Paranoia (50 page)

“It’s not the first time you’ve done this, is it?” I said. Who was it who’d told me that whenever Trion was on the brink of failure, a competitor of theirs always made some disastrous miscalculation, and Trion came back stronger than ever?

Goddard gave me a sidelong glance. “Practice makes perfect.”

My head swam. It was Paul Camilletti’s resume and bio that gave it away. Goddard had hired him away from a company called Celadon Data, which was at the time the biggest threat to Trion’s existence. Soon after, Celadon made a legendary technological gaffe—a Betamax-over-VHS kind of misstep—and went Chapter Eleven just before Trion scooped them up.

“Before me, there was Camilletti,” I said.

“And others before him.” Goddard took a swig of coffee. “No, you weren’t the first. But I’d say you were the best.”

The compliment stung. “I don’t understand how you convinced Wyatt the mole idea could work,” I said.

Goddard glanced up as the elevator opened, the same one he’d come up on.

Judith Bolton. My breath stopped.

She was wearing a navy suit and white blouse and looked very crisp and corporate. Her lips and fingernails were coral. She came up to Goddard, gave him a quick kiss on the lips. Then she reached over to me, clasped my hand in both of hers. They gave off a faint herbal scent and felt cold.

She sat down on Goddard’s other side, unfolded a linen napkin on her lap.

“Adam’s curious how you convinced Wyatt,” Goddard said.

“Oh, I didn’t have to twist Nick’s arm, exactly,” she said with a throaty laugh.

“You’re far more subtle than that,” Goddard said.

I stared at Judith. “Why me?” I said finally.

“I’m surprised you ask,” she said. “Look at what you’ve done. You’re a natural.”

“That and the fact that you had me by the balls because of the money.”

“Plenty of people in corporations color outside the lines, Adam,” she said, leaning in toward me. “We had lots of choices. But you stood out from the crowd. You were far and away the most qualified. A pitch-perfect gift of blarney, plus father issues.”

Anger welled up inside me until I couldn’t sit there anymore listening. I rose, stood over Goddard, said: “Let me ask you something. What do you think Elijah would think of you now?”

Goddard looked at me blankly.

“Elijah,” I repeated. “Your son.”

“Oh, gosh, right, Elijah,” Goddard said, his puzzlement slowly turning to wry amusement. “That. Right. Well, that was Judith’s inspiration.” He chuckled.

The room seemed to be spinning slowly and getting brighter, more washed out. Goddard peered at me with twinkling eyes.

“Adam,” Judith said, all concern and empathy. “Sit down, please.”

I just stood staring.

“We were concerned,” she said, “that you might start to get suspicious if it all seemed to come too easily. You’re an extremely bright, intuitive young man. Everything had to make sense, or it would start to unravel. We couldn’t risk that.”

I flashed on Goddard’s lake-house study, the trophies that I now knew were fakes. Goddard’s sleight-of-hand talent, the way the trophy somehow got knocked to the floor. . . .

“Oh,
you
know,” Goddard said, “the old man’s got a soft spot for me, I remind him of his dead son, all that bullshit? Makes sense, right?”

“Can’t leave these things to chance,” I said hollowly.

“Precisely,” said Goddard.

“Very, very few people could have done what you did,” Judith said. She smiled. “Most wouldn’t have been able to endure the doubleness, straddle the line the way you did. You’re a remarkable person, I hope you know that. That’s why we singled you out in the first place. And you more than proved us right.”

“I don’t believe this,” I whispered. My legs felt wobbly, my feet unsteady. I had to get the hell out of there. “I don’t fucking believe this.”

“Adam, I know how difficult this must be for you,” Judith said gently.

My head was throbbing like an open wound. “I’ll go clear out my office.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Goddard cried out. “You’re not resigning. I won’t allow it. Clever young fellows like you are all too rare. I
need
you on the seventh floor.”

A shaft of sunlight blinded me; I couldn’t see their faces.

“And you’d trust me?” I said bitterly, shifting to one side to get the sun out of my face.

Goddard exhaled. “Corporate espionage, my boy, is as American as apple pie and Chevrolet. For fuck’s sake, how do you think America became an economic superpower? Back in 1811, a Yankee named Francis Lowell Cabot sailed to Great Britain and stole England’s most precious secret—the Cartright loom, cornerstone of the whole damned textile industry. Brought the goddamn Industrial Revolution to America, turned us into a colossus. All thanks to one single act of industrial espionage.”

