Power Play (10 page)

“Hi,” he said to her. Then he added, “I didn’t expect to see you here, Tim.”

“Glyn invited me,” Younger said, looking pleased about it.

Jake blinked with surprise.

Glynis said, “Professor Sinclair is in there,” she pointed back into the jam-packed room, “talking with Senator Leeds.”

Frowning, Jake said, “I guess this won’t be a good time to talk to him about meeting Tomlinson.”

“I’m afraid not,” she agreed. “I think I’ve brought you out here for nothing, Jake.”

Jake shrugged. “I might as well get a drink while I’m here.”

“Follow me!” Younger said brightly, and he turned and plunged back into the crowd.

The noise inside the room was almost painful. Everybody talking at once, nobody really listening. Glynis grabbed Jake’s hand and literally towed him along as Younger plowed through the partygoers like a blocking back leading his ball carrier.

And there by the bar was Professor Sinclair deep in conversation with Senator Christopher Leeds. No, not really conversation, Jake saw. Sinclair was talking earnestly, urgently, into the senator’s ear. Leeds was nodding as if he were listening, but his eyes were surveying the crowd, swinging back and forth like a pair of radar antennas searching for contacts.

“What’ll it be?” the bartender asked, almost shouting to make himself heard.

“Jack Daniel’s on the rocks,” hollered Jake.

“No Jack,” the bartender yelled. “I got Beam or Turkey.”

“Jim Beam.”

Leeds was a strikingly handsome man, Jake saw. Photographs didn’t do him justice. He reminded Jake of a classic statue from ancient Rome: dignified, poised, radiating power and authority. Thick silver hair perfectly styled. Chiseled features, strong jaw. He wasn’t as tall as Sinclair, and his figure seemed stocky, almost bloated, as if he were wearing a bulletproof vest under his expensive dark blue suit. He kept nodding and the professor kept talking and Leeds kept scanning the crowd.

“I’m sorry I dragged you out here for nothing,” Glynis said, her voice almost hoarse.

Jake took a swallow of whiskey. “Well, why don’t we get out of this madhouse and go have dinner.”

She glanced toward Younger, who had moved slightly away from the bar. “Tim’s already asked me to dinner.”

“Tim?”

She nodded. “You could join us. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

Jake thought that if he had made a date with her he’d sure as hell mind having another guy butt in. “Naw, that’s all right. You go along with Tim. Have fun.”

Glynis gave him an odd look. “You’re sure?”

“Sure.”

She edged away, found Younger, and the two of them made their way toward the door. Jake stood there, sipping his whiskey, watching Sinclair and Leeds. A younger man came up and joined the professor and the senator. Slightly taller than the professor and a lot thinner, he still looked enough like Sinclair to be his son.

Jake gulped down the rest of his drink. What the hell, he said to himself. As long as I’m here …

He placed the plastic glass back on the bar and pushed through the crowd toward Sinclair. The professor didn’t see him coming, he was still intently jabbering into Leeds’s ear while the younger man stood uneasily at the senator’s other side.

“Hello, Professor,” Jake said heartily.

Sinclair turned and recognized Jake. A look of alarm flashed across his beefy face.

“And you must be Senator Leeds,” Jake said, forcing a smile.

“That I am,” said the senator, extending his hand.

Sinclair said nothing, so Jake introduced himself to the senator. “Jake Ross, astronomy department.”

“Pleased to meet you, Jake.” But Leeds’s eyes were already looking beyond Jake, probing the crowd.

Turning to the younger man, Jake said, “Jake Ross.”

“Arlan Sinclair the Third,” he replied.

So the professor’s a junior, Jake thought as he shook hands with the Third. “Are you with the university?” Jake asked.

Professor Sinclair replied before his son could, “Arly works in Senator Leeds’s office, here in the city.”

All Jake could think of to say was, “Oh.”

PROFESSOR SINCLAIR’S OFFICE

The next morning there was a phone message from Glynis waiting for Jake when he entered his office. He plopped into his springy little chair and pecked out her number.

“He wants to see you,” Glynis said, without preamble.

With a bitter smile, Jake said, “Oh, so now
he
wants to see
me
.”

“What did you say to him?” she asked, her voice sounding almost hostile. “He’s very upset.”

“I didn’t say sh … beans. But I met his son. Who works for Leeds.”

“Professor Sinclair’s son?” Surprised.

“Who is employed by Senator Christopher Leeds, in his local office here in town.”

