Chapter 3
CHAPTER
THREE
Schoharie, New York
There were few things Governor Joseph Stratton enjoyed more than a fine cigar accompanied by even finer scotch and spirited conversation.
The man across his desk arrived with two of the three.
"Walt," the governor began cautiously, "you may underestimate the power of my influence."
Major Walter Randolph nearly guffawed.
"You find that humorous?" Stratton asked, puffing his cigar.
"Joe, you have more influence than anyone in Washington right now."
Stratton lifted his glass, inhaling the faint aroma of peaty smoke before sipping.
"No one has more insight into the energy sector than you," Randolph said.
Stratton set down his glass and leaned back in his chair.
That much might have been true. He had been elected two years earlier largely on a promise to modernize and expand power generation after a crippling outage threw the state into chaos, leaving tens of millions of people without power and frustrated commuters stranded on the New York subway.
He had spent the last year and a half cultivating productive relationships with leaders in the nuclear energy sector and with those developing new hydropower resources in the Catskills.
Stratton had also built a strong, innovative partnership across the border in Canada.
International players had taken note.
"So," Stratton said, "I have influence. That doesn't explain why you drove to Schoharie with a bottle of scotch you cannot afford on a military salary."
Randolph smiled faintly. "I didn't say I bought it."
"Of course you didn't."
Randolph settled into the chair opposite the desk, crossing one ankle over his knee. The posture was casual. Too casual. Stratton had known enough officers, enough politicians, and enough men who believed themselves invisible to recognize theater when it entered a room.
"What do you want?" Stratton asked.
"Access."
"To what?"
"Your conversations."
Stratton's brow lifted. "I have many conversations."
"Yes," Randolph said. "That's the point."
The governor studied him for a moment. Outside the window, the Schoharie hills wore the dull brown-gray of late autumn. Bare trees climbed the ridges beyond the house, their branches black against a washed-out sky. It was a quiet view, almost pastoral.
It was Stratton's safe haven. Men like Randolph often chose quiet places, hoping to hide the loudest intentions.
"You didn't come here to discuss power generation," Stratton said.
"I came here because power generation is no longer merely a domestic concern."
"It never was."
"No," Randolph agreed. "But the people watching our development have changed."
Stratton reached for his cigar and tapped ash into the crystal tray. "Watching from where?"
"Everywhere."
"That is not an answer."
"It's the only honest one I can give you."
Stratton huffed. "Are you here speaking for someone in Washington, or are you here on behalf of the company?"
"Does that matter?"
"Perhaps not. I'm not a fool, Walt."
Randolph smiled. "No."
"You are not telling me everything."
"I'm telling you enough."
Stratton waited.
Randolph leaned forward, lowering his voice though no one else was in the room.
"Energy is not only industry, Joe. It's leverage.
It's security. It's food storage, hospitals, transportation, communications, defense production, and public confidence.
Turn off the lights long enough, and people stop believing anyone is in control. "
The memory of stalled trains, dark avenues, and frightened constituents moved through Stratton's mind before he could stop it.
"I'm aware," he said.
"I know you are. That's why I'm here."
Stratton's eyes narrowed. "You're asking me to spy."
"I'm asking you to listen."
"Same suit. Different tie."
Randolph chuckled. "Maybe."
"For whom?"
Randolph's expression changed by a degree. Not much. Just enough for Stratton to notice.
"That depends on what we hear."
Stratton leaned back again. "Ah. There it is."
"There, what is?"
"The part where you pretend the question is too complicated when you know the truth is unsavory."
Randolph did not answer.
Stratton lifted his glass again but did not drink.
"You and I have known each other a long time, Walt.
We both learned during the war that noble language often walks in front of ugly work.
So don't sit in my office, drink my scotch, and tell me you came for a casual conversation. Or because you prize my influence."
Randolph looked toward the window.
For the first time since he arrived, the confidence around him thinned.
"We all know the biggest threat to our future isn't bombs," he said.
"Yet we build them."
"True enough. Dependency versus autonomy, Joe. We cannot be dependent on others. They must rely on us."
Stratton nodded. "Us is a vague term."
"You knew this day would come. When you would be called to serve again."
Stratton exhaled smoke slowly. "And who is making the call?"
"Some you know. Some you would rather not."
"That is also not an answer."
"No," Randolph said.
The two men sat in silence.
"We both know the future of technology is beyond what most comprehend. These efforts—your efforts to ensure energy are imperative to the work. And they provide opportunities for alliances."
