Edge of Apocalypse Page 26

  The night before, and first thing again that morning, Phil's media brokers had called the chief telecommunications engineer for the global telecom company, threatening, cajoling, pleading with him to connect the AmeriNews feed to the Allfones that were serviced by World Teleco, just as their contract had required.

  "Look," the engineer blew back, "I've been told this is a transaction in dispute. We're not about to throw the on-switch just because you want it. My superiors say no, and I've got to follow orders. Sorry."

  Then Joshua got a text-message from Abigail. It said simply, "With lawyers now. Will advise."

  Abigail had caught a shuttle flight down to the capital the night before.

  Now, in a small coffee shop near the Federal Communications Commission building in D.C., Abigail sat at a table with four lawyers, all of them veterans in communications law. She was briefing them on their legal mission.

  "All of you have the affidavit," she began, "of the witness to the conversation between Allen Fulsin and Bill Cheavers, the executive with World Teleco. He lays it all out in there."

  "I just have to ask," said one of the lawyers, a middle-aged woman, "about this guy who signed the affidavit, where he got this stuff? How was he able to simply 'overhear,' as he vaguely describes it, this really startling conversation between Fulsin and Cheavers?"

  "You can ask," Abigail answered matter-of-factly, "but I won't be answering. Now, let's get to the overall strategy here. There are five commissioners who sit on the FCC. I'll be taking the chairman, Jacob Daniels. I've assigned each one of you to one of the other commissioners. As you know, for some strange reason, President Corland, after he was elected, has dragged his heels in exercising his executive prerogative in appointing a new chairman of the FCC. I think Corland has simply had his hands full with a number of crises. I have a good professional relationship with Daniels, so I will approach him first. If I think he's amenable to my argument, I will hit the Quick-Tweet--QT--function on my Allfone and instant-message you all with the Twitter 'go' sign to approach your respective commissioners."

  "I'd like to go over the legal theory we'll be arguing with these commissioners," one of the other lawyers said.

  "Very simple," Abigail said. "You'll remember when all the national news media--all the television networks and all the news-radio syndicates--were required to transfer over to the Internet for the delivery of their communications content. Arguments broke out about who would control it. Who would supervise it. The courts struck down all the legislative attempts to structure a federal oversight. Congress, worried about the economically distressed media and news industry, lifted the antitrust restrictions on those businesses. Internet-based media quickly became a monopoly that now rests in the hands of a few transnational corporations. But remember, the FCC still retains a very narrow, rarely used power over the Internet."

  "Right, only in cases of clear viewpoint discrimination by the telecom companies," another attorney chimed in.

  "Exactly," Abigail said. "We all know that discrimination by the telecoms against 'politically incorrect' viewpoints over the web does happen. But no one has been able to prove it. Until now. This affidavit is the smoking gun that shows that World Teleco is committing a viewpoint-based act of illegal discrimination against our client and the AmeriNews project."

  "Sounds logical," the first lawyer said. But she pointed out, "The Chairman has a great deal of discretion. How do you know he's going to buy this? And how in the world are you going to get him to act immediately? The FCC is known for dragging some issues out for years."

  Abigail smiled and said, "Leave that up to me."

  "But the chairman is not going to issue a cease-and-desist order by himself," a lawyer retorted, tapping his pen on the table for emphasis.

  "No, he's not," Abigail replied. "He's going to want backup from at least two of the other four commissioners, so he's got a majority vote of three out of five." Then she added, "And that's where you fine legal advocates come into the picture."

  Fewer than thirty minutes later Abigail was on the eighth floor of the Federal Communications Commission building, in the vestibule of the office of Jacob Daniels, the chairman. In her hand was the file containing the affidavit. Chairman Daniels' secretary had already been given the message that there was an urgent need to speak to the chairman.

  After a wait of forty minutes, the chairman's legal counsel strode out. He was a young lawyer, in his early thirties, and he had a pressed smile and an insincere handshake.

  "Ms...," he said, searching for Abigail's name.

