“YOU LOOK NERVOUS,” A.J. SAID CALMLY. “I’M THE one giving the speech, and I’m not nervous.”
“The problem of empathy,” David replied. “I’m nervous enough for both of us. Besides, I’m not used to wearing a tuxedo and standing shoulder to shoulder with all these important people.”
“You look good in a tux, and as far as being among important people, all I can say is that everyone is important. The only difference is that these people are rich. Which is a good thing, since I’m about to ask them for a lot of money.”
“It looks like the Academy Awards around here,” David said as he scanned the ballroom of the Harrington Hotel in Mission Valley, San Diego’s newest and largest five-star hotel. The room was crowded with men in black tuxedos and women in glamorous gowns. In one corner of the room a band played dance music. David saw movie stars and starlets, so many that he thought all of Hollywood must surely be vacant. There were politicians from the western states: mayors, congressmen, and senators, all laughing and shaking the hands of those around them like farmers working manually operated water pumps.
“Come on,” A.J. said, “It’s time to press the flesh.”
He began moving through the crowd, shaking hands with the men and hugging the ladies. David noticed that A.J. always had the right words to say. He also noticed how the women ogled as he walked by, and for good reason. A.J. was as dapper as they came in black tuxedo, white dress shirt with pearl posts, black tie, and his ponytail bobbing behind his head. The fact that the tuxedo was wrapped around a well-maintained and muscular frame only increased the aura around him. A.J. introduced David to soap-opera stars, movie moguls, and business tycoons, and he was suitably impressed with each person he met. A.J. introduced him as “the newest member of the executive team—a key player, an exceptional catch.” After one introduction, a junior congressman from California asked if David wouldn’t like to write speeches for an up-and-coming politico, but A.J. intercepted the question and saved David some embarrassment by saying, “Now, now, Congressman, I’m here to take money from you, not for you to appropriate members of my team.” Everyone, including David, laughed.
The West Coast fund-raising banquet was off to a good start, and David was right in the middle of it. There were three more of these, David had been informed, one in Dallas, one in Miami, and one in New York City. Every few years additional fund-raisers would be held in London and Paris. Each one cost tens of thousands of dollars to promote and execute, but it was worth the cost since each brought in a hundredfold more in gifts and pledges. There was also the opportunity to meet members of the press, who were not only invited, but wined and dined. Most reporters fought to be assigned the task of covering a Barringston fund-raiser.
David followed in A.J.’s wake as he milled through the ballroom, greeting everyone in sight. David had shaken so many hands that his wrist began to ache. He was relieved when A.J. nodded toward the table where the Barringston staff were gathering and said, “It’s time to get things started.”
No sooner had the two approached the table than Kristen made her way to the front of the hall to a podium on a raised rostrum. She tapped the microphone a few times. David wondered why speakers had to do that.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she said loudly over the din of the crowd. The bedlam quieted to a roar, then to silence. “Thank you,” she said. “I’m Kristen LaCroix, and I have the wonderful opportunity of not only working for Barringston Relief, but also the distinct pleasure of informing you that it’s time to eat.”
People applauded, and a couple of men who had become well acquainted with the fully hosted bar shouted “great” and even “amen,” causing laughter to ripple through the gathering. Kristen smiled and said, “If you’ll be seated, our servers can begin. I think you’ll enjoy tonight’s offering.”
David watched as the crowd diffused to their tables. The room followed a specific design with the media near the front and the politicians to one side near the Barringston staff’s table, which allowed a discreet distance between the two. A.J. had told David that this was more comfortable for officeholders, who liked to savor their meals without being quizzed. On the rostrum and to each side of the podium were tables at which sat A.J.; his father, Archibald; the mayor of San Diego; and the governor of California. David looked at the three men seated with A.J. at the front of the room and realized that they were the only people he hadn’t met.
Kristen made her way to the table where David was standing. As David watched her, he was suddenly taken with her beauty. She wore an elegant full-length dress of a color that matched the blue of her eyes. Her shoulders were bare, except for the thin straps of her dress, revealing scores of freckles that he found both amusing and endearing.
“Shall we sit?” a voice said behind him. David turned to see Peter Powell smoothly seating himself in his chair. “It’s rather difficult to eat standing up.”
Other Barringston people sat at the table with him: Powell from personnel; Sheila Womack, A.J.’s personal aide; and others who David had yet to meet. Peter made the introductions: Walter Lays, Barringston’s chief financial officer; Kathy Ellis, attorney; Eileen Corbin, head of communications; Gerald Oswell, department head of research and development; and Hector Chavez, who managed commodity distribution. Kristen sat next to David, an act he found surprisingly pleasing.
