“Tell him...” Francis paused thoughtfully. “Tell him, ‘Come and see the man who has told me everything I’ve ever done.’”
From the landing pad, Carter’s vehicle was lowered into an air-sealed bay where the pair was met by two well-dressed men. One was a burly, incurious looking fellow who assumed a station several paces from them with his hands folded in front of him. Security, Lamont thought. The other was more memorable: Dressed in an expertly tailored white suit, his features were suggestive to Lamont of an Arabian prince, with black hair combed tightly back from a high brow and a small triangle of perfectly manicured beard just beneath his lower lip. With Carter in a leisure shirt and slacks, and himself in a ruffled suit with a blood-spattered overcoat, Lamont felt particularly underprepared.
Carter did not appear to share his apprehension. He extended a hand to the white-suited man and greeted him with a tone of familiarity: “Amon.”
“Mr. Carter, a pleasure as always.” Amon replied cordially, shaking the astronaut’s hand in a manner suggesting that he did not relish physical touch. After the greeting, he quickly folded his hands behind his back and nodded toward Lamont. “And this is...?”
Francis swept an open hand in Lamont’s direction and answered: “Lamont Townsend, a journalist for the Atlantic Free Press.”
Amon’s heavy-lidded eyes widened in recognition. “Behind the Curtain,” He said.
“Cheers, mate,” Lamont nodded, resisting the urge to sigh.
“How soon can Mr. Schultz see us?” Francis asked.
As he answered, Amon led them out of the airlock by way of a large revolving door of thick, orange-tinted glass. It hissed as they passed through the air seal into a brightly lit hall that followed the circumference of the tower. “He is, of course, extremely busy just now. And...” He nodded in the direction of the newspaperman. “...I don’t recall his having agreed to any interviews.”
From the hall, they passed into an elevator. Their silent companion was the last to enter, and he punched a button that directed the car to carry them upward.
“Mr. Townsend isn’t here to do an interview,” Carter assured him.
“What do you suggest I tell Mr. Schultz, then?” Amon asked.
“Tell him...” Francis paused thoughtfully. “Tell him, ‘Come and see the man who has told me everything I’ve ever done.’”
The white-suited man lifted his chin speculatively. The elevator doors opened, revealing a large sitting area set against a spectacular view of the Martian landscape. Its decor was sparsely modern but unquestionably opulent, with slender seats and tables of white leather and a few well-placed decorative cacti.
“Have a drink,” Amon invited the pair, gesturing politely in the direction of a well-appointed bar set along the interior curve of the large space. “I’ll be back soon.”
They parted, Amon returning to the lift while Carter led Lamont to a set of seats. The security detail remained at a discrete distance, his eyes following the pair intently. As they sat, they were met by a very professional looking young woman in a blue dress with two rows of buttons down the front. “Can we offer you a drink?” She asked politely.
“Coffee, if you have it,” Lamont answered, remembering the excellent cup that he had enjoyed in Hellas before being chased through the town. The events of that morning seemed surreally distant now as his gaze swept over the hazy orange horizon of the planet.
“Scotch and soda,” Carter added.
The woman nodded and made her way toward the bar.
“The Gospel According to John,” Lamont observed as Francis took the seat across from him. The seats were placed low to the floor, obliging them to recline.
Carter looked at him blankly for a moment before recognition sparked in his eyes. “Ah, yes.” He said. “That was mostly for Amon’s gratification. I doubt if Benjamin will get it.”
“How much of a hand does he actually take in the Company’s day-to-day operation?” Lamont asked.
“He’s not a figurehead, if that’s what you mean,” Carter assured him. “Benjamin Schultz is one of the most intelligent people I’ve ever met. But no one would accuse him of being literary.”
Lamont nodded and the two fell into silence. Carter seemed perfectly happy to keep his own thoughts as he looked out at the view and enjoyed the drink that arrived in short order. Ordinarily, Lamont would have sought to relieve his unease by asking questions, but he was tired and worried about Elizabeth. Was she really in trouble, or was her name simply being used as leverage to ensnare him? After all, the Scientific Society had used that tactic once. Even in the Eastern prison, Lamont had not felt quite so helpless as he did now, separated by his wife as he was by millions of miles.
But he had chosen that separation himself, he reflected darkly. At the barest of promptings, he had eagerly placed the distance between them with no clear idea of when it would be closed again. Why?
He took a sip of his excellent coffee and began frantically to think of a question to ask Carter. Better than asking questions of himself.
He was spared the effort by the arrival of Amon, who emerged from the lift and made his way to them. “Gentlemen,” He greeted them. “Mr. Schultz will see you now.” Lamont thought that he detected a hint of surprise in the man’s dark features.
Carter set down his glass and rose. For his part, he didn’t seem surprised at all. He smiled grimly at the newspaperman, who was gulping down the last of his coffee. “Are you ready to meet the man who owns Mars?”
Next: A Matter of Trust
0026: The Man Who Owns Mars
Great writing as always! I think I spot a small error though. "He took a sip of his excellent coffee and began frantically to think of a question to ask Lamont. Better than asking questions of himself." That is Lamont speaking, no? I'd imagine he'd be thinking of questions for "Schultz"?