The Gold Coast

3

McPherson’s boss, Stewart Lemon, stands in his office before his big seaside window, looking out at the Pacific. It’s near the end of the day, and the low sun turns Catalina apricot, gilds the sails of the boats as they glide back in to Dana Point and Newport Beach harbors. His office is on the top floor of LSR’s tower, on the coastal cliff between Corona del Mar and Laguna, overlooking Reef Point. Lemon often calls his window view the finest in Orange County, and since it includes no land but the distant bulk of Catalina, it may well be true.

Dennis McPherson is on his way up to give him the details of the meeting with Feldkirk, and Lemon, considering the meeting, sighs. Getting one’s employees to put their maximum effort into the work is an art form; one has to alter one’s methods for every personality under one’s command. McPherson has been working for Lemon for a long time, and Lemon has found that the man works best when driven. Make him angry, fill him with resentment, and he flies into his work with a furious energy that is fairly productive, no doubt about it. But how tiresome the relationship has become! The mutual dislike has really become quite real. Lemon watches the contained insolence, the arrogance of this uncultured engineer, with an irritation that barely holds on to its amusement. Really, the man is too much. It’s gotten to be almost a pleasure to bully him.

Ramona buzzes to tell him McPherson is there. Lemon begins to pace back and forth before the window, nine steps turn, nine steps turn. In McPherson comes, looking tired.

“So, Mac!” He gestures him to a chair, continues to pace in a leisurely way, staring out the window as much as he can. “You got us a superblack program, eh?”

“I was told to pass along the offer, that’s right.”

“Fine, fine. Tell me about it.”

McPherson describes the system Feldkirk has requested. “Most of the components of the system are fairly straightforward, it’ll only be a matter of linking them in a management program and fitting them into a small enough package. But the sensing systems, covert terrain ranger and target detector both—there could be some dangers there. The CO-two laser Feldkirk has suggested is only lab-tested so far. So—”

“But it’s a superblack, right? It’s only between the Air Force and us.”

“That’s right. But—”

“Every method has its drawbacks. That doesn’t mean we don’t go for it. In fact, we can’t very well refuse the offer of a superblack—we might never get another one. And the Pentagon knows it’s a high-risk program, that’s why they’ve done it this way. And it’s always the high-risk projects that bring in the highest profits. What’s your schedule looking like, Mac?”

“Well—”

“You’re clear enough. I’ll assign the Canadair contract to Bailey, and you’ll be clear to go at this thing. Listen here, Mac.” Time to stick in a needle or two. “Twice in a row now you’ve been manager of proposals that lost. They were too expensive, too elaborate, and you almost missed the deadline for turning them in, both times. It’s important to beat the schedule deadline by a couple of weeks, to show the Air Force we’re on top of things. Now here you’ve got a superblack program, and there isn’t a schedule per se. But with something outside normal channels like this, the trick is to get it done fast, while all conditions still obtain. You get me?”

McPherson is staring out the window, not looking at Lemon. The corners of his mouth are tight. Lemon almost smiles. McPherson no doubt still believes his losing proposals were the best made, but the truth is you can’t afford to be a perfectionist in this business. Projects have to be cost-effective, and that requires a certain realism. Well, that’s Lemon’s contribution. That’s what’s gotten him where he is. And this time he’s going to have to ride herd a little more closely than before.

He stops his pacing and points at McPherson, surprising him. “You’re in charge of this one because I think the Pentagon people want it that way. But I want this done quickly. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

The clamming up does absolutely nothing to hide the anger and contempt in McPherson’s eyes; he’s as easy to read as a freeway exit sign. TURN OFF HERE, OVER THIS CLIFF. Now he will go back down there and work himself sick to get the program done quickly, to jam it back down Lemon’s throat. Fine. It’s that kind of work that makes Lemon’s division one of the most productive at LSR, despite the myriad technical difficulties they encounter. The job gets done.

“Let me know when you’ve got a preliminary proposal worked up. You’ll fly out and present it to them as soon as it’s done.”

