Powersat

Caracas, Venezuela

By god, thought Dan, he looks like some Spanish conquistador, straight out of the History Channel. Put some armor on him and one of those steel helmets and he could play Cortés or Pizarro.

Rafael Miguel de la Torre Hernandez did indeed look like a high-born Castilian. Tall, stately, every inch the patrician, there was no doubt about who he was as he approached the little table on the balcony of the hotel’s bar. His cheekbones were high and his nose finely arched. His hair was beginning to gray at the temples, very distinguished, although his full moustache was still luxuriantly dark. But as Dan rose to his feet and extended his hand to greet him, he saw that Hernandez’s eyes did not match the rest of his appearance. They were a dull, muddy brown. The eyes of a peasant. The eyes of a man who could be corrupted. Good, thought Dan.

He had waited at the balcony bar for more than half an hour before Hernandez had deigned to make his appearance. Across the street was Bolivar Square with its tall, thickly leafed trees spreading their branches out over the busy avenue. Sloths hung upside down from their hooked claws in the trees, barely moving, hardly showing any signs of life, while chattering monkeys raced through the branches like supersonic Tarzans, zipping around and around the entire square endlessly, as if they were hopped up on amphetamines. Dan had watched them, fascinated, until Hernandez showed up.

“Señor Randolph?” Hernandez asked politely, needlessly, as he took Dan’s hand in a lukewarm grasp. He wore an expensive-looking light gray suit. Silk, Dan thought. Beautifully knotted pale yellow tie. Also silk.

“I’m very pleased to meet you, sir,” said Dan. As they sat in the wobbly little cast-iron chairs, he added, “It was good of you to take the time to see me.”

Hernandez nodded graciously, as if he were accustomed to flattery.

It had taken a tortuous three weeks to get to this meeting. Jane had asked the State Department for someone whom Dan could talk to, as she’d promised. State provided the name of an attaché in Venezuela’s embassy who specialized in economic development. Dan had worked his way through the Venezuelan bureaucracy and finally discovered Hernandez, an assistant minister in the government’s department of transportation. He had flown to Caracas, only to spend two days cooling his heels until Hernandez finally agreed to see him.

“I apologize for the informality of this meeting, señor,” Hernandez said, in slow, accented English. “Considering your desire for confidentiality, I thought it best that we meet outside the departmental offices.”

“I agree entirely,” Dan said.

A waiter bowed to Hernandez, who ordered a whisky and soda. Dan asked for a refill of his piña colada.

Once the drinks arrived, Hernandez steepled his hands above his glass and asked, “You wish to use our airport?”

Glad that he had at last gotten down to business, Dan hunched forward and said, “I wish to establish a partnership with a man of vision, a man who can understand that there is vast wealth to be found in space.”

“Space? You mean out among the stars and such?”

Dan kept a straight face, wondering if Hernandez were truly that naïve or if the man was simply leading him on.

“In orbit around the Earth,” he replied. “You’ve heard of the power satellite that my corporation has built?”

“Naturally.”

“Then you know that such satellites can generate enormous amounts of energy. Just one of them could supply all of Venezuela with more electrical power than your entire nation now consumes.”

Hernandez’s brows arched upward. “Truly? Only one satellite?”

“Only one,” said Dan, nodding.

“How can that be?”

So he doesn’t know how it works, Dan realized. Okay, he’s admitted his ignorance without damaging his dignity. Time for the dog and pony show.

Dan went through his litany of how the satellite uses solar cells to convert sunlight into electricity, then beams the energy to a receiving station on the ground. Hernandez drank it all in as he sipped at his whisky, never objecting or asking a question. He even took the idea of beaming microwaves to the ground without blinking.

“The key to operating such a power satellite economically is the ability to send maintenance and repair crews to it at a reasonable cost,” Dan explained.

Hernandez murmured, “Rockets are very expensive.”

“The spaceplane we’re developing will bring down the costs by a factor of a hundred,” Dan said flatly. It was almost true.

“This is the plane that crashed recently.”

“We have another. We will flight-test it soon. I would like to have permission to land the plane at a suitable airport in Venezuela.”

“Why here?”

“As an emergency precaution,” Dan equivocated. “We’re negotiating other emergency sites in Spain, Australia, and South Africa.”

“I see.”

“You have a fine airport here at Caracas.”

“It is also quite a busy airport. Many airline companies use it.”

Dan nodded. He understands the problem. “If we needed to land the spaceplane at your airport, you would have to stop all other traffic.”

“For how long?”

“Half an hour, maybe. Maybe a little more:’

Hernandez sipped the last of his whisky, then said, “That is not impossible.”

Despite himself, Dan couldn’t keep himself from blurting eagerly, “You could do it?”

“It would be an expensive operation,” Hernandez said. “There would be many people involved: ground controllers, airline managers, many others.”

Bribes, Dan realized. He’s talking about bribes. Aloud, he asked, “Could I leave all that in your hands? I’d prefer to deal only with you, and leave the rest of the operation to your discretion.”

Hernandez allowed a tiny smile to twitch his lips briefly. “Yes, I suppose that would be the best way to handle it.”

“I could give you a retainer to start with, and then you can tell me how much the operation would cost.”

“I have a bank account in your national capital. You could transfer the funds there.”

No international transfers, Dan said to himself. He’s no dummy. “That will be very convenient,” he said.

Hernandez broke into an unrestrained smile and signaled the waiter for a refill of their drinks.

“If and when we need to use your airport,” Dan said, “I’ll have to send a small team of technicians here.”

“That is no problem. I can clear that with the foreign office easily.”

The waiter brought their drinks, then departed. Dan clinked his glass against Hernandez’s and said, “To a successful partnership.”

Hernandez sipped, then said, “By the way, your technicians will need hotel accommodations here in the city. My brother-in-law manages the finest hotel in Caracas.”

Dan grinned at him. We’re going to get along just fine, he thought. Just as long as he doesn’t get too greedy.