I turned away, stepped across the granite floor. The rubber soles of my work boots squeaked. “I’m done being jerked around,” I said.

“Adam,” Goddard said. “You’re sounding like an embittered loser. Like your father was. And I know you’re not—you’re a
winner
, Adam. You’re brilliant. You have what it takes.”

I smiled, then laughed quietly. “Meaning I’m a lying scumbag, basically. A bullshitter. A world-class liar.”

“Believe me, you didn’t do anything that isn’t done every day in corporations the world over. Look, you’ve got a copy of Sun Tzu in your office—have you read it? All warfare is based on deception, he says. And business is war, everyone knows that.
Business, at the highest levels, is deception.
No one’s going to admit that publicly, but it’s the truth.” His voice softened. “The game is the same everywhere. You just play it better than anyone else. No, you’re not a liar, Adam. You’re a goddamned master strategist.”

I rolled my eyes, shook my head in disgust, turned back toward the elevator.

Very quietly, Goddard said: “Do you know how much money Paul Camilletti made last year?”

Without looking back, I said: “Twenty-eight million.”

“You could be making that in a few years. You’re worth it to me, Adam. You’re tough-minded and resourceful, you’re fucking brilliant.”

I snorted softly, but I don’t think he heard it.

“Did I ever tell you how grateful I am that you saved our bacon on the Guru project? That and a dozen other things. Let me be specific about my gratitude. I’m giving you a raise—to a million a year. With stock options thrown in, given the way our stock’s started to move, you could pull in a neat five or six million next year. Double that the year after. You’ll be a fucking multimillionaire.”

I froze in my tracks. I didn’t know what to do, how to react. If I turned around, they’d think I was accepting. If I kept on walking, they’d think I was saying no.

“This is the solid-gold inner circle,” Judith said. “You’re being offered something anyone would kill for. But remember: it’s not being given to you—you’ve
earned
it. You were
meant
for this line of work. You’re as good at this as anybody I’ve ever met. These last couple of months, you know what you’ve been selling? Not handheld communicators or cell phones or MP3 players, but
yourself.
You’ve been selling Adam Cassidy. And
we’re buyers
.”

“I’m not for sale,” I heard myself say, and I was instantly embarrassed.

“Adam, turn around,” Goddard said angrily. “Turn around,
now.
”

I obeyed, my expression sullen.

“Are you clear on what happens if you walk away?”

I smiled. “Sure. You’ll turn me in. To the cops, the FBI, or whatever.”

“I’ll do no such thing,” Goddard said. “I don’t want a goddamned word of this ever made public. But without your car, without your apartment, your salary—you’ll have no assets. You’ll have nothing. What kind of life is that for a talented fellow like you?”

They own you . . . You drive a company car, you live in company housing. . . . Your whole life ain’t yours
. . . . My dad, my stopped-clock father, was right.

Judith got up from the table, came over very close to me. “Adam, I understand what you’re feeling,” she said in a hush. Her eyes were moist. “You’re hurt, you’re angry. You feel betrayed, manipulated. You want to retreat into the comforting, secure, protective anger of a small child. It’s totally understandable—we all feel that way sometimes. But now it’s time to put away childish things. You see, you haven’t fallen into something. You’ve
found
yourself. It’s all good, Adam. It’s all good.”

Goddard was leaning back in his chair, arms folded. I could see shards of his face reflected in the silver coffeepot, the sugar bowl. He smiled benevolently. “Don’t throw it all away, son. I know you’ll do the right thing.”

93

My Porsche, fittingly, had been towed away. I’d parked it illegally last night; what did I expect?

So I walked out of the Trion building and looked around for a cab, but none was anywhere to be found. I suppose I could have used a phone in the lobby to call for one, but I felt an overwhelming, almost physical need to get out of there. Carrying the white cardboard box filled with the few things from my office, I walked along the side of the highway.

A few minutes later a bright red car pulled over to the curb, slowed down next to me. It was an Austin Mini Cooper, about the size of a toaster oven. The passenger’s side window rolled down, and I could smell Alana’s lush floral scent wafting through the city air.

She called out to me. “Hey, do you like it? I just got it. Isn’t it
fabulous?
”

I nodded and attempted a cryptic smile. “Red’s cop bait,” I said.

“I never go over the speed limit.”

I just nodded.

She said, “Suppose you get down off your motorcycle and give me a ticket?”

I nodded, kept walking, unwilling to play.