A long pause. “Well, the professor wants to see you. How is two o’clock this afternoon for you?”

“I’m teaching a class then. What about four?”

“Let me check … four thirty? Can you make it then?”

“Yep.”

“Four thirty, then. In the professor’s office.”

“Will you be there?” he asked.

“Of course.”

“Good. See you then.”

As Jake placed the phone handset back in its receptacle, he wondered how Glynis’s dinner with Tim Younger went. That’s none of your business, he told himself. Still, he wondered.

He thought about putting in a call to Amy Wexler, to tell her about the Sinclair-Leeds connection, but decided to wait until after he’d talked with the professor. Get the facts first, he decided. Don’t go off half-cocked.

*   *   *

Professor Sinclair was sitting behind his heavy mahogany desk when Jake arrived at his office. Jake got the feeling that he had barricaded himself in there as if he were preparing to fight a battle. Through the office’s wide windows Jake could see there was a dusting of snow on the distant mountains. The ski resorts will be open for business this weekend, he realized. It’s going to be a white Christmas for them.

Glynis had opened the door when Jake knocked on it and now she showed him to one of the university-issue steel-frame chairs in front of Sinclair’s desk. Its thin pad felt like concrete. There was another man already seated in the chair beside him, a thin-faced middle-aged man in a light gray suit, balding, dark-jowled, sitting with his legs crossed and his crafty eyes studying Jake.

As Glynis went to the chair at the side of Sinclair’s desk, the professor introduced him. “Dr. Ross, this is Ignacio Perez.”

Jake turned to shake hands. Perez smiled warmly yet his dark eyes seemed anything but friendly. “Call me Nacho,” he said, his voice rasping as if he had a sore throat. “Everybody calls me Nacho.”

Jake smiled tightly. “I’m Jake.”

“Good,” said Nacho. “Good.”

“Mr. Perez works with Senator Leeds’s reelection campaign office,” said Sinclair, with clear distaste.

“Me and the senator go back a long ways,” Perez said, grinning. “A long ways.”

Glynis spoke up, “Jake is going to be Franklin Tomlinson’s science advisor, aren’t you, Jake?”

“That’s right.” Tightly.

Perez broke into a staccato laughter. “That’s all right. No problem. I won’t hold that against ya.”

Sinclair put on a pained smile.

To the professor, Jake said, “I take it, then, that you’re supporting Senator Leeds.”

Looking more uncomfortable than ever, Sinclair said, “I wouldn’t say ‘supporting.’ I don’t intend to be active in anyone’s political campaign.”

“Tomlinson wants to make MHD a major issue in his campaign,” Jake said. “Will you support that?”

As if reciting a line learned by rote, Sinclair repeated, “I don’t intend to be active in anyone’s political campaign.”

Jake glanced at Perez, then said to the professor, “I imagine your son will be working for Senator Leeds.”

“He already is employed by Senator Leeds,” Sinclair replied.

“I mean, in his reelection campaign.”

Sinclair drew in a deep breath, then replied, “Arly’s a grown man. He makes his own decisions.”

Glynis spoke up. “Jake, you said you wanted Professor Sinclair to meet with Mr. Tomlinson.…”

Nodding, “That’s right.”

“Tomlinson don’t have a chance against the senator,” Perez said knowingly.

“I’d still like you to meet him and talk about the issue of MHD power generation,” Jake said to the professor.

“I’d be happy to meet with him,” Sinclair said.

Surprised, Jake blurted, “That’s great! How’s your schedule look for the rest of this week?”

Waving a hand as though the matter was trivial, Sinclair said, “Check that out with my secretary. Or better yet, with Glynis, here. She’s become indispensable to me lately.”

Indispensable, Jake thought. What the hell does that mean?

Shifting his eyes from Jake to Perez, Sinclair asked, “How is your schedule for the rest of the week, Nacho?”

Spreading his hands, Perez said, “I got nothin’ but time, Prof. You set your meeting with Tomlinson and I’ll be there.”

JAMES A. VAN ALLEN MUSEUM OF SCIENCE

Leverett Cardwell smiled his quizzical little smile. “What a tangled web we weave,” he quoted, “when first we practice to deceive.”

Jake was not smiling. “It’s a serious problem, Lev. Tomlinson wants to announce his candidacy before Christmas and he wants to make MHD a major issue.”

