Total Control (7 page)

Nathan Gamble, the chairman of Triton Global, was a barrel-chested individual of medium height, in his mid-fifties, with gray-streaked hair brushed straight back and held rigidly in place with a substantial amount of gel. The expensive double-breasted suit was professionally tailored to his stocky form. His face was deeply lined and carried the remnants of an off-season tan. His voice was baritone and commanding; Sidney could easily envision the man bellowing across conference room tables at quaking underlings. The head of a far-reaching corporate powerhouse, he certainly looked and acted the part.

From under thick gray eyebrows, Gamble's dark brown eyes were glued on her. Sidney returned the stare. "Do you have any questions, Nathan?"

"just one."

Sidney steadied herself. She could feel it coming. "What is it?"

she asked pleasantly.

"Why the hell are we doing this?"

Everyone in the room, except for Sidney Archer, winced as though they had collectively sat on one gigantic needle.

"I'm not sure I understand your question."

"Sure you do, unless you're stupid, and I know you're not." Gamble spoke quietly, his features inscrutable despite the sharpness of his rhetoric.

Sidney bit her tongue hard. "I take it you don't like having to sell yourself in order to buy CyberCom?"

Gamble looked around the table. 'They offered an exorbitant amount of cash for that company. Apparently, nor content with making a ten thousand percent return on their investment, now they want to go through my records. Correct?" He looked at Sidney for an answer. She nodded without speaking, and Gamble continued.

"I've bought a lot of companies and no one has ever asked for those materials before. Now CyberCom does. Which gets back to my earlier question. Why are we doing this? What the hell's so special about CyberCom?" His eyes made an exacting scope of the table before settling once again on Sidney.

A man seated to the left of Gamble stirred. A laptop computer in front of him had drawn his attention throughout the meeting.

Quentin Rowe was the very young president of Triton and subordinate only to Nathan Gamble. While all the other men in the room were entombed in stylish suits, he was dressed in khaki pants, worn deck shoes, a blue denim shirt and a brown vest buttoned up the front. Two diamond studs were lodged in his left earlobe. He looked more suited to appearing on an album cover than stepping into a boardroom.

"Nathan, CyberCom is special," Rowe said. "Without them we could well be out of business within two years. CyberCom's technology will completely reinvent and then dominate how information is processed over the Internet. And as far as the high-tech business is concerned, that's like Moses coming down the mountain with the Commandments; there's no substitute." Rowe's tone was a little weary but carried strident undertones. He did not look at Gamble.

Gamble lit up a cigar, casually leaning his expensive lighter up against a small brass sign on the table that read NO SMOKING. "You know, Rowe, that's the problem with this high-tech crap: You're king of the hill in the morning and cow shit by the afternoon. I never should have gotten into the damn business in the first place."

"Well, if money is all you care about, keep in mind that Triton is the world's dominant technology company and generates more than two billion dollars in profits per quarter," Quentin Rowe shot back.

"And cow shit by tomorrow afternoon." Gamble gave Rowe a sidelong glance filled with disgust and puffed away.

Sidney Archer cleared her throat. "Not if you acquire CyberCom, Nathan." Gamble turned to look at her. "You'll be on top for at least the next decade and your profits could well triple within five years."

"Really?" Gamble did not look convinced.

"She's right," Rowe added. "You have to understand that no one, until now, has been able to design software and related communication peripherals that will allow users to take full advantage of the Internet.

Everyone's been floundering, trying to figure out how to make it all work. CyberCom has accomplished that. It's why there's been such a furious bidding war for the company. We are now in a position to close that war out. We have to unless we want to be an also-ran."

"I don't like them looking at our records. Period. We're a privately held company of which I'm, by far, the largest stockholder.

And cash is cash." Gamble stared hard between Sidney and Rowe.

"They're going to be your partners, Nathan," Sidney said.

"They're not taking your money and walking like the other acquisitions you've done. They want to know what they're getting into.

Triton isn't publicly traded, so they can't go to the SEC and get the information they want. This is reasonable due diligence. They requested the same things from the other bidders."

"You presented my last cash offer?"

Sidney nodded. "We did."

"And?"

