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“The information revolution has done the same thing on a smaller scale. The lives of twenty percent are improved, while others are rendered jobless, destitute and excess to society’s needs. Poor countries fall into the information divide and their populations lag ever further behind as they squander all their measly income just trying to keep the lights on.”
“I’m not really in this for the poor,” Gibbs said.
Kaufman sat back. “So sell it to the destroyers, then. The world will go on just as it has: pumping oil, shoveling coal and piling up nuclear waste by the ton. The wars will go on. We’ll have more debacles like Iraq. Iran will be next, and the whole Arabian peninsula when the House of Saud collapses. America will bankrupt itself fighting wars in the desert while Europe and Asia watch and reap the rewards. The poverty and pollution of the oil age will go on, and you’ll spend the rest of your days wondering just when that stray bullet will find you.”
Gibbs took his eyes off Kaufman, glancing out the window at the world flying past. Too quickly, he thought, much like the conversation he found himself trapped into. It left him dizzy, unbalanced—a terrible feeling for a man unused to anything but complete control. “You paint a rosy picture of my future,” he said.
“That’s just one possible future,” Kaufman explained. “On the other hand you can look at this meeting for what it is—your way out. You can turn this find over to me and see it brought to its full potential. I have billions set aside to develop this technology, and access to billions more if I need it. I have armies of engineers, powerful friends on Capitol Hill and in the military. And I have time, a luxury you no longer possess.”
Kaufman leaned toward him. “What lies out there is the key to equalizing things, to resetting the vast imbalance between the first and third worlds, to stabilizing what has become a dangerously unstable world.”
“My God,” Gibbs said. “You’re some kind of crusader. You intend to give this away?”
“No,” Kaufman said. “I intend to build a fortune with it. One that will make Mr. Gates and Mr. Buffett look like welfare cases. And once I’ve done that I’ll build power plants all over the world. I’ll provide cheaper energy than anyone could have dreamed of—cheaper than coal and oil, cheaper than solar or wind or even hydrothermal power and with none of the environmental drawbacks. In twenty years I’ll control all the electrical power generated in the Western Hemisphere, and even though I will sell it cheap, I’ll produce it for almost nothing. With the profits and influence, I’ll light up the world of the poor. And when the whole planet has equal access to such power, a sense of equilibrium will come to this place that has never existed. No longer will there be three have nots for every one who has.”
As Kaufman spoke, Gibbs wondered just where the man’s greed and nobility intersected, or if he was lying or simply mad. A combination of all four, he decided. “You’re insane, you realize that.”
The charcoal-haired CEO’s eyebrows went up. “Insane is embezzling from your own agency. It’s hiring a group of burned-out mercenaries to search a river bed and following up their disappearance with a group of civilians who will likely meet the same fate. Insane is your place in the world, my friend, not mine.”
Gibbs stewed. Kaufman had hit the mark dead-on; he’d gotten every fear and every angle just about right. Gibbs was greedy but he wasn’t a traitor, and he didn’t fancy himself a sellout or a politician either. Giving up the future wasn’t his big concern; it would come someday regardless of what he did, but the destroyers, as Kaufman had called them, were not forces to be trifled with. Perhaps Kaufman was offering him something better. He chose to bite, at least enough to taste the dish. “And what would such an offer look like?”
Kaufman obliged him. “First, you’ll receive immediate repayment of all the funds that you or your backers have laid out. That should get the investors off your back and allow you to replace any NRI funds that might have gone missing. Second, you’ll receive a one million dollar payment upon recovery and authentication of the artifacts. And finally, you’ll have a position within Futrex, a six-figure salary and a small residual from all net profits.” Kaufman shrugged. “Your cut will be a rounding error somewhere on the bottom line, but in a few years, you’ll make more than you could in ten lifetimes with the NRI. The more we make, the more you’ll make. That ought to guarantee your full cooperation.”
Stuart Gibbs listened in silence, mulling the offer over. “And if I decline?”
“Then one of two things will happen. Either your group in the rainforest will be eliminated before they have a chance to bring you what you want, or the proper authorities will be informed of your activities.”
Gibbs laughed. Kaufman wouldn’t bring the authorities into this, whatever happened. “My people are well protected.”
“Yes,” Kaufman said. “I know who protects them, and how. I promise you, I have all the firepower I need to take them out. The only thing I don’t have is their location, but sooner or later I will. And once I do, your ability to bargain will have expired.”
Gibbs mulled over the offer: ten million dollars or so, when all was said and done. The buyers he’d contacted had deep pockets but they were skeptical. If he could prove what he had, they might pay ten times what Kaufman had offered. Up front and in cash, not spread out over decades. And even that would be a bargain. The technology itself would be worth an unfathomable amount in that time, more than all the oil in Alaska or all the gold in South Africa, and he was being asked to give it up for a pittance.
He glared at Kaufman, galled by the man’s arrogance. And yet, even as he fumed, his black mood began to fade. He could see the offer for what it was: a thieves’ bargain, even if the division of spoils was mostly onesided. This was the way of things, he thought. The rich take from the poor. They pay only a pe
He threw out a counteroffer. “Why not let my people finish the recovery? Whatever we bring out, I’ll give you the first bid.”
“Why?” Kaufman said. “So you can charge me more?”
Gibbs had expected that. He ground his teeth anyway. “And what about my people?”
Kaufman pursed his lips. “They won’t be coming home again, if that’s what you mean.”
Gibbs was silent.
“I’ve seen your roster,” Kaufman added. “At first I couldn’t understand why you chose this particular mix of individuals. But then it hit me; for the most part, they won’t be missed.”
As Gibbs listened to the last point, his face grew stern, almost angry, but not out of sadness. In fact, he had never pla
“More deaths,” he noted.
“Yes,” Kaufman said, respectfully. “But none as shocking as Matt Blundin’s. Then again, I suppose he left you no choice.”
Gibbs’ face went blank, an emotionless slate. He hadn’t wanted to kill Blundin, but the security chief had, indeed, left him no choice. In his zeal to find the party responsible for the data theft, Blundin had dug into areas that he’d been ordered to ignore. In doing so he’d uncovered the loose threads in Gibbs’ setup. And though they were irrelevant to the investigation, Blundin couldn’t help but pull on them.
Sooner, rather than later, he would have realized that only Gibbs could change the funding codes, not Danielle, or the accounting clerks or anyone else in the organization. That would have led him to the missing money, to the funding requests for projects that existed only on paper and to the bland reports and unlogged transactions that had moved the project forward. And before long, Matt Blundin would have realized what it all meant. Maybe he’d realized it already and was allowing Gibbs time to fix things. After all, he had been a friend.