  "Abigail Jordan," she said. "Could you tell me if attorney Cort Windom is still working as Chairman Daniels' chief legal counsel?"

  "I'm afraid not. He left about a year ago to practice law with a D.C. firm. I've taken his spot. Can I help you?"

  "I used to do a lot of work here with Mr. Windom, representing media clients before the FCC," she said. "I also worked very closely with Chairman Daniels on a number of communications issues. Back when he was a new Commissioner. I haven't seen him since he's been serving as chairman. But I always enjoyed an excellent relationship with Jacob."

  "Well...that's nice," he said blandly.

  "Did you get my message...?"

  "Yes. You'd like a meeting with the chairman. I'd be glad to pass your name on to Chairman Daniels' scheduling secretary. Maybe something could be set up a few weeks from now."

  "This is an emergency. It can't wait."

  The lawyer struck a pose as if his mother had just been insulted.

  "I'm sorry. But protocol is that walk-in requests for appointments must first be vetted through the scheduling secretary. No exceptions."

  "I assure you this is a matter that Chairman Daniels is definitely going to want to discuss immediately."

  "No exceptions," the lawyer said with a strained smile.

  Abigail sat back down in the lobby chair.

  "Would you like to speak to the scheduling secretary?" he asked.

  "No. I'll wait for Jacob."

  "Chairman Daniels is not going to take a walk-in appointment with you."

  Abigail smiled back at the young lawyer but didn't move.

  "Perhaps," he said, "you should come back another time."

  She kept smiling. But didn't budge.

  "I really don't want to have to call for security..."

  "Then perhaps you shouldn't," she said, gripping her file even tighter.

  There was a long, uncomfortable moment as the lawyer bobbed on his toes and Abigail sat stone-still in the chair, the file in her lap.

  The secretary at the reception desk was staring at the scene, and her mouth was parted slightly in anxious wonderment. Everyone in that vestibule of the chairman's office knew that something was about to happen.

  And it did.

  The door to the vestibule swung open, and Chairman Jacob Daniels strode in, his suit coat off and in his shirtsleeves, holding a Styrofoam cup of coffee.

  "Had to go across the street to get this," he said absently. "When are they supposed to repair our coffee machine? Does anybody know?"

  Then Jacob Daniels swept the room with his gaze, looking for an answer. His eyes locked on Abigail.

  He searched for her name.

  "Abigail...uh..."

  "Jordan."

  "Yes, of course. With all the news about your husband, how could I forget your last name?"

  "Right," she said with a grin.

  "We've missed seeing you around here. You did some great communications work for your media clients."

  "Thanks. I liked the work. But I've been out of the practice for a while."

  "That's the legal profession's loss then," he said. "So, my staff treating you all right?"

  Abigail glanced over at the lawyer who was no longer bouncing on his toes. He was now standing perfectly still. Hoping that the shrapnel that would be coming his way any minute would merely be a maiming injury, and not a career-killer.

  "Oh, yes," Abigail said flashing anoth
er bright smile. "Your staff attorney here has been most helpful."

  The lawyer managed a meek smile in return and started breathing again.

  "Well, what brings you here?" Daniels asked.

  "An urgent matter that I think you will find very interesting," she said.

  "It must be important to bring you back here," the chairman said.

  Then he pointed to his inner office and said, "Let's talk. I've got a few minutes."

  FIFTY-TWO

  In crowded Manhattan, up in his hotel suite, Joshua Jordan was caught up in his brain-storming session with Phil Rankowitz. They were laying out the final last steps in their AmeriNews plan. Yet they knew that it all depended on one thing. Abigail still had to get the FCC to order World Teleco to honor its contract and launch the Roundtable's explosively controversial wireless news service to millions of Allfones. But after hanging up with Phil, Joshua had a nagging feeling he was forgetting something. He glanced over his Roundtable checklist for the project. No, everything was on track. Maybe something else. Something personal?