"And if I refuse?"
"You didn't leave the OSS when it became the CIA."
Stratton's expression hardened. "Careful."
Randolph lifted his glass. "I'm only saying you know what service requires."
"I know what men call service when they want permission to use people."
Randolph's mouth twitched. "That sounds like politics."
"No, it sounds like experience."
A soft knock interrupted them.
Stratton looked toward the door. "Yes?"
The door opened a few inches, and a young girl peeked into the room. Light hair, serious eyes, and a curious expression.
"Granddad?"
The governor's face changed in an instant. The tension around his mouth softened. He set his cigar in the tray and pushed his glass a few inches farther from the edge of the desk.
"Come in, Candy."
Candace stepped into the room, clutching a book against her chest. She glanced at Randolph, then back at her grandfather. "Grandma said not to bother you if you were working."
"Well then, it's a good thing I'm not working."
Candace smiled.
Randolph stood. "I should let you?—"
"No," Stratton said. "Stay." He gestured to Candace. "Candace, this is Major Walter Randolph. An old Army friend."
Candace studied Randolph with open curiosity. "From the war?"
Randolph smiled. "From the war."
"Did you know my granddad has medals?"
Stratton chuckled. "I think I heard that."
"Do you?"
Randolph nodded. "A few."
"Granddad says we all have to fight for something."
"Your grandfather is right."
Candace nodded, accepting the answer as if it were testimony in a matter she had already judged. She crossed to Stratton's desk and held out the book. "You said we could read this part before bed."
"So I did."
Candace looked at the cigar, then the scotch, then back at him. She raised one eyebrow.
"Yes?" Stratton asked.
"You're doing that thing Grandma talks about."
"What might that be?" he asked.
"Grandma says sometimes grown men call talking work so they can drink and smoke without being bothered."
Randolph barked a laugh.
Stratton pointed at him. "Not a word."
Candace smiled, pleased with herself.
"What are you and Major Randolph talking about?" she asked.
"Energy," Stratton replied.
"Oh," she said, turning to the taller man. "I told Granddad I don't think we should use nuclear energy."
"Why not?" Randolph asked.
"I think it sounds good, but it might end up being really bad," Candace offered. "And I think adults don't think ahead."
Randolph's brows lifted. "Is that so?"
Candace nodded solemnly. "They think ahead to tomorrow. Or maybe next year. But not to when I'm old."
Stratton's mouth curved despite himself. "And how old is old?"
"Thirty," Candace said.
Randolph laughed again, softer this time.
Stratton rested a hand over his heart. "A devastating assessment."
Candace smiled, then looked back at Randolph. "I read that you can't appreciate power until you understand what it can break."
For a moment, Randolph said nothing.
Stratton noticed.
"That sounds like something your grandfather would say," Randolph replied at last.
"He says a lot of things."
"Unfortunately for everyone," Stratton muttered.
Candace ignored him. "Do you have stories about him? From the war?"
"A few," Stratton replied.
"Good ones?"
Randolph glanced at Stratton. "That depends on who is listening."
"I'm a good listener," Candace said.
"I believe that."
Stratton sat forward. "Candy, why don't you go tell your grandmother I'll be along shortly?"
Candace frowned. "You said that before."
"And I meant it before."
Candace raised one eyebrow and pointed to the cigar. "You're stalling."
Randolph's smile widened.
Stratton pointed a warning finger at him. "You are enjoying this far too much."
Candace hugged the book to her chest and stepped closer to her grandfather. "I'll wait in the kitchen," she said. "But not forever."
"No. Not forever."
She leaned in and kissed his cheek. Then she turned to Randolph and offered a polite little nod that made her look older than ten. "It was nice to meet you, Major Randolph."
"And you, Miss Stratton."
"I hope I see you again," she said. "Maybe you can tell me stories about Granddad."
Randolph bowed his head slightly. "I would be honored."
Candace grinned and slipped out of the room, closing the door carefully behind her.
Stratton waited until her footsteps faded down the hall before he looked back at Randolph.
"Whatever you came here to ask of me," he said quietly, "leave my granddaughter out of it."
Randolph's expression sobered. "I said nothing about her."
"No," Stratton replied. "But you noticed her intelligence."
"That is not a crime."
"In your world, it can become one."
The warmth Candace had brought into the room disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. Stratton reached for his glass, then seemed to think better of it.