow ensuring that his scalp never draws undue attention by being shiny, even when playing racquetball; by chemically, genetically, or otherwise artificially maintaining a healthy tan; and by almost always wearing all black. Most of the remaining members of the Pearl Knight Holdings board of directors—having been made obscenely rich as a result thereof—are in attendance only out of contractual obligation, and therefore appear largely disinterested in the proceedings.
Hardebeck rattles his heavy platinum dive watch, glances down at it, then calls the meeting to order as he traditionally does by drumming his knuckles on the glass surface.
“Let’s hear it, Lasker,” he bursts out. Florian suspects that Hardebeck occasionally uses psychostimulants to take the edge off his personality, but they seem blatantly missing from his physiology at the moment. “We’re not exactly getting positive vibes off this election right now, bro. I hope you have some good news for us.”
Florian is wearing a royal blue pinstriped shirt which complements the intense hue of his eyes. Like Hardebeck, he wears a few days’ worth of the dashing kind of stubble (as opposed to the unkempt variety) on his face and down his neck into the open collar of his shirt. His hair is shorter now—kept in place by just the right amount of styling product—and his demeanor is characteristically calm yet entirely focused.
“As usual, I have both good news and bad,” he tells the board. His voice is soft but arresting, and he waits until he is certain everyone is sufficiently rapt before proceeding. “The good news is that based on what we know today, we have absolutely nothing to worry about. As of this morning, we control over one hundred and twenty-six million votes, and I expect us to have an additional fifty million by the time the polls open on Election Day.”
The president lets out her breath and smiles. “Well done, Florian. That should be plenty.”
“It should be,” Florian says, “but of course, we want to be sure, so despite our current cash flow situation, we’re sparing no expense.”
“I understand,” the president tells Florian. “And you will, of course, be well compensated.”
“Out with it,” Hardebeck demands. “Let’s have the bad news.”
Florian addresses the president directly. “The bad news is that there are still some unknowns. We’re extremely vulnerable right now. The game is changing, and we haven’t figured out the new rules yet. We probably have the cash to ride this out as long as nothing else goes wrong, but if there are any other attacks—”
Hardebeck waves his hands in the universal gesture to halt right there. “Whoa whoa whoa. What do you mean the game is changing? We are the game, my friend. We’re the ones who make the rules. The world adapts to us, we don’t adapt to it.”
“Really?” Florian muses. He gives Hardebeck a curious smile. “The CEO of Pearl Knight was murdered by a teenage girl on his own private jet practically right in front of his bodyguard. Thanks to a poor black kid from the streets of Baltimore, we’ve entirely lost control of almost all of New Guangdong, and with it, almost half of our manufacturing capabilities. What part of that makes you think we’re even remotely in control?”
“You know,” Hardebeck says leaning back, his chair automatically reclining to match his new posture, “when you put it that way, it kind of makes you question the competence and effectiveness of our current administration, doesn’t it? I mean if they can’t even keep Sierra Leone—one of our closest and most important allies—safe from a bunch of primitive African spear chuckers—”
The president sits up and narrows her eyes at Hardebeck. The gesture is subtle but it’s enough to shut him up. “You’re lucky you’re not actually sitting next to me right now or I’d reach over and rip your fucking balls off and shove them down your fucking throat.”
Hardebeck smiles. “Now where was that fighting spirit when our factories were getting looted?”
“You have no one to blame for that but yourselves. The United States hired Pearl Knight to protect the government of Sierra Leone. You fucked up, not us.”
“All I’m saying is that maybe we need more than just a pretty face in office right now. Maybe we need someone who better personifies the kick-ass nation that we obviously are. Anyone else here agree?”
The president gives Hardebeck an overly sweet smile. “I know you think I’m just some kind of puppet and that you and your little playground gang actually run this country, but let me explain something to you. I’m using you every bit as much as you’re using me. I’m playing the part of a cute dumb blonde because its serves my purposes just like you’re playing the part of sleazy douchebag because you think it’s somehow sexy, or appealing, or makes you look powerful in the eyes of your pathetic, balding, limp-dick peers. But listen to me very carefully. You will go out and get those votes, and you will give every last one of them to me, and if you don’t, I promise you that in six months, Pearl Knight will entirely cease to exist, and every one of you will be out on the streets peddling your votes just like every other middle class American just to pay for that fake fucking tan of yours. Gone will be the days of drugs and whores and parties and expensive Chinese sports cars and twenty-thousand dollar dive watches that you won’t even wear in a hot tub. Do I make myself abundantly clear?”
Hardebeck is watching the president. Florian can see that he is considering his next move very carefully—looking as many moves ahead as his puny intellect will accommodate. Eventually he smiles and spreads his hands.
