Distraction - Bruce Sterling [18]
“This place is our problem.”
Oscar nodded. “Exactly. Donna, I know that working in a giant, airtight, gene-splicing lab might seem pretty mundane. Obviously this isn’t a plum Senate assignment, compared to the Dutch Cold War or those catastrophes out in the Rockies. But this is still a major federal installation. When this place started, it worked pretty well: a lot of basic advances in biotechnology, some good jump starts for American industry, especially next door in Louisiana. But those glory days were years ago, and now this place is a pork-barrel bonanza. Kickbacks, payoffs, sweetheart deals … I hardly know where to start.”
She looked pleased. “It sounds like you’ve already started.”
“Well … Officially, I’m here to work for the Senate Science Committee. I no longer have any formal ties to Bambakias. But the Senator has arranged that, deliberately. He knows that this place requires a serious shaking-up. So, our agenda here is to provide him with what he needs for a real reform effort. We’re laying the groundwork for his first legislative success.”
“I see.”
Oscar took her elbow politely as they sidestepped a passing okapi. “I’m not saying that the work will be easy. It could get ugly. There are a lot of vested interests here. Hidden agendas. Much more here than meets the eye. But if this were easy work, everybody would do it. Not people with our talents.”
“I’ll stay on.”
“Good! I’m glad.”
“I’m glad that you’re leveling with me, Oscar. And you know? I think I need to tell you this, right now. Your personal background problem—I just want you to know, that whole business never bothered me. Not for one minute. I mean, I just thought the issue through, and then I put it right out of my mind.”
It seemed unlikely that anybody would be doing anything ambitious with the telephones in the children’s playground. So Fontenot had arranged for Oscar to take the Senator’s voice call there. Oscar watched a ragged pack of scientists’ children screaming like apes on the jungle gym.
Fontenot carefully hooked a Secret Service-approved encryptor to the wallphone’s candy-colored mouthpiece.
“You’ll notice a time lag,” Fontenot warned Oscar. “They’re doing traffic analysis countermeasures back in Boston.”
“What about the locals? Are they a monitoring threat?”
“Have you been to the police offices here?”
“Not yet, no.”
“I have. Maybe ten years ago they were still taking security seriously. Now you could knock this place over with a broomstick.” Fontenot hung the brightly colored handset in its plastic cradle, then turned and studied the capering children. Like their parents, they were bareheaded and shaggy and wore geekish, ill-fitting clothes. “Nice-looking kids.”
“Mmmmh.”
“Never had the proper time for little ones.…” Fontenot’s hooded eyes were full of obscure distress.
The phone rang. Oscar answered it at once. “Yes?”
“Oscar.”
Oscar straightened a little. “Yes, Senator.”
“Good to hear from you,” Bambakias announced. “Good to hear your voice. I sent you a few files a while ago, but that’s never the same, is it.”
“No, sir.”
“I want to thank you for bringing that Louisiana matter to my attention. Those tapes you sent.” Bambakias’s resonant voice glided upward into its podium pitch. “That roadblock. The Air Force. Amazing, Oscar. Outrageous!”
“Yes sir.”
“It’s a complete scandal! It beggars belief! Those are citizens serving in the uniform of the United States! Our own armed forces!” Bambakias drew a swift breath, and grew yet more intense and sonorous. “How on earth can we expect to command the loyalties of the men and women who are sworn to defend our country, when we cynically use them as pawns in a cheap, sordid power struggle? We’ve literally abandoned them to starve to death, freezing in the dark!”
Fontenot had joined the children at the teeter-totter. Fontenot had shed his vest and hat and was cordially helping a squirming three-year-old onto the end of the board. “Senator, nobody starves nowadays.