Capitol Reflections (17 page)
Mark started walking again but stopped abruptly and looked back in the direction of Pequod’s. Billy Hamlin, at the helm of a growing American phenomenon, would be a great interview. The coffee boom was most definitely a Mark Stern story since Mark was, after all, a student of culture in the good old U.S. of A. He’d put in a call to Pequod’s corporate headquarters in Seattle and see if Hamlin’s smile was as inviting as the picture implied.
Gregory Randall, CEO, was slender, with jet-black hair parted perfectly above an aquiline nose and narrow jaw. He dressed impeccably. His Armani collection required an entire closet of its own. He wouldn’t be caught dead in shoes that cost less than a thousand dollars, and his ties, like most of his women, were imported. Several publications had named him the most eligible bachelor in the Western Hemisphere (though he would categorically deny interest in any assessment made by publications such as
GQ
or
Vanity Fair
).
GQ
or
Vanity Fair
).
His manner, terse and to the point, was the reason that his board meetings rarely lasted more than thirty minutes, a rarity in the world of mega-corporations. The thirty-nine-year-old chief executive officer of Randall, Inc. gathered his board of directors more as a formality than a policy-making necessity. He was not averse to entertaining suggestions, but he preferred them to be sixty seconds or less in duration. He wasn’t interested in graphs, pie charts, or PowerPoint presentations. He had all the figures he needed in his head.
“I’d like to thank all of you,” Randall said at the start of the 2005 meeting of the Board of Directors, “for your kind words of sympathy regarding the death of my father. He was an estimable man and such losses are never easy.” Randall cast his eyes downward for an extended beat. Then he rose from his chair and assumed his traditional posture for board meetings—pacing back and forth at the head of the long mahogany table on the eighteenth floor of the Randall Building in New York City.
“We have three matters before us today, so we need to move briskly.” He looked closely at the ten men and two women seated around the table. He switched eye contact from one board member to another every fifteen seconds or so, forcing his twelve listeners to stay sharp. “First, our fourth generation Acceleration Chip—AC IV—will be market-ready in just a few days. It will be the fastest operating chip ever used in a personal computer, making Intel look like Aesop’s tortoise. Even dial-up Internet users will see their PCs moving at the speed of light. As CEO of our Friendlyware subsidiary, Ralph Stefano will naturally be our point man in making sure we start to make Intel a bit uncomfortable. Right, Ralph?”
A white-haired gentleman in his early sixties nodded and smiled compliantly.
“Comments, anyone?”
There were none.
“Next, there’s the matter of expanding Pequod’s into different markets. We have hundreds of stores in every state, and our coffee is achieving cult status. We’ll be taking our product right down to the grassroots level, with coffee bars in bookstores, airports, and malls. Furthermore, the complimentary coffee served to shoppers by grocery stores in twenty-two states will shortly become Pequod’s. We’re also going to test-market iced coffee beverages in glass bottles, placing them in the dairy cases of at least three grocery chains in five states.”
Billy Hamlin, CEO of Pequod’s, leaned forward, hands clasped on the polished table. His dazzling white smile disappeared, and a frown suddenly recast his boyish features—square jaw, fair complexion, light blue eyes, and blond hair—into a study of polite, respectful confusion.
“You and I have discussed this for a while now, Gregory. I think we’re looking at possible market saturation. Of course we need to continue to expand, but the most prudent thing to do at this point is slow the process down.”
“Normally I’d agree, Billy, but the fact of the matter is that Pequod’s outperforms its competition in every state, and that’s in no small part because of your expert leadership in using PR to make Pequod’s a household name. The other big boy in the market doesn’t know what hit it. They’re hemorrhaging market share to us. Meanwhile, the smaller chains that try to expand and take us on never make any serious headway. They start local and stay local. Personally, I’m comfortable with that. I’m sure that with you overseeing the expansion, we’ll continue to not only thrive, but also keep the competition at a very comfortable distance.”