  Then he remembered his conversation with Abby. Before she left for Washington, she urged him to give a call to Cal to see how he was doing. He still remembered her words: "Josh, I think he needs to hear from his dad again. He always knows his mom's in his corner. But you need to reach out. It's been awhile since we've heard from him. Besides, you said your last call with him didn't go anywhere."

  Joshua had been all consumed recently. Maybe Abby was right. Besides, she had a remarkable intuition about the kids. Joshua dialed Cal's number, confident in his signal-cloaking Allfone.

  On the campus of Liberty University, Cal's cell was ringing. He didn't answer it at first. He was busy watching his ex-girlfriend, Karen, walking away from him. The ringing continued. Without looking at the caller ID, Cal answered in an angry tone.

  There was an awkward pause. Then Joshua Jordan spoke.

  "Cal it's, me. Dad. Everything okay?"

  "Yeah, sure."

  "School okay?"

  "Sure."

  "Everything else?"

  "Fine."

  There was another pause. Joshua dug deeper. "How are things between you and Karen?"

  Cal muttered, "Wow, two points."

  "Didn't quite get that..."

  "Never mind, Dad. Just about the Karen thing..."

  "Tell me."

  Cal didn't really want to. But he blurted it out anyway. "We broke up today."

  "Sorry. How are you with that?"

  "It wasn't my idea. She's getting back together with Jeff Hitchney."

  "Gottcha. That hurts. Male ego's a powerful thing. But I know you had some strong feelings for her. Sorry it didn't work out."

  "Really? I kind of find that hard to believe..."

  "Just because I had some questions about her. And I thought you ought to be concentrating on your studies--"

  "Well, that's not how it came across. Okay? The way I see it, it's just one more way that Joshua Jordan is trying to control the world, including his son."

  "That's a cheap shot, Cal. I pay your tuition. I think that gives me some say-so in your school life. Your choice of major. Relationships that might jeopardize your studies." Joshua's voice was firm but not angry. Cal, on the other hand, was having a hard time keeping it together, so he didn't talk. His father filled in the blanks.

  "Look, let's keep this civil. Adult. You're not a child, Cal; you're a man. So I'm going to talk to you that way. You and I need to be able to converse about things with the drawbridge down. Okay? You have a problem with me, that's fine. I can take it. Speak your mind. But I'm going to keep speaking mine. Don't cop an attitude with me just because I let you know that your compass is going whacky and your trajectory is off. All right?"

  "Fine."

  "Is that a yes?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "One more thing."

  Cal was listening.

  "You need to know something. More important than anything else."

  "What's that?"

  "Your father loves you. Get that down pat. Nothing's ever going to change that."

  "All right."

  Just then there was a beep on Joshua's line.

  "That's my next conference call coming in. Gotta go. Remember the last thing I just said, Cal. Okay? It's important."

  "Okay, Dad."

  Then the call ended. An instant later, as Cal was staring at his cell phone, he realized that he'd screwed up. For the second time recently, his dad told him he loved him. But Cal hadn't reciprocated. He wondered, What is my problem anyway? Down deep Cal knew he should have said something. To let his dad know how he really felt. Of course Cal looked up to him. But more than that, he harbored a towering sense of awe for his father. But there was always so much other turmoil getting in the way between the two of them. Whenever his dad reached out, which wasn't often, well, he didn't know how to handle it. So he'd go silent. Maybe it was time for that to change. Next time I talk to him, I'll let him know how I feel. And that I love him. Respect him. I'll tell him that, no matter what.

  Cal was now walking back to his dorm room.

  On that day, Cal's sister, Deborah, was busy with her class schedule up at West Point. As for the rest of Cal's family--for Abby and Joshua--they had been immersed in their own struggles. But every one of them was oblivious to the danger that was stalking them--and getting closer.

  At that precise moment, Atta Zimler had arrived at a point a mere two miles from his destination. And he was closing in.

  He knew parking might be a problem. His ability to get his utility van out fast was a high priority. Like everything else, he had a plan for that too.

