Terminal Compromise - Winn Schwartau (fiction book recommendations TXT) 📗

up

to Senator, but I do know that you’re sand bagging these hear-

ings. I’ve raised four kids and half a neighborhood, plus my

husband talked in his sleep. I learned a lot about politicians,

and I know sand bagging when I see it. Now, if you got stuck

with these hearings and think they’re a crock, that’s fine. I

hear it happens to everyone. But, I see them as important and I

don’t want you to interfere.”

“You are in no position to ask for anything.”

“I’m not asking. I’m telling.” Where did she get the gumption,

she asked herself. Then it occurred to her; I’m not a

politician, I want to see things get fixed. “I will take

issue with you, take you on publicly, if necessary. I was Presi-

dent of the PTA for 8 years. I am fluent in dealing with bitches

of every size and shape. You’re just a bastard.”

Chapter 21 Friday, January 8 Washington, D.C.

As the hour is late, I am tempted to call a recess until tomorrow

morning,” Senator Merrill Rickfield said congenially from the

center seat of the hearing room dais. His blow up with Nancy

left him in a rage, but he ably disguised the anger by replacing

it with overcompensated manners.

“However,” he continued, “I understand that we scheduled someone

to speak to us who has to catch a plane back to California?”

Rickfield quickly glanced about the formal dais to espy someone

who could help him fill in the details. Ken Boyers was engrossed

in conversation and had to be prodded to respond. “Ken,” Rick-

field whispered while covering the microphone with his hand. He

leaned over and behind his seat. “Is that right, this True Blue

guy flew in for the day and he’s out tonight?”

Ken nodded. “Yes, it was the only way we could get him.”

“What makes him so bloody important?” Rickfield acted edgy.

“He’s one of the software industry’s leading spokesman. He owns

dGraph,” Ken said, making it sound like he was in on a private

joke.

“So fucking what? What’s he doing here?” Rickfield demanded.

Keeping it to a whisper was hard.

“Industry perspective. We need to hear from all possible view-

points in order to . . .” Ken explained.

“Oh, all right. Whatever. If this goes past five, have someone

call my wife and tell her I’ll see her tomorrow.” Rickfield sat

back and smiled a politician-hiding-something smile.

“Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, a little scheduling confusion.

I guess there’s a first time for anything.” Rickfield’s chuckle

told those-in-the-know that it was time to laugh now. If Rick-

field saw someone not laughing at one of his arthritic jokes, he

would remember. Might cost a future favor, so it was simpler to

laugh. The mild titter throughout the hall that followed gave

Rickfield the few seconds he needed to organize himself.

“Yes, yes. Page 239. Everyone there?” Rickfield scanned the

other committee members and aides flipping pages frantically to

find the proper place.

“We now have the pleasure of hearing from Pierre, now correct me

if I say this wrong, Trewww-Blow?” Rickfield looked up over his

glasses to see Pierre seated at the hearing table. “Is that

right?” Scott had been able to keep his privileged location for

the busier afternoon session by occupying several seats with his

bags and coat. He figured correctly that he would be able to

keep at least one as the room filled with more people than had

been there for the morning session.

“Troubleaux, yes Senator. Very good.” Pierre had turned on 110%

charm. Cameras from the now busy press pool in front of the

hearing tables strobe-lit the room until every photographer had

his first quota of shots. Troubleaux was still the computer

industry’s Golden Boy; he could do no wrong. Watching the reac-

tion to Pierre’s mere presence, Senator Rickfield instantly

realized that True Blue here was a public relations pro, and

could be hard to control. What was he gonna say anyway? Indus-

try perspective my ass. This hearing was as good as over before

it started until the television people showed up, Rickfield

thought to himself with disgust.

“Mr. Trew-Blow flew in extra special for this today,” Rickfield

orated. “And I’m sure we are all anxious to hear what he has to

say.” His Southern twang rang of boredom. Scott, who was sit-

ting not 6 feet from where Pierre and the others testified,

overheard Troubleaux’s attorney whisper, “sarcastic bastard.”

