Clear?"
"Clear. I told you—not to worry."
The meeting of the board of directors adjourned. It was noon, time for lunch, but George Wagner used the hour for a quiet nap in the privacy of his office. The noise of the street didn't rise as far as the twentieth floor of the tower in New York from which he ran his empire.
The years had not passed without taking their toll, and he was tired. He rose early because he didn't sleep well at night, and he filled the predawn hours reading and listening to Wagner. He rested best at midday, when he loosened his tie, hung up his jacket, and lay back on the couch. His secretary had strict orders to hold his calls and not to disturb him, no matter what.
He had just fallen asleep when the almost imperceptible buzzing ring of the cell phone he always carried startled him awake.
"Yes."
"George, it's Frankie. Were you asleep?" "Almost. What's wrong?"
"I spoke to Enrique. We should go to Seville and spend a few days with him or meet someplace on the coast, in Marbella. It's full of old folks like us, and September is still nice and warm in Spain."
"Go to Spain? I don't think that's necessary. We've put out lots of bait—let's not get tangled in our own nets."
"And Alfred?"
"He's turned into an old fool—he's lost control."
"Don't be so sure. Alfred always knows what he's doing."
"Not anymore. And don't forget what happened before. He was determined to stick his nose in where it didn't belong, pull strings that didn't want to be pulled, and now he's doing the same thing all over again."
"George, it was his son—you'd have done the same thing."
"I never had any children, so I wouldn't know."
"But I did—children and grandchildren—and you can't just sit back and take anything that comes. You've got to help them."
"But you should just sit back, you should accept things for what they are. He can't bring Helmut back to life. The kid thought he was smart. Alfred knew the rules, he knew what might happen. He made a mess then, and now he's making another with that pigheaded granddaughter of his."
"I don't think he'll let himself, or her, become a danger to us. He knows what's at stake, and his granddaughter is an intelligent woman."
"Who's got the old man wrapped around her little finger—he's been making mistakes on her account for some time now. We told him to tell her the truth. He didn't want to listen; he'd rather carry on the charade in front of her. No, Frankie, we can't just sit idly by. We haven't come this far to let a sentimental old man fuck it all up."
"We're old men too."
"And I want to go on that way. I've just finished a board meeting; we have to prepare ourselves for war. We're going to make a lot of money, Frankie."
"Neither one of us cares about money anymore, George."
"But we still like our power. Now, if you don't mind, I need to sleep."
"All right. Listen, I'll be in New York next week."
"Then, old friend, we'll work out a way to see each other here."
"Maybe we could tell Enrique to come to New York."
"Well, I'd rather see him in New York than Seville. I don't want to go there; I don't feel good about it. Let me put some thought into it— we can't risk endangering the operation."
"You've always been a little paranoid, George."
"What I am is prudent, which is how we've come this far. There are many more who haven't, because they made mistakes. I want to see Enrique too, but not at the risk of derailing our plans. I'll be in touch."
Frank kicked back a whiskey as he hung up. George, careful, mistrustful George, had always turned out to be right.
He rang a little silver bell on his desk, and a second later a white-uniformed man came in.
"Did you need me, sir?"
"Jose, have the gentlemen I was expecting arrived?" "Not yet, sir. The control tower will let us know as soon as the plane begins its approach."
"Very well. Keep me informed." "Yes, sir."
"Where's my wife?"
"She is resting, sir. She had a headache." "And my daughter?"
"Miss Alma left
"Clear. I told you—not to worry."
The meeting of the board of directors adjourned. It was noon, time for lunch, but George Wagner used the hour for a quiet nap in the privacy of his office. The noise of the street didn't rise as far as the twentieth floor of the tower in New York from which he ran his empire.
The years had not passed without taking their toll, and he was tired. He rose early because he didn't sleep well at night, and he filled the predawn hours reading and listening to Wagner. He rested best at midday, when he loosened his tie, hung up his jacket, and lay back on the couch. His secretary had strict orders to hold his calls and not to disturb him, no matter what.
He had just fallen asleep when the almost imperceptible buzzing ring of the cell phone he always carried startled him awake.
"Yes."
"George, it's Frankie. Were you asleep?" "Almost. What's wrong?"
"I spoke to Enrique. We should go to Seville and spend a few days with him or meet someplace on the coast, in Marbella. It's full of old folks like us, and September is still nice and warm in Spain."
"Go to Spain? I don't think that's necessary. We've put out lots of bait—let's not get tangled in our own nets."
"And Alfred?"
"He's turned into an old fool—he's lost control."
"Don't be so sure. Alfred always knows what he's doing."
"Not anymore. And don't forget what happened before. He was determined to stick his nose in where it didn't belong, pull strings that didn't want to be pulled, and now he's doing the same thing all over again."
"George, it was his son—you'd have done the same thing."
"I never had any children, so I wouldn't know."
"But I did—children and grandchildren—and you can't just sit back and take anything that comes. You've got to help them."
"But you should just sit back, you should accept things for what they are. He can't bring Helmut back to life. The kid thought he was smart. Alfred knew the rules, he knew what might happen. He made a mess then, and now he's making another with that pigheaded granddaughter of his."
"I don't think he'll let himself, or her, become a danger to us. He knows what's at stake, and his granddaughter is an intelligent woman."
"Who's got the old man wrapped around her little finger—he's been making mistakes on her account for some time now. We told him to tell her the truth. He didn't want to listen; he'd rather carry on the charade in front of her. No, Frankie, we can't just sit idly by. We haven't come this far to let a sentimental old man fuck it all up."
"We're old men too."
"And I want to go on that way. I've just finished a board meeting; we have to prepare ourselves for war. We're going to make a lot of money, Frankie."
"Neither one of us cares about money anymore, George."
"But we still like our power. Now, if you don't mind, I need to sleep."
"All right. Listen, I'll be in New York next week."
"Then, old friend, we'll work out a way to see each other here."
"Maybe we could tell Enrique to come to New York."
"Well, I'd rather see him in New York than Seville. I don't want to go there; I don't feel good about it. Let me put some thought into it— we can't risk endangering the operation."
"You've always been a little paranoid, George."
"What I am is prudent, which is how we've come this far. There are many more who haven't, because they made mistakes. I want to see Enrique too, but not at the risk of derailing our plans. I'll be in touch."
Frank kicked back a whiskey as he hung up. George, careful, mistrustful George, had always turned out to be right.
He rang a little silver bell on his desk, and a second later a white-uniformed man came in.
"Did you need me, sir?"
"Jose, have the gentlemen I was expecting arrived?" "Not yet, sir. The control tower will let us know as soon as the plane begins its approach."
"Very well. Keep me informed." "Yes, sir."
"Where's my wife?"
"She is resting, sir. She had a headache." "And my daughter?"
"Miss Alma left
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