Powersat

Matagora Island, Texas

Hangar B was crackling with activity, al-Bashir saw. The sandy-haired pilot, Adair, was clambering through the open hatch of the spaceplane’s cockpit while a team of technicians manned consoles lined along the hangar’s far wall. Other technicians were fussing around the plane’s landing gear, checking the tires and pneumatic struts that held the wheels.

All under the watchful, baleful eyes of the black man, Niles Muhamed, who stood watching the plane and the people around it, arms folded across his chest. Muhamed wore olive green coveralls, so spotless and unwrinkled they looked almost like a military uniform. Al-Bashir walked up to him.

“The test goes well?” he asked.

Muhamed barely nodded. “So far.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” al-Bashir said. “Your name indicates that you might be a Muslim. Is that so?”

“Me? A Muslim?”

“Forgive my curiosity.”

“My father was a Muslim,” Muhamed said, without taking his eyes from the plane. “Took a Muslim name and all.”

“And you?”

“Baptist, like my momma.”

“Ah. I see.” Al-Bashir started to turn away.

“I got a question for you,” Muhamed said.

“Ah?”

“How come Dan’s given you the run of the place? You come and go ’round here as if you own the joint.”

Al-Bashir smiled. “I may not own the joint, as you put it, but I am the conduit through which the money flows. I suppose Dan trusts me because I have provided the financing that keeps this operation alive.”

“You been all over the place,” Muhamed said. “Pokin’ into everything.”

“I’m fascinated by all this high technology. I’m eager to learn everything I can.”

Muhamed looked at him with disbelieving eyes. Then one of the technicians called from the line of consoles, “We’re ready for the instrument checkout.”

“I’ll leave you to your work,” al-Bashir said graciously, feeling almost relieved that Muhamed turned away from him and started striding across the hangar floor.

Al-Bashir began walking away, too, toward the open doors and the chilly, cloudy weather outside. As he hurried toward Hangar A, where Dan’s office was, through the damp cutting wind blowing in from the Gulf, he felt glad that Muhamed was not in charge of security for Astro Corporation. The man was suspicious, protective. Thank god Dan Randolph is so trusting, al-Bashir said to himself. If Muhamed were in Dan’s place I’d never be able to get the information I need.

By the time he reached Hangar A, al-Bashir was actually shivering. Berating himself for wearing nothing warmer than a silk business suit, he blew into his hands as he climbed the stairs toward Dan’s office.

When he stepped into the outer office April said, from behind her desk, “Mr. Randolph isn’t in this morning. He’s gone to Houston.”

Al-Bashir’s nerves twitched. “Houston?”

“To meet with Mr. Passeau at the regional FAA office.”

“Ah. I see.” Houston was also where the regional FBI office was located, al-Bashir knew. The FAA was not troublesome.

“They’re working out clearances for the next test flight,” said April.

“Of course.”

April smiled uncertainly as al-Bashir stood in front of her desk. She is truly lovely, he thought, picturing how she would look in an evening gown, in a bikini, in bed.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” she asked.

Al-Bashir pulled up the little wheeled chair from the corner of the cubicle. “Many things,” he said as he sat down.

“I’m really kind of busy, Mr.—”

Al-Bashir interrupted, “I want you to come to work for me, April.”

“For Tricontinental? In Houston?”

“No. For me. As my personal assistant. You would travel the world with me. Private jets. The best hotels.”

She was clearly surprised, al-Bashir saw.

“A woman of your education and abilities could go far in this world, very far, if you would allow me to help you.”

Her look of surprise faded. “I’m happy with the job I have, Mr. al-Bashir.”

“Please, call me Asim.”

“I’m happy with the job I have,” she repeated.

“I’ll double your salary. And you would have all the perks you want. You could see the world in luxury.”

April smiled again. “I couldn’t leave Mr. Randolph, especially with the powersat almost ready to be turned on. He depends on me.”

I’d like to depend on you, al-Bashir thought. Aloud, he replied, “Well, will you at least consider my offer?”

She began to shake her head.

“Let’s discuss it over dinner,” he suggested.

A knowing look came over April’s face. “I’d be happy to have dinner with you, Mr… Asim. But purely on a social basis. I have no intention of leaving Astro Corporation.”

Al-Bashir shrugged as if defeated. “Very well then. Purely a social dinner. Tonight?”

He saw her calculating in her mind. “I’m busy tonight. How about Friday?”

“Good,” he said. “Friday it will be.”

And he thought, You won’t have to get up early on Saturday to go to the office.