McDARVID LOOKED AT THE GLASS DOORS on the Ninth Street side of the Convention Center—stretching down the block. He tried a door at random.
Once inside, his eyes flickered over to the long lines in front of the registration signs spaced at not quite regular intervals. Having Jonnie’s badge was definitely a good idea. He paused and removed the plastic oblong from his pocket, placed it in the clear-plastic holder, and affixed badge and holder as evenly as he could on the breast pocket of his older blue pinstripe. It was probably crooked. Certainly, had he been home, either Allyson or Elizabeth would have informed him of his lack of symmetry.
After walking under the banner proclaiming “Welcome to the FOSE Interconnectivity and Applications Exhibition,” McDarvid looked around for several seconds, then, as he stepped on the escalator, glanced up to see a sign pointing toward the escalator on which he stood. On the next level, a line of tables awaited him, on which were stacked exhibition guides and assorted promotional materials.
McDarvid stepped through the wide doorway onto the main floor of the Convention Center, stopped, and took a deep breath before confronting the aisles and aisles of computer displays and banners.
He extracted the folded map of the exposition from his pocket, tracking down the list of exhibitors until he located “Lao Systems, Booth 1620.”
Where was he? McDarvid glanced around, then back at the map. Despite his years of Navy flying, and his familiarity with assorted maps and charts, he still found the damned convention map confusing.
Finally, after checking the nearest exhibitor, Apple—that name he did recognize—and finding it on the convention map, he located Lao—seemingly as far into the center of the endless booths as possible. He began to stroll down the closest aisle, looking and listening as he walked.
“… told the boss we needed a multiprocessor network server…”
“… nothing more than a bunch of linked PCs…”
“If you need cross-platform connectivity…”
McDarvid forced a bored smile as he paused to study a display which featured a computer-controlled color copier. To think he was having enough trouble with one small computer in his study.
The Lao booth was staffed with five or six men and women in pale turquoise coats and dark blue ties surrounded by a dozen or so customers—or at least interested individuals—flocking around a demonstration.
McDarvid looked for something resembling the TEMPESTed equipment that Jonnie had mentioned, but only saw one small display, freestanding and unattended, which noted: “For zero emissions under all conditions, the Lao Systems SC-486.”
He stepped up to the pedestal and picked up a brochure, trying to ignore the representative heading in his direction by continuing past the pedestal toward a circular container.
THE LAO FOUNDATION
Helping Provide the Best for the Best Contributions are tax-deductible
Several plain cards printed in black upon thin but smooth white stock rested by the container. McDarvid picked up one and began to read, skimming the words quickly: “501 C(3) Foundation … dedicated to providing merit scholarships to outstanding students of middle-class backgrounds … allowing them a collegiate freedom of choice…”
He nodded as he recalled the same words from the poster at DEP. Elizabeth could certainly benefit from something like the Lao Foundation. Then he stopped, swallowed, and pocketed the card.
“Might I help you…”—the Lao employee smiled as he strained to read the badge—“Mr. Black? I see you’re interested in TEMPEST equipment.”
“Ah…” McDarvid stuttered. Mr. Black? Then he remembered that the badge carried Jonnie’s name. “Actually, I was interested in the Lao Foundation. I’d seen an announcement or two, but never realized…”
“Yes, that’s a relatively new endeavor. The Corporate Responsibility department helps with their fund-raising. It doesn’t have much to do with marketing, but Mr. Corellian insists that we get a fair amount of publicity and even some contributions from the shows.” The young man shrugged, then smiled. “I’m Allan DiTellio, organizational marketing. What sort of system are you looking for?”
“I’m not really sure,” McDarvid admitted, trying to digest the confirmation of the link between Andy Corellian and the Lao Foundation.
“What platform are you using?”
“The secretaries use PCs,” McDarvid said slowly. “Some of the attorneys have their own machines, generally the younger ones.”
“Oh, you’re with a law firm, then?”
McDarvid smiled faintly, hoping to get away from the man. “You said that the Lao Foundation was a new effort. What can you tell me about it?”
“Really not much more than the cards say. That’s mostly handled by Corporate Responsibility out of the Washington office. Going for funding at the shows was Andy’s idea. He insists it works, but we’re not really equipped to answer detailed questions. That’s why we insisted he leave the cards there.” The young man nodded. “What applications are you running?”
“Standard stuff. I was just looking to get an idea of the possibilities for upgrading. We haven’t determined our connectivity needs yet.”
“I can understand that.” DiTellio smiled broadly. “I’ll tell you what. Let me have your pass there—it’s made for a handy-dandy imprint—and I’ll send you the full informational package designed for midsize firms.”
“I don’t know…”
“Oh, it’s really no trouble at all. It really isn’t. I mean, that’s what we’re here for—to make sure you get the information you need.”
McDarvid surrendered the badge reluctantly, realizing belatedly that the follow-up information would go to Jonnie.
He glanced back at the SC-486, unattended and unnoticed, wondering why no one paid any attention to a product that Jonnie had assured him was one of the few unique products offered by Lao. He also wondered about the donation container for the Lao Foundation. He frowned as DiTellio returned the badge.
“It should just be a week or so, Mr. Black.”
“No problem,” answered the preoccupied McDarvid. “No problem.” He wandered back down the aisle, trying to make sense of what had just happened.