Kirby drank his Bloody Mary and was quiet a while. On the lawn one of the greyhounds had caught the plastic rabbit and flashed behind an alderberry bush, where it was throttling the toy between its jaws. The sound of its squeaker had apparently gotten the other dog envious, and it was jumping antic circles around the hedge. Standing nearby, Ashley Gordian and her daughter looked like they were having fun.
He wished he could have said the same for himself.
"Gord, listen to me," Kirby said at length. "If I read you correctly, your strategy for averting a takeover is based on the assumption that the value of UpLink stock, and thus shareholder confidence, will be boosted once you've gotten back to basics and released capital to your most profitable ventures. Ordinarily I'd agree that it's a sound defensive approach, since a higher corporate valuation will curb sell-offs, force up a hostile acquirer's bid, and make him wonder if his move is worth the trouble and drain on his checkbook. Except this is no ordinary situation. Marcus Caine has already obtained a large chunk of UpLink stock. He's committed. Furthermore, UpLink's market decline has less to do with any real or perceived overdiversification than with investor fears that your stance on crypto will put you way behind rivals who are eager to sell overseas. And since you're obviously not going to sell off your cryptography firm—"
"Who says?" Gordian interrupted, the patient, forbearing expression back on his face.
Kirby looked at him a moment, then turned briefly toward Vince Scull.
"Both of you are shitting me here, right?" he said.
Scull shook his head.
Taken aback, Kirby waited a minute before saying anything more.
"Gord, I don't understand," he said disbelievingly. "You've fought so hard to maintain control of your cryptographic technology… to turn it over to someone else… to chance that it will be distributed abroad…" He spread his hands. "You've never quit a fight before. I can't believe you'd do it under any circumstances."
"Not just any," Gordian said. "Chuck, I—"
Gordian broke off, his eyes going to the sliding doors that opened from the house to the veranda. Andrew, his domestic, had appeared with Richard Sobel, the third guest he'd been expecting for breakfast.
"Sir, I've shown Mr. Sobel in as you asked," Andrew said.
"Morning," Sobel said, tipping the other men a wave.
Gordian motioned him to an empty chair at the table. "You're right on schedule, Rich," he said. "Join the party."
Kirby gave Gordian a level glance, saw his spreading grin, and suddenly understood everything.
"You can relax now, Chuck," Gordian said* his smile growing even larger. "Our White Knight has arrived to save the day."
Chapter Eighteen
The fax was on Sian Po's desk when he came into work that morning — a dispatch out of Central HQ advising of a nationwide police search for an American named Max Blackburn, and accompanied by a passport photograph and some sketchy details about the circumstances of his disappearance. All personnel were to be on alert for information regarding his whereabouts, and immediately relay it to CID. The same notice, Sian Po knew, would have been forwarded to the divisional headquarters at Clementi, Tanglin, Ang Mo Kio, Bedock, and Jurong, as well as to hundreds of command center and vehicular computer stations over the Incident Based Information System.
Wishing to remain undisturbed, the commander immediately buzzed his receptionist, instructed her to hold his calls for the next half hour, and read the dispatch over a cup of green tea. It contained only a few brief paragraphs about last week's mysterious scene outside the Hyatt, and they conveyed little that was new to him. However, the material about the parties involved was most intriguing. There were fuller descriptions of the men who had accosted the American… and most importantly, there was the profile of Blackburn himself. Printed beside his photo, it included data about his age, general physical chacteristics, and employer, a satcom outfit called UpLink International operating in the Johor area.
Sian Po drank his tea and reflected back on his stroll in the park with Fat B. What in the world was the club owner into? His nose told him it was something big.
He set down his cup, thinking. The report was as interesting for what it didn't reveal as what it did, and had put several questions into his mind. There was nothing to indicate where the facts about Max Blackburn and the other men had come from. And no mention of the woman Sian Po had heard was involved. Why? Could it be that she was the source of the information? That she'd been located and was perhaps being kept under wraps? CID investigators were customarily tight-lipped, quick to mark their turf, and loath to accept assistance from other departments in the Force. It was conceivable those bastards knew where she was or had her in custody — or under police protection, whichever. If they did, they would not share that secret with anyone at ground level. Not as long as they could help it.
Still, Sian Po had his useful contacts, including a supervisor in intelligence who would be glad to talk to him for a cut of his own payoff from Fat B. And Fat B had strongly hinted the sum would be considerable. He had to be careful, though. Ask what he needed to ask without divulging too much in exchange. The main thing was to find out about the woman, find out where she was. For now that would be a sufficiently juicy morsel to pass along. He would see what else might develop afterward.
Placing the report on his desk beside his teacup, he reached for the phone and made his call.
Nimec managed to catch Gordian in his office at a quarter past eleven in the morning. The boss was rushed, and expectedly so; he'd arrived late after a business parley at his home, and only planned to stay long enough to take care of some odds and ends before leaving for the airport. Vince Scull, Chuck Kirby, Richard Sobel, and Megan Breen — the four of whom were flying to D. C. as passengers in Gordian's Leaijet — had already driven on ahead in a company car, and the hurried atmosphere had made it all the more difficult for Nimec to tell him about Blackburn… and then persuade him to green-light a trip overseas so he could look into what was going on with Max.
Harder than either, however, was disclosing that he'd let Max undertake a hidden probe into Monolith-Singapore's books without first seeking Gordian's consent… the unstated but clearly understood reason being that had it been a sure thing the idea would have been scotched out of hand.
Gordian's reaction to the news about Max — and Nimec's admission — was a predictable mix of anger, dismay, and concern.
"It's beyond me how you could have been part of something this reckless, Pete," he said. He was leaning forward with his right elbow on his desk blotter, his head tilted slightly downward, rubbing the corner of his eye with his index finger. "Completely beyond me."
Nimec looked at him from across the desk.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I won't try to justify it. But consider the big picture. Marcus Caine had been using the crypto bill to impale you in the press. And Blackburn believed Monolith was engaged in a series of illegal business practices and hiding evidence of it in Singapore. It was reasonable to suspect some of those activities might have been aimed at causing damage to UpLink—"
"So instead of coming to me with those suspicions, the two of you launched a caper that could have easily sunk us in quicksand. And likely has, from what you're saying."
Nimec was quiet for a minute, then nodded.
"Yes, we should've notified you, and we didn't," he said. "It was a stupid mistake. And I'm afraid to think about how dearly Max may be paying for it."