WILLIAM FRUEHOFF DESPISED BOVINE NATURE, and cities were designed to produce tons of it. If something was low enough to be hated, it was low enough to be controlled. Money flowed into Nonrich, which flowed it outwards into corporations and enterprises that touched every aspect of all lives from the food to the media chain, and the world’s populace mooed on.
Buford had dictated: “The best way to destroy your enemies is to give them the means to do it themselves.” Nonrich had a cadre of kidnapped conspiracy nuts on hand in underground areas to keep abreast of the pulse of the world. A few of them had once been high-level Nonrich employees. This underground holding area was called “Outside the Box,” which is where, moments ago, he had been threatened to be sent if he didn’t come up with results.
He faced Aileen Stone (not her last name) with the bravado of seven Six Sigma completions, albeit humbling his eye contact with the proper conciliation.
Aileen Stone never traveled alone. Adam and Eve always traveled with her, and yes they were, but only she and Buford knew. Adam and Eve never spoke a word but were rarely hesitant to nonverbally let a person know precisely how pissed off they were at the world.
“Aileen,” said Fruehoff, “he told us he’d be away on business,” he reminded her. “You know that means don’t ask and don’t follow.”
“Don’t ask and don’t follow is what you tell the valet,” she said. “Jetstreams in Manila means field trip is no longer part of the picture. Let me remind you it was your turn to know where he was. That’s not a question you ever want to say ‘I don’t know’ to.”
“Reprographics is already torturing our Thoom operatives, Aileen.” It was good to use first names. Names defused situations.
Except Aileen (not her first name) was one of those trick devices that exploded no matter which wire was cut.
She drew back a lock of silver hair then hauled off and slapped him.
He wasn’t so shocked she’d slapped him as he was she’d mussed his hair. Perfect hair was critical to maintaining control of any situation. Instantly he’d become wet paper towel.
He fiercely wanted to brush his lock back into place but he didn’t dare move. Eve, as perfect and toned as art, had a decidedly wishful hardening of the crow’s feet around her eyes.
“Tell me what I know one more time,” said Aileen.
Adam, the other half of Aileen’s constant guard, very blatantly rose from his chair and stood behind Fruehoff.
“Oh come on!” Fruehoff said. “I’m popping asses to get this resolved. On my watch. And I don’t see this helping much.”
“Help implies you’re doing something more than walking around with your dick in your hand,” she said, matching ire for ire. “Help,” she said, perched on the edge of her desk, leaning to his face, “implies weakness. Weakness is a sin—”
Oh God, with that again, thought Eve.
“You’re torturing ten when you should be torturing twenty. I’d hope you know by now about the cloning facility.” That meant she was willing to insult his intelligence. He glared at her. “Ante’s been upped, Bill. That means, Bill, that the war won’t be televised. We gave this country Shock and Awe and look what they did with it. A ghastly war that should’ve lasted two weeks.”
“I’ve got a national catastrophe waiting in the wings if anybody peers in my window,” said Fruehoff. “Seriously, we’re fighting groups of misfits and freaks who don’t even agree amongst themselves. We’re two miles ahead of them; so what if they set us back one step? And clone or no clone, Buford is America. America is the goddamned world. We’ve won, they’ve lost, so let me go about my goddamned job of finding out what the hell happened to the greatest man alive. Thank. You.”
“Succeed at your job or Adam and Eve will pound your nuts into quiche,” said Aileen before sending him away, because after that what point was there saying anything more?