“Well, Dr. O’Neal,” Kristen said, “how did I do? Not bad for a public-relations person?”
“Not bad at all,” he replied. “You’re a natural.”
“Why, thank you. That’s quite a compliment coming from such an esteemed expert,” she responded playfully.
During the dinner the group talked freely. Several around the table mentioned the good things they had been hearing about David since his arrival at Barringston. He took the compliments in stride and said something about paying good money for people to pass on those favorable rumors. They spoke of last year’s achievements and what they hoped their departments could do during the coming year. There was small talk about who was getting married and who was leaving the firm.
“Are all the department heads at this table?” David asked Kristen.
“Oh, no,” said Kristen. “We’re scattered all over the room. Each table has someone from the firm seated there. That way they can answer any questions people might have. It keeps A.J. from being besieged all night by inquisitive people. Some of our department heads are out of the country on business or back in Washington.”
“This table is for the leftovers,” Peter added.
“Speak for yourself,” replied Chavez with a laugh.
Those who had not met David before took turns quizzing him on his background, his likes and dislikes, hobbies, and even the last movie he saw. Only Sheila and Eileen remained quiet, choosing to listen to the discussion rather than participate. Time passed quickly, and David became more and more comfortable, except for the stiff shirt collar that rubbed at his neck. Before long it was time for A.J.’s speech, and David became apprehensive again. He had coached A.J. extensively over the last two days, and he was now worried that he might have overlooked something important.
Kristen looked at her watch, then turned to look at A.J. on the dais. A.J. saw her and nodded. Excusing herself, Kristen made her way to the podium.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she said firmly, “I hope you enjoyed your dinner as much as I did.” The crowd responded with polite applause. “Each year we at Barringston Relief are thankful for many things, but two things remain foremost in our minds. First is you, our supporters, who maintain a belief that we can make a difference in the world if we work together—” The audience interrupted with more applause. Kristen continued when the clapping ended. “And we feel most pleased about our opportunity to work with one of the greatest men in this generation, one to whom thousands owe their very lives, one who believes that all people have a right to life and happiness without poverty and disease—A.J. Barringston, founder and leader of Barringston Relief.”
The crowd stood in ovation, the sound of their clapping reverberating around the hall. A.J. rose from his seat and took his place at the podium. Kristen stood by him leading the applause.
David held his breath.
The people continued their applause for another few minutes before taking their seats again. As they did, A.J. opened a small folder that contained his notes. He glanced at them for a moment then looked up and, purposefully, steadily, looked at each table in the room, yet said nothing. David leaned forward in his seat. A.J. was doing as he had instructed: “Don’t speak until they are all looking at you. Build the moment, then build the momentum.”
After a short time, A.J. smiled a larger-than-life grin and turned to face Kristen who had returned to her seat. “Thank you, Kristen,” he said in a voice that gave the illusion of great power being checked, like a dam holding back a massive river. “Thank you for those kind words. You read them just as I wrote them.” The audience laughed. “You did such a fine job with that introduction that the governor wanted to know if you were for hire. He said he wanted at least one person in the state to say something nice about him.” The audience guffawed loudly.
“Perfect,” David said under his breath.
A.J. began his speech.
“Over four decades ago, the famous adventurer and seaman Jacques Yves Cousteau dropped anchor from his research ship Calypso. The heavy metal anchor plunged into the dark waters of Atlantic’s Romanche Trench until it struck the silty bottom of the ocean 24,600 feet below the surface. The anchor, which was attached to the ship by five and one-half miles of heavy nylon cord, did its job and held the ship in place. Cousteau did something unique that summer’s day in 1956: He set the record for the deepest anchorage of a ship. He did something else that day: He gave us an illustration of the power of anchors to hold us back.
“Each morning when I rise from my bed, my thoughts immediately turn to the hundreds of heroes that are never noticed except by those whose lives they save. Their faces never appear in newspapers or on television screens across our nations. They serve because they have heard that quiet voice that speaks in the ears of every soul that has ever lived, a voice that says ‘The world’s problems are my problems. The pains and anguish of strangers are my concern.’ These people are heroes of the highest order.
