a current year Dodge Sprinter with dealer plates. The truck soon disappeared inside the bowels of the Bix Automotive garage. He wondered if the arrival of two trucks of the same make was some kind of weird coincidence. He doubted it. In fact, Curtis Manning was almost certain something more ominous was going on.
“Mrs. Senator David Palmer, I’d like you to meet Mr. Jong Lee.”
Larry Bell arrived inside of ten minutes, as promised. He wore a Fendi suit and a look of satisfied triumph. For her part, Sherry Palmer acted suitably contrite.
“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lee,” she said graciously, extending her hand. “And please call me Sherry. Can I offer you something. Coffee or tea, perhaps a drink.”
“No, no, I can only stay a moment. I do not wish to waste your valuable time” Sherry directed her attention to the woman beside Jong Lee. “And who is this beautiful creature?”
“Her name is Yizi,” Jong said. At the mention of her name, the woman bowed deeply. “Alas, she speaks no English.”
“I’d like you to meet the Senator’s Chief of Staff, Mr. Lev Cohen.”
Cohen’s handshake was perfunctory.
“A pleasure,” Jong said in flawless English.
They sat around the central table. Jong with Yizi on the couch. Sherry on the lounge chair. Lev Cohen remained standing, a drink from the bar in his hand.
“Mr. Lee is a Taiwanese chip manufacturer who holds many defense contracts with the United States military. That means Lee here has a stake in who wins the next presidential election,” Bell explained.
“More than that,” Jong declared. “Your government has been my nation’s greatest ally, since the dark days of the Japanese invasion, since our present government was established in 1947. I and many of my compatriots know that it is only America’s military might and our own resolute spirit that keeps Taiwan, the Republic of China, safe from those bandits in Beijing.”
“Excuse me for being blunt,” Sherry said, “but I’m not sure I understand why you’re here, exactly.”
“Of course,” Jong said with a nod. “Senator Palmer is head of the Senate’s Defense Appropriations Committee. In his position, he has made it a point of sharing American defense technology with Taiwan. I merely want to make certain your husband will continue to support my nation when he becomes president. ”
“Unfortunately my husband has not yet been elected,” Sherry replied.
Larry Bell threw his long arm around Jong’s shoulder. The cultured man winced at the familiarity of the gesture. “Don’t worry about old David,” Bell said with a laugh. “He’s one guy who knows how to win.”
“I would like to make his victory even more certain,” Jong said.
Larry Bell rose and glanced at his watch. “Look at the time,” he cried with all the conviction of a high school thespian. “I really have to go. There’s so much to do before tonight’s gala event.”
With a curt farewell, Bell departed. Sherry focused her gaze on Jong Lee.
“You were saying?” she prompted.
“I was merely suggesting that I would like to make a generous monetary contribution to Senator Palmer’s presidential campaign fund.” Jong said with a crooked smile.
Lev Cohen spoke up. “We have a committee for such things, Mr. Lee. Contact them and they’ll tell you where to mail the check.”
Sherry Palmer silenced the chief of staff with a touch of her hand.
”What Mr. Cohen means is that there are many barriers against my husband’s campaign accepting foreign donations. There are limits to the amount one can give, and much scrutiny. If they wished, our political enemies could use such contributions against us.”
Jong smiled again. “I understand perfectly, Mrs. Palmer—”
She raised a finger. “That’s Sherry.”
“Ah, yes… Sherry. I would, however, prefer to give much more than the allowable amount, and also avoid such scrutiny.” “Just how would you do that?” Lev Cohen demanded. Again, Sherry silenced the man with a gesture. “I’m not sure I understand.”
Jong frowned. “Then I must be even more blunt. I am prepared to contribute five million dollars cash, today, in exchange for one piece of information.”
Lev Cohen paled. Sherry smiled knowingly. She’d been waiting for this shoe to drop since Jong Lee entered the suite.
“I know why your husband is here in Nevada, Mrs. Palmer,” Jong continued. “I know that even as we speak, he is witnessing a demonstration of a brand new weapons system at Groom Lake Air Force Base less than fifty miles from this spot.”
Lev choked on his drink.
Sherry blinked in surprise, then quickly recovered.
“I’m not free to discuss such things, Mr. Lee,” Sherry replied coolly.
“No need to. Though the information is top secret, I know this because the chips I manufacture are vital components in the system being demonstrated.”
Sherry’s eyes narrowed as she studied the man.
“You see, I require information that only your husband can provide,” Jong continued. “I need to know whether or not today’s demonstration was a success, and whether or not the program will continue. It is a very expensive proposition to retool my factories. With this advance knowledge, I will know whether or not to proceed with the retooling process, or move on to more lucrative opportunities.”
Sherry nodded. “And for that information?”
“I will pay five million dollars, cash.”
Sherry’s mind reeled. Five million dollars would nearly double David Palmer’s campaign chest. And since it was cash, the money need never be declared on any campaign budget statement or election board. It would be a secret fund, used at her discretion, if and when the need arose.
“I am always glad to help a political ally,” Sherry declared. “Therefore I accept your very generous offer, Mr. Lee. In the name of my husband.”
Cohen’s eyes went wide and he turned beet red. But he knew better than to speak up.
Jong rose and bowed. “Here is my card,” he said. “My cell phone number is there. Call me with the information I ask for, and the money is yours.”
Sherry raised a manicured eyebrow. “Oh, I’ll call you, Mr. Lee. But it’s Mr. Cohen here who will accept the money. You understand why I can’t… And why this conversation never took place.”
Jong grinned. “I understand completely…”
6. THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 5 P.M. AND 6 P.M. PACIFIC DAYLIGHT TIME
Relentless in her pursuit of perfection, Dr. Reed kept Tony Almeida and the rest of her staff hopping all morning and into the early afternoon. Tony knew from weeks of observation that Megan Reed had gained her “people skills” at Donald Trump’s School of Management. Her modus operandi was to browbeat her staff to the point of exhaustion, but never had her ham-handed managerial style been more evident than today.
Then, roughly at two-thirty, Dr. Reed hastily departed with Corporal Stratowski to meet and greet today’s VIP observer at the Las Vegas terminal, and the members of the Malignant Wave team visibly relaxed. The necessary tasks still got done — now under the sensible supervision of Dr. Phillip Bascomb — but the mood was much lighter, despite the crucial, makeor-break demonstration looming over their heads.
It wasn’t too long after Tony downloaded the contents of Steve Sable’s cell phone into his laptop that he managed to slip the phone back into the man’s lab coat pocket. A simple pat on the back and Tony smoothly
