Chương 140: Book 4 - Chapter 17 C

"John, you have a phone call. It's a girl," Aunt Joan said, bringing me the phone.

"Hello," I said, taking the phone.

"Merry Christmas, John the Genius!" came the bright voice, full of energy and vitality.

"Hi Amber," I said as my face and heart filling with warmth.

"Merry Christmas. How are you?" I asked.

"I'm so good. I start back at OSU in the spring," she said.

"My new focus is pediatric oncology."

"That's wonderful. I'm so glad you called. That's a wonderful Christmas present," I said.

"Thank you again, John. I'd hate to call after everything you've done, but I need your help," she said, shyly.

"Anything Amber," I instantly told her.

"Whatever you need. How can I help?"

"It is that stupid Oprah show you did! I'm getting a thousand letters a day from people who want to join the fan club you told people I was President of," she said sounding frustrated. I laughed a big hearty laugh.

"It is not funny!" she insisted.

"What do I do? I'm starting college again, I can't answer all these letters!"

"Write a newsletter, and send it to everyone that wrote you," I told her.

"Tell them your experience with cancer and include an official sign up sheet with a yearly fee for quarterly newsletters, as well as future exclusive merchandise."

"I can do that. But how do I manage this?" she asked.

"I'll send you some money to get you started and some pictures you can turn into posters for your first sales. You can run a business like this from your dorm room. Your Mom can help as well."

"You want me to turn it into a business?" she asked.

"Yes. It'll pay for your college and a better car so you can go home on weekends. I'm making an announcement on January 1st that will make your fan club even more popular. Plan the first Newsletter for March. I'll call you and give you the inside scoop so you can add it all to the first Newsletter."

"Thank you! You and your big brain. I knew you'd have a solution. I'll go start writing right now."

"Tell your parents and brothers hi for me, and wish them all a Merry Christmas," I told her.

"I will, I'm so excited! Talk to you soon, John. I've got to call Mindy and tell her the news." I hung up the phone and handed it back to Aunt Joan who had been there eavesdropping.

"So who is she?" she asked.

"Just an old friend, wishing me Merry Christmas," I said, my smile firmly fixed in my heart and my eyes. I left the cinnamon smells and the fake fireplace of the Mayo on the morning of the 26th. The goodbye was short because I didn't want to see the look in Mom's eyes as I left again. By that afternoon, the 767 had deposited me into a world of gray. It was 37-degrees, bone-chillingly damp and quiet in a way that felt heavy. Satsop, Washington, had been a silent monument to things that had failed.

The massive cooling towers of the nuclear plant now stood with purpose. The tower for WNP-3 stood ready to vent hot oxygen. The furious construction of WNP-5 was paused for the holidays, but the collection of new white painted holding tanks with pipes running to them from WNP-3 were an odd addition. The new fuel distribution hardware was placed safely on the other side of Fuller Creek. A cold snap had brought some snow to the region a day or two earlier, but the warm, wet conditions had now melted it all.

It was overcast, cold, wet and depressing. I tried not to let it bother me as I kept working on my speech, locked up in the RV at Satsop. It felt smaller than I remembered. Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. For the next five days, the world was reduced to the size of that aluminum shell. It was just me and Max, listening to the relentless Pacific Northwest rain drum against the roof.

The sound was a steady, rhythmic pounding that drowned out the rest of the world. I didn't call Martin. I didn't call Mom. I just sat in the dim light of the RV with a MicroTAC that stayed silent, watching the condensation crawl down the windows. I was back in the loneliness of the lab, the same place I'd been when this year started. The only difference was that now, I was counting down the hours until the moment when I would really started to fix the world.

I reached for the remote and clicked on the cheap TV built into the cabinet of the RV. Its 27-inches displayed the American Wireless digital signal. It was crisp, a sharp contrast to the gloom outside the RV. On the screen, the WBN ticker was scrolling through the final closing numbers for Friday, December 29th. Outside, the fog was so thick I couldn't even see the base of the cooling towers, but the studio in New York was bright and clinical.

