2030_ The Real Story of What Happens to America - Albert Brooks [83]
“I’m three blocks from there.”
“I’ll meet you in fifteen minutes.”
The Mediterranean was a small restaurant that had wonderful food and was always busy. It was frequented by a younger crowd that worked in and around Georgetown. It had been there since 2010 and had gone through several chefs until it settled on one who turned out to be a genius. Its linguini with clam sauce was the best in the city, and its risotto al gorgonzola was legendary. People often met late in the day for drinks and always wound up eating more than they wanted to. The meal started with the bruschetta, which arrived at the table exactly at the same time the customers did, and once they ate that they had to order more, so late-day business meetings often turned into early dinners.
Paul and Jack had wine and made small talk. Jack looked better than Paul remembered. Certainly better in person than he did on the watch.
“Did you lose weight?” Paul asked.
“No. You thought I was fat?”
“No. But you look different.”
“I had my eyes enlarged.”
“Seriously? You had them enlarged?”
“Yeah. It’s not a big deal. They burn out a small part of the upper lid and when it heals it exposes more eye.”
“Really? How long does it take?”
“To heal or the procedure?”
“Well, both.”
“The procedure you do at lunch and you wear shades for a week, at most. And then you look like you’ve slept twelve hours.”
“Or that you’re surprised at something.”
“Does it look like that?” Jack sounded worried. “I didn’t want that, I wanted to look rested.”
“I was kidding. You look great. It’s great to see more of your eyes; they’re good eyes.”
“Thanks.”
“So what’s the big secret? I can’t wait.”
“Well, it’s not that big, but I told you I would tell you stuff as it comes through my desk, and we had one of our people attend a meeting a week ago in Indiana.”
“Indiana?”
“Yeah. Indianapolis. Someone who works at a local office heard about a group that seemed to be revolutionary—at least that’s the way it was presented. They’re calling themselves Enough Is Enough.”
“I’ve never heard of them. Did they blow up our building?”
“We don’t think so, but there was a lot of talk of sympathy with whoever did, and this might be a splinter group. We now have the names of many of the people who were there. The guy who runs it is named Max Leonard. Ever heard of him?”
“No. Should I have?”
“We’d never heard of him, either, but these guys have to start somewhere. I would put his name in your database and be aware of it, and the name of the group.”
Paul made a note to himself. “I appreciate that.”
“We’ve devoted more time now to the violence. The bombing at your building shook a lot of people up at Justice and I think they’re taking it more seriously.”
“This is great information. I owe you one.”
“Do you want to go out sometime?”
Paul smiled at him. “We’re out right now, aren’t we?”
“No, I meant…”
“I know what you meant. I’m in a relationship that isn’t so great so I don’t want to make it worse, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t want to or that it won’t happen at some point. I just think that if I confuse things right now by adding another person in the mix, then I’ll dig myself into a deeper hole.”
“So that’s a yes?”
“Yeah. I guess so. I’ll call you.”
* * *
On the flight back to America, Susanna Colbert was on the line with John Van Dyke. The President’s chief of staff had already been briefed about the meeting with the vice premier by others in attendance, but he wanted to hear it firsthand from her. “Did you get any indication of what they have in mind?”
“No,” Susanna said. “Possibly they want the President to ask for it himself. Perhaps it’s too large an amount for anyone other than him to request.”
“When you get back we’ll sit down with the President and see where to go. I don’t know if we’re prepared to have a major summit at this point, but if we feel that’s what it takes, we certainly can invite them here and see what it’s all about.”
“I think that’s going to have to happen to get to the bottom of this. I feel bad because they might