Naked Ambition. Dan Roberts
mean, you’re a great player. And I know you did some coaching last year, right?”
“Yeah. Coached a high school girls’ team all season.” Nick then added with a smile, “They won second place in their division.”
“So that means you have had a police background check, right?”
“Yeah. I have a copy of my clearance at home.”
“Good. Then there shouldn’t be any problem.” Once that was said, Zach went on to explain the set up. “Here’s what I suggest. You present yourself as a high school volleyball player. Like sixteen years old. I’ll suggest to Clarkson that you take my place as an assistant coach. Dad will give you a good recommendation. And he’ll make sure Coach Clarkson knows you are under age. Then…” There was a pause. “Well, you have to make Coach believe that you want him to, like, take you under his wing. Talk with him. Confide in him. Do anything you can to get close to him.” Zach looked at his good friend and asked, almost as a plea, “You think you can do that?”
Nick, following Zach’s line of thought, said, “Sure.” That word ‘sure’ was said with an ease that belied the doubt that Nick had as to whether he could carry off being a high school student once again. To Nick the whole thing was pretty strange, even creepy.
Zach continued. “And then there’s the kid. His name is Jack. Get to know him, too. See if you can strike up a conversation with him. Maybe a quick friendship. And then let it go from there.”
Let it go from there. That was easy for Zach to say. The plan sounded simple enough. But, implementing it was not so simple. In fact, as Nick thought it over, he recognized that there were several substantial challenges to be overcome.
After a time of silence, Mr. Baker said, “So, Nick, what do you say? Are you in?”
Nick had already made up his mind. He looked at his buddy, Zach, and then at Zach’s father. “For you, Mr. B, I’ll do it.”
Baker replied quickly with a smile, a couple of firm pats on Nick’s back and a hearty, “Thanks, Nick. Thanks a lot!”
Zach’s response was a little less dynamic: a simple knuckle bump and “Dude, you da best.”
MONDAY
WEEK ONE
DAY 3
NICK HEARD THE CLOCK DOWNSTAIRS chime six times. As he rubbed his eyes—eyes that had been mostly open for the last half hour—he looked toward the window nearest his bed. He saw that the soft yellow rays of the morning sun were already peaking over the treetops.
The night had been a difficult one—a restless one—for Nick. He would sleep for a while, then wake up and stare at the ceiling for what seemed like an hour. Maybe more. Always in his mind was the problem of how to do what had been asked of him: to integrate himself into the M/X Technologies-sponsored volleyball camp staff and do it in a way that would bring him into a close, trusting relationship with Coach Herb Clarkson. And to do it in a very short time. How would he go about doing that? That was the really tricky part.
However, it wasn’t just Nick’s apprehension over the ‘how’ of doing the job but, also, of the ‘why.’ That ‘why’ was one of his major concerns, one that made saying ‘yes’ to Mr. Baker’s request very easy. The thought of any kind of inappropriate interaction between an adult male and a young victim made a deep impact on Nick. That a man would maneuver and manipulate a boy like that, “Well,” he said to Zach at one point, “that just makes my skin crawl.” Adding to his overall revulsion of this kind of relationship was the feeling of anger brought up by memories of a situation where one of Nick’s friends, a boy named Jimmy, had been physically and emotionally abused by Jimmy’s mother’s boyfriend. The very thought of Jimmy and what he had endured and the resulting impact that the abuse had made on his young life brought Nick to the point of wanting to strike out in some kind of vengeful manner, a behavior that was an anathema to his basic peaceful nature.
Seeing that the day had started and knowing that to lie in bed another moment was a waste of time, Nick got up and dressed. Within minutes he was rolling his bicycle out of the garage. Once at the road in front of his house he looked at his watch. It was 6:15 am.
As Nick mounted his bike, he looked up at the blue, mostly cloudless sky. What a joy it was for him to be outside in nature on such a beautiful day. Anxious to get going, it took him very little time to get the bike up to speed as he peddled down an open stretch of road. Almost from the start Nick had maintained a velocity that would challenge most cyclist, especially as he raced down the first hill, the first of several hills he would encounter on this particular route. However, upon entering the longer, flatter part of his chosen circuit of the day, he settled into a regular cycling rhythm, pacing himself for the long haul. As his feet moved in a rapid, repetitive manner, he began to pick up on the tempo—the rhythmic beat—that could be so mesmerizing. Over and over, his feet went round and round. The constant, recurring sound of the chain as it moved through the sprockets were, like musical notes, pleasing to his ears. Eventually, Nick noted that the cycle of pedaling matched the beat of his own heart. Once that synchronization happened, he smiled with delight.
For Nick, biking was as much therapy for the mind as it was exercise for the body. It was, in fact, one of the activities that he relied on to help him when faced with some difficulty or problem, particularly one that needed to be thought through. As strange as it seemed, repetitive activity like biking, swimming or jogging had the potential of unblocking what he called the ‘mental junk’ that, at times, impeded his ability to problem-solve. A bike ride of this kind could actually bring clarity to his sometimes foggy or confused mind. In fact, it was not unusual for him to come back from a long ride on his bike to find that he had an answer to a question or a solution to a problem.
And so it was on this morning, approximately one hour after he had taken his bike from the garage and after many miles of riding, that a hungry Nick Blick was back in the house, standing at the kitchen sink eating a slice of cold pizza. As he did so he knew what his next move was going to be regarding Herb Clarkson and the boy, Jack.
NEW YORK’S CHATEAUX 54 is a small but elegant boutique hotel located on the Upper West Side, near Central Park. It was there that Chen Xong Wu, still experiencing some jet lag from yesterday’s cross-Atlantic flight, was finishing his breakfast—a croissant, homemade strawberry jam and coffee that had been delivered by room service. After folding and smoothing his linen napkin, a habit from his youth, he lifted a silver carafe from the tray and poured himself a second cup of the Chateaux’s special blend. After taking a sip of the steaming brew, Chen opened the newspaper that had come on his breakfast tray. He read the headlines; a war here, an uprising there, and, of course, the local police activity from the night before.
One article of interest to him was the update on changes within the Chinese Communist party. He read it with extreme concentration, noting the way it was reported as well as the names mentioned. In China, the nuisances of such an article were extremely significant. In fact, names not referenced were as essential to the story as those that were. It was important for him to keep abreast of the developments of the party since his way of life was dependent on some of the men in leadership—both those presently in authority and those aspiring to be placed in such an honorable and powerful position. Chen often compared the behaviors exhibited within the party to the game of chess with each member, like a chess piece, ready to move ahead, many times at the cost of another member’s position; sometimes their life.
Noting the time, Chen scanned through the rest of the section. Then it was onto the financial pages, which were of interest to him not only because he had investments in the stock market but also because of his investments in the people who controlled some of the banks, brokerage houses and financial institutions around the world. Fortunately, everything seemed to be on the upswing today, which pleased Chen very much.
Not being one interested in sports, at least, not the kind of sports that most Americans were so hyped about, Chen mostly passed by this section, stopping only to see