Powersat

Dan Randolph’s Apartment

The apartment was always neat and clean when Dan came back to it from his day’s work. His office was barely fifty yards down the catwalk that circled three walls of the hangar, but Tomasina, his dour-faced, stocky cleaning woman, always managed to get in and straighten the place, even if Dan was gone for only a few minutes. She cleaned his clothes, washed his dishes, and kept the apartment shipshape, all without getting in Dan’s way. Most of the time he didn’t even know she’d been there, except that the place was spotless and tidy. Once in a while she’d leave him a note in neat, large block letters, ordering cleaning supplies that were running low.

As he undressed, Dan wondered what he should do about the problem he faced. I’ve got a spy working somewhere in the company, he kept repeating to himself. How do I find him? Hire a private investigator? Tell Passeau about it? He could get the FBI in here, I suppose.

Yet he hesitated, uncertain. Who can I trust? he asked his image in the mirror as he brushed his teeth. Joe Tenny, I know. Joe’s put as much of himself into this project as I have. Hannah was like a sister to him. No, more like a grown-up daughter.

As he climbed into his king-sized bed, Dan realized that his list of people he could trust ended with Tenny. He didn’t know anybody else in the eight-hundred-odd men and women he employed well enough to trust them implicitly. Any one of them could be the spy, the saboteur.

Wait, he said as he clicked off the bedside lamp. Whoever it is has to be technically trained. It couldn’t be April, for example. She can run the office all right, but she’s no engineer.

But then he thought, That could all be an act A saboteur wouldn’t have to show his technical skills. Or hers. What do they call them in the spy business? Moles, he remembered. I’ve got a mole in my organization.

He lay on his back in the darkness, his mind spinning. Stop thinking, he commanded himself. Get to sleep. Let your subconscious work the problem. By the time you get up tomorrow morning you’ll probably have the answer you need.

He decided he had given himself good advice, turned over onto his side and closed his eyes. But sleep did not come to him. Instead, he remembered seeing Jane again, with Governor Scanwell.

The fund-raiser in Austin had been such a big bash that Dan thought he’d never be able to speak privately with the governor, but Len Kinsky kept telling him to be patient.

“Half the people in Texas are trying to see Scanwell,” Kinsky said over the buzz and clatter of the crowd as they stood by one of the bars that had been set up across the spacious sweep of the hotel’s atrium.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Dan grumbled, sipping at his disappointing Dry Sack. “We’ll hang around all night and never get to talk to him.”

“Wait it out,” said Kinsky. “Hang in there. The drinks are free, aren’t they?”

“And so’s dinner,” Dan admitted.

Kinsky made a sour face to show what he thought of Texas cuisine.

Dan wanted to leave. He didn’t like seeing Jane standing there beside Scanwell. It bothered him, annoyed him. This is the life she chose, he told himself. She’s a politician and she loves all this. Dan wanted to run away.

Instead he weaved through the crush of strangers, nursing his drink and smiling mechanically at the men in their dinner jackets and the begowned and bejeweled women. He didn’t know any of them and none of them knew him. He deliberately moved away from Kinsky, who was talking to a young blonde, a wolfish grin on his face. Wandering through the crowd, Dan wondered why he was wasting his time; he wanted to get away but knew he would stay until the bitter end.

He saw a young redhead who seemed to be equally out of place, alone, clutching a long-stemmed glass of champagne in one hand and an expensive-looking beaded bag in her other. She wore a glittering short-skirted outfit of red and black sequins.

“You’re wearing my high school colors,” Dan said to her, by way of introducing himself.

She was deeply unimpressed, and after a few words Dan drifted away from her. No sense of humor, he decided.

Kinsky found him again when they went into the ballroom, where a sea of round tables had been set up for dinner. Dan and his public relations director sat with eight older men and women. When one of them asked Dan what he did for a living and Dan began to explain it, he quickly changed the subject to golf.

Teams of harried-looking waiters and waitresses slapped dishes onto the table. Broiled steak and baked potatoes, with a medley of overcooked vegetables. Dan glanced at Kinsky: the P.R. director looked like a martyr heading toward the scaffold.

Scanwell made a few remarks from the head table about the wonderful charity this dinner was supporting. Dan hardly heard him. He watched Jane, sitting there beside the governor’s place. She was splendid, completely in her element, smiling and chatting with the others at the head table.

The speeches seemed endless to Dan, a succession of men and women congratulating one another on the wonderful work they were doing. Yeah, Dan said to himself, and not one of them gives a good god damn about the wonderful work I’m trying to do.

He was startled when Kinsky tapped him on the shoulder.

“I told you he’d come through,” Kinsky whispered, leaning so close to Dan that he thought the man was going to stick his tongue in his ear. Kinsky was holding a small white card on which was scrawled the numbers 2335.

