“I said I’d talk to you, but assume we’re in.”
Ben sat back. He’d text his assistant to have a car sent to Teterboro. He was taking out his phone to do it when he had another thought.
David. He could talk to David. Not in detail, of course, but to the extent that he was having some troubles—one mogul to another. Was there a strategy David recommended? Should they hire a crisis manager preemptively? Start looking for a scapegoat? David also had close ties to the executive branch. If there really were new marching orders to the Justice Department, maybe David could get them some advance word.
He put his half-eaten bagel down, wiped his hands on his pants, stood.
“I’m gonna take a walk on the beach, sort some things out.”
“If you wait a minute, I’ll go with you.”
He started to tell her he needed the time to think, but paused. After the fiasco with Jenny’s boyfriend, he needed to go the extra mile. So he nodded and went inside to get his shoes.
*
The ride to the airport was short, the car picking them up just after nine p.m. They rode in the air-conditioned rear, moving through dimming twilight, the sun low on the horizon, an orange yolk dipped slowly into a cool meringue. Ben reviewed what he wanted to say to David, how to sidle up on the thing—not There’s a crisis, but Have you heard anything coming out of the White House that might affect the market in general? Or no, that’s too inside baseball. Maybe it was as simple as We’re hearing rumblings about some new regulations. Can you confirm or deny?
He was sweating, despite the sixty-eight-degree interior. Next to Ben, Sarah was watching the sunset with a whispered smile. Ben squeezed her hand encouragingly, and she looked over and gave him a big grin—her man. Ben smiled back. He could just about slay a gin and tonic right now.
Ben was getting out of the car on the tarmac when Culpepper called. It was nine fifteen, and balmy, a heavy fog hanging on the edges of the runway.
“It’s happening,” said Culpepper as Ben took his overnight bag from the driver.
“What?”
“Indictments. A birdie just told me.”
“What? When?”
“In the morning. The feds’ll come in force, waving warrants. I had a shitstorm call with Leroy, but he’s gotta side with the president on this one. We need to send a message to Wall Street, or some such shit. I’ve got a hundred temps in there right now taking care of things.”
“Things?”
“What does the cookie monster do to cookies?”
Ben was shaking. His creative reasoning center was closed.
“Jesus, Barney. Just say it.”
“Not on the phone. Just know that what Stalin did to the USSR is happening to our data. But you don’t know anything. As far as you’re concerned it’s just another Sunday night.”
“What should I—”
“Nothing. Go home, take a Xanax, sleep. In the morning put on a comfortable suit and moisturize your wrists. They’re going to arrest you at the office. You and Hoover and Tabitha, et cetera. We have lawyers on retainer standing by to bail you out, but they’ll be dicks and hold you the maximum time allowed.”
“In jail?”
“No. At Best Buy. Yes, in jail. But don’t worry. I’ve got a good lice guy.”
He hung up. Ben stood on the tarmac, oblivious to the warm wind and Sarah’s concerned stare. Everything looked different now. The creeping fog, the shadows below the plane. Ben half expected fast lines to drop from a helicopter sky, shock troops descending.
It’s happening, he thought. The absolute worst-case scenario. I will be arrested, indicted.
“Jesus, Ben, you’re like a ghost.”
Behind them the two-man ground crew finished gassing up the plane.
“No,” he said, trying to pull himself together. “No, it’s—I’m fine. Just—some bad news from the markets. Asia.”
The two men pulled the hose back, away from the fuselage. They were wearing khaki coveralls and matching caps, their faces darkened by shadow. One of them took a few steps away from the gas line, pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He lit one, the flame illuminating his face with an orange flicker. Ben squinted at him. Is that—? he thought, but the face went dark again. His fight-or-flight instinct was so strong right now it was as if every fear he had ever had was surrounding him in the fog. His heartbeat was thunderous, and he shivered despite the heat.
After a moment he realized that Sarah was talking to him.
“What?” he said.
“I said, should I worry?”
“No,” he told her. “No. It’s just—you know, I’m really looking forward to the trip we talked about. Italy, Croatia. I think it’ll be—I don’t know—maybe we should go tonight.”
She took his arm.
“You’re so crazy,” she told him, squeezing. He nodded. The first man finished securing the fuel hose, climbed into the cab of the truck. The second man dropped his cigarette, ground it out, walked to the passenger door.
“I wouldn’t wanna be flying in this,” he said.