TOTAL CONTROL By: David Baldacci

stopped the video and the screen returned to a pleasant blue. She

scanned the large room where fifteen heads, mostly white males in their

early to mid-forties, stared anxiously at one man sitting at the head of

the table. The group had been sequestered in the tension-filled room

for hours.

Nathan Gamble, the chairman of Triton Global, was a barrel-chested

individual of medium height, in his mid-fifties, with gray-streaked hair

brushed straight back and held rigidly in place with a substantial

amount of gel. The expensive double-breasted suit was professionally

tailored to his stocky form. His face was deeply lined and carried the

remnants of an off-season tan. His voice was baritone and commanding;

Sidney could easily envision the man bellowing across conference room

tables at quaking underlings. The head of a far-reaching corporate

powerhouse, he certainly looked and acted the part.

From under thick gray eyebrows, Gamble’s dark brown eyes were glued on

her. Sidney returned the stare. “Do you have any questions, Nathan?”

“just one.”

Sidney steadied herself. She could feel it coming. “What is it?”

she asked pleasantly.

“Why the hell are we doing this?”

Everyone in the room, except for Sidney Archer, winced as though they

had collectively sat on one gigantic needle.

“I’m not sure I understand your question.”

“Sure you do, unless you’re stupid, and I know you’re not.” Gamble spoke

quietly, his features inscrutable despite the sharpness of his rhetoric.

Sidney bit her tongue hard. “I take it you don’t like having to sell

yourself in order to buy CyberCom?”

Gamble looked around the table. ‘They offered an exorbitant amount of

cash for that company. Apparently, nor content with making a ten

thousand percent return on their investment, now they want to go through

my records. Correct?” He looked at Sidney for an answer. She nodded

without speaking, and Gamble continued.

“I’ve bought a lot of companies and no one has ever asked for those

materials before. Now CyberCom does. Which gets back to my earlier

question. Why are we doing this? What the hell’s so special about

CyberCom?” His eyes made an exacting scope of the table before settling

once again on Sidney.

A man seated to the left of Gamble stirred. A laptop computer in front

of him had drawn his attention throughout the meeting.

Quentin Rowe was the very young president of Triton and subordinate only

to Nathan Gamble. While all the other men in the room were entombed in

stylish suits, he was dressed in khaki pants, worn deck shoes, a blue

denim shirt and a brown vest buttoned up the front. Two diamond studs

were lodged in his left earlobe. He looked more suited to appearing on

an album cover than stepping into a boardroom.

“Nathan, CyberCom is special,” Rowe said. “Without them we could well

be out of business within two years. CyberCom’s technology will

completely reinvent and then dominate how information is processed over

the Internet. And as far as the high-tech business is concerned, that’s

like Moses coming down the mountain with the Commandments; there’s no

substitute.” Rowe’s tone was a little weary but carried strident

undertones. He did not look at Gamble.

Gamble lit up a cigar, casually leaning his expensive lighter up against

a small brass sign on the table that read NO SMOKING. “You know, Rowe,

that’s the problem with this high-tech crap: You’re king of the hill in

the morning and cow shit by the afternoon. I never should have gotten

into the damn business in the first place.”

“Well, if money is all you care about, keep in mind that Triton is the

world’s dominant technology company and generates more than two billion

dollars in profits per quarter,” Quentin Rowe shot back.

“And cow shit by tomorrow afternoon.” Gamble gave Rowe a sidelong glance

filled with disgust and puffed away.

Sidney Archer cleared her throat. “Not if you acquire CyberCom,

Nathan.” Gamble turned to look at her. “You’ll be on top for at least

the next decade and your profits could well triple within five years.”

“Really?” Gamble did not look convinced.

“She’s right,” Rowe added. “You have to understand that no one, until

now, has been able to design software and related communication

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