“No, thank you,” replied Mrs. Red Cloud, her eyes coming to rest on the rotating spools of the tape recorder in the open side drawer. Miss Brill shot a quick look at Gustafson, who had taken the trouble to get to know the Secretary’s secretary. He smiled and nodded.
Miss Brill demonstrated the decisive action that made her so valuable a civil servant. She rose, locked the outside door, and entered the five-number code that permitted her to transcribe a conference in progress. The voice of a man came through the desk-top speaker.
“…only in bare-bones outline, of course,” Ripley Forte was saying.
“Some outline,” marveled David D. Castle. “Your plan is remarkably like that proposed by the scientists whose report I commissioned, not only in scientific theory but in execution and projected production costs and goals. If I weren’t a hundred percent sure that it couldn’t be done, I’d think you had somehow gotten hold of it.”
Ripley Forte smiled blandly. “There’s less a mystery about my knowledge of the subject than there appears, Mr. Secretary. Remember, I have been battling icebergs for more than six years. When I started, I didn’t know a damned thing about them. But when they began knocking over my rigs and killing my men, I learned fast. Within two years, I think it’s safe to say, I knew as much about icebergs on the working level as any man alive. But it wasn’t enough, because I was still losing money and men. Like you, I commissioned studies–mostly by Canadian, Norwegian, and Australian glaciologists, oceanographers, and cold weather experts. They–”
“Why not American experts?” broke in Castle.
“Good question. In the first place, Canadians, Norwegians, and Aussies, being nearer to Arctic regions, have more experience along those lines. Also, I was beginning to suspect that icebergs might play a role in solving the water shortage–a role that could make money, and I didn’t want to alert American competitors.”
“Go on, Mr. Forte.”
“Well, the more I dug, the better it looked. Not for Arctic pinnacle bergs, of course–they capsize and are too small in any case. But if big tabular bergs from the Antarctic could be tamed and towed, I realized, there could be enormous returns. I intensified my researches, and naturally I came up with much the same answers as you did. Two minds with a single thought, you might say.”
“Yes,” agreed Castle, “that makes sense.” It had to. There couldn’t be any other explanation.
“What it all boils down to, Mr. Secretary,” said Forte, “is that your research and mine have demonstrated, independently, the feasibility of transporting icebergs from Antarctica to America.”
“That’s true.”
“And that I’m the man to do it.”
“Ah, that is something else, Mr. Forte. This is a project of historic dimensions which–”
Forte raised his hand.
“Let me put it to you briefly, Congressman. This is a project which, if it succeeds, will give you as its father a very good chance of getting to the White House in 2008. If it fails–oblivion. It will take me, at my best estimate, no less than forty months to do the job. Pick anybody with qualifications inferior to mine and you’ll miss the conventions and the presidency. It’s up to you, Mr. Secretary.”
Castle smiled wryly. “It’s a good thing you’re an engineer, Mr. Forte. You’d never go far in politics with so blunt a tongue.”
“Does my blunt tongue pound home the point, Congressman?”
“It does. And my first instinct is to name you as prime contractor and get the show on the road at once. But as a lawyer, and especially as secretary of water resources,
I cannot. There are others in the running, and I must consider them. For instance, General Dynamics, Lykes Lines, Boeing, Bath Shipbuilding, and IBM are meeting at this moment to form a consortium, and I shall be seeing them tomorrow.”
Forte rose. “They don’t scare me. I’ll have a berg halfway to America while they’re still forming committees and arguing about executive compensation packages.”
Castle came around the desk and shook Forte’s hand warmly.
“I can’t tell you how glad I am you came to see me.” He meant it. There was no question in his mind that probably only Forte could bring an iceberg into San Francisco Bay in time to win Castle the presidency. Of course, he’d have to go through the motions of considering alternatives, but his mind was already made up: Forte was his man.
“You realize that with a prime contract like this, worth many billions of dollars, the competition will be fierce, and my decision as to the winner closely scrutinized. But if–I must emphasize–if–I should decide to name Forte Ocean Engineering as prime contractor, when could you begin operations?”
“I’ve already started.”
In the outer office, Miss Brill switched off the speaker. A moment later, the door to the Secretary’s office swung open and Ripley Forte emerged. Jennifer Red Cloud, who had been whispering instructions to Randy Gustafson, looked up.
“Why, hello, Ripley,” she said with an amused look. “What’s a man like you doing in a place like this?”
Forte hadn’t seen her in five or six years, but if anything, she was even more lovely than when they had last met. More rounded, more mature, with the hint of lines at the corners of those big violet eyes.
Ripley Forte nodded gravely. “Well, well. If it isn’t our little Indian princess! How are things back at the castle?”
“The castles I’ve got interest me a lot less than the castles I’m going to get.”
“Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you, Red?”
“Very sure of myself. After all, if I can demolish a Forte, a Castle shouldn’t give me much trouble.”
Forte couldn’t top that, so he wished her a very good morning and left. She watched him go and then turned to enter David D. Castle’s inner office.
As she closed the door behind Mrs. Red Cloud and returned to her desk, Miss Brill reached over to turn up the tape recorder volume.
Gustafson shook his head. “I don’t want to hear it,” he said. “I don’t want anybody to hear it–ever.”
“Why, I can’t do that,” protested Miss Brill. “That would be against government regulations.”
Gustafson cocked an eyebrow at her.
“Besides,” she went on, “that’s a voice-activated machine. There’s no way I can turn it off so long as they’re talking in there. It’s all automatic.”
“Think on your feet, girlie.”
“I’m sorry, but there just isn’t–”
“You’ll wish there was, when Castle hears about that $20,000 with your greasy thumbprints all over it.”
With a speed that surprised him, she crossed the room to the supply closet and returned with an aerosol can. She sprayed the revolving tapes liberally. They slowed, stuttered, and stopped.
Secretary Castle had never been able to shake the memory of Jennifer Red Cloud. Their paths had crossed frequently on Capitol Hill when they were both new to Washington–he as a freshman congressman, she as a bright television reporter. Like practically every man she interviewed, he had asked her out to dinner. Somewhat to his surprise, she accepted, ate sparingly, drank nothing, listened to his confided ambition to be numero uno someday, and kissed him chastely on the cheek as he deposited her on her doorstep. It was their first and last private meeting, but for weeks he thought about her constantly. His confidences hadn’t been worth reporting, and some months later she had gone on to marry Ned Raynes. He wondered if she even remembered him. Nothing in her demeanor suggested she did. Jennifer Red Cloud, he knew, was a clever, conspiratorial, resolute, and dangerous woman. As chairman of Raynes Oceanic Resources, she had obviously come ready to do battle for the prime contract for the iceberg recovery project. There was no question that, as experienced and successful as her company had been, she could bring nothing like the depth of experience and expertise that Ripley Forte offered. But he would have to be deferential, for she was rich and well connected. And he would have to be firm, for his political career was riding on his decision.
Mrs. Red Cloud cut short his pleasantries. She wanted, she said, the prime contract to bring icebergs from the Antarctic to America.
“How much experience has your company had in handling icebergs, Mrs. Red Cloud?”
“None whatever.”
“Well, then, I suppose your company has been doing research on the subject, and you have come to discuss a detailed plan to implement the project?”
“No, it has not, and I have not.”
“Perhaps your company’s considerable resources will be enough to fund the research, the purchase of the equipment, and the mobilization of the many experts who will be needed to bring the project to fruition,” Castle suggested gently.
“My company’s resources are considerable, not astronomical.”
Secretary Castle regarded his visitor with a puzzled frown.
“Then, Mrs. Red Cloud, on exactly what basis do you propose to bid for the prime contract?”