“But how do those brave souls who leave home and riches behind to serve in Colombia, the Yucatan Peninsula, in the slums along the Rio Grande in our country, or in the blood and muck of Rwanda and Somalia deal with life’s horrors? They are able to do so because they have discovered the personal power that comes from releasing those anchors that keep us from moving forward. They have successfully severed the long and deep anchorage that tied their minds and hearts to less noble pursuits. And so they went to serve. That makes them heroes.
“Tonight I will not stand before you and display pictures of starving children with bloated bellies of malnutrition. Nor will I attempt to pull the emotional strings of your heart with tales of sadness and pain. Instead I will display before you a hero, a hero to match any found in the books of history, a hero to serve as a shining light in an ever-darkening world. I wish I could present this champion of justice and life to you today, but I cannot. I wish with every fiber of my being that she could sit at your table and regale you with tales of distant lands and changed lives, but I cannot. For this hero lies in the cold ground of her home state where she was buried a short time ago.”
David watched intently as A.J. delivered his message in clarion tones. Even though he had rehearsed the speech several times, he was now experiencing the impact that comes from projecting his words to a captivated audience. With each moment that passed, David could see A.J.’s rising passion. He took his eyes off A.J. only long enough to gauge the audience’s response. Each person sat in rapt attention. Even politicians who were used to finely crafted rhetoric could not shield themselves from the honest expression of emotion being displayed on the stage before them. A.J.’s voice drew David’s attention.
“Today thousands of people mourn her murder at the hands of a criminal who still walks free. Those who will miss her the most are those who teetered on the edge of the dark precipice of lingering death.
“I wish I could tell you that her work is complete; that death from hunger and disease have left the lands in which she so unselfishly served. The sad truth is that those same people face greater famine, greater social turmoil, and greater disease.”
A.J. paused and stepped to the side of the podium. He slowly, deliberately, scanned the audience, making eye contact with as many as possible.
“But we are not defeated,” he said loudly. “No murderous madman can cause us to drop anchor. No famine or fear will bring about the defeat of those heroes who remain at the front lines of the battle, striking at death with the swords of food, medicine, and respect for human life. Despite the reminder of the ever-present danger they face in the hot light of day and cold dark of night, they push on. In my mind, they are the greatest heroes of all. They are champions of compassion; they are people of distinguished valor, whose lights will never be extinguished by tyranny, natural disaster, or civil unrest.”
The audience broke into thunderous, spontaneous applause. A.J. waited for the clapping to die down and then resumed.
“Today I look across a sea of faces who have given of their time and who have in the past given of their resources. I look across this gathering and wonder if in this fine group is another hero like Dr. Judith Rhodes. I don’t mean the kind who feels compelled to travel to the world’s worst places to share the sunlight of hope. No. I mean the kind who will extend a helping hand across the plains and deserts and seas of our world, a hand that says, ‘We support you workers of courage.’
“You see, despite all our good work, the need has continued to grow. My researchers tell me that the drought that has afflicted much of Africa will not only continue, but worsen to unprecedented levels. It appears that the weather will pirate away our reserves and our ability to be of help.”
A.J. described in detail the problems that lay before them. He spoke of other heroes working in Ethiopia, Mozambique, and Burundi, as well as those in Asia and other parts of the world. He passionately linked each area of need with the names of Barringston Relief staff working in the area. With each minute that passed, his message became more passionate, more heartfelt. Every sentence impacted each listener with the full force of conviction. Tears came to the eyes of women and men. And still A.J. continued, pacing back and forth behind the podium, at times waving his arms in broad gestures and at other times poking the air with his long finger.
David watched in amazement. A.J. was surpassing every expectation. His deepest passions erupted with volcanic force, spewing his concern and belief throughout the room. Looking at the crowd, David saw they were captivated, mesmerized by the tall, powerful man in the tuxedo.
“Today we need those who rise from complacency to lend support. Today we need those who will say, ‘I have some responsibility for what goes on in this world, and I will make a difference.’ Who will rise to the occasion? Who will invest in the future of people they do not know and will never meet? Who will say with me, ‘All people deserve life’?
“Each day I am reminded that the only reason I stand before you in a tuxedo today while millions are naked and exposed to the elements elsewhere is that I had the undeserved fortune of being born in this country, and they had the great misfortune to be born in the stricken and scarred lands of the world. Only the capriciousness of fate separates me from the child who fears that roving mobs of vigilantes may kill him because he’s homeless, or from the starving Somali mother who this day buried yet another child.
