"Oh, I'll bet you got plenty more."
"Not unless you plan on leading me to a cash machine at gunpoint so you can empty out my checking account. But I don't think you're going to find an ATM very close by."
Russell shook his head slowly. "Cheryl, Cheryl, Cheryl. You must think you're talking to some rube, huh? Some ignorant Bubba. Well, don't misunderstand me. You run a very big company. Makes a lot of money."
She pursed her lips. "Actually, we haven't been doing all that well recently. That's one of the reasons for this meeting."
"Really? Says in that book there you have revenue of ten billion dollars and a market capitalization of more than twenty billion. Those numbers off base?" His thumb pointed at the long table stacked with loose-leaf binders.
She paused for a few seconds, caught by surprise. "That's not my money, Russell. The corporation's assets aren't my own personal piggy bank."
"You telling me you can't get your hands on some of that money? I'll bet you can make one phone call and send some of those…assets…my way. Right?"
"Wrong. There are all sorts of controls and procedures."
"But I'll bet you've got the power to do it with one phone call. You're the CEO. Right?"
"It doesn't work that way in the corporate world. I'm sorry. I sometimes wish I had that kind of power, but I don't."
He slid his pistol out of its holster and pulled back the slide. It made a snick-snick sound. He raised it, one-handed, leaned across the table, and pointed it at her left eye. His index finger was curled loosely around the trigger.
She began blinking rapidly, her eyes filling with tears. "I'm telling you the truth."
"Then I guess you're of no use to me," he said softly.
"Don't!" Ali shouted. "Don't hurt her, please. Please!"
Tears trickled down Cheryl's cheeks. She stared right back at him.
"Wait." A male voice. We all turned.
Upton Barlow.
"We can work something out," he said.
Russell lowered the gun, and Cheryl gasped. He turned to Barlow with interest. "My friend Upton, with the good taste in wallets."
"Let's talk," Barlow said.
"I'm listening."
"We're both rational men, you and I. We can come to an agreement."
"You think so?"
"I know so," Barlow said. "I have no doubt we can work something out to your satisfaction."
"Kind of a win-win situation," Russell said.
"Exactly." Barlow smiled.
"So you're the go-to guy. You're the man."
"Look," Barlow said, "I just hammered out an offset deal with South Korea on a fighter plane. A coproduction agreement. Everyone said it couldn't be done."
I remembered that offset arrangement. Basically he arranged for Hammond to transfer billions of dollars in avionics and proprietary software to Seoul so they could build our fighter jet for us. Which meant we gave the Koreans everything they'd need to build their own fighter jet in a few years. It was a monumentally lousy deal.
"You sure you got the juice to make it happen?" Russell said. "Your boss says she doesn't, but you do?"
"There's always a way."
"I'm liking the sound of this, Upton."
"And in exchange, you and your friends will agree to move on. Fair enough?"
"Now we're talking."
"So let's get specific," Barlow said. "I'm prepared to offer you fifty thousand dollars."
Russell gave that low husky chuckle again. "Oh, Upton," he said, disappointed. "And here I was thinking you were the man. Guy who makes things happen. But we're not even talking the same language."
Barlow nodded. "Do you have a figure in mind? Why don't we start there?"
"You think you can get us an even million, Upton?"
Barlow examined the table. "Well, I don't know about that. That's a huge amount."
"See, now, that's too bad." Russell strolled along the table, head down as if deep in thought. When he reached the end, he circled around behind me, then stopped. "What if I kill one of your friends? Like this fellow right here? You think that might get us to 'yes,' Upton?"
I felt the hairs on the back of my neck go prickly, and then I realized he'd put the gun against the back of Hugo Lummis's head. Lummis started breathing hard through his mouth. He sounded as if he were about to have a heart attack.
"Put that gun down," Cheryl said. "Aren't you the one who was talking about 'no unnecessary violence'?"
Russell went on, ignoring her: "You think you can dig up a million bucks, Upton, if it means saving Fatso's life?"
Droplets of sweat broke out on Lummis's brow and his big round cheeks and began dripping down his neck, darkening his shirt collar.
"Yes," Barlow shouted. "For God's sake, yes! Yes, I'm sure it can be arranged if need be."
But from my other side came Ronald Slattery's voice. "No, it can't. You don't have signing authority for that kind of money, Upton."
"Signing authority?" said Russell, keeping the barrel of the Glock against Lummis's head. "Now, that's interesting. What's that mean? Who has signing authority?"
Slattery fell silent. You could tell he regretted saying anything.
"For God's sake, Ron," Barlow said, "the guy's going to kill Hugo! You want that on your conscience?"
"You heard the man, Ron," said Russell. "You want that on your conscience?"
"Give him the goddamned money," Lummis pleaded. "We've got K &R insurance-we're covered, situation like this. Good God!"
"All right," Barlow said. "Yes, I'm sure we can arrange that. We'll make it happen somehow. Just-please, just put down the gun and let's keep talking."
"Now we're cooking with fire," Russell said. He never raised his voice, I noticed. He seemed supremely confident, unflappable.
He lowered the gun. Walked up to Upton Barlow and stood behind him. "This is starting to sound like a productive conversation. Because if you can get me a million dollars, company like yours, you can do better."
After a few seconds, Barlow said, "What do you have in mind?"
"Upton!" Cheryl said warningly.
"I'm thinking a nice round number."
"Let's hear it."
"I'm thinking a hundred million dollars, Upton. Twelve of you here, that's"-he paused for maybe two seconds-"eight million, three hundred thousand bucks and change per head, I figure. Okay? Let's get to 'yes.'"
Ali looked at me, and I knew she was thinking the same thing I was: This nightmare was only beginning.
28
The stunned silence was broken by Ron Slattery.
"But that's-that's impossible! Our K &R insurance coverage is only twenty-five million."
"Come on, now, Ronny," Russell said. "Aren't you the CFO? The numbers guy? Read the fine print, bro. Gotta be twenty-five million per insuring clause. Twenty-five million for ransom, twenty-five million for accident and loss coverage, twenty-five million for crisis-management expenses, another twenty-five million for medical expenses and psychiatric care. That's a hundred million easy. Did I add right?"
"This is ridiculous," Cheryl said. "You're dreaming if you think our insurance company's going to write you a check for a hundred million dollars."
Russell shook his head slowly. "Oh, no, that's not how it works, Cheryl. The insurance companies never pay. They always insist that you folks pay, then they pay you back. Legal reasons."
"Well, we don't have access to that kind of money," she said. "No one does."
Russell sidled up to her, his head down. "Cheryl," he said softly, "Hammond Aerospace has cash reserves of almost four billion dollars. I just read it in your notebook over there."
"But those funds are tied up, impossible to access-"
"You know what it said, Cheryl? Said 'cash and marketable securities.' I'm no money guy, Cheryl, but doesn't that mean it's liquid?"
"Look," said Ron Slattery, turning around to look at Russell, "even if we could somehow access that kind of money, how the hell do you think you're going to get it? Cash, unmarked bills, all that?" His slash of a mouth twisted into a sneer. "I don't even know where the nearest bank is."