I intended to cut into your business and squeeze you to the wall and drive you out, if necessary,”
He chuckled faintly; it was appreciation. “You would have made a pretty good try at it, too,” he said.
“Only I didn’t think it would be necessary. I thought there was enough room there for both of us.”
“Yes,” he said. “There was.”
“Still, if I found that there wasn’t, I would have fought you, and if I could make my road better than yours, I’d have broken you and not given a damn about what happened to you. But this . . . Dan, I don’t think I want to look at our Rio Norte Line now. I . . . Oh God, Dan, I don’t want to be a looter!”
He looked at her silently for a moment. It was an odd look, as if from a great distance. He said softly, “You should have been born about a hundred years earlier, kid. Then you would have had a chance.”
“To hell with that. I intend to make my own chance.”
“That’s what I intended at your age.”
“You succeeded.”
“Have I?”
She sat still, suddenly unable to move.
He sat up straight and said sharply, almost as if he were issuing orders, “You’d better look at that Rio Norte Line of yours, and you’d better do it fast. Get it ready before I move out, because if you don’t, that will be the end of Ellis Wyatt and all the rest of them down there, and they’re the best people left in the country. You can’t let that happen. It’s all on your shoulders now. It would be no use trying to explain to your brother that it’s going to be much tougher for you down there without me to compete with. But you and I know it. So go to it. Whatever you do, you won’t be a looter. No looter could run a railroad in that part of the country and last at it. Whatever you make down there, you will have earned it. Lice like your brother don’t count, anyway. It’s up to you now.”
She sat looking at him, wondering what it was that had defeated a man of this kind; she knew that it was not James Taggart.
She saw him looking at her, as if he were struggling with a question mark of his own. Then he smiled, and she saw, incredulously, that the smile held sadness and pity.
“You’d better not feel sorry for me,” he said. “I think, of the two of us, it’s you who have the harder time ahead. And I think you’re going to get it worse than I did.”
She had telephoned the mills and made an appointment to see Hank Rearden that afternoon. She had just hung up the receiver and was bending over the maps of the Rio Norte Line spread on her desk, when the door opened. Dagny looked up, startled; she did not expect the door of her office to open without announcement.
The man who entered was a stranger. He was young, tall, and something about him suggested violence, though she could not say what it was, because the first trait one grasped about him was a quality of self-control that seemed almost arrogant. He had dark eyes, disheveled hair, and his clothes were expensive, but worn as if he did not care or notice what he wore.
“Ellis Wyatt,” he said in self-introduction.
She leaped to her feet, involuntarily. She understood why nobody had or could have stopped him in the outer office.
“Sit down, Mr. Wyatt,” she said, smiling.
“It won’t be necessary.” He did not smile. “I don’t hold long conferences.”
Slowly, taking her time by conscious intention, she sat down and leaned back, looking at him.
“Well?” she asked.
“I came to see you because I understand you’re the only one who’s got any brains in this rotten outfit.”
“What can I do for you?”
“You can listen to an ultimatum.” He spoke distinctly, giving an unusual clarity to every syllable. “I expect Taggart Transcontinental, nine months from now, to run trains in Colorado as my business requires them to be run. If the snide stunt you people perpetrated on the Phoenix-Durango was done for the purpose of saving yourself from the necessity of effort, this is to give you notice that you will not get away with it. I made no demands on you when you could not give me the kind of service I needed. I found someone who could. Now you wish to force me to deal with you. You expect to dictate terms by leaving me no choice. You expect me to hold my business down to the level of your incompetence. This is to tell you that you have miscalculated.”
She said slowly, with effort, “Shall I tell you what I intend to do about our service in Colorado?”
“No. I have no interest in discussions and intentions. I expect transportation. What you do to furnish it and how you do it, is your problem, not mine. I am merely giving you a warning. Those who wish to deal with me, must do so on my terms or not at all. I do not make terms with incompetence. If you expect to earn money by carrying the oil I produce, you must be as good at your business as I am at mine. I wish this to be understood.”
She said quietly, “I understand.”
“I shan’t waste time proving to you why you’d better take my ultimatum seriously. If you have the intelligence to keep this corrupt organization functioning at all, you have the intelligence to judge this for yourself. We both know that if Taggart Transcontinental runs trains in Colorado the way it did five years ago, it will ruin me. I know that that is what you people intend to do. You expect to feed off me while you can and to find another carcass to pick dry after you have finished mine. That is the policy of most of mankind today. So here is my ultimatum: it is now in your power to destroy me; I may have to go; but if I go, I’ll make sure that I take all the rest of you along with me.”
Somewhere within her, under the numbness that held her still to receive the lashing, she felt a small point of pain, hot like the pain of scalding. She wanted to tell him of the years she had spent looking for men such as he to work with; she wanted to tell him that his enemies were hers, that she was fighting the same battle; she wanted to cry to him: I’m not one of them! But she knew that she could not do it. She bore the responsibility for Taggart Transcontinental and for everything done in its name; she had no right to justify herself now.
Sitting straight, her glance as steady and open as his, she answered evenly, “You will get the transportation you need, Mr. Wyatt.”
She saw a faint hint of astonishment in his face; this was not the manner or the answer he had expected; perhaps it was what she had not said that astonished him most: that she offered no defense, no excuses. He took a moment to study her silently. Then he said, his voice less sharp: “All right. Thank you. Good day.”
She inclined her head. He bowed and left the office.
“That’s the story, Hank. I had worked out an almost impossible schedule to complete the Rio Norte Line in twelve months. Now I’ll have to do it in nine. You were to give us the rail over a period of one year. Can you give it to us within nine months? If there’s any human way to do it, do it. If not, I’ll have to find some other means to finish it.”
Rearden sat behind his desk. His cold, blue eyes made two horizontal cuts across the gaunt planes of his face; they remained horizontal, impassively half-closed; he said evenly, without emphasis: ‘I’ll do it.”
Dagny leaned back in her chair. The short sentence was a shock. It was not merely relief: it was the sudden realization that nothing else was necessary to guarantee that it would be done; she needed no proofs, no questions, no explanations; a complex problem could rest safely on three syllables pronounced by a man who knew what he was saying.
“Don’t show that you’re relieved.” His voice was mocking. “Not too obviously.” His narrowed eyes were watching her with an unrevealing smile. “I might think that I hold Taggart Transcontinental in my power,”
“You know that, anyway.”
“I do. And I intend to make you pay for it.”
“I expect to. How much?”
“Twenty dollars extra per ton on the balance of the order delivered after today.”
“Pretty steep, Hank. Is that the best price you can give me?”