Terminal Compromise, Winn Schwartau [sight word books txt] 📗

the

slightest indication of a smile. The crow’s feet around his eyes

were caused by pudginess, not happiness. When he sat opposite

Foster in a matching chair, he began without any pleasantries.

“I hear you are the best.” Homosoto stared at Foster. It was a

statement that required a response.

Foster shifted his weight a little in the chair. What a way to

start. This guy must think he’s hot shit. Well, maybe he is.

First class, all expense paid trip to Tokyo, plus consultation

fees. In advance. Just for one conversation, he was told, we

just want some advice. Then, last night, and the night before,

he was honored with sampling the finest Oriental women. His hot

button. All expenses paid, of course. Miles knew he was being

buttered up, for what he didn’t know, but he took advantage of it

all.

“That’s what’s your people tell you.”

Foster took the challenge and glared, albeit with a smirk dimpled

smile, politely, right back at Homosoto. Homosoto continued his

stare. He didn’t relax his intensity.

“Mr. Foster,” Homosoto continued, his face still emotionless.

“Are you as good as they say?” he demanded.

Miles Foster defiantly spat out the one word response. “Better.”

Homosoto’s eyes squinted. “Mr. Foster, if that is true, we can

do business. But first, I must be convinced. I can assure you

we know quite a bit about you already, otherwise you wouldn’t be

here.” Miles noticed that Homosoto spoke excellent English,

clipped in style, but Americanized. He occasionally stretched

his vowels, to the brink of a drawl.

“Yeah, so what do you know. Pulled up a few data bases? Big

Deal.” Miles cocked his head at Homosoto’s desk. “I would assume

that with that equipment, you can probably get whatever you

want.”

Homosoto let a shimmer of a smile appear at the corners off his

mouth. “You are most perceptive, Mr. Foster.” Homosoto paused

and leaned back in the well stuffed chair. “Mr. Foster, tell me

about your family.”

Miles neck reddened. “Listen! You called me, I didn’t call you.

All I ever knew about OSO was that you made ghetto blasters, TV’s

and vibrators. So therefore, you wanted me, not my family. If

you had wanted them you would have called them.” Miles said

loudly. “So, keep my family the fuck out of it.”

“I do not mean to offend,” Homosoto said offensively. “I just am

most curious why you didn’t go to work for your family. They

have money, power. You would have been a very important man, and

a very rich one.” Homosoto said matter of factly. “So, the

prudent man must wonder why you went to work for your Government?

Aren’t your family and your government, how shall I say, on

opposite sides?”

“My family’s got nothing to do with this or you. Clear?” Miles

was adamant. “But, out of courtesy for getting me laid last

night, I might as well tell you. I went to the feds cause they

have the best computers, the biggest equipment and the most

interesting work. Not much money, but I have a backup when I

need it. If I went to work for my family, as you put it, I would

have been a glorified beancounter. And that’s not what I do. It

would have been no challenge. Boring, boring, boring!” Miles

smiled sarcastically at Homosoto. “Happy now?”

Homosoto didn’t flinch. “Does that mean you do not disapprove of

your family’s activities? How they make money?”

“I don’t give a fuck!” Miles yelled. “How does that grab you? I

don’t give a flying fuck. They were real good to me, paid a lot

of my way. I love my mother and she’s not a hit man. My uncle

does I don’t know what or care. They’re family, that’s it. How

much clearer do you want it?” Miles continued shouting.

Homosoto grinned and held up his hands. “My apologies Mr. Foster.

I mean no disrespect. I just like to know who works for me.”

“Hey, I don’t work for you yet.”

“Of course, a simple slip of the tongue.”

“Right.” Miles snapped sarcastically.

Homosoto ignored this last comment. The insincere smile left his

face, replaced with a more serious countenance. “Why did you

leave your post with the National Security Agency, Mr. Foster?”

Another inquisition, thought Miles. What a crock. Make it good

for the gook.

