FIFTEEN
NICOLAE CARPATHIA, to no one’s surprise, proved a quick study in politics. Having never run for any office, he soon became the favorite to unseat the incumbent Emil Tismaneanu in the lower parliament. Carpathia, through Fortunato and Planchette, of course, hired the best public relations firm in Bucharest and assembled a crack team of youthful idealists, who were soon persuaded that Nicolae was the answer to all of Romania’s ills.
Carpathia soundly defeated Tismaneanu in a pair of debates hosted by the University of Romania, after which Leon Fortunato insisted it was time to “start turning the screws.”
Nicolae sat with him and Planchette and Viv Ivins in the mansion late one night. “How do you mean?” Nicolae said.
“He will be loath to debate you again, so resounding was the response for you and against him. So now you go widely public with your insistence on another debate. He cannot accede to it without committing political suicide. You will box him into a corner. He has to refuse, but he will be desperate to save face. That will produce some kind of a foolish response, and you will capitalize on all the momentum.”
The three men nodded, but Viv appeared stony.
“What is it?” Carpathia said. “You do not like the idea?”
“I agree it’s good strategy,” she said. “I just worry about Tismaneanu’s desperate measures. He may spread a falsehood, or worse, a damaging truth.”
“I have no skeletons, Viv,” Nicolae said. “What could he possibly say to embarrass me?”
“I can think of three things.”
“Do not keep us in suspense.”
“Women, Ion, and Corona.”
The men glanced at each other.
Fortunato nodded. “I wouldn’t put it past him.”
“Come on!” Nicolae said. “On the first matter, I am discreet. On the second, raising the Ion issue will make him look more than desperate. Tismaneanu has zero evidence, and I would immediately respond with a threat to sue for defamation. He will look terrible, especially when the educational trust fund for Ion’s son is revealed.”
“That is all in place and ready to go?” Leon said.
Nicolae looked to Planchette, who blanched. “It will be,” he said.
“What has been the holdup?” Nicolae said.
Reiche shrugged. “Ion’s wife did not seem impressed, and you told no one else.”
Nicolae stood. “Reiche! What if she went to the press, telling them I promised something and never delivered?”
“She wouldn’t. She’s a simple widow—”
“She is a grieving, angry mother, man! And I believe she suspects me. Get on that first thing in the morning and leak it to the press. Very subtly. If we can get something out about that that appears not to have come from us, it will preclude Emil trying to use Ion’s death against me. Now, Viv, what could he say about Corona? The satellite failures are on them, not me.”
“You invested in a failed effort. And you have said yourself that you have about a 50 percent chance of defaulting on a huge loan.”
Nicolae sat back. “And of course Tismaneanu knows all this.”
“Of course.”
“We need to preclude his using that against us too. But how?”
“Take advantage of our relationship with Mr. Stonagal,” Reiche said. “Get him to cover the loan, make the debt appear to go away through some sort of personal agreement between you two. Then if Tismaneanu claims you are deep in debt, risking a default or bankruptcy despite your lavish lifestyle—sorry, but a case could be made for that—you can somehow prove you are thoroughly solvent and Stonagal can vouch for it.”
Nicolae let his head fall back, his face pointed to the ceiling and his eyes shut, as if sleeping. “Tell me something, Reiche,” he said, his voice strained due to the position of his neck. “Did you know Stonagal owns the majority of Intercontinental?”
“Of course. Mr. Stonagal and I go back a long—”
“A long way, yes, I know. He is the angel behind your organization; is he not?”
“One of many, yes.”
“The primary one, no?”
“Yes.”
“In fact, with him you need none of all the others combined; am I right?”
“Yes.”
Nicolae lowered his head and stared at Planchette. “Stonagal also owns the laboratory from whence came the sperm from my mercenary fathers, implanted in my mother and resulting in me.”
“Who told you that?”
“Tell me I am wrong.”
“You are right, but it would behoove you not to reveal to Mr. Stonagal that you know that. If he even suspected you might have gotten that information from me—”
“You need not worry about Mr. Stonagal, Reiche. You need worry about me.”
“That’s not fair, Nicolae. Who has been more loyal to you than I?”
“Keeping from me the truth of my origin? That is your idea of loyalty? Not telling me that Stonagal carried the paper on my hundred-million-dollar loan all along? Why would you have kept that from me, Reiche?”
“I thought you knew!”
“You thought no such thing. Are you also aware that Stonagal is behind a huge move to reduce the world’s currency to just three denominations?”
“Well, no . . . well, I—”
“You probably know every detail.”
“Well, that has been in the news, Nicolae. No one believes it will actually—”
“Oh, it will happen. And we are on our way to a single global currency. It may take time, but if Stonagal has his way, all of Europe will join Russia in doing away with the euro and moving to the mark. Asia, Africa, and the Middle East will trade exclusively in yen. North and South America and Australia will deal in dollars.”
Reiche looked stricken. “That is the plan, I believe, yes. But nothing has been decided, and—”
“It is only a matter of time, Reiche. The question is, with the kind of access you have to Stonagal, why would you not be my source for such information? Why do I have to hear this elsewhere?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you wanted or needed to—”
“To be kept updated on international financial matters? Are you mad? Have you no concept of what I am trying to accomplish here?”
“Well, as I say, I apologize, and in the future I will—”
“Do you seriously believe you have a future with me, Reiche?”
“I certainly hope so. I—”
“I would have to be insane.”
“Now, Nicolae, you must know that Mr. Stonagal and I are close, and—”
“And you believe that because I am into him for a hundred million and you knew him before I was born, that gives you some sort of protection—”
“No, I am not saying that! I want to emphasize that I believe in you. I am loyal to you. I may have fumbled the ball a time or two here, but it has not been with an ill motive. I just need to know what you need from me, and I will do all I can to—”
“You would like to prove your devotion to me?”
“Absolutely. I’ll do anything—”
“Well, we shall see about that.”
“Try me, Nicolae. You will see.”
“You would be willing to meet privately with Emil Tismaneanu?”
“I would be honored.”
“And you would speak for me?”
“A double honor.”
“You might wish to withhold judgment on that until you know what I want communicated.”
“I am puzzled, however, sir. How did you know these things without my telling you? Does Mr. Stonagal—?”
“Confide in me? Hardly. But the day may come when he wishes he had.”
Rayford didn’t know what to think the first time Irene seemed to encourage his early Sunday morning golf game. He had been aware of her getting up in the night and quietly working in the closet and downstairs, but that was not unusual. She often had trouble sleeping. He was surprised at dawn, however, to discover that she had laid out his golfing clothes, put his golf bag next to his car, and even packed him a little goody bag with a frozen bottle of water, a couple of energy bars, and a love note.
In the note she also wished him a good game and said she and the kids would like to join him for lunch in the clubhouse after church. Rayford felt guilty that that didn’t sound like such a good idea. Hanging with his golfing buddies for a sandwich and a brew was all part of the milieu, but he could hardly turn her down after all this.
Should he beg off from the guys and tell them he had lunch plans elsewhere? He didn’t really want the kids in the clubhouse, especially at lunchtime. Rayford considered leaving Irene a note suggesting that he meet her and the kids at a fast-food place for lunch.
Ah, there was no point in upsetting her. He could live with her plan this once. Maybe he’d even have the rest of the foursome join them. Surely Irene would see that it was awkward and not suggest it again.