The War of Immensities (41 page)

“Yeah, I got
it,” Thyssen finally said. “Now you two piss off for an hour and
let me get into this.”

So they went,
Lorna and Jami’s fantasy, to the cafe where he tried to chat her up
at ten o’clock in the morning. But there was something occurring to
her.

“What’s he
doing? Right now, I mean?”

“Working out
the final position.”

Lorna arched
her eyebrows at the obvious contradiction. “I thought you did
that?”

“No. I work up
the models. This time, with the data from Tahiti, I’ve run 602
models and they all have slightly different answers. But most of
them point to a region of about a thousand square kilometres.
Harley then takes over and works out which is the right one.”

“How?”

Now that they
had got down to scientific facts instead of seduction, he was able
to be quite candid. “I don’t know. Theoretically, he can’t know any
more about it than I do. But somehow he does.”

“Intuition?”

“Not the way
he’d put it.”

“But is he
guessing?”

“Only if he’s
wrong.”

“But he was
right last time.”

“He sure was.
With the data I had, I was able to place it accurately within about
a thousand miles. With the same data, he was able to place it
within a hundred.”

“Which is why
he’s the boss and you’re a humble student?”

“That’s it
exactly.”

Lorna thought
about it. There was only one possible answer. “He must know
something that you don’t know.”

“No. You’re
missing the point, Lorna. He knows everything that I don’t
know.”

Then Thyssen
was there. He walked up to the table in a great hurry, jerking his
thumb over his shoulder.

“It’s all set
for you, sonny. You got two hours to prove me wrong.”

“You know I
can’t,” Glen grumbled.

He rose from
the table and left.

“Right, lassie.
Our cab awaits.”

“The big
announcement?”

“That’s
right.”

“Whose turn
this time?”

“NBC.”

He handed her a
slip of paper. On it he had written ‘38 north 140 west’- longitude
and latitude.

“Where’s that?”
Lorna asked.

“Right smack in
the middle of Honshu, which is the main island of Japan. This is
gonna make Italy look like a marshmallow roast.”

By the time the
pilgrims had been loaded on the ship—which had come around the
peninsula to meet them at Piraeus—Kevin Wagner and Brian Carrick
were there to see them off.

“By the way,”
Brian said, “I got a message from Joe.”

Wagner hoped
that he knew what it would be about. They were standing on the
wharf watching the ship sail, two men both a long way from
home.

“A fourteen
million dollar message,” Brian elaborated with an inscrutable
smile.

Wagner hated
it. He was being played with. “Why did the message go to you?” he
demanded.

“Because Joe
wanted someone to check it out and see if you plan to spend the
project’s money wisely.”

“How would you
know what was wise and what wasn’t?”

“I wouldn’t. I
just report back to Joe and presumably to Thyssen. They make the
decisions. I’m just their eyes and ears.”

“I’d rather
wait until Thyssen gets here.”

“He won’t be
here. He’s gone to Washington to chat with the President.”

“It’ll wait
until he gets back,” Wagner persisted. He truly did not want Brian
Carrick or anyone else prying into his affairs.

“No it won’t,”
Brian grinned. “That was the other part of the message. Report back
by Wednesday.”

“Why
Wednesday?”

“Joe, like
Thyssen and that other bloke, moves in mysterious ways. But aren’t
you, like me, just a little surprised that such funds might be
available?”

“Nothing
surprises me anymore,” Wagner sighed.

Left little
alternative, Wagner decided that he ought to explain. He suspected
that the time limit was a real one, and anyway, Joe Solomon was not
the type to panic nor make jokes. He hated the idea of Brian
checking up on him, but it might have been worse. In fact, when he
thought about it, he realised almost anyone else might be
worse.

“We need a
base,” Wagner said flatly.

“Do we? I
thought we were based in Melbourne.”

“Not suitable.
Too far away.”

“How can it be
too far away from anywhere, when we are dealing with random global
events. Everywhere is too far away in those circumstances.”