"And they were duly impressed and reiterated their request for financial and operational records on the company. If we give it to them, sweeten the purchase price some and load the back-end with better incentives, I think we've got a deal."

Gamble's face reddened and he lurched to his feet. "There's not a company out there that can touch us and this chickenshit CyberCom wants to check up on me?"

Rowe sighed deeply. "Nathan, it's merely perfunctory. They're not going to have any problems with Triton, we both know that.

Let's just get it done. It's not like the records are unavailable.

They're in the best shape they've ever been in," he said, visibly frustrated.

"In fact, Jason Archer recently completed that reorganization and did a superb job. A warehouse full of paper with no rhyme or reason to it. I still can't believe that." He looked at Gamble with contempt.

"In case you forgot, I was too busy making money to piss around with a bunch of paper, Rowe. The only paper I happen to care about is the green kind."

Rowe ignored Gamble's response. "Because of Jason's work the due diligence can be completed very soon." He waved cigar smoke away from his face.

Gamble glared at Rowe. "Really?" Then he scowled at Sidney.

"Well, would someone care to tell me why Archer isn't at this meeting, then?"

Sidney paled and for the first time all day she mentally shut down. "Um--"

Rowe stepped in. "Jason took a few days off."

Gamble rubbed his temples. "Well, let's get him on the phone and see where we stand. Maybe we have to give CyberCom some of it, maybe we don't, but what I don't want is us giving them stuff we don't have to. What if the deal doesn't go through? What then?"

His fierce eyes swept the table.

Sidney's tone was calm. "Nathan, we'll have a team of attorneys check every document before they are turned over to CyberCom."

"Fine, but is there anybody who knows the records better than her husband?" Gamble looked at Rowe for an answer.

The young man shrugged. "No, not right now."

"Then let's get him on the line."

"Nathan--"

Gamble cut Rowe off. "Jesus Christ, you'd think that the chairman of the company would be able to get a status report from an employee, wouldn't you? And why is he taking time off anyway with the CyberCom deal heating up?" He jerked his head in Sidney's direction. "I can't say that I much like the idea of having husband and wife involved in the same acquisition, but you happen to be the best deal attorney that I know of."

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me, because this deal isn't done yet." Gamble sat down and took a long puff on his cigar. "Let's call your husband. He home?"

Sidney blinked rapidly and sat back down. "Well, actually he's not right now."

Gamble looked at his watch. "Well, when will he be?"

Sidney distractedly rubbing at her brow. "I'm not exactly sure. I mean, I tried him during our last break and he wasn't. In, I mean."

"Well, let's try him again."

Sidney stared at the man. She seemed suddenly all alone in the massive room. Sidney inwardly sighed and handed the TV remote to Paul Brophy, a young New York-based partner. Dammit, Jason, I hope you really have this new job locked up because it looks like we're really going to need it, honey.

The door to the conference room opened and a secretary poked her head in. "Ms. Archer, I hate to interrupt, but is there a problem with your plane tickets?"

Sidney looked puzzled. "Not that I know of, Jan, why?"

"Well, someone from the airline is on the phone for you."

Sidney opened her briefcase, pulled out her shuttle tickets and quickly perused them. She looked back at Jan. "It's a shuttle ticket, so it's an open return. Why would the airline be calling me about that?"

"Can we get on with the meeting?" Gamble bellowed.

Jan cleared her throat, looked anxiously at Nathan Gamble and continued speaking to Sidney. "Well, whoever it is wants to talk to you. Maybe they had to cancel the shuttle for the rest of today. It's been snowing for the last three hours."

Sidney picked up another device and hit a button. The automatic blinds covering the wall of windows slowly slid back.

"Christ!" Sidney gasped in dismay. She watched the fat snowflakes pouring down. They were so thick she couldn't see the building across the street.

Paul Brophy looked at her. "The firm still has that condo up on Park, Sid, if you need to stay over." He paused. "Maybe we could grab some dinner." His eyes were quietly hopeful.

Sidney sat down wearily without looking at him. "I can't." She was about to say that Jason was out of town but quickly caught herself.

