Power Play (4 page)

“That’s not so!” Jake blurted.

“Check it out for yourself,” said Sinclair.

Jake stared at the professor, not knowing what to say.

Bob Rogers broke into the cold silence. “Cardwell does a damned fine job at the planetarium.”

Sinclair nodded. “Oh, he’s a good showman, I’ll grant you that. But he’s not a scientist. Not at all.”

Holding on to his rising temper, Jake repeated, “Dr. Cardwell advised me to look into the MHD generator work you people are doing.”

“For what purpose?”

The brunette spoke up. “Dr. Ross is going to be Franklin Tomlinson’s science advisor.” Turning to Jake, she added, “Isn’t that so, Dr. Ross?”

She was really very good-looking, Jake realized. Oval face, dark brown hair that fell straight back past her shoulders, in a practical, no-nonsense sweep. Her eyes were dark, too, deep brown, calm and serious; slightly almond-shaped, kind of oriental, exotic. She was wearing a blue and white blouse with a cut-out neckline, deep enough to be interesting while still being modest. She impressed Jake as a sincere, thoughtful young woman: intelligent and strong-minded.

For a long moment Jake didn’t reply. Not until she smiled slightly and repeated, “You
are
joining Tomlinson’s campaign staff, aren’t you, Dr. Ross?”

“Jake,” he heard himself say.

“Jake.”

Rogers broke the spell. “Jake’s an assistant professor in the astronomy department.”

“I’m Glynis Colwyn,” the brunette said. “I’m from the business school. I’m working with Professor Sinclair, doing a case study of the MHD program for my thesis.” Her accent was strange, intriguing: almost like a British inflection, but not quite.

Rousing himself at last, Jake said, “Uh … to answer your question, Ms. Colwyn—”

“Glynis.”

“Okay … Glynis. To answer your question, I
am
seriously considering advising Mr. Tomlinson if he runs for the Senate next year.”

Sinclair looked from Jake to Colwyn and back to Jake again. “I still don’t understand what that has to do with our MHD work.”

“Tomlinson needs a science issue to campaign on,” Jake said.

“Our MHD work is a research program,” Sinclair said, “not a political issue.”

“But it could be,” Glynis said. “You could get a lot of attention for the program if Tomlinson picks up on it.”

Sinclair shook his head. “Do we want that kind of attention? I don’t think so.”

“But—”

“I don’t want our work turned into a political football,” Sinclair insisted.

“It might be helpful, you know,” Rogers said. “We’re going to need a big wad of funding to build a pilot plant one of these days.”

“That’s far in the future.”

Glynis said, “Isn’t it about time that a politician made scientific research one of his priorities? God knows that Senator Leeds wouldn’t recognize a test tube from a … a…”

“Prophylactic?” Rogers suggested.

Jake, Rogers, and Colwyn burst into laughter. Sinclair stared at them coldly.

JACOB ROSS’S OFFICE

By the time he reached his own office in the astronomy building Jake was sopping wet. An afternoon thunder shower had brewed up while he was giving his Introduction to Astronomy lecture to an auditorium full of bored freshmen. Most of them were taking Astronomy 101 to fulfill their curricular requirement for a science course. They were more interested in texting and tweeting on their cell phones than in the Copernican theory.

It was pouring when he finished the lecture. Lightning flickered across the clouds and thunder boomed like artillery. Jake stooged around in the classroom building’s entrance for as long as he could stand it, then decided to make a dash through the rain to his office.

Now he stood at his office window, wiping his face with a paper towel and trying to straighten his hair while he mulled over his lunch with Bob Rogers and the imperious Professor Sinclair. And Glynis Colwyn. She must be of Welsh descent, Jake thought.

How could MHD be made into a political issue? Jake wondered. Okay, they can build a more efficient power generator. Maybe. If it works. Rogers’s little machine only produces a dozen kilowatts. That’s not going to change the energy picture.

What the hell am I doing in politics anyway? I’m not a politician. That’s Tomlinson’s bag, not mine. I don’t know why Lev thought it’s something I should do.

He sat down in the springy little chair behind his desk. As usual it rolled backward on the hardwood floor until it bumped into the bookcase. Newton’s first law of motion, Jake said to himself. Plant your butt on the chair and it rolls away from the goddamned desk whether you like it or not.