“We need our
own airfield, and a place to house the pilgrims. And somewhere to
set up a nerve centre for our operations.”

“It all sounds
disgustingly military to me, Kev.”

Wagner could
shrug that off. The idea, he knew, was to keep it as simple as
possible. “It happens that our needs for the present and those for
the foreseeable future can be met immediately, if we move quickly
enough. I’m talking about the existing arrangements in Italy. The
convent which can continue to be used as a hospital, the village,
the damaged area, the airstrip the Americans built there and their
facilities. Everything we need and if we don’t claim it immediately
it will be broken up and redistributed. You understand?”

“You want to
buy the whole lot up.”

“Sure I do. Of
course, the locals can stay to keep the infrastructure
running—they’ll just have a new landlord—us.”

“Sounds like a
hell of a complicated thing to do.”

“It is, unless
you know the right people. It happens I have an acquaintance who
can arrange it all for us, immediately. He owns a great part of it
already, and has good relations with the other owners.”

“I though the
Catholic Church still owned the monastery?”

“They do. But
my friend can arrange for us to make use of it as we presently do,
and keep the nun’s running the place otherwise. It’s a very good
deal.”

“A snap for a
mere fourteen million.”

“That’s the
deal. And Joe knows that. I don’t know why he is hesitating.”

“I do,” Brian
said quietly. “I can understand why we need the hospital and the
airstrip. I don’t understand about the other military
facility.”

They stood on
the dock the day before, two men with their hands in their pockets,
looking around, standing just a little further apart than might
have been expected. Wagner directed his gaze toward the departing
ship as he spoke.

“What I need is
a base, to train and house my security people,” Wagner
explained.

“It’ll do that
all right,” Brian said, also squinting off into the distance. “You
could base the Red Army there.”

“Before long, I
believe I can expect a couple of hundred personnel seconded from
the US Navy.”

“Somehow I
can’t see the US Navy giving them up so easily.”

“I think they
won’t have any choice. In any case, Thyssen said to prepare for a
steadily expanding force. They need to be trained and to keep their
training up. And they need a base somewhere nice and central to
everywhere.”

“Fine,” Brian
agreed. “Although I’m still having some trouble with the idea of
being central to a global event.”

“Central to the
largest population centres, where, presumably, the greatest need
for security will be required.”

“And we house
all stray sleepers in the local hotels, right?”

“Sure. And we
can add prefab housing for greater numbers at will.”

“And all for a
mere fourteen million.”

“A fantastic
bargain, Brian.”

“Fantastic is
right.”

“Come on,
Carrick. Look beyond the end of your nose.”

“Keep your
shirt on, Kev. I can see certain advantages in the situation,
assuming the project escalates.”

“It will.”

“It might.
There are no certainties.”

“Give the idea
a chance, sport.”

“Haven’t you
noticed how I’m not laughing. This character you’re doing deals
with. He’s the local Mafia don, isn’t he.”

“Something like
that.”

“You sure
that’s the sort of folk we ought to be doing deals with, Kev? They
have a very extreme way of closing deals in their favour.”

“All the more
reason why we use the money to buy them out of it completely.”

“Deals with the
devil, Kev. They never come out the way you plan.”

Wagner groaned.
There plainly wasn’t anywhere to go in this direction. Brian
Carrick could be so damned stubborn. Why couldn’t he see how this
mattered?

“All right,
Brian. So tell me. What do you suggest?”

“Wait and see
what happens.”

“It’ll be too
late then.”

“Too late for
what?”

“Can’t you see
how we need to be organised. This thing is starting to get right
out of hand.”

“I’ll say it
is.”

“And that’s
what you’re going to tell Joe?”

“Nar, I’ll keep
my opinions to myself. I’ll tell him it’s a bargain. But it doesn’t
matter much what I say because you aren’t going to get this sort of
money anyhow.”

“Sooner or
later, something like this is going to need to be done.”

“Then let’s do
it later, and only when it’s necessary.”

“Not much on
forward planning, are you Brian?”

“Do you really
believe you can plan something like this? You got no idea what’s
going to happen next.”