She inched her car alongside me. “Hey, what happened to your Porsche?”

“Got towed.”

“Yuck. Where’re you going?”

“Home. Harbor Suites.” Not home for long, I realized with a jolt. I didn’t own it.

“Well, you’re not
walking
all the way. Not with that
box
. Come on, get in, I’ll give you a ride.”

“No thanks.”

She followed alongside, driving slowly on the shoulder of the road. “Oh, come on, Adam, don’t be
mad
.”

I stopped, went over to the car, set down my box, put my hands on the car’s low roof. Don’t be mad? All along I’d been torturing myself because I thought I was manipulating
her
, and she was just doing a goddamned job. “You—they told you to sleep with me, didn’t they?”

“Adam,” she said sensibly. “Get real. That wasn’t part of the job description. That’s just what HR calls a fringe benefit, right?” She laughed her swooping laugh, and it chilled me. “They just wanted me to guide you along, pass along leads, that sort of thing. But then you came after
me
. . . .”

“They just wanted you to guide me along,” I echoed. “Oh, man. Oh, man. Makes me ill.” I picked up the box and resumed walking.

“Adam, I was just doing what they
told
me to do. You of all people should understand that.”

“Like we’ll ever be able to trust each other? Even now—you’re just doing what they want you to, aren’t you?”

“Oh, please,” said Alana. “Adam, darling. Don’t be so goddamned paranoid.”

“And I actually thought we had a nice relationship going,” I said.

“It was fun. I had a
great
time.”

“Did you.”

“God, don’t take it so seriously, Adam! It’s just sex.
And
business. What’s wrong with that? Trust me, I wasn’t
faking
it!”

I kept walking, looking around for a cab, but there was nothing in sight. I didn’t even know this part of town. I was lost.

“Come
on,
Adam,” she said, inching the Mini along. “Get in the car.”

I kept going.

“Oh, come on,” she said, her voice like velvet, suggesting everything, promising nothing. “Will you just get in the
car?
”

A
CKNOWLEDGMENTS

Roll the credits. They’re woefully long, but this one’s been in development and production a long time.

Researching my other novels has taken me around the world and into places like KGB headquarters in Moscow, but nothing prepared me for how strange and fascinating I’d find the world of the American high-tech corporation. No one opened more doors to me, or gave of his time more generously, than my old friend David Hsiao of Cisco Systems, where I was also helped immensely by Tom Fallon, Dixie Garr, Pete Long, Richard Henkus, Gene Choy, Katie Foster, Bill LePage, Armen Hovanessian, Sue Zanner, and Molly Tschang. At Apple Computer, Kate Lepow was enormously helpful. At Nortel, my friend Carter Kersh was a thoughtful (and witty) guide, arranging for me to meet his colleagues, including Martin McNarney, Alyene Mclennan, Matt Portoni, Raj Raman, Guyves Achtari, and Alison Steel. I also had some interesting conversations with Matt Zanner of Hewlett Packard, Ted Sprague of Ciena, Rich Wyckoff of Marimba, Rich Rothschild of Ariba, Bob Scordino of EMC, Adam Stein of Juniper Networks, and Colin Angle of iRobot.

Some very smart friends helped me dream up the financial shenanigans and stealth tactics in the background of the story. They included Roger McNamee, Jeff Bone, Glover Lawrence, and especially my friend Giles McNamee, who brainstormed with me in the spirit of a true unindicted co-conspirator. Nell Minow of The Corporate Library in Washington helped me understand boardroom politics and corporate governance.

In the area of corporate security and intelligence, I got some invaluable assistance from some of the greats in the field, including Leonard Fuld, Arthur Hulnick, George K. Campbell, Mark H. Beaudry, Dan Geer, and the corporate espionage expert Ira Winkler. The legal background of
Paranoia
benefited from the advice of my great friend Joe Teig; Jackie Nakamura of Day Casebeer Madrid & Batchelder (and thanks to Alex Beam for introducing us); and Robert Stein of Pryor Cashman Sherman & Flynn; as well as two of his colleagues, Jeffrey Johnson and particularly Jay Shapiro. Adam’s expertise in cool new tech products came from Jim Mann of Compaq, the lead designer of the iPaq; Bert Keely of Microsoft; Henry Holtzman of MIT’s Media Lab; Simson Garfinkel; Joel Evans of
Geek.com
; Wes Salmon of
PDABuzz.com
; and especially Greg Joswiak, Vice President of Hardware Product Marketing at Apple Computer.