Sidney thought rapidly. Gamble was obviously not going to let this one go. She could call home, confirm what she already knew: that Jason wasn't there. They could all go out to dinner and she could slip away and start calling around L.A., starting with the of-rices of Allege raPort. They could patch Jason through, he could satisfy Gamble's curiosity, and with a little luck she and her husband could escape with little more than a bruised ego and the beginnings on an ulcer. And if the airports were closed, she could take the last Metroliner train home. She swiftly calculated travel times. She would have to call the day care. Karen could take Amy home with her. Worse-case scenario, Amy could do a sleep-over at Karen's. This logistical nightmare only reinforced Sidney's desires for a simpler existence.

"Ms. Archer, do you want to take the call?"

Sidney snapped out of her musings. "I'm sorry, Jan, just put it through in here. And Jan, see if you can get me on the last Metro-liner, just in case La Guardia's closed."

"Yes, ma'am." Jan closed the door. In another moment a red light blinked on the telephone perched on the credenza. Sidney picked it up.

Paul Brophy ejected the video and the TV came back on, voices from the screen filling the room. He quickly hit the mute button on the remote and the room was once again silent.

Sidney cradled the phone against her ear.

"This is Sidney Archer. Can I help you?"

The woman's voice on the other end was a little hesitant, but oddly soothing. "My name is Linda Freeman. I'm with Western Airlines, Ms. Archer. Your office in Washington gave me this number."

"Western? There must be a mistake. I'm ticketed on USAir. On the New York to D.C. shuttle." Sidney shook her head. A stupid mistake. She had enough on her plate right now.

"Ms. Archer, I need you to confirm that you're the spouse of Jason w. Archer, residing at 611 Morgan Lane, Jefferson County, Virginia."

Sidney's tone betrayed her confusion; however, her answer was automatic.

"Yes." As soon as the word passed her lips, Sidney's entire body froze.

"Oh, my God!" Paul Brophy's voice cut through the room.

Sidney whirled around to look at him. All eyes were staring at the TV. Sidney turned slowly toward it. She didn't notice the words "Special News Report" flashing across the top of the screen, or the hearing-impaired close-captioned subtitles flowing across the bottom while the news correspondent recounted the tragic story. Her eyes were riveted on the mass of smoky, blackened wreckage that had once been a proud member of the Western Airlines fleet. George Beard's face appeared in her mind. His low, confidential tones assailed her. Them was a plane crash.

The voice on the phone beckoned to her. "Ms. Archer, I'm afraid there's been an incident involving one of our aircraft."

Sidney Archer heard no more. Her hand slowly descended to her side. Her fingers involuntarily opened and the phone receiver fell to the thickly carpeted floor.

Outside, the snow continued to pour down so forcefully it resembled one of the city's famous ticker-tape parades. The cold winds hurled themselves against the broad array of windows, and Sidney Archer continued to stare in complete disbelief at the crater containing the remains of Flight 3223.

CHAPTER EIGHT

One man, dark-haired, with a cleft chin below chubby cheeks, dressed in a fashionable two-piece suit and clearly introducing himself as William, met Jason Archer at the airport gate in Seattle. The two exchanged a couple of sentences, each composed of seemingly arbitrary words. The coded greeting successfully exchanged, they walked off together. As William went through the exit doors to signal for their ride, Jason took the opportunity to unobtrusively deposit a padded envelope into a U.S. mailbox located to the right of the exit door. Inside the envelope was the copy of the computer diskette he had made before leaving home.

Jason was quickly escorted to a limousine that had pulled up to the curb on William's signal. Inside the limo William presented identification to Jason that revealed his name actually to be Anthony DePazza. A few words of innocuous conversation were exchanged, but nothing further, as the men settled back into the deep leather. Another man, dressed in a conservative brown suit, drove.

During the ride, at DePazza's suggestion, Jason took the opportunity to remove the wig and mustache.

The leather briefcase rode on Jason's lap. Occasionally DePazza would eye it and then continue to stare out the window. Had Jason observed a little more closely, he would have noticed the bulge and occasional glint of metal under DePazza's jacket. The Glock M-17 9mm was a particularly deadly piece of ordnance. The driver was similarly equipped. Even if Jason had seen the weaponry, however, it would not have surprised him. Indeed, he expected them to carry guns.