as heating fuel in the winter months for poor people in impoverished urban neighborhoods in the United States.
The Venezuelan end of the project would be handled by LAGO; expediting and assisting the operation at the U.S. end of the pipeline was the Keehan clan.
Chavez was the strongman of a socialist regime, belligerent and anti-American.
The current Administration in Washington was a frequent target of the dictator's strident, abusive tirades. Senator Keehan was a leader of the opposition party. Free heating fuel would be a powerful vote getter, for himself and his party.
But the matter had to be handled carefully. Chavez — splendid fellow that he was, a 'diamond in the rough' according to the thinking of the Keehan policy advisors and their media echo chamber — was still a volatile and unpredictable character who might yet go off the reservation. Way off.
The Senator needed deniability, a middleman to handle the organizational chores while insulating him from too-direct involvement in case the deal soured. A perfect solution existed, in the form of one of the numerous funds, endowments, and foundations established by Keehan capital.
The vehicle in this case was the Keehan Humanistics Fund, KHF, whose charter was sufficiently airy and elastic to serve as the operating entity. KHF was a do-good operation, perfectly suited to handle the chores of getting all that free Venezuelan crude refined into home heating oil and distributed to the target neighborhoods/communities up north.
The Fund was designated as the entity to partner with LAGO in the free fuel oil operation that a public relations firm had tagged with the innocuous-sounding label, the Hearthstone Initiative. Its slogan, 'Warm Homes, Warm Hearts.'
New Orleans was where the project was centered. The city, a prime receiving point for maritime oil imports, was where Venezuelan tankers would offload their oil. This complemented Keehan family business interests. The family-owned Mega Mart would be used to support the Initiative.
Susan Keehan would head the KHF part of the venture. Her business skills were good, she had a head for figures and details, and she possessed in full the characteristic Keehan drive and ambition.
On the other hand, nobody could know it all and do it all, not even a Keehan. For that, the family relied on its executive leadership cadre, a pool of expert lawyers, brokers, analysts, engineers, and the like — specialists to safeguard the family role and make sure that the oil Initiative did no harm to short-, medium-, or long-term dynastic interests.
In New Orleans, a number of such advisors were assigned to Susan's staff, the two most prominent (and capable) being operating manager Hal Dendron and executive assistant Alma Butterworth. Also on tap was Mylon Sears, number two in the EXECPROTEK private security firm, now officially in charge of Mega Mart security and unofficially protecting family interests while reporting directly to Senator Keehan.
The White House was steamed to the max about the entire venture, seeing it (rightly) as a Chavez propaganda ploy designed to embarrass the Administration — a goal that Caracas shared with Senator Keehan.
But there wasn't much they could do about it. It was all perfectly legal. After all, LAGO service stations sold gas in a majority of states in the United States. Irksome as Chavez was, Uncle Sam needed that Venezuelan oil, which made up ten percent of all U.S. oil imports. Any curtailment of which would wreak havoc at the pumps, and in the public opinion polls.
What Washington could do, however, was to keep a very close eye on all LAGO and Initiative doings in New Orleans.
The Administration had to move carefully here, to avoid doing anything that would allow Senator Keehan and his party to claim politically motivated persecution and kick up a corresponding media fuss about it.
Which meant that CTU had to walk softly in the matter, too.
Now, Susan Keehan said, 'That's the good thing about being the head of the company. I can always put everything on hold to take a very important private meeting.'
She and Raoul had moved to the bathroom, a bathroom bigger than many top-level executives' offices. He'd gone in to fix his hair, and she'd followed.
Raoul stood facing the mirror over the sink; Susan stood behind him, embracing him. He was mostly dressed, she was still naked save for a bath towel that stood pressed between her front and his back. He'd finished knotting his tie and was now brushing his hair, a more exacting operation than it might sound. The part had to be just-so. It wouldn't do to have a few strands out of place, making him look ridiculous.
She'd just showered, and even though she'd dried herself, she was still damp. Raoul didn't like her rubbing against him at such times; it mussed his shirt and slacks. Which was why she held the towel pressed between the two of them.
He reached behind himself to squeeze her naked flank.
'I celebrate our being together, I want to shout it from the rooftops.'
Susan said, 'Better let me work on Daddy some more first.'
Raoul frowned. 'He doesn't like me.'
She said, 'It's nothing personal, Raoul, that's just his way.'
'He hates me.'
'He doesn't hate you, Raoul,' Susan said, sighing. 'We've been over this time and again… '
'He thinks I'm not good enough to marry his daughter.'
She didn't deny it. 'He doesn't think anybody is good enough to marry me. He felt that way about Dale and Drew, too.' Dale and Drew were her two ex-husbands.
Raoul finished brushing his hair to his exacting specifications. 'My family were aristocrats in Venezuela for two hundred years before your ancestors stole their first million.'
Susan nodded. 'We Keehans were great thieves, reprobates, and pirates.'
''Were'?'
'Not anymore. That was in the bad old days.'
'You think so, eh.'
'I know it. We're revoltingly legal these days,' she said.
Raoul set down the hairbrush and stepped away from the mirror and sink. Susan said, 'When Daddy gets to know you better, he'll love you like I do.'
'Not quite exactly like you do, I hope.'
'Stop talking dirty, Raoul. You're getting me excited again.'
'Me, also. Alas, much as I would like to remain in your delightful company, Susan, I have things I must do. I fear that I have already neglected my duties too much — but then, how could I resist so tender an interlude?'
The smile he gave her was dazzling. His teeth were first-rate, all white and gleaming and perfectly capped. That smile made her tingle deep down.
Outside, in the main room, near the connecting door to her outer office, was an old-fashioned writing desk. Susan sometimes used it for minor chores, such as writing thank-you notes and similar minor but not unimportant communiques. On it was a laptop and a combination phone/intercom setup.
The communicator now buzzed, sharp, insistent, annoying. Imperative.
Susan, cross, said, 'Damn! They know my standing instructions are that I'm not to be disturbed when I'm in conference here with you.'
Raoul said, 'In conference — that's what you call it?'
She said, 'That's one way of putting it.'
Raoul's leer was amiable. He'd been satisfied. He'd be leaving soon, and that inclined him to be indulgent. But he was grateful for the interruption; it would help cut short his departure time. Unlike Susan, he hated long goodbyes. It was perfectly understandable; she hated to see him go. He could hardly blame her for that, of course, but her neediness could become somewhat annoying.
He'd been out of contact with his office for hours, almost all morning in fact, having shut off his cell phone earlier, as soon as he'd been alone with Susan. That closedown of communication nagged at him, a little. Colonel Paz didn't like it when Raoul was out of reach.
Too bad. He was entitled to a little downtime. After all, what could happen that the Colonel and company