“Christ, since when did these meetings get so fucking serious? I was kidding. Jesus.”
“Forgive me if I take the future of this country—and hence the future of the entire planet—a little more seriously than you and your fraternity brothers.”
“Are you two done?” The interruption comes from Walter French, a small but intense man with dark, avian features. He is alternating his accusatory stare between Hardebeck and the president. “As entertaining as all this is, it may all be a moot point if you don’t let Florian finish.”
“Hear, hear!” Hardebeck announces. It is clear he is seizing the opportunity to redirect a conversation that was not progressing even remotely in his favor. “Florian, my good man, you were saying?”
“I was saying that there’s obviously someone out there who has an interest in destabilizing Pearl Knight, and with it, the entire United States government. And I think there’s a very good chance he will target this election.”
“So we just need better security,” Hardebeck surmises. “We can handle that with all of our robots and drones and shit, right?”
“Better security,” Florian says thoughtfully. “You mean better security than Laroche
had on his own private jet? Better security than the P.K. Megalodon? Better security than the Great Wall—sorry, the Great Rubble—of New Guangdong? If this individual wants to influence the upcoming election, all the security in the world won’t stop him.”
“Individual,” French repeats. “What makes you think just one person is responsible for all this?”
“I don’t think one person is responsible,” Florian tells French. “I know it. And I know exactly who that one person is.”
Hardebeck leans forward and looks at Florian with a combination of skepticism and accusation. “Now how the hell would you know something like that?”
“He has an unmistakable style,” Florian tells Hardebeck, “if you know what to look for. This is an incredibly dangerous man we’re dealing with here. I’ve known him most of my life, and can tell you that he doesn’t just think in terms of financial quarters or fiscal years. He plans decades in advance. He’s intelligent, well connected, and extremely resourceful. And he’s by far the most patient and determined individual I’ve ever met. If he puts his mind to it—which apparently he has—I have no doubt whatsoever that he can take down this company and this administration.”
“Well then what the fuck are we waiting for?” Hardebeck says. He looks around the table in mild disbelief. “Let’s designate this guy a domestic terrorist, slap his name on the kill or capture list, and get some fucking drones in the fucking air. Lasker, give us a name already.”
The president interjects. “He isn’t going to give us a name,” she says smoothly. She is talking to Hardebeck, but watching Florian with just a hint of a smile in her eyes. “Not until we give him something he wants. Isn’t that right, Mr. Lasker?”
Florian repositions himself in his chair. “I’m one of the very few people in the world who can not only identify this individual, but who can also locate him probably within hours. I’ve gotten us enough votes to win the presidency, every seat in the House, and the last third of the Senate. That means one of two things is about to happen: we’re either about to secure our place as one of the most powerful and influential entities in history, or we’re going to lose everything in ways that I guarantee you none of us will ever see coming until it’s all over and everything we’ve worked for is gone. The difference between those two scenarios is one individual’s name—one tiny piece of information that nobody else in this room has but me. So yes, Madam President. Respectfully, I think I’m entitled to a little something in return.”
“No one is arguing with you, Florian,” the president says congenially. “Name your price.”
“I don’t want money,” Florian says. “I want the CEO position.”
“You fucking little prick,” Hardebeck says. “You know Schmidt’s already been tapped.”
“We’re the board of directors,” Florian says. “We can un-tap him.”
“Give it to him,” the president says.
“You have got to be kidding me,” Hardebeck says. He looks around the table for support. “We’re just going to sit here and let this shitbag blackmail us?”
“It isn’t blackmail,” the president says on Florian’s behalf. “It’s called leverage. We all know Schmidt is an idiot, anyway.”
“Schmidt may be an idiot, but at least he’s not sitting here with an arrogant smirk on his face trying to fuck us all in the ass with information that’s probably a bunch of bullshit anyway.”
“You’re right,” the president says. She turns to look at Hardebeck. “Schmidt isn’t here, is he? If memory serves, he’s in Taiwan about to take a fully expensed, fifty million NGD vacation with his family into lower Earth orbit—much too busy, it would seem, to even put on a pair of glasses and join us for fifteen precious minutes. On the other hand, Mr. Lasker is right here, actually in the building, having been working around the clock to get us enough votes to keep all of us in power for at least another four years. And it seems he has somehow gotten ahold of a critical piece of information that evidently nobody else here has even the faintest clue of. So if anyone can think of someone more qualified to run this company, I’m open to suggestions. Otherwise, I propose we take a vote on the motion of naming Mr. Lasker as president and CEO of Pearl Knight Holdings. All in favor—”
“Stop!” Everyone’s attention is redirected toward Donald Hayden, head of Pearl Knight Security Services. He is an older man, generally content to be overlooked, with small, pinched features, and who performs everything with what some call military precision and others, bureaucratic inefficiency. His hairline is just past the point of receding and has entered into the territory of baldness, which gives him a tremendous, ruddy forehead. Whatever Hardebeck’s secret is to keep his scalp from gleaming, he has not shared it with his colleague.