Cardwell and Jake were in the planetarium. The round, domed room was empty between shows, half lit, shadowy, hushed. The soundproofed walls seemed to cushion the air; Jake always felt a little strange, special, in the planetarium, as if he were in a cathedral or a holy shrine. Jake and Dr. Cardwell were sitting side by side in plush reclining chairs on the last row, by the curving wall, next to the control booth, speaking in low, guarded voices. The acoustics in the planetarium were so good that they could have spoken in whispers from across the chamber and still heard each other perfectly well.

“And he doesn’t want to come out for MHD only to have Sinclair speak out against the idea,” Cardwell summarized.

“Right,” said Jake. “I’ve finally set up a meeting between the two of them, but Sinclair wants to bring one of Senator Leeds’s flunkies with him.”

The older man’s smile stayed in place, but he said, quite seriously, “Arlan Sinclair’s always been a sonofabitch.”

Shocked, Jake couldn’t do anything but gape at Cardwell.

With a little chuckle, Cardwell said, “We’ve known each other for a long time. He was after Alice, you know. Even after she married me.”

“Sinclair?”

“Sinclair.”

“I’ll be damned.” Jake suddenly understood Sinclair’s disdain when he had mentioned Lev’s name to the professor.

“Oh yes, he and I go back a long way. A very long way. And here I thought he’d be delighted with your proposal to make MHD a major issue for Tomlinson.”

“He’s solidly in Leeds’s camp,” Jake said. “His son works in the senator’s local office.”

“I might have known.”

“So now I’ve finally set up the meeting with Tomlinson but Sinclair’s going to bring one of Leeds’s people to it.”

Cardwell rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “You’re afraid that Leeds will preempt the MHD issue, snatch it away from Tomlinson before he even announces his candidacy.”

“And I don’t know what to do about it,” Jake said, feeling increasingly desperate.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“You do nothing, Jake. There’s nothing you can do, is there?”

“But Leeds will take over the MHD issue! He’ll make the voters think it was his idea all along!”

“That can’t be helped,” said Cardwell.

“It’s not fair!”

Cardwell said nothing for several moments. Then, tapping Jake’s knee, he pointed out, “You may be losing sight of the forest, Jake. What’s important is that
somebody
takes the ball on MHD and runs with it. Tomlinson, Leeds, the Three Stooges … it doesn’t matter who does it. What’s important is that MHD gets the chance it deserves to help this state and the nation.” Before Jake could say anything, the older man added, “And the world.”

“But what about Tomlinson?”

Spreading his hands in a gesture of helplessness, Cardwell replied, “I wouldn’t worry about Frank Tomlinson. It’s you I’m worried about.”

“Me?”

“If Senator Leeds comes out for MHD and preempts Tomlinson on the issue, where does that leave you?”

Jake huffed. “Out in the cold. A science advisor with nothing to advise about.” And he thought of Amy Wexler. Would she bother with me if I’m out of Tomlinson’s campaign?

“It seems to me,” Cardwell said, “that the only thing you can do is to set up this meeting between Tomlinson and Sinclair and hope for the best.”

“Even with Senator Leeds’s man there?”

Nodding, Cardwell said, “What’s important, Jake, is that MHD gets the political backing it needs to become a successful technology.”

“You think so.”

“I certainly do. Remember your history classes. In World War Two, when the Nazis invaded Soviet Russia, Winston Churchill immediately offered Josef Stalin all the aid that Britain could give to the Russians. When some members of Parliament criticized Churchill for becoming friendly with the Communist dictator, Churchill replied that if Hitler invaded hell, he would try to say a few good things about the devil.”

Cardwell chuckled while Jake stared at him uncertainly.

Getting to his feet, the older man said, “Politics, Jake. It’s the art of getting what you want out of people who generally don’t want the same things you do.”

As he pushed himself up from the comfortable chair, Jake muttered, “Sleeping with the enemy.”

But he was thinking about sleeping with Amy Wexler. Yet it was Glynis Colwyn’s serious, sensuous face that popped into his imagination.

SHERIDAN HOTEL

It was the oldest hotel in the capital city, named, Jake thought ruefully, after a general whose major contributions to the state were to nearly wipe out both the Native Americans and the buffalo. For those accomplishments, Philip Sheridan was revered by the movers and shakers of the state.

“The only good Indians I ever saw were dead.” Some historians claimed that Sheridan never said that, but his actions in the Indian Wars certainly reinforced that image of him.