  The timetable was perfect. He knew that shortly his target would be in his grasp. He would then secure the RTS design documents. And the pleasing thought of the fortune that would be wired to his offshore account, to be added to his already huge balance from the upfront fee paid by Caesar Demas. But this wasn't just about money for Atta Zimler. He was a man with a planet-sized ego. When he says he will kill a man, the man gets killed. When he says a certain thing will get done, it gets done. He considered himself a force of nature. Unstoppable. Unremitting. Merciless.

  Zimler had his tactical file on the seat next to him. Photographs. Schematics. Maps. Escape routes. And most importantly, of course, his deadly tools of the trade were carefully laid out in the back of the van.

  Thinking forward about the final coup de grace, Zimler knew that there would be lots of blood before it was over.

  But he had a sense of amused satisfaction when he considered exactly how it was going to be shed.

  FIFTY-THREE

  FCC Chairman Jacob Daniels had only one person in his office. Abigail Jordan. No staffers. No other legal counsel. Just the two of them.

  Abigail tried to look poised. But inside she was having a tough time holding it together. She knew how high the stakes were for Josh. And she was also smart enough to know how improbable her whole strategy seemed. One thought dominated her mind, no matter how she tried to stay focused. How in the world are we going to pull this off?

  Was she really going to convince the FCC to issue an immediate cease-and-desist order against one of the largest telecom companies in the world by the close of business that day?

  While Chairman Daniels read through a copy of the affidavit she had presented him, Abigail took a moment to acquaint herself with his office. She hadn't been there for years. It was spacious but eclectic. There was a large couch, several ornate credenzas, and two Victorian Art Nouveau book cases, which looked like antiques. Four chairs were arranged around an unusual coffee table, which had wrought iron legs and a table top fashioned out of a layer of white Jerusalem stone. Abigail was in one chair and Chairman Daniels in the other.

  She took her two fingers and tried to press a crease out of the affidavit that she was holding. The sworn statement was courtesy of their "Patriot" friend, Pack McHenry's surveillance man, who had taped Allen Fulsin's meeting with the World T
eleco executive at the New York bar. That affidavit was the only evidence Abigail had to present. Suddenly the three-page document looked pretty thin.

  Daniels finished, flipped back to the first page, looked up, and tossed the affidavit onto the coffee table.

  Abigail smiled.

  He glanced discreetly at his watch. Abigail took a breath, and like a runner putting her feet in the starting blocks, she readied herself silently. Okay, here we go...

  Then she started her pitch.

  "As chairman of the FCC you've always spoken out boldly about the potential for a media monopoly to develop."

  "Sure, of course. But I don't think the right people were listening."

  "I recall you saying the worst-case scenario would be a dictatorship of a few media giants controlling the news for the entire nation."

  "Yeah, true," he said with a grin. He was glad someone remembered his remarks. "I knew all the news networks would eventually migrate to an Internet platform. So then the question was how were we going to prevent censorship of the news if only a few telecoms controlled the wires and no one had jurisdiction to police the Internet? See, my goal was not content control or even regulation. Forget that. I always felt that the free market generally ought to prevail over the web. I just wanted to make sure that America's news wouldn't be censored, that unpopular viewpoints wouldn't be blocked by a few powerful telecoms."

  Abigail lunged in. "This situation with World Teleco is a perfect chance to vindicate your position. We all know that President Corland could and probably still will replace you."

  "I've always wondered why he didn't simply ask me to resign. Standard procedure. I would have done it, of course. Just like all the other chairmen before me. But he didn't. So here I am."

  "Not by accident," Abigail suggested cautiously. She hesitated for only a split second before she spoke what was really on her heart. "I think God directs events. Destinies. He opens historic opportunities. The fact you're still chairman could be one of them."

  "You think this AmeriNews - World Teleco dispute is that important?"

  "Yes. It goes far beyond just the flagrant illegality of World Teleco. If you're willing to order them to obey the contract with us, and do it today, the dominoes will start toppling. The playing field for news and information could suddenly become a level surface. Not to mention some other crucial consequences that I'm not free to share."