And there isn't any good place to put a line-of-sight tower on the whole, million-acre ranch."
Now Mills got a glimmer. "Where's the nearest mountain?"
"Ten klicks North of the ranch boundary. And there is enough federal enforcement to that prominence — couldn't call it a mountain but an LOS tower could narrowcast cheap power to the ranch; and that little old prominence is now federal land."
Jesus, God and Moroni, thought Mills; to think he'd swapped an old gag for a chance to screw LockLever! "I should think LockLever would've made a handsome bid for such a natural LOS site," he murmured.
"They did. Some hitches developed. Old lawsuits, title irregularities; you know. You can always find something if you look hard enough."
"I've always wanted to own a small mountain in Texas," Mills said with a straight face.
"Oh, I don't think your government could show that kind of favoritism to an individual," Young tutted.
"But of course, some survey crew might find signs of oil, or something else that Streamlined America badly needs. That's an argument LockLever hasn't used. Yet."
Mills: "And what might a geological study turn up?"
Young: "Surprise me. But the discovery would have to come from a reliable company with a good track record."
"IEE owns Latter-day Shale — if memory serves," Mills said.
"A good reliable company," Young nodded sagely. "Excellent track record — in which I may have some stock if, as you say, memory serves."
"Sonofabitch," Mills exulted.
"You're another," said the President of Streamlined America, and drank as if validating his reply.
CHAPTER 25
Over his next glass of sippin' whiskey, Mills learned why the President chose IEE as leverage to balance the proposed LockLever project. LockLever claimed that such an entertainment center would bring wealth to the area and would be welcomed by the locals; but Young had learned something more. The giant consortium had further hedged its bets by paying off some people who had clout in Wild Country.
In a word: rebels. Federalists suspected that much of the payoff wound up in the hands of the Indy leader, old Jim Street. Maybe
LockLever hoped to accommodate all sides while carving out a region of influence where the government had little or no influence.
"You mustn't think I'm against reconstruction in Wild Country, Mills. It'd bring law and order back to those crazies — on our terms. And LockLever could build those ten-kilometer thrill rides and restage the Battle of Britain there twice a day, just like they claim. But I can't trust 'em."
"True," Mills murmured. "When LockLever owns foreign companies, foreigners have clout with LockLever."
"Which reminds me that your own people have a little romance going with — um, what's that firm at the Turk Ellfive launch complex?"
Mills smiled. "ECI; Electronics Corporation of Israel. Those, initials also stand for electronic counter intelligence, which was too near the truth. So they've changed it to Tuz Golu R & D, which makes their Turkish landlords happy."
Very quietly: "But they still do research with microwave relays, or so I am reliably informed. Any gadget that can project multichannel holo from a point in empty space would be ours, or Israeli. And it isn't ours."
At last, Mills felt he was about to learn why he had been invited to Young's inner sanctum. "Those Mex stratosphere relays," he guessed. "You think they're using Israeli equipment, Mr. President?"
The National Security Agency thinks so. And I want those rebel holocasts stopped! You seem the logical conduit for us to find out how it might be done."
"My people tell me you've zapped one already," Mills said, pleased to show how well-informed he was.
"Congratulations."
"It's casting again."
Mills shrugged. He was damned if he'd admit he hadn't known that.
"Let's understand each other," said Young, evidently still clear-headed though his tongue played him false at times. "You'll get the LOS site for trying to wangle us a media countermeasure. If you're successful, you could get the Schreiner land for IEE to develop — assuming you want it."
Mills laughed ruefully. "It's a great idea. Battle of Britain, eh? Some old Lockheed thinktank man is still plugging away in LockLever." He shook his head in grudging respect, then grew serious. "Sure, IEE could do it, if we can get that land. And if we can get protection without paying off Jim Street."
"Our guess is that you could get a ninety-nine year lease from the owner, if the federal government allows some special tax incentives to Schreiner, and if you could convince the Schreiner family you'll keep it all unpolluted and mostly unraped. As for protection, just hire most of the locals and name the goddam place Wild Country Safari."
"My God," Mills muttered, thinking it over. For that matter, the ersatz Spitfires and Messerschmitts for a Battle of Britain show could carry live ammo, just in case. IEE could train those leathery Texas lunatics as maintenance people and let 'em carry sidearms.
And the gambling! IEE could thumb its nose at state laws in Wild Country. A refitted delta could ferry in six hundred high-rollers a trip and could run the games at it pleased. The LOS tower meant cheap power. Nothing need be said about the gambling. A replica of old Dodge City? That would be the first step Mills took after taking the place over.
Inside a year, the gambling sincity could be running at a profit. In two years, mach one thrill rides! Oh, yes, this was too good a thing to pass up. Mills needed something from which he could secretly siphon cash during the next year or so.
Because otherwise, the synthesizer factory would bleed him to death before it came on-line.
CHAPTER 26
Imagine the most complete array of RF sensors available to the National Security Agency to secure a President's lair against bugging. Next, imagine that guests are profiled, fluoroscoped, interviewed and voice-stress analyzed by NSA professional paranoids whose sole raison d'etre is to screw those who would try to screw Blanton Young.
With these conditions in mind, now try to imagine the frustration of the head NSA spook when Young's own personal screwing put the quietus on audiovisual security screens. The President might envy porn stars, but he did not propose to be one even for his own laconic gumshoes who had already seen everything and would not, presumably, have been scandalized to find that a widower President enjoyed a carnal tussle now and again, and again, and again.
Young was perhaps ignorant of the criticism Russell laid on Neitzsche. Paraphrased: it's okay to be tough-minded, provided you start with yourself. Or perhaps Young simply did not want any recordings of any deals inside his Granite Mountain apartment. It was this decision which permitted the raven-haired hotsy to circumvent Young's anti bugging array with basic equipment, ears and memory. The lissome lass lay flat on her belly in Young's bedroom and monitored the Mills meeting through a fresh-air duct that served both rooms. The early part of the evening had justified all her hours of patience. Yet the initial dialogue paled as good booze took its effect in the room just beyond…
CHAPTER 27
"… Told you we'd build the true Zion together four years ago, didn't I?" Young had now switched to brandy, and tended to use shorter words.
"You also said it would take some careful weeding," said Mills, gauging his own alcohol capacity with care. "But I wish you'd told me how much weeding you intended to do last week. Even with control of FBN, Mr. President, we've had a bitch of a time explaining away that rash of disappearances."