“This one thing I know,” A.J. said, almost shouting. “I could not choose my manner and place of birth, but I can choose how I will live my life. And I choose to live my life battling those elements—be they natural or human—that would scrape human life off this planet as one scrapes weeds off an undeveloped piece of property.” The crowd responded with pounding applause.
“But I cannot do the work alone,” A.J. said softly, dropping his head. “I wish I could. I wish that the task was that easy, but it’s not, and you don’t need me to tell you that. So I come before you as a beggar—a man with his hand out. Except I do not ask for myself. Thanks to the diligent and lifelong work of my father, my future is already secure. That is why I take no salary for what I do. But even the substantial resources of Barringston Industries are not enough to achieve the good we set out to do. We can put an end to the madness, however, if we pool our resources, if we draw together as humans who dare care for other humans. So once again I ask for your help and support. I do so with no sense of shame or embarrassment. Today I ask that you reach deeper into your resources than you’ve ever reached before, and that you give financially to this tired old world that is home to every one of us.
“Will you do that? Will you be one of the heroes this world so desperately needs? I think you will, because I know the kind of people you are and the kind of world you dream of. Dr. Judith Rhodes gave her life, spilling her blood on the soil of another land. I would like to know that she did not face terror in vain.”
Stepping from the podium, A.J. took a few steps to his seat at the front of the hall, but before he could be seated the crowd stood in unison and exploded into near-deafening applause. A.J. scanned the crowd that cheered him and nodded, occasionally mouthing the words thank you. David watched as A.J. shifted his gaze to him and smiled and winked.
“Incredible,” Kristen said. “I have never heard him give a speech like that. Absolutely incredible. David, you’re a genius.”
“I just wrote it,” David said with genuine humility. “A.J. gave it life. He delivered it better than I wrote it.”
It took an additional two hours of handshaking, backslapping, smiling, and chatting before David and the other Barringston staff could leave the hotel. It was now close to eleven o’clock, and everyone was showing the strain of the day. Several Ford minivans took the executives back to their cars, which they had left in the Barringston Tower parking garage. David, A.J., Peter, Sheila, and Kristen were the last to leave, and they rode together. Kristen sat next to David and Sheila next to A.J. The conversation in the van was light and good-natured, with each person complimenting A.J. on his speech. A.J. attempted to pass much of the credit to David, but David would have none of it, saying that the best words are useless if delivered inappropriately.
“I am curious, though,” David said. “When I wrote the speech I mentioned nothing about worsening conditions in Africa, nor did I cite any statistics. Are things really that bad?”
“I added that information at the last minute,” A.J. replied. “Research handed me the report this morning. I wanted to run it by you, but my day was already filled. You’re not offended, are you?”
“Not at all,” David offered quickly. “It was a good addition and done perfectly.”
“Good. To answer your question, yes, things are getting that bad. Climate conditions may be worse next year than they’ve been over the last ten. There will be too little rain, and therefore too little food for man or beast. We also have reason to believe that warlord activity and civil war will be increasing. I’m not free to tell you how I know, but the information is reliable. The UN is also aware of the developments.”
“That means more work for us,” Peter commented. “It’s a good thing that nearly everyone present made a healthy contribution. Will it be enough?”
A.J. shook his head. “A thousand times that wouldn’t be enough.”
“So what do we do?” David asked.
“We do the very best we can and never lose sight of our objective of saving lives. If we can’t save all of them, we will save some of them.” A.J. looked out at the passing traffic and the tall downtown buildings. “You know, David,” he continued slowly, “there are times when I sleep at night that I can hear the hoofbeats of your four horsemen of the apocalypse, and famine rides in the lead.”
David nodded in understanding, “It’s a shame we can’t do more than provide food and medicine.”
“Maybe we can,” A.J. said softly. “Maybe we can.”
Before going to his apartment, A.J. stopped by his office to check for messages and to leave his speech notes for his secretary to file. On his desk he found a small black plastic case, which he immediately recognized as a videocassette. A note written in the meticulous handwriting of his secretary read, “Special delivery from the office of Sen. Dean Toler.” It was Senator Toler, head of the Armed Services Committee, whom he had asked for help in locating the missing Sea Maid. Apprehension flowed through him. Instinctively, he knew this was bad news.
One minute later, A.J. sat in shock as the macabre pictures of the sunken Sea Maid played across his television. The ghostly and grotesque images of the tethered crew floating in the dark waters sickened him, but one sight turned his horror into rage. Arrogantly scratched into the paint of a bulkhead were the foot-high letters that spelled Mahli and Mukatu.