14
JORDAN GANT was like a Chimera, the mythical Greek monster of antiquity that was an assemblage of different, incongruous parts.
He was as disciplined as a fasting monk, and he projected an ascetic air, but the black, tailored suit and matching turtleneck that emphasized his pale skin and silver hair cost more than many people make in a week. His Washington office on Massachusetts Avenue was spartan compared to the luxurious lairs of the other high-powered foundations in the neighborhood, yet he owned a palatial Virginia farmhouse, a stable of horses and a garage full of fast cars. He had made a fortune off multinational investments, but he was the director of an organization whose stated goal was to hobble corporations like those that had made him rich.
His ears were small and close to his head, giving him the streamlined look of a hood ornament. His facial features were smooth, as if they had been formed before any character-good or bad-was etched on them. His expressions were no more substantive than images projected on a screen. In its relaxed, natural state, his face lacked emotion of any kind. He had mastered the politician's smile to perfection, and he could turn it on as if he had a built-in electrical switch. He could feign sincere interest in the dullest of conversations, and project sympathy or joy, donning a mask like an actor from antiquity. At times, he seemed more an illusion than a man.
Gant was wearing his most congenial facade as he sat in his office talking to Irving Sacker, a middle-aged man with jowls and thinning black hair. With their manicured fingernails, respectable haircuts and conservative suits, Sacker and the other three attorneys from his influential Washington law firm looked as if Georgetown Law School had punched them out of legal dough with a cookie cutter. Although they differed in facial features and physiques, they all had the sharp-eyed expressions of hunting raptors ready to swoop down on a legal technicality.
"I see that you've brought along the casework and disks as I requested," Gant said.
Sacker handed him an attache case. "Normally, we would keep a backup of our files at the office, but since you've paid so generously for privacy we have cleaned all the data from our computers and files. It's all here. It's as if we never handled your case."
"On behalf of the Global Interests Network, I'd like to thank you for all your hard work. Thank you for keeping this entire project a secret."
"We were simply doing our job," Sacker said. "It was an interesting challenge. What we've created on paper for you is a mega-corporation that would control every possible means of electronic communication on the planet. Cell phone networks. Satellites. Telecommunications. The whole enchilada."
"You'll have to admit that this is the way that things have been heading, with all the buyouts and mergers in the industry."
"Those arrangements are like lemonade stands compared to the entity we've set up for you."
"Then you've done exactly what you've been asked to do."
"In that case, I hope you'll retain us for any antitrust suits that arise," Sacker said with a grin.
Gant chuckled. "You'll be the first on our list."
"Would you mind if I asked you a question, Mr. Gant?"
"Not at all. Fire away."
"These agreements and contracts would, under a highly unlikely set of circumstances, position someone to assume control over the major communications systems of the world. Correct me if I'm wrong, but your foundation is at odds with what you see as oppressive world trade, market system and capitalism."
"That's right. GIN is pro-democracy and nonpartisan. We agree that free trade can be beneficial to developing countries and the promotion of peace. But we're campaigning against the current free-trade model. We're concerned when corporate interests are put above safety standards, and environmental regulations are seen as barriers to free trade. We're against a concentration of power in the hands of a few multinational corporations. We oppose the spread of investments across corporate boundaries, allowing them to evade local laws. We see the World Bank, the WTO and IMF as superseding local government." He picked up a red-white-and-blue brochure and handed it to Sacker. "You can read all about our Freedom Project campaign in this handsome little pamphlet."
"I've read it," Sacker said, "and I don't disagree with some of your positions." He looked up at posters on the wall showing the WTO as a giant octopus. "Why would a foundation like yours spend a lot of money setting up the kind of thing you're against?"
"Simple. We think the megacorporation you've designed will be a reality in the near future. If you want to fight your enemy, you have to know it. We're primarily a think tank. The blueprint you prepared will give us the chance to probe the weaknesses, as well as the strengths, of a globalized communications network."
"Very clever. It seems as though GIN is pretty good at the communications business already. I can't turn on the TV news without seeing one of your talking heads pontificating on the subject of the day."
"Thank you. Our public outreach is pretty impressive, but you're talking about influence, not power."
Sacker glanced at his watch and heaved himself out of his chair. Gant shook hands with the team of attorneys and ushered them to the door. "Thank you again. We'll be in touch."
When the lawyers had left, Gant went over to his telephone, punched the intercom button and said a few words. The side door to the office opened and Mickey Doyle came in.
"Hello, Mickey," Gant said. "You heard?"
Doyle nodded. "Sacker's a smart guy. He was getting at something; he just didn't know what it was."
"I think I deflected him with my explanation, but I'm not sure he believed me completely. No matter. Have you talked to Margrave since the incident with Barrett?"
"This morning. He said he tried to call Spider but couldn't get him. I told him that when I dropped Barrett off at the Portland airport, he said he wanted to get away for a few days to think things over."
"Good work." He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a leather-bound folder. Rather than risk questions over the bullet hole in the old folder, Doyle had replaced it with a new one. "I've read the material from Karla Janos. She definitely knows something."
"That's what Spider said. What do you want me to do about her?"