"The closing bell has rung on the final full trading day of the eighties," Sarah Jenkins announced, leaning over a glass desk.

"And all eyes are turning toward a small town in Washington State. Dr John Cook has announced a global broadcast for New Year's Day, but the markets aren't reacting with the usual 'Cook Enthusiasm.' In fact, the consensus among the big houses is that we are about to witness a graceful exit." A timeline graphic slid onto the screen, labeled 'The ARCO Autopsy.'

"Let's look at the math," Marcus said, tapping a pen against the desk.

"August: Cook buys ARCO for $30 billion. We all remember the gasps at that 50% premium. He paid roughly $10 billion more than the company was worth on paper just to control the board and take it private. Since then, it has been a frantic shredding of assets. Refineries, pipelines and drilling leases have all been sold to the likes of Koch and Chevron. Our analysts put his total recovery at roughly $29 billion."

"Which leaves a $4 billion debt hole and a very thin portfolio," Sarah added.

"The speculation for Monday's announcement is that Cook will announce the sale of the Satsop WNP-3 plant back to the Washington Public Power Supply System. If he gets $4 billion for the completed site, he clears his debt and walks away with maybe two billion in profit for six months of high-stress liquidation." Marcus let out a dry chuckle.

"A lot of work for a couple billion dollars. He's essentially acted as a glorified repo man for the oil industry. And for those thinking he might keep Satsop as a long-term play, remember the legal chains: that plant is contractually obligated to sell power at the fixed rate that WPPSS sets, just 2 cents per kilowatt-hour. It isn't a cash cow. It is a utility trap.

If the January 1st 'Big Announcement' is anything other than a total exit from the energy sector, then the smartest boy in the world has finally made a dumb bet." I watched as they pulled up a map of the Satsop site, circling the very spot where I was sitting in red. They made it look like a crime scene.

"Is he a visionary, or just a boy who bought a toy he couldn't afford?" Sarah asked the camera as the music swelled for a commercial break. I hit the power button and the screen went black, leaving me in the silence of the fog. I leaned back, Max jumping up to curl against my side, and looked out at the gray nothingness. Let them speculate. The less they believed in a miracle, the harder the truth would hit on Monday morning.

I faxed the final draft of the speech from the RV to the White House on the morning of the 30th. Two hours later, the MicroTAC chirped.

"Please hold for the President of the United States," a crisp, professional voice said. There was a moment of dead air, then the unmistakable, slightly reedy voice of George Bush came on the line.

"John. I've just finished reading this draft. I have to tell you, it is a remarkable bit of business. Truly. It has got a certain... well, it's got a historical weight to it that I didn't quite expect."

"Thank you, Mr President," I said, leaning against the small kitchenette of the RV.

"I wanted to make sure the gravity of the shift was clear."

"Oh, it is clear. I've spent the last hour with Sununu and the communications team. We agree that this isn't something that should be buried between a parade and a football game on Monday. It wouldn't be prudent to let this leak out in bits and pieces. Just like that Soviet plan of yours, this is straightforward and psychologically sound. I've decided to provide you with a full Presidential introduction from the East Room. We'll establish the national importance first, then hand the feed directly to you at Satsop."

I smiled. It was the final piece.

"Sir, I expected a press release or perhaps a quiet endorsement. I didn't expect the White House to clear the airwaves."

"The major networks are already on board," Bush said, and I could hear the smile in his voice.

"A slow news day on New Year's is a blessing for us. We're calling it a 'Special Address to the Nation.' It is important work, John. The country needs a win like this to kick off the new decade. Just make sure you're ready for the fallout. You're about to knock the legs out from under some very powerful people."

"I'm ready, sir."

"Good. We'll do a tech check with your broadcast team tomorrow afternoon. Good luck, John." I thanked him and hung up. The weight of the moment slid off me. The dominoes were set. If my voice held together, I'd tip them over and watch the brilliant show as they tumbled in the line I had carefully set them up in.