His office was little more than a cubbyhole, cluttered with books and journals and test papers waiting to be graded. Tenure, Jake thought. If I get tenure they’ll move me to a bigger office, maybe the one in the corner that old Likiovick occupies. He’ll be retiring next year. Yeah, like I’ve got a chance for tenure. In another five years, maybe.

Then his eye caught on the photo of Louise framed on the corner of his desk. Louise. She was smiling at him, that warm, happy smile of hers. Like sunshine. Like wonderful, glorious sunshine.

He turned to look at the office’s only window. It was still raining hard. No sunshine out there.

A single knock on his door made him spin around. The woman from Tomlinson’s party stepped into his office.

“Dr. Ross?” she asked, with a tentative smile.

He sprang to his squishy-wet feet and desperately tried to remember her name. Amy something …

“Ms.… uh, Waxman?”

“Wexler.” She stepped into the office.

“Wexler,” Jake said. “Of course. Amy Wexler.”

“That’s right.”

She was wearing a short skirt that showed her long legs to good advantage. A dripping folded umbrella in one hand and a pocket-sized leather purse in the other. Her blond hair was pinned up, piled artfully on her head, off her graceful neck.

There was only one other chair in the office and a pile of astronomy journals was stacked on it. Jake hurried around his desk, banging a shin in the process, and scooped the journals up.

“Have a seat,” he said. “You can just prop your umbrella against the bookcase by the door.”

She looked doubtful. “It’ll drip on the floor.”

“That’s okay.” He was standing close enough to catch the fragrance of her perfume. Light, flowery. Her blouse was starched white, almost a man’s shirt, but it looked awfully fine on her. So many of the students dress like refugees from a Dumpster, he thought; it’s good to see a woman make herself look attractive.

Amy Wexler sat on the wooden chair and Jake retreated back behind his desk.

“Mr. Tomlinson sent you?” he asked as he sat down. The chair started to roll, but Jake grabbed the edge of his desk with one hand to stop it.

“Not really,” she replied.

“Oh?”

She smiled again, brighter. “I just thought that if you and I are going to be working on Franklin’s campaign, we ought to get to know each other.”

“Oh.”

“I mean, we’d work together much better if we weren’t strangers, wouldn’t we?”

Jake nodded. “That makes sense.”

“So … what are you up to? Have you zeroed in on an issue that Franklin can use?”

Jake realized he was biting his lip. Forcing a smile, he said, “I think maybe I have, but it’s going to take a little more study before I can tell for sure.”

She waited for him to go on.

“It’s got to do with power generation. You know, electricity.”

“Energy?” she asked.

“That’s right. Energy.”

“That’s a good issue. A strong issue.”

Jake bobbed his head up and down. “Well, that’s what I’m looking into.”

Amy looked pleased. “Senator Leeds is vulnerable on energy. He voted for the cap and trade bill, and he gets big campaign contributions from the oil lobby.”

Suddenly Jake felt confused. “I thought big oil was against cap and trade.”

She shook her head. “Only on the surface. They know it won’t be effective.”

“Really?”

With a slightly pitying expression, Amy said, “In politics, Jake, things are not always what they seem. It’s not like science.”

“I don’t know much about politics,” he admitted.

“And I know very little about science.”

“We both have a lot to learn.”

“I guess so.”

Jake didn’t know what more he could say. He glanced at the photo of Louise, smiling at him.

Amy said, “So why don’t we have dinner? You’re not busy tonight, are you?”

Jake almost blurted that he hadn’t been busy any night for months. But he caught himself in time and replied merely, “No, I’m open for dinner.”

“Good.” Amy fished in her purse and pulled out a card. “Here’s my address and phone number. My e-mail address, too.”

Jake took the card and asked, “What time do you want me to pick you up?”

She hesitated a moment. Then, “I’ll meet you at the restaurant. Ristorante Amore, in center city. Do you know it?”

“I’ll find it,” Jake said. “What time?”

“Seven? Is that all right?”

“Seven is fine.”

She stood up and put on her cheerleader’s smile. “See you at seven, Jake.”

