Kurt was standing with folded arms talking to one of the guys in fleece. He was wearing a blue shirt and rep tie and looked very much in charge. The guys in fleece were, I knew, contract security officers, so Kurt really was their boss.
“Bro,” he said when he saw me. He looked concerned. “What’s up?”
“We gotta talk,” I said, grabbing him by the shoulder.
His eyes grew hard. “Let’s talk.”
“In private,” I said. I led the way out of the Command Center to the hall and found an unoccupied break room. It was littered with old copies of the Herald and a Dunkin’ Donuts carton and discarded cardboard coffee cups, and it smelled like someone had been sneaking a smoke.
“I just got a call from Freddy Naseem.”
“The guy from Harry Belkin.”
“Right. He told me that all the Panasonic monitors arrived dead, so he wants to do business with us.”
“Hey, that’s great news. Big win for you.”
I stared at him. “There was a chlorine-gas leak at Panasonic’s Westwood facility. Fried the printed circuits in the monitors.”
“You asking me to do something for you?”
“I think you already did,” I said quietly.
He blinked. His face was unreadable. He turned away, studying the empty Dunkin’ Donuts box. Then he said, “You got the deal back, didn’t you?”
My stomach sank. He’d done it.
If he’d done that, then was there really any question that he’d done the things Trevor accused me of? Trevor’s car trouble. The plasma screen that conked out at Trevor’s presentation to Fidelity. Gleason’s Blue Screen of Death.
Doug Forsythe’s job offer drying up.
What else had he done?
“This isn’t the way I wanted it, Kurt.”
“Panasonic snaked you. That’s unsat.”
“Do you realize what kind of deep shit we’d both be in if anyone connected us to what happened?”
Now he looked annoyed. “I know how to cover my tracks, bro.”
“You can’t do this,” I said. “Maybe sabotage is acceptable in the Special Forces, but not in the business world.”
He stared right back at me. “And I expected a little gratitude.”
“No, Kurt. Don’t ever do this again. Are we clear? I don’t want any more of your help.”
He shrugged, but his eyes were cold. “You don’t understand, do you? I take care of my friends. That’s what I do. That’s who I am. Like the Marines say, no better friend, no worse enemy.”
“Yeah, well,” I said, “I’m glad I’m not your enemy.”
33
I had a midmorning flight to Miami, out of Logan, so I didn’t go in to work. I decided to sleep late. Late being relative, of course. Kate snuggled right up against me in bed, which was nice, until I suddenly noticed the time. It was almost eight. I bolted out of bed to finish the packing I’d started the night before.
“Hey, Kate,” I said, “aren’t you going to work?”
She mumbled something into the pillow.
“What?”
“I said, I don’t feel well.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Cramps.”
Alarmed, I went to her side of the bed. “Down-there?”
“Yeah.”
“Is that normal?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never been pregnant before.”
“Call Dr. DiMarco.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“Call him anyway.”
She paged him while I nervously bustled about packing, brushed my teeth, took a shower, shaved. When I came out of the bathroom, she was asleep.
“Did he call back?”
She turned over. “He said not to worry. Said call him if there’s spotting or bleeding.”
“Will you call me on my cell?”
“Don’t worry about it, sweetie. I’ll call if there’s anything. How long are you going to be gone for?”
“TechComm lasts three days. Think of all the foreign movies you can watch on Bravo while I’m gone.”
Just about all of the Band of Brothers was aboard the Delta flight to Miami. Everyone but Gordy sat in economy. Gordy was in business class. Not sitting in first class was his money-saving gesture.
I had an aisle seat, several rows away from any of the other guys, and I was enjoying the fact that there were empty seats on either side. Until a woman sidled past me, holding a screaming baby. She started speaking Spanish to the infant, who wouldn’t stop crying. Then she poked a finger into the baby’s diaper, unwrapped it, and began changing the wriggling creature on her lap, right there. The smell of baby poop was overpowering.
I thought: Good God almighty, is this what’s in store for me? Changing diapers on airplanes?
When the mother finished changing the diaper, she scrunched up the old one, reclosed the Velcro tabs to tighten the poop package, then jammed the soiled diaper into the seat pocket in front of her.
Behind me, some of the Entronics guys were getting a little rowdy, like frat boys. I turned around for a quick look. They were laughing loudly as some guy, whose face I couldn’t see, was showing them something in a magazine. Trevor waved the guy over, said something, and both of them exploded in guffaws. The guy punched Trevor lightly on the shoulder and turned around and I could see it was Kurt.
At that moment he saw me and walked down the aisle. “This seat taken?” he asked.
“Hey, Kurt,” I said warily. “What are you doing here?”
“My job. Booth security. Mind if I sit down?”
“Sure, but it might be someone’s seat.”
“It is. It’s mine,” he said, squeezing past me. He turned to the Spanish woman with the baby. “Buenos días, señora,” he said in what sounded to me like an awfully good Spanish accent. She said something back. Then he turned back to me. “Cuban,” he whispered. He sniffed the air, caught the diaper aroma. “That you?” He was trying to defuse the tension by cracking a joke.
I smiled to say I got it but it wasn’t funny.
“So, you still don’t want my help?”
I nodded.
“That include information I happened to come across that concerns you.”
I hesitated. Inhaled slowly, then let out my breath even more slowly. I couldn’t let him keep doing this. It was wrong, and I knew it.
But the lure was overpowering. “All right,” I said. “Let’s hear it.”
He unzipped a nylon portfolio and took out a brown file folder and handed it to me.
“What’s this?” I said.
He spoke quietly. “You know that big idea you came up with at Fenway?”
“The billboard thing?”
“Take a look.”
I hesitated, then opened the folder. It held printouts of e-mails between Gordy and Dick Hardy, the CEO of Entronics USA.
“I guess our CEO was in Tokyo for the Global Executive Summary. But he’s coming to TechComm.”
“He never misses it.” I read through the e-mails. Gordy was all excited about a “major idea” he’d come up with, a “disruptive” application of existing technology that could transform Entronics’ position in the global market. Digital signage! He used some of the exact phrases I’d used: “The sunk costs are already budgeted.” And “It will put Entronics on the map in the digital signage industry.” And: “PictureScreen will make existing LED display technology look like JumboTron in 1985.”
“This pisses me off,” I said.
“I thought it might. That broke dick’s not going to get away with screwing you over again.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m not talking.”
“What are you thinking about?”
“Nothing. When you’re in combat, you don’t have time to think. You just act.”
“No,” I said. “No favors.”
He was silent.
“I mean it,” I said.
He remained silent.
“Come on, Kurt. No more. Please.”
34
The hotel was a big fancy Westin attached to the convention center. Our rooms all had balconies overlooking Miami and Biscayne Bay. I’d forgotten how much I liked Miami, even though the heat was oppressive in the summer, and I wondered why I didn’t live here.