King and Maxwell (Sean King & Michelle Maxwell 6)

He was escorted into a wood-paneled room that ought to have been a library, only there was not a single book on the shelves. In their place were collections of what looked to be paperweights, coins, timepieces, and model trains. The door was closed behind him as the butler receded to wherever butlers spent their time between duties. Perhaps polishing the silver, Grant idly thought, and then he thought no more of it.

He sat in the chair pointed to by the occupant of the large room that, too, looked out upon the Atlantic.

The man’s name was Avery Melton. He had inherited a small fortune over thirty years ago and through hard work, occasional ruthlessness, and the more-frequent bribe, he had multiplied that inheritance a thousandfold. He was sixty-four years old but looked older. He spent too much time on the golf course where the sun beat as relentlessly down on him as it did on the laborers who maintained his lovely grounds. Nature played no favorites on that score.

He was five-eight, with a paunch and rounded shoulders, but his eyes were clear and his mind clearer still. He was a businessman with many interests and few scruples. He had products and services to sell and he needed buyers to complete the transaction. Grant was a buyer, Melton a seller. He did not make it any more complicated than that.

He said, “Good flight?”

“Always a good flight when the plane lands on its wheels,” said Grant.

“Money?”

Grant opened his briefcase and slid out a piece of paper. They would not be using anything so coarse as money in rubber-banded bundles. He handed the paper to Melton, who studied it.

It was a wire transfer notification showing that twenty million dollars had been placed into an account controlled by Melton. He nodded. No grin, just a nod. This was business. He dealt in such numbers all the time. Some smaller, some bigger.

“I’ve already been told of the deposit confirmation, but it’s good to see the paper too. I’m old school. Don’t use computers.”

Grant nodded and waited. The money had been delivered, but that was only one half of the transaction. Now he needed the other half.

Melton unlocked a drawer in his desk and pulled out a small hardback black book. He opened it, glanced down the first page, and then handed it to Grant, who performed a similar inspection.

Melton said, “The codes and other necessary details are all there. All your guys have to do is dial it up, input the codes, and you have an entire satellite all to yourself, the MelA3.” He held up a cautionary finger. “For the stated time only. Then it’s mine once more. The codes expire and the access is no longer valid.”

“I understand.”

“That’s a lot of firepower,” said Melton. “The A3 weighs two tons, cost over a billion dollars to build, launch, and maintain, and has fifteen more years of useful life in orbit. I’m glad to take your money but there’s rental space on a lot of birds up there far cheaper than this one. And you don’t have to lease the whole platform. On some of our birds we have up to five thousand lessees per platform. It’s quite profitable but the upfront costs are enormous. You have to be patient to make your money—and I am.”

“I appreciate your advice, but we like to have the whole pie. And there aren’t that many up there that could do what the A3 can do,” replied Grant.

“Such as?”

“I was hoping twenty million dollars would provide some degree of privacy,” said Grant.

“But it’s still my bird.”

“The parameters of the rental have been hammered out. We will stay within those parameters at all times or find ourselves in litigation. And I can assure you, I have no plans to be in court.”

Melton nodded. “Did you know the U.S. government is so broke they’re renting space on my platforms too? ‘Hosted payloads,’ we call it in the industry. Military can’t afford to send their own platforms up anymore. I’m bumping them off this one because of our deal, in fact. They were on the A3 but on a short-term lease that came up for renewal, only they wouldn’t match your offer.”

“Interesting,” said Grant. “I didn’t know that.” Except he did know it. In fact, it was the main reason he had rented the A3.

He rose and shook the hand that Melton had extended. The older man said, “The rental agreement has your company as Phoenix Enterprises.”

“Yes it does.”

“Phoenix, like in the city?”

“Phoenix like in the mythological bird that resurrects itself from its own ashes.”

“Okay, whatever. My people tell me you’re in some sort of contracting work. Defense intelligence sector.”

“That’s right.”

“Then I can understand why you need work space up there.”

“I was surprised you wanted to do this personally. I’m sure you have a team of executives who could have met with me and closed the deal.”