But neither did
Brian Carrick, because as it happened, Joe Solomon provided the
funds and Wagner got his base.

The Oval Office
was a masterful illusion for it drew the eyes inward from both
sides to the man behind the desk at the middle. Not that Eugene
Grayson needed such assistance—he was a startlingly charismatic
man, boyishly handsome, tall and elegant of movement, his black
skin like polished mahogany. No man in history had travelled
further from slavery than he, and yet neither did any man more
closely resemble Jack Kennedy, despite the difference in skin
coloration. He was living proof of the ignorance of racial
discrimination, both in his appearance and the screams of betrayal
from the rioting Afro-Americans in the southern states.

President
Grayson rose from behind the chair and walked around the desk with
a huge smile and an extended hand of welcome. Thyssen wondered if
he knew the circumstances under which his visitor had arrived,
politely arrested by a team of FBI agents, body searched and
interviewed in a fashion that seemed mostly intended assure him
that he was vulnerable to serious unspecified charges and test his
views on patriotism. They were plainly none too happy with what
they heard, even though Thyssen tried to co-operate and reassure
them of his good intentions. He had guessed where it was all
leading. When he saw that Lorna Simmons did not appear on the
evening news as anticipated, he knew he could expect rather more
than a reprimand from the Board of Governors. There weren’t many
people in the country with the power to persuade NBC to pull a news
segment for which they had paid an exorbitant sum for exclusive
rights.

But Eugene
Grayson, consummate political animal, could don his campaign smile
and still manage the last of two hundred handshakes that day.

“Professor
Thyssen, you don’t know what an honour it is to meet you at last.
Come, sit here. I hope you are not inconvenienced by the late
hour.”

Thyssen’s brain
all but failed him. In the first place, he had no idea what time it
might have been. The pretence by Grayson was so overwhelming that
Thyssen was unable to believe that he must have known the
circumstances of his visitor’s arrival. He wanted to say the most
cynical and hurtful thing possible but all he could think of was to
say `I didn’t vote for you’ which would not only have been childish
but ridiculous since Thyssen had never voted for any politician in
his life. He could only remain silent and shuffle into the
chair. His body absorbed the comfort desperately.

Grayson
remained standing, continued smiling, and walked away from the desk
to stand by the window in a classic presidential pose.

“It’s a
beautiful night, Professor. Don’t you think?”

“I wouldn’t
know,” Thyssen replied. “I spent most of it in your basement.”

The President
turned from the window to eye him coldly. All trace of the friendly
smile was gone now, just when kindness entered his tone of
voice.

“Now Professor,
you must not be hostile. We have important matters to discuss and I
hope we can do so in an amicable manner.”

“Do you have
any idea what’s happened to me tonight?”

At this, Eugene
Grayson was able to laugh. Perhaps he was not so far from the
cruelties of slavery as Thyssen had imagined.

“I’m sure you
understand that certain precautions and procedures must be followed
before an interview with the President can be granted.”

“I don’t
remember requesting any such interview.”

“You have a
reputation as a very dangerous man, Professor.”

“I’m a
sedentary academic nudging sixty. I shudder to think what my blood
pressure is right now.”

Grayson
advanced to Thyssen’s side of the desk and leaned on it. Thyssen
could have head butted him in the balls if he’d had the
strength.

“I’m sorry. It
was my idea that I talk to you alone. Those people responsible for
my safety insisted on certain precautions. But I’m sure you
understand that already.”

It was true. He
understood it only too well. He even began to feel pathetic, as if
he was protesting too much. Feeling guilty about being mistreated?
The verbal manipulative skill of this man was awesome.

“It’s odd you’d
want to talk to a man you’ve gone to so much trouble to
muzzle.”

“Not a lot of
trouble really,” Grayson said as he drifted back behind the desk
and sat, leaning on his forearms, hands clasped before him, ready
to be reasonable. “Surely you can see how we cannot allow an
individual like yourself to make such far-reaching announcements
unhindered.”