Hamlin’s face relaxed, allowing an “aw shucks, just doin’ my job” grin to replace his momentary look of concern. “Just playing devil’s advocate, Gregory. I’ll do my best.”
Randall smiled. Hamlin was just as good as he needed to be. “I have every confidence that you will, Billy. Now then, does anyone else wish to speak for the devil?”
There were a few chuckles around the table.
“Very well, then. The last item of business concerns the company founded by my late uncle, James Compson Randall, namely Compson Tobacco, Inc. Compson is doing well in virtually every targeted demographic market, which is precisely why I want to step up our obligatory antismoking commercials and programs. It pays to be proactive, and if we’re doing well without simultaneously trying to demonstrate that we’re withdrawing from addiction, if you’ll pardon the mixed metaphor, then we may draw some attention down the road from
60 Minutes
or
Dateline
. We’ll have the usual: TV spots—those heartwarming thirty-second pieces showing parents and children discussing demon tobacco—as well as posters for school bulletin boards and an expanded Website on ways to kick the habit. Statistics show these programs have no significant effect on sales in any region, so I think we cover ourselves and stay ahead of any public criticism. Agreed?”
60 Minutes
or
Dateline
. We’ll have the usual: TV spots—those heartwarming thirty-second pieces showing parents and children discussing demon tobacco—as well as posters for school bulletin boards and an expanded Website on ways to kick the habit. Statistics show these programs have no significant effect on sales in any region, so I think we cover ourselves and stay ahead of any public criticism. Agreed?”
Nods of approval appeared around the table. Randall wondered why he gathered the board at all.
“Great. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with a golf ball in less than an hour. The helicopter’s already warming up on the roof, so I bid you good day, ladies and gentlemen.”
There was polite applause in the room as Gregory Randall slipped through a side door into his office. The guru of Randall, Inc. expected a duly appreciative audience and they dutifully obliged him every time.
They regarded it as job security.
22
Gwen walked into the Parklawn Building on Monday morning with a bit less enthusiasm than usual. A meeting with Ralph Snyder could do that to a person. Gwen deliberately wore her PHS dress whites. There was nothing like gold eagles on a woman’s blouse to keep a man like Snyder mired in his insecurity. She was going to act professionally and she considered dressing the part to be essential for a possible confrontation with this pencil pusher.
When she reached Snyder’s pallid office suite, Snyder’s secretary motioned for Gwen to sit, shrugging apologetically. Did the man have anyone who truly respected him?
The magazines on the end tables were predictably sterile. Gwen absentmindedly leafed through twenty pages of
Public Administration
when Snyder’s door opened, revealing a man whose comb-over was less convincing than usual, strands of hair clumped on his all-too-visible bald pate.
Public Administration
when Snyder’s door opened, revealing a man whose comb-over was less convincing than usual, strands of hair clumped on his all-too-visible bald pate.
“Good morning, Dr. Maulder,” he said thinly.
He motioned her toward the famous “victim’s chair” in his office. Rumor had it that he’d shortened one leg of this chair to keep his subjects uncomfortable during their encounters with him, a trick he’d likely learned from a correspondence course on leadership and intimidation. The chair kept tottering on its uneven legs, forcing Gwen to spend much too much attention on keeping her balance. She flashed on Fitz Rule Number Four: Don’t let the morons of the world cause you to compromise your beliefs.
“Bring me up to date on your work in the Epidemiology Division, if you would,” Snyder began, settling into his armchair. He was a thin man, and his baggy suit was obviously straight off the rack.
Gwen realized instantly that Snyder was playing games, asking her to state what he already knew. She obliged him, however, by going through the general protocols for her department. She explained that her division of the Center for Drugs was a support unit for the entire Center, the mission of which was to track underlying disease processes in the general population. She often received assignments that went beyond these parameters, but this explanation encompassed the main mission statement of her department. If the FDA were considering approval for a new cholesterol-lowering drug, for instance, her unit could provide up-to-the-minute information on how many people in the country had high cholesterol and to what degree. Along these lines, she related to Snyder the results of a recent study on the prevalence of asthma in inner-city children.