“He wants to meet you in his suite,” Kinsky whispered.

Dan took the card in his hand and turned it over. It was the governor’s calling card, complete with the seal of office, his “hotline” phone number, and official e-mail address.

Scanwell didn’t stay for all the speeches. He got up, shook every hand along the head table, and made his apologies for leaving early. Jane went with him.

“Come on,” Kinsky said, nudging Dan again.

Feeling as if he really wanted to get out of this hotel, out of Austin altogether, Dan pushed his chair back and got to his feet. He followed Kinsky up the glass elevator to the twenty-third floor.

When they got out of the elevator a pair of unsmiling uniformed state policemen big enough to play in the National Football League checked their IDs and directed them down the hall. Dan pushed the doorbell button; an aide in a dinner jacket and black tie immediately opened the door and ushered them into the suite. It was richly carpeted, furnished in big plush pieces and polished oak. The drapes were drawn over windows that spanned two walls of the sitting room.

Scanwell was sitting back on the long sofa, his jacket off, his tie loosened, and a cut crystal tumbler of bourbon in his hand.

“Hello, Governor,” Dan said. “It’s good of you to give us some of your time.”

“Come on in,” Scanwell called to Dan and Kinsky. Gesturing to the bar, “Have a drink.” The governor perched his booted feet on the coffee table.

Jane was nowhere in sight. Two more aides were standing by the bar, the man wearing slacks and a light brown sports jacket, the woman in a tailored pantsuit. Obviously neither one of them had been at the dinner downstairs. Then Dan noticed the butt of a pistol inside the guy’s jacket. Bodyguards.

Dan reached for the San Pellegrino water from the row of bottles lined up atop the bar.

“There’s beer in the fridge if you prefer,” the male aide said. “Lone Star longnecks.”

Dan made a smile and poured the water. “Thanks anyway,” he said, thinking that he’d better stay sober through this meeting.

“I think y’all can wait outside in the hall,” Scanwell said to his aide and the bodyguards. “I’ll yell if I need anything.”

As they were leaving Jane came in from the bedroom, smoothing her hair. Dan’s breath caught in his throat. She smiled uncertainly at him, then went to the sofa and sat beside Scanwell.

“C’mon over,” Scanwell said, waving to Dan. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Dan took the upholstered chair on the opposite side of the glass coffee table. Kinsky sat off to one side.

Scanwell gave Dan a friendly grin. “What I’d like to know,” he said, “is how you talked my parks department into letting you lease part of a state park and turn it into your rocket base:” Dan realized that the governor’s voice was slightly hoarse. Too much talking over the noise of the crowd, he thought.

Grinning back at the governor, Dan replied, “They needed the cash. Budget deficits and all that. But it still wasn’t easy. I had to sweet-talk sixteen different staffs of bureaucrats to let me use the old Wynne ranch property.”

Scanwell shook his head. “I caught a lot of flak over that when I ran for reelection.”

“But Calhoun County voted for you very solidly,” Dan countered. “They appreciate the new jobs.”

“How many engineers do you have down there?”

“It’s not just the engineers. It’s the people who run the new ferry. And the motel. And the truck drivers and road crews and building trades people. They all vote, and they all like the paychecks they’re getting.”

“But how did you ever get it past my environmental protection people?”

Dan’s smile widened. “Governor, NASA’s big Kennedy Space Center sits right alongside the Cape Canaveral National Wildlife Reserve. Launching rockets doesn’t bother the pelicans.”

Scanwell cocked his head slightly to one side. “Well maybe so. Still, you must be a very convincing guy…”

“Dan can be extremely convincing,” Jane said without a smile, “when he wants to be.”

“Jane’s been telling me about your project,” Scanwell said.

“I’ll be frank with you, Governor,” Dan said. “My company’s in deep financial trouble.”

Scanwell nodded sympathetically. “So I hear.”

“But if I can make it work,” Dan went on, “if I can start to deliver electrical power from the satellite, it will change the energy picture for America. For the whole world.”

“That’s a big if, though, isn’t it?”

“Not as far as the technology is concerned. We know how to make the satellite work. It’s the economics that’s a bitch.”

Scanwell laughed. “Isn’t it always?”

Jane said, “Energy independence could be a major part of Morgan’s campaign.”

Morgan, Dan thought. She calls him by his first name.

“It’s not going to be easy,” Scanwell said, his brows knitting. “Making energy independence a major campaign issue will mean the oil interests line up solidly against me. A lot of money there.”

“And power,” Dan agreed.

“You’ve fought against them before,” Jane pointed out. “And won.”

Scanwell grinned forlornly. “Yeah, I squeaked past ’em for governor. But Garrison and his people will work their butts off against me now.”