“The targeting system and the management program may take a while—”

“Fine. I’m not denying there are problems to be solved, there always are, aren’t there? I just want them dealt with as soon as possible.” A bit of dictatorial irritation: “No more getting bogged down! No more excuses and delays! I’m tired of that kind of thing!”

McPherson leaves with his jaw clamped so hard that he can barely mumble his good-byes. Lemon can’t help but laugh, though there is a part of him that is genuinely angry as well. Arrogant bastard. It’s funny what it takes to get some men to give it their all.

Next comes Dan Houston, the last conference of Lemon’s day. They do this a lot. Dan is a completely different situation from McPherson: more limited technically, but infinitely better with people. He and Lemon have been friends since they both began working for Martin Marietta, years before. The same head-hunter lured them to LSR, bringing Lemon in at the higher position, a distance Lemon has only extended through the years. But Houston doesn’t begrudge it, he isn’t envious. Lemon can charm him. In fact, if Lemon were to come down hard on Dan it would only hurt his feelings, make him sullen and slow him down. It’s necessary to coddle him a bit, to pull rather than push. And the truth is, Lemon likes the man. Houston admires him, they have a good time together sailing, playing racketball, going out with their allies Dawn and Elsa. They’re friends.

So he sits down when Houston comes in, and they look out the window and critique the tacking of the boats clawing back from the south toward Newport. They laugh at some really bad luffs. Then Lemon asks him what the latest is with the Ball Lightning project. Houston starts bitching about it again.

It’s one of their three biggest contracts, and inwardly Lemon seethes; they can’t afford for it to get bogged down too much. But he nods sympathetically. “No one’s solved the dwell time problem,” he says, thinking aloud to himself. “The power requirements are just too much. The Air Force can’t expect magic.”

“The problem is, they thought we had it solved when they gave us the contract.”

“I know.” Of course he knows. Who better? It was Lemon who okayed the inclusion of those Huntsville test results. Dan can be kind of a fool.… “Listen, have you gotten McPherson’s input on this?”

“Well, I’ve asked him for it. He doesn’t like it much.”

“I know.” Lemon shakes his head. “But Dennis is kind of a prima donna.” Got to play this carefully, as Dan and McPherson are also friends. “A little bit, anyway. Get him to talk to your design team, and the programmers. See what he can suggest. He’ll be busy with a new proposal of his own, but I’ll tell him to take time for this. You can’t spend the whole of every day working on one project, after all.”

“No, that’s true. Lot of waiting to be done.” Dan sounds satisfied; he’d like the help. And McPherson has a certain flair for the technical problems, no doubt about it.

Not only that, but this way Lemon can begin to tie McPherson into the Ball Lightning program, and all its troubles. Lemon is just annoyed enough with McPherson to enjoy the idea of this move. He’ll really have the man under some screws, and who knows, McPherson might just troubleshoot Ball Lightning as well, even if he does dislike the program. Excellent.

They chat a bit longer, discussing in great detail the rigging of a ketch running down to Dana Point. Beautiful yacht. Then Lemon wants to go home. “I’m doing navarin du mouton tonight, and it’s a slow cooker.” Houston dismissed, Lemon’s off to his car in the executives’ lot. The Mercedes-Benz door slams with a heavy, satisfying clunk. He clicks in a CD of Schumann’s Rhenish Symphony, lights a cigar of Cuban tobacco lightly laced with a mild dose of MDMA, and tracks south on the coast highway toward Laguna Beach.

It’s been a good day, and they’ve needed one. LSR is a division of Argo AG/Blessman Enterprises, one of the world’s corporate giants; Lemon’s boss, Donald Hereford, president of LSR, is based in New York because he is also a vice-president at A/BE as well. Fascinating man, but he hasn’t been pleased with LSR’s record in the past year or two. News of this new superblack should take some heat off concerning the Ball Lightning problems and the recent string of lost bids. And that’s good. Lemon shifts over to the fast track, lets the Mercedes out.

He decides to dice two cloves of garlic rather than one into the navarin du mouton, and maybe throw in a basil leaf or two. It was a little bland the last time he made it. He hopes Elsa managed to find some good lamb. If she bothered to leave the house at all.