Snyder clasped his hands, elbows resting on the arms of his chair. “That’s all very interesting, and I’m sure it’s invaluable to the scientific community, but my job, Dr. Maulder, is to make sure that our manpower is used to the taxpayers’ maximum advantage. I’m afraid I’m going to have to shift the focus of your efforts, at least temporarily. Your colleague, Dr. Wayne Spitzer, will be overseeing your division’s studies for an unspecified period. I’ve gotten complaints from the front office that we’re two years behind in reporting out our Adverse Event files from the Medwatch system—you know, the voluntary reporting database. It’s all about the 9/11 Commission Report. Someone upstairs is worried that we may have some data buried in those files related to bioterrorism. Expertise like yours is our only hope for catching up. I’m assigning you to examine these files.”
Gwen had prepared for many different scenarios for this meeting, but not this one. “But those AE reports and Medwatch belong to the Office of Drug Safety. That has nothing to do with my mandate. Everybody knows that the stuff in that database is useless from an epidemiologist’s perspective.”
“I understand your concern, Dr. Maulder, but this request comes from the highest levels. We have increasing intelligence that terrorists might attempt to tamper with the pharmaceutical supply chain in order to harm Americans. Rumors have surfaced that there have been some dry runs. Perhaps the FDA already has evidence that it has overlooked. Given the post 9/11 climate, we have decided that we need to examine certain files to be sure that we haven’t overlooked anything that might indicate terrorist activity.”
“But the CDC has BioNet to handle that kind of job, sir. With all due respect, I think we’d be wasting the taxpayers’ money.”
Snyder flashed a humorless smile. “BioNet is certainly a valuable new asset, but I still think there’s no substitute for old-fashioned human intuition. I can think of no one better qualified than you to give our retro-analysis that indefinable human touch. Moreover, the CDC budget is grabbing a disproportionate share of the new Homeland Security allocations. It’s time we got some of that money to come home to Rockville.”
Gwen’s throat went dry. This was the bureaucratic equivalent to being sent down to the minors. What was going on here? She burned inside, but she maintained a calm, professional demeanor. “Mr. Snyder, there are thousands of AE files. There’s no way I could do this job in less than a year. It deserves a staff of several people and should be handled by a separate division with its own administrator.”
“I’m afraid the FDA is not budgeted for that at present. If you want to use an assistant, I have no problem with that.”
“One assistant?” Gwen asked incredulously.
“Yes, Dr. Maulder. One assistant.”
“But—”
“Be thankful, Doctor, that I’m not assigning you to liaise with the Army on their combat virus control program. They want to start doing their own vaccine trials for diseases the civilian sector has never heard of. The only problem is the assignment will take that appointee to Somalia for six months. I haven’t figured out on whom to spring that little nugget. I thought I was actually doing you a favor, as well as selecting the best person for the job. Your files show that you were a master diagnostician while in family practice.”
Gwen felt a migraine sliding into her brain like a warm front scorching the Midwest. This didn’t make sense. Assigning a captain in the USPH to go over Adverse Event files? That was the kind of drudgery first year medical officers had to endure. This had to be about something else. She was on the verge of asking Snyder if he knew about her call to Jan, but decided not to show her hand. She would follow Fitz Rule Number Five: Act, don’t react. She’d find out later what was behind Snyder’s ludicrous orders. In the meantime, she had ways of continuing her investigation in a more clandestine fashion. It might be risky, but she fully intended to find out what else BioNet had to say about the seizure stats. She would call Jan from home and suggest that they both open an account with
iPrive.com
to communicate only via secure mail.
iPrive.com
to communicate only via secure mail.
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