Rickfield continued. “He is here to give us an overview of the

problems that software manufacturers face. So, unless anyone has

any comments before Mr. Trew-Blow, I will ask him to read his

opening statement.”

“I do, Mr. Chairman,” Senator Nancy Deere said. She said it

with enough oomph to come across more dynamic on the sound system

than did Rickfield. Political upstaging. Rickfield looked

annoyed. He had had enough of her today. One thing after anoth-

er, and all he wanted was to get through the hearings as fast as

possible, make a “Take No Action” recommendation to the Committee

and retire after election day. Mrs. Deere was making that goal

increasingly difficult to reach.

“I recognize the Junior Senator.” He said the word ‘Junior’ as

if it was scrawled on a men’s room wall. His point was lost on

nobody, and privately, most would agree that it was a tasteless

tactic.

“Thank you, Mr. Chairman,” Senator Nancy Deere said poising

herself. “I, too, feel indeed grateful, and honored, to have

Mr. Troubleaux here today. His accomplishments over the last few

years, legendary in some circles I understand, have been in no

way inconsequential to the way that America does business. By no

means do I wish to embarrass Mr. Troubleaux, and I do hope he

will forgive me.” Pierre gave Nancy a forgiving smile when she

glanced at him. “However, I do feel it incumbent upon this

committee to enter into the record the significant contributions

he has made to the computer industry. If there are no objec-

tions, I have prepared a short biography.” No one objected.

“Mr. Troubleaux, a native Frenchman, came to the United States

at age 12 to attend Julliard School of Music on scholarship.

Since founding dGraph, Inc. with the late Max Jones, dGraph and

Mr. Troubleaux have received constant accolades from the business

community, the software industry and Wall Street.” It sounded

more to Scott that she was reading past achievements before she

handed out a Grammy.

“Entrepreneur of the Year, 1984, 1985, 1986, 1988, Cupertino

Chamber of Commerce. Entrepreneur Year of the Year, California

State Trade Association, 1987. Technical Achievement of the

Year, IEEE, 1988 . . .”

Senator Deere read on about Pierre the Magnificent and the house

that dGraph built. If this was an election for sainthood, Pierre

would be a shoo-in. But considering the beating that Rickfield

had inflicted on a couple of earlier speakers, it looked like

Nancy was trying to bolster Pierre for the upcoming onslaught.

“. . .and he has just been appointed to the President’s Council

on Competitive Excellence.” She closed her folder. “With that

number of awards and credentials, I dare say I expect to be

inundated with insights. Thank you Mr. Chairman.”

“And, we thank you,” Rickfield barbed, “for that introduction.

Now, if there are no further interruptions,” he glared at Nancy,

“Mr. Trew-Blow, would you care to read your prepared statement.

“No, Senator,” Pierre came back. A hush descended over the

entire room. He paused long enough to increase the tension in

the room to the breaking point. “I never use prepared notes. I

prefer to speak casually and honestly. Do you mind?” Pierre

exaggerated his French accent for effect. After years of public

appearances, he knew how to work and win a crowd. The cameras

again flashed as Pierre had just won the first round of verbal

gymnastics.

“It is a bit unusual, not to have an advanced copy of your state-

ments, and then . . .” Rickfield stopped himself in mid sentence.

“Never mind, I’m sorry. Please, Mr. Trew-Blow, proceed.”

“Thank you, Mr. Chairman.” Pierre scanned the room to see how

much of it he commanded. How many people were actually listening

to what he was going to say, or were they there for the experi-

ence and another line item on a resume? This was his milieu. A

live audience, and a TV audience as an extra added bonus. But he

had planned it that way.

He never told anyone that he was the one who called the TV sta-

tions to tell them that there would be a significant news devel-

opment at the Rickfield hearings. If he concentrated, Pierre

could speak like a native American with a Midwest twang. He gave

CNN, NBC, CBS and ABC down home pitches on some of the dirt that