Amy Wexler picked up her umbrella and stepped out into the hallway, leaving Jake standing behind his desk as the office door slowly swung shut. After many minutes he turned and looked out his window. The rain had stopped and sunshine was breaking through the clouds.

RISTORANTE AMORE

“I’ve never been here before,” Jake said as he and Amy Wexler entered the restaurant.

“I think you’ll like it,” she replied. “The food’s wonderful and the service is really great.”

Jake had expected that a posh midtown restaurant would have its waiters in tuxedos, but the maitre d’ wore a tight-fitting black T-shirt and matching narrow-legged slacks. He was a suavely handsome young man who knew Amy well enough to give her a brotherly hug. She pecked at his cheek and said something to him in Italian.

“This is Stefano,” Amy introduced. “He’s the owner.”

Stefano offered his hand and a gleaming welcoming smile.

“If there’s something you want that isn’t on the menu,” Amy explained as Stefano led them to their table, “just ask our waiter and they’ll fix it for you.”

Jake was impressed. The restaurants he frequented down in his neighborhood were mostly hamburger joints. There was the local piano bar, but since Louise’s death he hadn’t been able to go there. Not alone. Not with Chuck playing the same old songs about love and loss and longing.

Ristorante Amore was indeed posh, Jake decided. Even though the waiters worked in their shirtsleeves. Not like the restaurants you see in the movies, he thought, but pretty damned classy. At least the waiters all wore ties. Soft music purred from speakers in the ceiling; the conversations from the other tables were a muted buzz. The place smelled of spices and strong coffee.

And Amy was right about the food. It was first-rate. At her urging he tried the calamari; he’d never eaten squid before. Then a steaming bowl of pasta.

As he clumsily twirled his fork in an attempt to wrap a few strands of spaghetti around the tines, Amy said, “You know, in all honesty, I ought to warn you.”

Jake glanced down at his lap and saw that his napkin was in place.

“Warn me? About what?”

She hesitated a moment, appraising him with shrewd, probing eyes. They were grayish green, Jake realized. Hazel eyes: cool, like a lake up in the mountains.

At last she said, “Politics can be a dirty business.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“It can get very unpleasant, Jake. Are you ready to face that?”

He put his fork down and stared at her across the table. “I’m just giving Mr. Tomlinson some advice about science. I won’t be involved in the political side of things.”

“Everybody’s involved in the political side, Jake,” Amy said, very gravely. “Once you’re in, you’re in all the way.”

Jake shook his head. “I don’t think—”

She interrupted, “Jake, you know there are gambling casinos in this state.”

“On the Indian reservations, yeah, I know.”

“Who do you think runs them?”

“The tribes, I guess.”

Amy gave him a
don’t be so naïve
look.

Jake caught her meaning. “Oh, come on. You don’t mean the Mob.”

“Straight out of Las Vegas,” she said. “The Mafia. They don’t call themselves that anymore, but it’s the same thing.”

He tried to shrug it off. “Even if it’s true, it’s got nothing to do with me. I’m just dealing with scientific issues.” Then he tried to grin. “Unless calculating gaming odds is considered science advice.”

“I’m serious, Jake,” she said. And he saw by her expression that she was.

“The Mob.”

“It’s not like
The Godfather,
but these people are real and they’re in Senator Leeds’s camp.”

Jake spread his hands. “I still don’t see what that’s got to do with me.”

Leaning forward slightly, Amy explained, “Leeds supports their casino operations. They support Leeds. If you come up with an issue that gives Franklin an edge, they won’t like it.”

“Are you trying to scare me off?”

“I’m trying to show you the whole picture. You have a right to know what you’re getting into.”

He leaned back in his chair, staring at her. She looked completely earnest, intent.

“Look,” Jake said, “I’ve lived with wiseguys all my life. In school they used to beat me up for my lunch money. Or because I got better grades than they did. Smart kids had to play dumb so they didn’t show up those bastards.”

“In school? You mean, like high school?”

“Grammar school. They start young. I stayed as far away from them as I could. One of the reasons I took to astronomy was that they had nothing to do with it. I could spend my time in the planetarium and be away from them.”

Amy shook her head slightly. “If you work on the Tomlinson campaign you might not be able to keep away from them.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

Jake thought it over for all of two seconds. Looking into Amy’s hazel eyes, he said, “Nothing.”