“I’d like that. ‘Micro Wave Pirates’ with refrigeration and hot and cold running water and air conditioning. As your gun moll, would I have to keep your flint lock pistol loaded?”
“Naw, I’d just wear that for show. I’d keep a ‘Dirty Harry Special’, a forty-four magnum for regular business. Same goes for the cannons. Just for show. We could keep a gattling gun and a portable missile launcher for the real action. Think I’d look good dressed like a pirate? I always liked those shirts with the baggy sleeves. And a custom do-rag. When the fighting started, I would ask you to hold my parrot while I put my SAM rocket launcher up to my shoulder. Then I would take on the whole Spanish Armada, single handed.”
“You wouldn’t be a Captain. With modern weapons you would be a god! Do you really want that much power?” asked Judy, as if she was in the middle of a computer game.
“Sure, why not? But just for a few days. Then we would have to come back home and spend a bit of the gold we acquired.”
“Just a couple of quick raids to top up the coffers, hunh? OK, I’ll make a Time Machine my next project.”
“Good. Now that that’s settled how about a little help pulling up the fenders?”
“Aye, Aye Captain Do-Rag.”
Life aboard Iron Pyrate with Phil and Judy was different than it was with Phil and Farris. Each night, they pulled into harbor and spent the night tied up instead of sailing around the clock. It slowed the trip down but it was also wonderfully relaxing. Tactically, they had both agreed not to talk about the mission they had undertaken, but once, after rousing from a nap Phil said, “I can’t stop wondering what was in those files on Fernandez’ desk. Surely he can’t keep written records in his business.”
“I know what you mean. It’s been nagging at me, too. You said that Fernandez seemed so intent on working while his employees loafed around. Are you sure we’re up for this, Phil.”
Phil pondered for a moment before answering. “No. I’m not sure we are fully prepared. Not really. But I’m like the pig. I’m committed. It’s like having breakfast. Ham and eggs.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The chicken is motivated, but the pig is committed. Hey, we each just committed a half million dollars.”
Judy groaned but stopped short. “Let’s be less committed than the pig. What do you think about Tom?”
“Tom is a good guy. I trust him. I have less faith in the people for whom he works but Tom, on a stand alone basis, is OK.”
“I’m not so sure about the logics of this deal,” said Judy.
“Explain.”
“So we end up making a buy. Big deal. The DEA can’t arrest Fernandez in his own country. What are they going to do? Convince the local constabulary to arrest him?”
“You’ve got a point. The DEA could arrest him in the States but not in Colombia.”
“So what that means is, the DEA wants to arrest the guys that first receive the contraband. Their under-cover guys already know who is going to make the buy. What if Fernandez thinks we set up the bust? Every bad-ass hit man in North America is going to be coming after us. That part worries me,” explained Judy.
“I’m sure Mike has something up his sleeve. He knows we have to get away clean, well before anyone makes an arrest. He hasn’t told me how we’ll do it, but I know he has some sort of a plan. He would be out of character if he didn’t.”
Bernie Wheeler had fielded over a hundred phone calls, congratulating him on his nomination to the board of Intracell. Furthermore his desk was covered with cards and letters. A few well wishers had sent flowers and gifts. Bernie reveled in it. He loved the prestige. That was his driving force. Some folks like the power, some like the money and some like the adulation of the fans. Bernie was hooked on fanfare.
That was the reason why he had a limo drive him to work. It was also the reason he wore two thousand dollar suits and went out to expensive restaurants for lunch. He reveled in the prestige. And the persona he had created for himself had paid dividends.
When Bernie completed his speech, which had been extremely well received, someone had called for a vote and amid laughter and congratulations, Bernie had been accepted by the board. It was a large board with twenty-seven members, made up of either old money or success stories, with a couple of academics. Bernie had never been in a room that contained so much …… he searched for a word ….. so much juice! He had looked around taking it all in, and his eyes fell on one member who appeared to be staring his way. They made eye contact and simultaneously, both men realized their connection to each other. There were no words spoken. Just a moment of deeper understanding, and then both men had looked away.
Now Bernie was impatient to end the congratulations and roll up his sleeves. He had work to do that had nothing to do with humbly saying thank you and accepting an invitation to another game of golf.
Finally he called his executive assistant and told her to hold all calls until tomorrow. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Ten seconds, that was all it took. He rocked forward, his feet touching the floor at the same time as his fingers hit the keyboard.
“Find out everything you can about Samuel Goldstein.” Send.
Bernie Wheeler already knew much of what his staff was going to discover. Samuel Goldstein was also a real estate magnate of the New York variety, whose climb to the top had roughly paralleled his own.
“Roughly paralleled, my ass! You mean paralleled! And Sammy, I saw it in your eyes. You didn’t do it alone, either!”
Then, while others worked on the profile of Samuel Goldstein, Bernie began to review the remainder of the list of board members. First he eliminated old money, then he eliminated the whiz kids. They were high tech gurus who had made their fortunes overnight, by taking their companies public. Then he eliminated the academics. The net result was two other possible candidates, besides Goldstein. Four hours later, he had promoted them to prime candidates.
Finally, exhausted and somewhat deflated, Bernie Wheeler kicked back and sipped on a bottle of water.
Eduardo, you have been a busy boy. I always thought I was alone. In a way I have to take my hat off to you. My scorecard shows you control twenty-five percent of the stock and with my appointment, fifteen percent of the board. And who knows, you might even have others waiting in the wings. So what’s your plan? You want to control Intracell? No, that’s too easy. You have a plan that is more devious, more sinister. This may be all new to me, but it’s been festering inside you for a long time.
The next meeting of the board is in two weeks. Budget approvals. I wonder if you are going to tell me how to vote. I guess we’ll see.
The phone call never came. Two years later Bernie Wheeler had never been told how to vote. That surprised him. At times it even made him doubt his own conspiracy theory, but he had always shoved those doubts aside. He had proof. Well, not quite proof. Irrefutable circumstantial evidence. Wow! Did that sound like bullshit or what? If he wasn’t careful he was going to buy into the irrefutable circumstantial evidence of Hare Krishna’s path to eternal bliss.
Bernie had experimented with his theory. Though philosophically he was usually in agreement with his other undeclared conspirators, he voted against them on several occasions, just to see what the outcome would be. Results …. Nothing. That was the only thing he didn’t understand.
Intracell seemed destined to expand. The latest nation-wide ad campaign was a big success and Intracell’s market share was increasing.
Bernie recalled his early meetings with Fernandez. The ones that took place in his crowded office over top of his mall. He had been given one mandate.