Paris in May. D. Grey
worn it several times since the last cleaning, McKay had hands like a blue-collar hard hat. He clearly had not spent much time honing a polished look and was quite comfortable being who he was—a tough guy who was no stranger to using intimidation.
Phillip thought, The two were there to send a signal. Good cop-bad cop. ‘We can do it easy or we can do it the hard way’ was the message.
“Thank you for meeting with us,” said Sanchez. There was a short-lived attempt at small talk to establish camaraderie, but they soon got down to the purpose of their visit.
“It’s no secret to us that you are planning to extend your business into other parts of the world,” said Sanchez.
Philip nodded.
“We think we can help in ways that you might appreciate,” continued Sanchez. “We have assets in places that could help business negotiations move more smoothly than they otherwise might. I’m sure we could help you save considerable time and money.”
McKay leaned almost imperceptibly toward Phillip and said in a slightly hushed but assuring tone, as if he wanted to say something that he wanted to keep secret. “We know people in a number of countries who can ease the cost and difficulty of doing business.” He then gave Phillip a knowing wink and smile.
Sanchez picked up the thread. “You will be going places and talking to people that we might not have access to. Some are actors who want to talk to us but can’t for fear of reprisal. Others are people willing to work for our security efforts but who need a communications conduit.”
“This would be a quid pro quo, Mr. Hickman. And it would be more than beneficial for you, with very little effort required on your part. It would also give you the opportunity to talk to important business operatives working on the world stage whose interests are similar to ours,” said McKay.
Agent McKay then made a quick search of his pockets, eventually reaching into his sagging jacket pocket, and retrieved a plain white business card with only a phone number. “If you are interested in talking further, call this number and someone will be in touch with you. Interested or not, this meeting did not happen, and no part of what has been said should be shared with a single person. The NSA will completely disavow ever talking to you. Do you understand, Mr. Hickman?”
Although Philip Hickman had never been approached by the Feds in the past, he knew intuitively that what was being offered was a chance at success that might allow him to avoid the time-consuming drudgery of normal business negotiations. All he had to do was carry information back to his government from areas of the world where he was doing business. It seemed to him to be quite patriotic, and it also played into the fantasy that most men have: that of being a spy. How could he refuse the offer? It could possibly put him and the company on the front page of Business Week.
“I have one question,” said Philip, “Would my family ever need to be protected?”
Sanchez looked at him as if surprised and said, “Yes, but I can’t imagine the need would ever arise. What we are asking you is not a page torn from a John Le Carré novel. This is not the movies, Mr. Hickman. It’s more like sharing gossip before the newspapers get it. Some of that gossip could bolster the strength and stability of our government. However, if there is even the smallest possibility of a threat to you or your family during or after an association with us, your family will be protected at all costs. The NSA always stands ready to protect real patriots.”
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Hickman,” McKay said. “Good luck with your company.”
“I hope we will be hearing from you,” Sanchez said.
As the men left, Philip leaned back in his chair in disbelief and contemplated the number on the white card. Having the government function as a shadow partner during negotiations with the target markets would be a great asset. It might even open interesting cultural doors that would allow him to play in the same places as international political and financial elites.
2
Are you beyond Influence?
1980s
Dr. David Walton stood in front of his class at Flemington University trying to illuminate the relative difference between free will and determinism. Looking around the audience, he noticed Jason Wynn seemed to be deep in thought and might be a reasonable candidate to engage.
“Jason,” he asked, “Do you think the decisions you make are free from outside influence?”
“Yes, I do!” Jason answered emphatically.
“Well, in that case,” retorted Dr. Walton, “could you give us an example of a choice or decision you’ve made in the last week that was made independently of anything else in your experience?”
With some hesitation, Jason answered, “I decided to get up this morning and come to this eight o’clock class, even though I was tired and hungry and still am. That is an example of exercising my free will.”
“You might have been tired and hungry, Jason, but your history with this class significantly influenced your coming here today. Yes, you might have willed yourself to overcome your being tired and hungry, but coming here was controlled, if you will, by your experience. So your choice to come to class was not entirely free,” answered Dr. Walton.
With that, the small class burst into an animated analysis of the issue that ended with Dr. Walton working out an argument using a biblical analysis.
“Thou shall not kill, steal, commit adultery, or covet thy neighbor’s stuff, etcetera. These commandments are the bedrock of every civilized code, and if each of us violated them, anarchy would ensue. Under these conditions, civilization could not persist. So we live with the commandments, internalize them, and when we do, they become our conscience. We live with them and they become our moral law. We live with them and they become our civil law, and we even hire men and women with guns to make sure we follow them. We must have a regulating force or…”
“Do we have free will?” he tentatively concluded. “Heavens no!”
And with that, the class ended and filed out in lively conversation. Gathering his papers and with briefcase in hand, Dr. Walton left the building and headed toward the student center, where he briefly chatted with students and bought his morning coffee and The New York Times. Back in his book-lined office, he organized his day, which included some time spent in his laboratory and some time to peruse the travel section of the newspaper. This day, the spotlight story, “Paris in the Spring,” was just what he needed to break up the humdrum of a relatively successful life that had emerged from an unlikely beginning.
The Professor’s Story
Early 50s
As a child, David Walton was not so different from other black boys his age. His circumstances would not surprise anyone in his community. Almost all of them carried the same weight and had the same narrow future. There were dreams about the future, but those dreams were muffled by the long insidious shadow of slavery and the lingering oppression of reconstruction that pervaded almost every aspect of the African American experience. In general, black people were invisible throughout America and were persona non grata outside their communities. For most young people coming of age, the future was limited. What did pervade the community was the knowledge that their blackness was hated and reviled.
Generational hardship and pain were ever present and came in many forms. Never getting the value or products of their labor, as if both were a gift to humanity, offered as a thank-you for manumission. Stay where you are, where you belong, among other souls as black as yours. Don’t ask for more, else your memory of the lash will be made a reality. The reality of racism, of forced segregation and ownership of almost nothing, poisoned aspects of everyone’s life. A psychology of worthlessness was deeply ingrained and hidden from view but invaded every corpuscle of black private lives. Frustration and anger often exploded into aggression, and its pervasiveness offered a model of behavior for the impressionable. These things were so pervasive that proclamations, political action, and economic growth could only chip away