“Garrison?” Dan asked. Then he realized that of course Garrison of Tricontinental Oil would be against any candidate who threatened his power.

“It’ll be tough, but I’m willing to slug it out with them,” said the governor, “if I can show that we have a practical alternative to importing foreign oil.”

Kinsky offered, “Well, I think we can help you there. Solar power satellites could play a major role in making America independent of overseas oil.”

“That so?” Scanwell asked, looking squarely at Dan.

“Yes, it is, Governor. With power satellites and nuclear plants we—”

“People are scared of nuclear,” the governor objected.

Dan groused, “Yeah, they’d rather have blackouts.”

“Power satellites don’t present any environmental problems,” Kinsky said, trying to bring the conversation back on point. “It’s solar energy. Nobody’s scared of solar energy.”

“But you’re in trouble now,” Scanwell said to Dan.

“Deep trouble,” Dan admitted. “To be perfectly honest, I need all the help I can get, Governor.”

Before Scanwell could reply, Jane said, “The support of a major presidential candidate would help you to raise money, wouldn’t it?”

Dan nodded warily. “Sure, once your campaign gets underway. Problem is, I need help now.”

“And a promise of government funding after Morgan’s elected,” Jane added. “That would be even better in the long run, wouldn’t it?”

“Wellll,” Dan said, drawing out the word, “government funding could be a two-edged sword.”

Scanwell’s brows knit in puzzlement.

Kinsky jumped in, “What Dan means—”

“What I mean is that federal funding will bring all sorts of government oversight and red tape. NASA will want to run the show. Every congressional committee this side of the Moon will want to stick their fingers in.”

Jane looked nettled, but Scanwell broke into a big grin. “You’re completely right But what else could the government do to help you, once I’m elected?”

Hunching forward in his chair, Dan said, “Offer backing for loans. The same way the government did for Lockheed and Chrysler when they were in trouble.”

“That was a long time ago,” Jane said.

“Loan guarantees,” Scanwell mused, glancing at her.

“It won’t cost the taxpayers a cent,” Dan said. “The federal government just guarantees that any loans to Astro Corporation will be backed by the U.S. Treasury. Wall Street will do the rest.”

“Do you think you could raise the capital you need to finish the project?” Jane asked.

“From the private money markets, yes, sure. If the government guarantees the loans.”

“But what, if you fail?” Scanwell asked.

“That’s not the problem,” Dan countered. “The problem is that we need money now. With all due respect, Governor, I can’t wait until your campaign starts. Or until you’re in the White House. I have a payroll to meet and a powersat to put into operation. Right now.”

Scanwell stared into Dan’s eyes for a long silent moment, as if trying to see what was going on in his mind.

“You need funding to tide you over,” he murmured at last.

“’That’s the size of it,” said Dan.

Jane said, “It could bring national media attention to you, Morgan. A bold new idea. A new way to unleash the power of American industry in space. The road to energy independence. It could get you the kind of attention that you need.”

“The oil interests won’t like it,” Scanwell murmured.

“They’ll accept it if we play our cards right,” Jane said. “We can show that it’s the patriotic thing to do.”

The governor made a pained smile. “They’re not patriots, Jane. The oil industry isn’t American; it has no loyalty to any nation.”

“Oil money funds terrorism,” said Kinsky.

“That’s why we need power satellites,” Dan said. “To cut down their power over us.”

Scanwell nodded slowly, yet Dan could see the question that still lingered in his eyes: But what if you fail?

“We can do it,” Dan repeated. “If I can just get the money to move ahead before I have to shut down the whole operation.”

The governor got to his feet and stuck his hand out. “You’ve given me a lot to think about, Dan. Let me see what my people can come up with. I’ll get back to you in a few days.”

Standing, Dan took his extended hand. “I appreciate anything you can do, Governor.”

Dan knew he was being dismissed. He glanced toward Jane but she refused to meet his eyes.

Scanwell looked almost embarrassed. Without releasing Dan’s hand, the governor said, “Uh, come on over here with me for a minute, will you, Dan?”

Dan allowed the governor to lead him into the suite’s spacious bedroom. The bed was neatly made; there was no sign of clothing or luggage in sight.

Nudging the door shut, Scanwell said, “Dan, Jane’s told me what you two meant to each other years ago.”

Surprised, Dan didn’t know what to reply.

“Do you still love her?”

Dan nodded dumbly, not trusting himself to say what he truly felt.

Scanwell’s craggy face edged into a rueful smile. “Well, I do, too, you know. She means the world to me.”

“More than the White House?” Dan blurted.

The smile faded. “I sure hope I never have to choose between them.”

Damn! thought Dan. Why’s he have to be so goddamned honest? This’d be a lot easier if he was a sonofabitch.