“‘Cause I was working for a bunch of bungling idiots who insured

their longevity by creating an invincible bureaucracy.” Miles

decided that a calm beginning might be more appropriate. “They

had no real idea of what was going on. Their heads were so far

up their ass they had a tan line across their chests. Whenever

we had a good idea, it was either too novel, too expensive or

needed additional study. Or, it was relegated to a committee that

might react in 2 years. What a pile of bullshit, a waste of

time. We could have achieved a lot more without all the inter-

ference.”

“Mr. Foster, you say, ‘we’. Who is ‘we’?” Homosoto pointedly

asked Miles.

“The analysts, the people who did the real work. There were

hundreds of us on the front lines. The guys who sweated weekends

and nights to make our country safe from the Communists. The

managers just never got with the program.”

“Mr. Foster, how many of the other analysts, in your opinion, are

good?”

Miles stepped back in his mind to think about this. “Oh, I guess

I knew a half dozen guys, and one girl, who were pretty good.

She was probably the best, other than me,” he bragged. “Some

chicken.”

“Excuse me? Chicken?”

“Oh, sorry.” Miles looked up in thought. “Ah, chicks, fox, look-

er, sweet meat, gash, you know?”

“Do you mean she’s very pretty?”

Miles suppressed an audible chuckle. “Yeah, that’s right. Real

pretty, but real smart, too. Odd combination, isn’t it?” he

smiled a wicked smile.

Homosoto ignored the crudeness. “What are your politics, Mr.

Foster?”

“Huh? My politics? What the hell has that got to do with any-

thing?” Miles demanded.

“Just answer the question, please, Mr. Foster?” Homosoto quietly

ordered.

Miles was getting incensed. “Republican, Democrat? What do you

mean? I vote who the fuck I want to vote for. Other than that,

I don’t play.”

“Don’t play?” Homosoto briefly pondered the idiom. “Ah, so.

Don’t play. Don’t get involved. Is that so?”

“Right. They’re all fucked. I vote for the stupidest assholes

running for office. Any office. With any luck he’ll win and

really screw things up.” Homosoto hit one of Miles hot buttons.

Politics. He listened attentively to Miles as he carried on.

“That’s about the only way to fix anything. First fuck it up.

Real bad. Create a crisis. Since the Government ignores whoever

or whatever isn’t squeaking that’s the only way to get any atten-

tion. Make noise. Once you create a crisis, Jeez, just look at

Granada and Panama and Iraq to justify Star Wars, you get a lot

of people on for the ride. Just look at the national energy

debate. Great idea, 30 years and $5 trillion late. Then,

‘ooooh!’, they say. ‘We got a big problem. We better fix it.’

Then they all want to be heroes and every podunk politico shoots

off his mouth about the latest threat to humanity. ”

“That’s your politics?”

“Sure. If you want to get something fixed, first fuck it up so

bad that everyone notices and then they’ll be crawling up your

ass trying to help you fix it.”

“Very novel, Mr. Foster. Very novel and very cynical.” Homosoto

looked mildly amused.

“Not meant to be. Just true.”

“It seems to me that you hold no particular allegiance. Would

that be a fair observation?” Homosoto pressed the same line of

questioning.

“To me. That’s my allegiance. And not much of anything else.”

Miles sounded defensive.

“Then, Mr. Foster, what does it take to make you a job offer. I

am sure money isn’t everything to a man like you.” Homosoto

leaned back. All 10 of his fingers met in mirror image fashion

and performed push ups on each other.

Foster returned Homosoto’s dare with a devastating stare-down

that looked beyond Homosoto’s face. It looked right into his

mind. Foster used the knuckles from both hands for supports as

he leaned on the table between them. He began speaking deliber-

ately and coherently.

“My greatest pleasure? A challenge. A great challenge. Yes, the

money is nice, don’t get me wrong, but the thrill is the chal-

lenge. I spent years with people ignoring my advice, refusing to

listen to me. And I was right so many times when they were

wrong. Then they would start blaming everyone else and another

committee is set up to find out what went wrong. Ecch! I would

love to teach them a lesson.”

“How unfortunate for them