Enemy In the Room (30 page)

He could tell that she was not encouraged.
“So that’s it? After all this time? After all you taught me? After
all we’ve done?”

He looked down again, then walked to the
side of the desk. “Yes, I’m afraid so. There’s a security guard
outside and boxes in your office. You’ll have thirty minutes to
empty your desk. Please don’t call anyone or have any long
conversations. We’ll issue a press release this afternoon saying
that you’ve resigned to pursue other interests.”

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?

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.