“Big Don,” Hardebeck says. “We didn’t wake you, did we?”
Hayden ignores Hardebeck as though it is second nature to him by now. “I had hoped to wait to disclose this information until we knew more, but I think you all need to hear this now.”
The president tries not to sound as impatient as she clearly is. “What is it, Mr. Hayden?”
Hayden speaks directly to Florian. “We already know who this individual is.”
Florian looks mockingly impressed. “Really? And how do you know that?”
“The boy from the P.K. Megalodon has opted to cooperate.”
“That’s good news,” Florian says. “So tell us what you know.”
“His name is Alexei Drovosek. He goes by the code names ‘Woodcutter’ and ‘Tin Man’.”
“That’s a very good start,” Florian says. “Of course you’re aware that Drovosek isn’t his real name.”
“Obviously,” Hayden says. “We also know that he’s Russian, and that he has a compound somewhere in Southern California—probably not far from LA. We have a pretty good idea of what he looks like, what his house looks like, and we’ve confirmed that he was almost certainly behind Laroche’s murder.”
Hardebeck breaks into slow, deliberate applause. “Brilliant fucking timing, my man. Big Don, shots and lap dances are on me tonight. Lasker, you still want to have that vote now, or should we move on to the next item on the agenda?”
“Just a minute,” Florian says. He is still watching Hayden. “Do you know where Alexei is right now?”
“No.”
“Do you have any idea what his next move will be?”
“No.”
“Do you know how he’s traveling without being detected?”
“Not yet.”
“What about his bank accounts? Have you frozen any assets?”
“We have not.”
“Have you made any other arrests? Do you have any other sources of information?”
“As of this time, we have no additional targets identified.”
“So let me make sure I understand. You have a fake name, a general description of a man who might have already changed his appearance, and you have a pretty good feel for his tastes in home decor. What you don’t know is where to find him, how to find him, how he’s getting around, where he’s been, where he’s going to be, who he knows, who knows him, and where his funding comes from. And you have absolutely no clue what he might have planned to disrupt the election. Is that accurate?”
Hayden swallows before he answers. “Yes. I would say that’s accurate.”
“In other words,” Florian summarizes, “you don’t really have a goddamn thing, do you?”
“We believe we have a very solid foundation.”
“Donald, I don’t mean to disparage your work, but Alexei would never have let that kid near us if he actually knew anything of value. He isn’t stupid. Alexei knew damn well when he sent that boy to work for us that he wouldn’t be coming back.”
“I disagree,” Hayden says. He is doing his best to remain unperturbed. “We believe we have enough information to locate his compound.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Florian says. “If you knock on every single door in Southern California, Alexei might ju
st answer one of them eventually. But how long will that take?”
“We’re not sure yet.”
“Take a guess. Do you think you can find him today?”
“No.”
“Next week?”
“Doubtful.”
“Before the election?”
“Probably not,” Hayden says.
“Do you think you can find him before he figures out you’re getting close and decides to pack up and move his entire operation someplace we may never be able to locate?”
“Possibly not.”
“OK then,” Florian says. He changes his focus from Hayden to the entire board. “So we take our chances with vague information obtained from a kid who never really knew anything of value to begin with, and who—although I’m sure he’s being treated very hospitably and in accordance with all international laws—is probably terrified enough to say just about anything, or I can give you the exact coordinates of Alexei’s compound and we can end all of this today. Now, to get back to your question, Nolan—yes, I’m ready for that vote.”
Everyone looks at Hayden to see what else he might have. The old man clears his throat and tries to sit up even straighter than he already is. “My recommendation is that we give Florian what he wants.”
“Well,” the president says with a smile that would be impossible to mistake for genuine, “that was a fascinating diversion. As I was saying, all in favor of naming Mr. Lasker as president and CEO of Pearl Knight Holdings, please make yourselves known.”
Everyone raises a hand but Florian and Hardebeck. Florian waits until Hardebeck has looked around the table and is back to glaring at him before casting a vote in his own favor.
“It’s done,” the president says. “Congratulations, Mr. Lasker.”
“Thank you,” Florian says. “Donald, let’s start putting a strike team together right away. We’re going to want to take him alive so we can find out what else he has in play.”
Kingmaker Page 21
