She graduated with a degree in English literature and an ambition to do something interesting. The first job she took was as an editor on the magazine published by the state’s tourism bureau. That lasted less than six months. She was asked to leave after showing the editor-in-chief how he was missing some major stories and allowing the magazine to fall into a boring rut. Unemployed, she spotted a news story about a private company in Texas that was building a solar power satellite. Interesting, thought April Simmonds. She e-mailed her resumé (with photo) to Astro Manufacturing Corporation and applied for a secretarial job, the only position she felt qualified for. Within twenty-four hours she received a return e-mail inviting her to fly down to Matagorda Island for an interview.
The personnel chief was a tough-looking older woman with hard, probing eyes and a no-nonsense attitude. But after talking with April for ten minutes, she smiled and said that the CEO and founder of the company needed an executive assistant. April accepted the offer, determined to do her job well but never to let her boss see how smart she truly was.
Then she made her first mistake. She fell in love with her new boss, Dan Randolph. He was one of those rare men who was not intimidated by an attractive woman with brains. In fact, she thought he seemed uninterested in her looks. April got the feeling that he was in love with someone else, someone unobtainable. That made her love him even more.
Now she was determined to help Dan find the people who had killed Hannah Aarons, Joe Tenny, and most likely Pete Larsen, as well. She knew this would be difficult. What she never stopped to consider was that it would also be very dangerous.
Austin, Texas
The cocktail reception was held not at the governor’s mansion, nor in the capitol, nor even in one of Austin’s major hotels. For this quiet little get-together with his major backers, Morgan Scanwell used the home of the University of Texas’s chancellor.
As he drove his rented Lexus sedan up the driveway Dan saw that it was a lovely house, nestled in the deep shade of a garden steeped in vivid beds of azaleas, begonias, and jacarandas. The air was heavy with the sweet scent of jasmine. A pair of kids in T-shirts and jeans were serving as parking valets. Students, Dan guessed. Smart of Scanwell to have the party here; no snoops from the news media, and he gives the university brass the impression that he owes them one.
Plenty of security, Dan saw. Blank-faced men in sports jackets and business suits were scattered around the garden and standing at the front door. Dan thought that they probably had enough firepower under those jackets to take out half the student body.
There were only a dozen people in the spacious living room, the men in ordinary suits, as Dan was, the women in dresses or slacks. Scanwell was nowhere in sight. Neither was Jane.
A young woman in a maid’s dark outfit proffered a tray of champagne flutes. Caterer, Dan thought, although she might be a student working for the caterer. He thought briefly about asking for a glass of amontillado but immediately figured it would be an exercise in frustration and accepted the champagne. Then he saw that several of the men had shot glasses in their hands. Stronger stuff was available.
“Daniel Randolph?”
Dan turned at the sound of the man’s voice and saw a shortish, solidly built man with a round face fringed by a neatly trimmed dark beard. His skin was about the same shade Dan’s would be after a summer in the sun. The man wore a light gray suit with a pastel green tie carefully knotted at the collar of a figured white-on-white shirt. Expensive. Dan thought of Polonius’s advice about appareclass="underline" rich, not gaudy.
“I’m Dan Randolph,” he said, smiling politely.
“I am Asim al-Bashir,” the man said, extending his hand. He had to shift his cut crystal old-fashioned glass to his left hand; his fingers felt cold to the touch.
“Pleased to meet you,” said Dan, thinking, He looks Arab, his name sounds Arab, but he’s drinking alcohol. Not much of a Moslem, then.
“I’m on the board of Tricontinental Oil,” al-Bashir said. “Mr. Garrison wants me to go over the details of our agreement with you.”
Dan replied, “I spent the morning talking to Yamagata’s people. They want to buy into Astro, too.”
Unruffled, al-Bashir replied, “I’m sure they do.”
With a rueful chuckle, Dan said, “As long as I’ve got that powersat up there, I’ll never be lonely.”
“Until you go bankrupt,” al-Bashir countered pleasantly.
“There is that,” Dan admitted.
Scanwell entered the room with Jane at his side. Dan felt his face settle into a frown. With an effort, he forced a smile. She’s always with him, he thought. Like they’re living together. No, he tried to tell himself. It’s just that you only see her when she’s meeting with him. Yeah, he retorted silently. And she’s meeting with him all the time.
Everyone turned to greet the governor. He wore a lightweight tan suede jacket over darker brown slacks, a bolo string tie hanging from his open shirt collar. Jane was in a midthigh cocktail dress, tropical flowers on a pale blue background. She looks gorgeous, Dan thought. Smiling and happy and gorgeous. She caught his eye momentarily but quickly looked away and began chatting with the couple nearest to her and Scanwell.
The governor started working the room, smiling and shaking hands, going from one guest to the next, Jane constantly at his side.
When he came up to Dan and took his hand in his strong grip, he said softly, “I’m glad you came, Dan. I hope you can stay after this shindig winds up. Jane and I need to talk with you.”
Dan nodded. “Fine. Can do.” But he was thinking, Jane and him. Jane and him.
“Good.” Scanwell turned his smile to al-Bashir.
After expertly working his way through the guests, Scanwell placed himself in front of the empty, dark fireplace and held up both his hands to silence the buzz of conversations. Once everyone had turned their full attention to him, he smiled broadly.
“You probably already know,” he began, “that I’ve got a news conference set for Monday afternoon. It’s no secret that I’m going to announce my candidacy for president of the United States.”
Everyone broke into applause. Scanwell looked properly humble, stared at his boots for a moment, then looked up again.
“This won’t be an easy fight. I’ll be facing powerful opposition within the state, within the party, and once I’ve won the nomination—well, you know what a national campaign is like.”
“You can do it, Morg!”
“Hear, hear!”
He laughed modestly and made a silencing motion with his hands. Big hands, Dan saw. An athlete’s hands. Cowboy hands.
Then he looked at Jane and wondered if she’d let him put those hands on her. He didn’t want to know the answer.
“Well now, you know that a candidate needs a first-rate campaign manager. I wanted to let you know before the rest of the world is told that I’m going to have the best campaign manager in the country.” And he turned to Jane. “Senator Jane Thornton, of Oklahoma!”
Everyone clapped as hard as they could. Everyone except Dan. He heard one of the women shouting over the noise of the applause into the ear of the woman beside her, “Don’t they make a lovely couple?”
Dan gritted his teeth.
“As some of you already know,” Scanwell was going on, “I intend to make energy independence a major issue in the coming campaign. The United States has been held hostage by Middle Eastern oil for too long. It’s time for us to cut that umbilical cord and become energy independent.”