He didn't say anything for a moment. Three hours since Ashley came home? Yes, he guessed it was. The afternoon seemed to have raced past before he'd managed to get a handle on it. As had the six months since his continual absorption with his work, his calling as she referred to it, had brought them to the brink of divorce. Always, he seemed to be trying to catch up. It was only after the murders of his dear friends Elaine and Arthur Steiner in Russia — a hail of terrorist gunfire having ended their lives and thirty-year marriage without reason or warning — that Gordian had awakened to what a gift he had in Ashley, and realized with terrible clarity how close he was to losing her. A half year of intensive counseling and earnest commitment had helped bridge many of the rifts between them… but every now and then there were marital ground tremors that reminded him the bridges weren't all that steady. Not yet, anyway.
"You're right, that's what I promised." He stretched his neck to work out a kink of tension. "I apologize. Do you suppose we can start over from here?"
Ashley stood there in front of his desk, a trim, elegant woman whose youthful good looks had made no discernible concessions to early middle age, her sea-green eyes very still as they met his gaze.
"Gord, listen to me," she said. "I'm not a pilot. I don't even like to sit near the window in a passenger plane and be reminded there are clouds underneath me, rather than over my head where they belong. But you've always told me how being in the cockpit of a jet frees up your mind, gives you a feeling of perspective and… what's that term you use? Ambient space?"
"Either that or altitude sickness," he said, smiling wanly. "You're a good listener, Ash."
"It's my best quality." She slowly crossed the room to his desk. "That space you talk about… it's a kind of luxury that you afford yourself, and I'm glad you're able to do it. But sometimes I'm also a little jealous of it. Do you understand?"
He looked at her.
"Yes," he said. "Yes, I do."
She expelled a long sigh. "I'm not blind to what's going on. I read Reynold Armitage's latest bunk in the Wall Street Journal I hear you and Chuck talking about stock sell-offs. I saw your face when the evening news carried Marcus Caine's remarks about you at the U. N. And I can imagine how it must sting."
Gordian started to answer, then hesitated, his brow furrowed, his lips pressed tightly together. Ashley waited. It was his nature to hold his thoughts in close, and she knew he often had difficulty raising the lid on them.
"I once met a snake-oil advertising man who would've called Caine's tactics a pseudo advocacy campaign," he said at length. "Or pseudo adversary campaign, it depends. He's been running both at once, you see. The basic idea is to use a public issue to gain attention for your firm, while promoting certain corporate agendas without being overt about it. You get the target audience to notice you by creating or stepping into a controversy, and then slip in the message you really want to convey between the lines. It's the marketing equivalent of a stage magician's top hat and cloak."
"And Marcus's so-called Children's Challenge obviously would be an example of the first type of campaign."
"A perfect example. Gives him an aura of take-charge philanthropism, a moral platform that's virtually attack-proof. You know anybody who's against kids?"
She gave him a faint smile.
"I can think of a few times when our own bugaboos were young that we almost qualified, but you've made your point," she said. "The pseudo adversary campaign…
that would be his dispute with you over the crypto bill, wouldn't it?"
He nodded. "If you're going to play this sort of game, the potential rewards should always outweigh the risks, and Marcus is well aware that the issues surrounding encryption really don't excite much public reaction. The average person doesn't see how relaxing export controls is going to make any difference in his daily life. Nobody cares except special-interest groups within the high-tech industry on one side, and the law-enforcement and intelligence communities on the other."
Ashley paused to digest it all.
"The strategy behind the UNICEF crusade isn't too down-deep," she said finally. "Let's give the kids computers and sell more Monolith software and have everybody feel good and pat themselves on the back. But what's he trying to achieve by taking you on over encryption? I don't see the… the subtext."
Gordian shrugged a little.
"You've asked the million-dollar question," he said in a vague tone. "And I'm not sure I can answer it."
Silence filled the room. Ashley realized he was sinking beneath it again, and leaned forward, lightly touching the fingertips of both hands to the edge of his desk.
"I understand how you feel, Gord," she said. "Do you accept that as a given?"
The question caught him by surprise.
"More than just accept," he said in a quiet voice. "Knowing that you understand… it's like a prize I've won without quite being sure how I did it, or whether it's even deserved. It makes me stronger than I'd be if I didn't know."
She smiled thoughtfully, looking straight at him. "I'd never, never want to minimize your difficulties, or suggest there's anything in the world I wouldn't do to help you with them. But what I was starting to say before…"
He studied her face in the brief pause. "Yes?"
"I was going to say that if you'd put those problems away for a few hours, if we could share some of the space you get up at thirty thousand feet right here on the ground, together, I'd trade UpLink, this house, our cars, every cent we have, everything we own. Or do you always have be to alone in the pilot's seat to let go?"
There was more silence. Ashley thought she could see the detached, inward-looking expression gradually lift from his features, but wasn't sure. Perhaps it was only wishful thinking.
She came close to exhaling with relief when he slowly reached out, covered her hand with his own, and let it rest where he'd put it.
"Let's go out to dinner, you name the restaurant," he said. "Your enchanting new haircut deserves to be viewed by one and all."
She smiled gently.
"You may have noticed," she said, "that my membership at Adrian's spa and beauty salon wasn't among the things I indicated a willingness to surrender."
He looked into the oceanic greenness of Ashley's eyes and smiled back at her.
"I very well may have," he said.
Chapter Nine
When Max Blackburn first told Pete Nimec that he'd gotten a line deep into the working guts of Monolith, and that he was using it to trace what he'd described as "improper business practices and financial arrangements," Nimec had listened with close interest — and by not ordering him to abandon his investigation posthaste, had tacitly okayed its continuance. Still, as Chief of Security at UpLink, he had cautioned that UpLink would under no circumstances be dragged into a situation that might be perceived as corporate spying; the potential liabilities were far too great. Nimec had also pointed out that it would be inadvisable for Max to provide any further details about the probe should he decide to move ahead with it on his own string… unless or until he turned up something of concrete significance.
Max had gotten the gist without anything more having to be explained. Deniability had been established with a nod and a wink — as it always was. If his activities came to light, no one else at UpLink would be dragged into the consequent chocolate mess. Nimec wanted clean hands and fingernails from the level of clerk to upper management.