“Every second?”
“Right.”
Parker mouthed a silent wow.
“Make sure to refresh Paul about that, too.” He lifted his fork, then noticed Gordian glancing across the table at his plate. “What is it?”
“If Ash were here, she’d tell you to leave the gristle,” he said.
That elicited a snort from Parker. “To which I’d respond that it’s lean gristle.”
Gordian smiled, watching him eat. “All right. I’ve checked off Fredericks and Reidman for extra hand-holding. Any others?”
“You persuade those guys, you’re in crack-dandy shape.”
“Good,” Gordian said. “Then I’ve only got two more things on my mind.”
“Shoot.”
“I’ve wondered about your being taken to the carpet for a perceived conflict of interest.”
“You mean my urging along the fiber installation?” Parker said, and pushed his cleaned-off plate to the side. “That’d be ridiculous. If anything this is a clear instance of coinciding interests.”
“I know. It’s why I said perceived.”
“Don’t waste another minute thinking about it, Gord. Our friendship’s no secret. And I don’t believe anybody at Sedco would question my integrity.”
Gordian nodded. “All right, next,” he said, “I want you to explain your half intentional slip up. That comment about how my staying home will have to wait.”
Parker cleared his throat.
“I thought I said later on that one—”
“You did.” Gordian looked at him. “I’m saying give it to me now—”
“Gord—”
“Now, Dan. Your conscience is crying out to you, begging to be heard.”
“You sure?”
“Absolutely. You wouldn’t have made that blatant fumble unless you wanted me to ask about it.”
Parker sighed.
“Okay, you win,” he said. “The fact is that the company president and veep, who, as you know, are huge UpLink supporters, met a few days ago and came up with this idea for an event that would celebrate our new relationship. Working on the supposition the deal gets signed and sealed, needless to say, they put in a conference call about their idea to Hugh Bennett—”
“The chairman of Sedco’s board?”
“Right, King Hughie, the board chairman, who is also prepared to advise we move ahead with the fiberoptic system install. And he was seriously taken with their idea.”
“They want press coverage, photo ops,” Gordian said. “Understandable.”
Parker gave a nod.
“Sedco’s got terrific competition for offshore oil prospecting licenses in West Africa,” he said. “Some of the industry biggies involved in the bidding are Exxon, Chevron, Texaco, Elf Aquitain. There are state-owned companies — Petroleos Brasileiros out of Brazil, as a for-instance — and their subsidiaries. They’ve been leasing huge, contiguous blocks of deepwater acreage all down the equatorial coast from Nigeria to Angola. Some of these sites are what geologists call elephants… expected to yield upwards of a billion barrels of petroleum. Two blocks found by Texaco in the Agbami Basin — that’s off Angola — are geared to produce a hundred fifty thousand barrels a day before this year’s over, and might very well double that output when their operations are in full swing. To stay in the game, Sedco needs to raise its stock market profile. A headline-making affiliation with UpLink would accomplish that in a snap. Help us work with the U.S. Department of Energy to secure underwriting loans from OPIC.”
Gordian thought a moment. The Overseas Private Investment Corporation’s political risk insurance to American companies making investments in emerging nations couldn’t be undervalued.
“And if it motivates African governments that want in on our fiber ring to give Sedco’s bids and development proposals added consideration—”
“Then all the more reason for King Hughie to feel enthusiastic… and to do everything he can to make sure his enthusiasm becomes contagious with his boardroom colleagues,” Parker said.
Gordian drank the rest of his water with a twist.
“I gather Bennett would appreciate my attendance at this festive pageant of chief executives,” he said.
“I’d go so far as to say he’s going to hint at how much during tomorrow’s meeting with you,” Parker said.
Gordian lowered his glass. “Any inkling where the festivities would take place?”
Parker looked at him.
“In Gabon,” he said. “On one of our wellhead platforms.”
Gordian stared at him across the table.
“Who’s turn is it to pay for our lunch today?” he said.
“Yours,” Parker said.
“Right answer,” Gordian said. “Now let’s hear who’s actually picking up the tab.”
“Guess I am.”
“And who’s going to pay the next dozen times.” Gordian said.
Parker expelled a breath.
“Ah, me again, I guess.”
Gordian nodded once.
“Shall we call it an afternoon?” he said.
Parker looked around for the waiter, made a scribbling gesture in the air to indicate he wanted the check.
“You know, Gord,” he said. “I would genuinely like my conscience to go screw itself.”
Pescadero, California. Nine o’clock in the morning. Felicitous sunshine greeted Julia Gordian as she left the house for her morning jog, setting off honey gold highlights in the blond streak she’d Clairoled into her dark brown hair. The streak was new, as was her retro sixties’ shag, and she thought the combination made for a pretty spiffy look. It had occurred to her that the streak would bug her father when he saw it for the first time next week, which was unquestionably part of the kick. Immature, yeah, sure. But Julia had been bugging him on a constant basis since she hit puberty lo those many years gone by, and at thirty-two years old, an independent woman, figured she could do so however she wanted without hearing about it. Besides, Dad was at his most adorable when he overcompensated, tripped all over himself trying not to show he was irritated.
Julia could hardly wait until she unveiled her shoulder tattoo, a discreet little Japanese kanji symbol that meant “freedom.”
Accompanying her today, as every day, were her two rescued greyhounds — Jack, a brindle guy, and Jill, a teal blue gal. Julia did her stretching routine in her thickly hedge-rimmed lawn while the greys did their business out back. Then she hooked them onto a retractable leash with a two-dog attachment and started out onto the sidewalk, turning left toward the corner of her residential block.
A Subaru Outback drove by, heading in the same direction, slowing imperceptibly as it passed her.
Click-click-click.
This brilliant A.M. Julia had on black body-hugging athletic shorts, a black sports bra, a waistpack water bottle, Nikes, and a lightweight white pullover top to foil the early chill and neighborhood oglers… particularly Doug, the house dad across the street, who always seemed to be coming out to fetch his newspaper from the doorstep when she trotted past.
And here he was now, right on the mark. Just once, Julia thought, you’d think he’d be changing a diaper or giving the kid a warm bottle.
She ignored him as usual and concentrated on working into a rhythm. The less fretful of the two dogs, and the smoother runner, Jill trotted right along at her side, eager to bask in the gushy praise she would receive for keeping a cooperative pace. Meanwhile Jack was cantering a little ahead of them to show his alpha-ness — and inevitably run himself into a tangle around a tree after getting spooked by the fluttering shadows of its leaves… or, worse yet, buzzed by a winged insect, the most fearsome of all God’s creatures from his neurotic perspective.