they were dead men.
Sharp seemed unconcerned about a blowout, but he complained about the
lack of air-conditioning and about the warm wind blowing into his face
through the open windows. It was as if, certain of his destiny, he were
incapable of imagining himself dying now, here, in a rolling car, as if
he believed he was entitled to every comfort regardless of the
circumstances-like a crown prince. In fact, Peake realized that was
probably exaclly how Sharp looked at it.
Now they were in the San Bernardino Mountains, on State Route 330, a few
miles from Running Springs, forced by the twisting road to travel at
safer speeds.
Sharp was silent, brooding, as he had been ever since they had turned
off 1-10 at the Redland exit. His anger had subsided. He was
calculating now, scheming. Peake could almost hear the clicking,
whirring, ticking, and humming of the Machiavellian mechanism that was
Anson Sharp’s mind.
Finally, as alternating bursts of sunlight and forest shadows slapped
the windshield and filled the car with flickering ghostly movement,
Sharp said, “Peake, you may be wondering why only the two of us have
come here, why I haven’t alerted the police or brought more backup of my
own.
Yes, sir. I was wondering,” Peake said.
Sharp studied him for a while. “Jerry, are you ambitious?”
Watch your ass, Jerry! Peake thought as soon as Sharp called him by his
first name, for Sharp was not a man who would ever be chummy with a
subordinate.
He said, Well, sir, I want to do well, be a good agent, if that’s what
you mean.
I mean more than that. Do you hope for promotion, greater authority,
the chance to be in charge of investigations?”
Peake suspected that Sharp would be suspicious of a junior agent with
too much ambition, so he did not mention his dream of becoming a Defense
Security Agency legend. Instead, he said disingenuously, “Well, I’ve
always sort of dreamed of one day working my way up to assistant chief
of the California office, where I could have some input on operations.
But I’ve got a lot to learn first.”
“That’s all?” Sharp asked. “You strike me as a bright, capable young
man. I’d expect you to ve set your sights on something higher.”
“Well, sir, thank you, but there are quite a few bright, capable guys in
the agency about my age, and if I could make assistant chief of the
district office with that competition, I’d be happy.”
Sharp was silent for a minute, but Peake knew the conversation was not
over. They had to slow to make a sharp rightward curve, and around the
bend a raccoon was crossing the road, so Peake eased down on the brake
and slowed even further, letting the animal scurry out of the way. At
last the deputy director said, “Jerry, I’ve been watching you closely,
and I like what I see. You have what it takes to go far in the company.
If you’ve a desire to go to Washington, I’m convinced you’d be an asset
in various posts at headquarters.”
Jerry Peake was suddenly scared. Sharp’s flattery was excessive, and
his implied patronage too generous. The deputy director wanted
something from Peake, and in return he wanted Peake to buy something
from him, something with a high price tag, maybe a lot higher than Peake
was willing to pay. But if he refused to accept the deal Sharp was
leading to, he’d make a lifelong enemy of the deputy director.
Sharp said, “This is not public knowledge, Jerry, and I’d ask you to
keep it to yourself, but within two years the director is going to
retire and recommend that I take his place at the head of the agency.”
Peake believed that Sharp was sincere, but he also had the queer feeling
that Jarrod McClain, director of the D.S.A, would be surprised to hear
about his own pending retirement.
Sharp continued, “When that happens, I’ll be getting rid of many of the
men Jarrod has installed in high positions. I don’t mean to be
disrespectful of the director, but he’s too much of the old school, and
the men he’s promoted are less company agents than bureaucrats.
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