The young man who opened the door earlier appears from Bolger’s left and presents him with a glass of water. The glass, which is on a silver tray, looks like Waterford cut crystal. Bolger takes it and raises it to the three men opposite. This feels like a foolish gesture as he’s doing it, and it is, but he can’t help himself.
He takes a sip from the glass.
‘Look,’ he says, ‘Brussels is still reeling from our rejection of Lisbon, but whatever way it plays out, whether the Treaty eventually passes or not, one thing you can be sure about, and probably for decades to come, is that tax-based competition between member states will continue – which of course is great for us, because attracting inward investment is exactly where our tax regime is so strong.’
The economist takes up this point and they tease it out for a few minutes before moving on to other topics. After about half an hour, someone’s mobile phone rings. Five minutes after that the door leading to the vestibule opens and a burly man wearing dark glasses comes in. He is followed by another man, who is much older and walking very slowly.
This is James Vaughan.
Everyone stands up.
Throughout his years as a politician, and especially since being appointed to the cabinet, Bolger has met a lot of people – dignitaries, the occasional head of state, showbiz celebrities – but this is of a different order of magnitude.
He steps forward and extends his hand. ‘It’s an honour to meet you, sir.’
Vaughan, who must be in his mid-to late seventies, is a small man, stooped and quite frail-looking. But his eyes are astonishing – blue, bright, very alert.
‘So,’ he says, shaking Bolger’s hand, ‘how is the next prime minister of Ireland?’
‘Oh, well, let’s not -’
Bolger stops himself. His impulse is to dismiss this, but he holds back. He bows in acknowledgement of the question, and smiles.
‘Or what is it you guys call it again?’ Vaughan says. ‘Tee something… Tee -’
‘Taoiseach.’
‘That’s it. Means chieftain, right?’
‘Yes. Leader. It’s -’
‘Chieftain. I like that,’ Vaughan says, looking around at the others. ‘Maybe we should use that from now on, chieftain executive officer.’
Everyone laughs.
‘OK, Phil,’ Vaughan then says, turning to the burly man he came in with. ‘I think we’re all set.’ Phil nods silently and retreats. Vaughan moves over towards the sofa, but he doesn’t sit down.
‘So, Ray,’ he says, ‘what’s the deal here, we’re going to eat something?’
‘Yes,’ Ray Sullivan says, turning backwards and clicking his fingers. The young man walks over to a set of double doors on the far side of the room and opens them.
Through the doors Bolger sees what looks like a full-sized dining room. The table is set and uniformed servers are hovering about, adjusting cutlery and repositioning glasses.
‘Larry,’ Vaughan says to Bolger, beckoning him over with an outstretched arm, ‘come, come, sit with me.’
The next hour passes very quickly for Bolger. He listens with great attention as Vaughan talks – and exclusively to him – on a wide range of subjects, including his time as Assistant Secretary at the Treasury Department under Jack Kennedy, his famous run-in with LBJ, and how he was told on good authority over thirty years ago that Mark Felt was Deep Throat. One story Bolger particularly likes is about Vaughan using the expression ‘irrational exuberance’ in a private conversation with Alan Greenspan two days before the Fed Chairman used it himself in a black-tie dinner speech and caused a worldwide wobble in the markets.
As coffee is being served, Vaughan suddenly turns the conversation around. ‘So tell me, Larry. How are things down on Richmond Dock? I hear we’re making quite an impression on your skyline over there.’
‘Yes, Mr Vaughan, indeed.’ The ‘we’ isn’t lost on Bolger. With a 15 per cent stake in the building, and Amcan, which it owns, set to be the anchor tenant, Oberon – he supposes – is a key player in the project. ‘Aside from the usual objections about height,’ he says, ‘everything has gone pretty smoothly. I think the city is ready for this.’
‘Sure it is,’ Vaughan says, ‘sure it is, a city needs its symbols. And what’s so awful about height anyway? I mean, it’s just a basic expression of… ambition. It’s in the DNA. I know it’s in my DNA.’ He waves a hand in the air. ‘Look, for an earlier generation the big idea was frontier expansion – go west, young man, that kind of thing – but for us it was go up, it was the great land grab in the sky.’
Bolger nods along at this, engrossed, barely aware of anyone else around the table.
‘And back then,’ Vaughan continues, ‘size mattered, too. That’s what it was about in the end, really, scale. It was all get a load of this, and get a load of that… I don’t know, eight miles of elevator shafts, three thousand tons of marble, two and a half million feet of electrical cable, ten million bricks…’
He follows this with a story about how in the late fifties, when he was East Coast Vice-President of Wolper & Stone, he personally oversaw the construction of the firm’s new corporate headquarters in midtown Manhattan. After that, he somehow loops back to the present and to the strategic importance for Oberon of establishing a high-profile base in Europe. In the space of about five minutes, he manages to use the words ‘bridgehead,’ ‘gateway’ and ‘portal’.
But then, at around 2.30, and out of the blue, he announces that he has to go and lie down. ‘It’s been a pleasure, Larry,’ he says, ‘but I’ve got this blood condition. Doctor’s orders.’
‘Of course, please, please.’
As Vaughan gets up, everyone else at the table gets up, too. Ray Sullivan confers with the young man, who immediately takes out his mobile phone and starts making a call.
‘Walk me to the door, Larry,’ Vaughan says to Bolger, taking him by the arm.
‘I can’t tell you what an honour this has been for me, Mr Vaughan, really.’
‘Well thank you, Larry, nice of you to say so.’ He applies a little pressure to Bolger’s arm. ‘And let me just add something.’
‘Of course.’
‘No one ever knows what’s going to happen in politics, am I right?’
Bolger nods.
‘These are democratic times we live in.’
‘Indeed.’
‘It’s the people who decide.’
‘Hhmm.’
‘But from what I’m told, in Ireland right now, you’re the man to watch, so I want you to know something.’ Vaughan lowers his voice here, almost to a whisper. ‘We’re behind you all the way.’
‘Well, thank you.’
‘And if there’s anything we can do to help…’
‘Thank you.’
When they get to the door – where the burly Phil is waiting – Vaughan releases Bolger’s arm. He turns and extends his hand. ‘Larry,’ he says, ‘it was nice meeting you.’
They shake.
‘And remember what I said.’
‘I will.’
Vaughan turns again and leaves.
Twenty minutes later, after more arm-squeezing, more handshakes, more urgent, whispered assurances of support, Bolger leaves, too. Ray Sullivan takes him back downstairs, where a car is waiting.
The driver slips across to 72nd Street and then turns left onto Fifth Avenue.
With his head still reeling, Bolger tries to interpret what has just happened.
It was an endorsement – plain and simple. Bolger is primed to take over his party. The party is a shoo-in at the next election. The Oberon Capital Group needs to maintain a US-friendly European base for its biotech, aerospace and defence contractors.