“I do play by the rules.”
“Whose? Yours?”
“Rules are rules.” They reached the elevator level. Ferguson nodded at the security people, then punched the button for the elevator. “She’s gonna be a pain in the ass.”
“They’re just concerned about the prisoner. She’ll be gone in a week.”
“Don’t count on it,” said Ferguson, getting into the elevator. “Want to have lunch?” he asked Van Buren.
“Can’t. Got to go see an old friend.”
“I’ll talk to you before I fly back.” Ferguson saw Corrine approaching as the doors closed. “I’m going to drive out to the shooting range this afternoon,” he added loudly. “If I pretend I’m shooting at innocent children, I’m bound to do pretty damn well.”
“Jesus, Ferg,” said Van Buren, after the doors closed.
5
Though the session had gone longer than he’d expected, Van Buren managed to head out in time to keep his lunch appointment with Dalton. His friend had suggested an out-of-the-way restaurant in suburban Virginia named Mama Mia’s, but the place wasn’t exactly a pizza parlor. A tuxedoed maitre d’ met him at the door. The man nearly genuflected when he mentioned Dalton’s name, leading the way through the dining room to a table at the far end of the room, obviously selected for privacy. Dalton grinned when he spotted him, amused by his friend’s awkwardness in the rather elegant surroundings. The fourth son of a working-class family with eight children, Van Buren still felt considerably more at ease in a McDonald’s — or an Army cafeteria, for that matter.
“You dressed,” said Dalton, smirking, as the host pulled the seat out for him. “I was afraid you’d show up in combat boots.”
“I had a meeting,” said Van Buren. He reached across the table. “How the hell are you?”
“I’m just kick ass,” said Dalton.
The maitre d’ dropped the napkin in Van Buren’s lap with an expert flick of the wrist, then faded away.
“You have to get used to that,” added Dalton.
“Which?”
“Pomp and circumstance.”
“Whoo-haw.”
“Whoo-haw’s good.”
A waiter appeared at Van Buren’s elbow. “To drink, sir?”
There was a bottle of Pellegrino on the table. “I’ll have that,” said Van Buren, pointing at the bottle. The waiter nodded, then disappeared.
Dalton stopped Van Buren from reaching for the bottle. “I can’t take you anywhere. He’s coming back with a bottle.”
“What, you’re too good to share?”
“Hey, I could have AIDS for all you know.”
“I wouldn’t doubt it, living in D.C.”
“Nah, Reston’s a million miles away,” said Dalton. They fell into some easy talk about their respective families, both men bragging a bit about their kids. Dalton had a girl who was just entering college. She was heading north to Brown University. A generation ago, her yearly tuition would have paid for a nice house.
“Ridiculous how expensive everything is,” said Dalton.
The food was excellent — Van Buren had a tuna that was delicious despite being barely cooked — and the conversation continued at such a leisurely pace that the colonel began to think his old friend had forgotten why he had set up the lunch in the first place. But that was not true at all; Dalton was merely salting the territory.
“Have you heard about Star Trek?” he said after the plates were cleared away. “It’s going to be upgraded.”
To anyone else in the restaurant, the question would have seemed innocuous, even incoherent. But Van Buren recognized that it was an oblique reference to the Pentagon’s advanced warfare operations center, which was sometimes referred to as the Starship Enterprise. Among other things, the center made it possible for real-time strategic information to be supplied to a commander in the field. The Cube was a scaled-down though more up-to- date version.
It was also, of course, highly secret.
“I’m not sure what movie you’re talking about,” said Van Buren.
Dalton smiled, raising his eyebrows but saying nothing as the waiter stepped over to ask if they’d like dessert. Both men opted only for coffee — decaf for Dalton.
“My company’s going to do the upgrade. And there’s a lot more business on the horizon,” said Dalton. “A lot.”
“Movie business must be nice,” said Van Buren.
“Is it ever.”
The coffee arrived, along with a plate of complimentary cookies. Dalton took one, broke it in half, and nibbled at the edges.
“We need someone who can talk to people, important people, and impress them,” said Dalton. “Tell them what life is like in the real world.”
“Uh-huh,” said Van Buren. He eyed the cookies — they were fancy Italian jobs, the sort his family sometimes got around the holidays — but decided to stick with the coffee.
“You wouldn’t believe the salary,” said Dalton. “And that would just be the start.”
“This a salesman’s job?”
“Hardly.” Dalton sipped his coffee. He’d expected resistance and wasn’t put off. “Congressmen, senators — they need to know they’re getting a straight story. No bullshit. And with what’s happening in the world — God, the stakes are immense. Every edge we can give the people in the field. Well, you know that yourself.”
Van Buren wondered exactly how much Dalton knew about his present assignment. His old friend was obviously well connected — maybe too well connected, he thought to himself.
“We’ve done other projects you’re familiar with,” added Dalton, confident that he had set the hook. His strategy wasn’t mendacious — everything he said was absolutely true, and he knew that Van Buren would do a great job. He also knew that the job would benefit Van Buren as well. And why not? Van Buren had been wounded twice and earned a bronze star; he was a bona fide, no-bullshit hero. He deserved to have a little downhill time.
“I can’t go into the specifics. You could ask around, though. Vealmont Systems does have a reputation in the right circles.” Dalton reached in his pocket and took out his business card, sliding it on the table. “The number on the back is the first year’s salary. You’d be a vice president.”
Van Buren slid over the card, staring at the front quixotically for a moment. He hadn’t realized that his friend was president of the firm.
The number on the back was 500k.
“Half a million?”
Dalton just smiled.
“Salary?”
Dalton continued to grin.
“To do what?” asked Van Buren.
“Serve your country,” said Dalton, his voice as serious as it got. “Help make sure the right technology gets to the people who need it.”
“This is a lot of money,” said Van Buren.
“That’s true. There’s very little overhead. The government already funds most of the R&D.” Dalton leaned forward. “Don’t let the zeroes throw you off. It’s the going rate around here, believe it or not. Everything’s
