A Voice in the Wilderness (2 page)

“Pretty much,” Birnbaum said.

“Good,” Kring said. “She’s a great lady, Al. Smartest thing you ever did was marry her. You’d be an idiot to mess with that. You can tell her I said so.”

“I’ll do that,” Birnbaum said. “What brings you down here to the salt mines today, Walter?” SilverDelta’s recording studios were on the first two floors of the company’s Washington, D.C., building; Walter’s offices took up the whole of the fourteenth floor and had a lift to the roof for his helicopter, which he used daily to commute from Annapolis. The CEO of SilverDelta rarely dropped below the tenth floor on any given day.

“I’m firing someone,” Kring said.

“Pardon?” Birnbaum’s mouth puckered up as if he’d sucked on a block of alum.

“Alice Valenta,” Kring said. “We just got the numbers in for the quarter. She’s been down too long and she’s not coming back up. Time to move on. And you know how I feel about these things, Al. Firing people isn’t something you farm out. You should be able to shoot your own dog, you should be able to fire your own people. It’s respectful.”

“I agree entirely,” Birnbaum said.

“I know you do,” Kring said. “It’s Leadership 101.”

Birnbaum swallowed and nodded, suddenly having nothing to say.

“I’m just glad you haven’t made me come down here on your behalf, Al,” Kring said, leaning over him in a way that he probably couldn’t help, being two meters tall, but which made Birnbaum impressively aware just how much he was the beta dog in this particular situation. It took actual force of will not to avert his eyes. “You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?” Kring said.

“Of course not, Walter,” Birnbaum said. He actually turned on his performance voice to say it, because if he used his normal voice, it would have cracked.

Kring straightened up and clasped Birnbaum on the shoulder. “That’s what I like to hear. We should do lunch sometime. It’s been far too long.”

“I’d like that,” Birnbaum lied.

“Fine,” Kring said. “I’ll have Jason set it up. Sometime next week, probably.”

“Great,” Birnbaum said.

“Now, you’ll have to excuse me, Al,” Kring said. “Not every meeting I’m having today is going to be as nice as the one we’ve having.” Birnbaum nodded his assent and Kring wandered off without another word, down the hall to Studio Eight, soon to be Alice Valenta’s former work space.

Birnbaum waited until Kring was out of sight and simultaneously exhaled and shuddered. He reached into his pants pocket, ostensibly to retrieve his vehicle fob but in reality to check if he had spotted himself.

Birnbaum’s PDA vibrated, alerting him to an incoming text. It read,
When do you want to meet?
Birnbaum started writing back that under further consideration, another hotel meet-up wouldn’t work this week, when he realized the text hadn’t come from his new toy. He backtracked the text.

Who is this?
he wrote, and sent.

It’s Michael Washington,
was the reply.

How do you know this PDA?
Birnbaum sent. It was his private PDA; he was under the impression that the only people who knew the number were Judith, Ben, Louisa Smart and the new toy.

The same way I knew which hotel you were at with that woman who is not your wife,
said the response.
You should focus less on that and more on how to save your job, Mr. Birnbaum. Do you want to meet?

He did.

They met at Bonner’s, which was the sort of wood-paneled bar that people making entertainment shows used when politicians had meetings with shadowy figures.

“Before we do or say anything else, I need to know how you know so much about me,” Birnbaum said as Washington sat in his booth, not even bothering with the pleasantries. “You know both my personal and professional business in a way no one else in the world knows or should know.”

“Louisa Smart knows,” Washington said, mildly.

“So you’re getting the information from her?” Birnbaum said. “You’re paying my producer to spy on me? Is that it?”

“No, Mr. Birnbaum,” Washington said. “After ten years you should know your producer better than that.”

“Then how are you doing it? Are you with the government? Our government? Someone else’s?” Birnbaum unconsciously slipped into his paranoid rhetoric mode, which brought him much fame in earlier years. “How extensive is the surveillance web on me? Are you monitoring people other than me? How high up does this go? Because I swear to you, I will follow up on this, as far up as it goes. At the risk to
my own life and freedom
.”

“Do you really believe there is a government conspiracy against you, Mr. Birmbaum?” Washington said.

“You tell
me,
” Birnbaum said.

Washington held out his PDA. “Your PDA,” he said.

“What about my PDA?” Birnbaum said.

“Give it to me for a moment, please,” Washington said.

“You bugged my PDA?” Birnbaum exclaimed. “You’re tapped into the network at the root!”

“Your PDA, please,” Washington said, still extending his hand. Birnbaum gave it to him, with some trepidation. Washington took it, made a few wiping motions, pressed the screen and then handed it back to Birnbaum. He looked at it, confused.

“You’re showing me the
Voice in the Wilderness
’gram,” he said.

“Yes,” Washington said. “The free ’gram you give out so people can listen to your show and then send text or voice comments, along with location tags so you know where the comments are from, geographically, when you read or play them on air. Which means your ’gram has the ability to send and receive audio and also track your movements. And because you had it built cheaply by flat-rate coders who make their money banging out ’grams like yours fast and sloppy, it’s incredibly easy to hack into.”

“Wait,” Birnbaum said. “You used
my own ’gram
against me?”

“Yes,” Washington said. “You get what you pay for with coders, Mr. Birnbaum.”

“What about Walter?” Birnbaum said. “You said I would have a meeting with him and I did. How did you know that?”

“The monthly numbers were in,” Washington said. “The quarter was ending. There were show hosts who have been lagging. Kring is famous for firing people face-to-face. So I made a guess. Work the odds, Mr. Birnbaum, on the chance you might see Walter Kring today. And since I put the suggestion into your head that you’d have a meeting, any encounter you might have would qualify. After that, it just took monitoring your PDA to catch you after the ‘meeting’ took place.”

Birnbaum put his PDA away, a certain look on his face.

Washington caught it. “You’re disappointed, aren’t you,” he said. “That I’m
not
from the government. That there’s not a global conspiracy following you.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Birnbaum said. “I already told you that I don’t personally go in for that stuff.” His expression was unchanged.

“I do apologize,” Washington said. “I’m sorry I’m not more nefarious or well connected into the murky corners of national and global politics.”

“Then who are you?” Birnbaum said.

“As I’ve told you before, I represent a group who wants to offer you a solution to your current set of problems,” Washington said.

Birnbaum almost asked,
Who are your clients, really?
but was distracted by what Washington said. “And what exactly is my problem?”

“Namely, that you’re shedding listeners at an accelerating rate on your way to becoming a has-been in the national political conversation,” Washington said.

Birnbaum thought about arguing that assertion but realized that would not actually get him any answers, so he let it go. “And how do your friends propose to fix that?” he asked instead.

“By suggesting a topic for you to consider,” Washington said.

“Is this a bribe?” Birnbaum asked. “A payment for espousing a certain view? Because I don’t do that.” He had in fact done it, once or twice or ten or more times, in deals that were in point of fact often negotiated at Bonner’s. Birnbaum squared it with his morals by figuring they were usually things he was likely to say anyway, so what he was doing was merely illegal, not unethical. However, one always led with being nonbribable. It gave those attempting to bribe a sense of accomplishment.

“There is no money to be exchanged,” Washington said.

Birnbaum made that face again. Washington laughed. “Mr. Birnbaum, you have more than enough money. For now, at least. What my clients are offering is something much more valuable: the ability to not only climb back up to the position of fame and personal power that you held not too long ago, but to exceed it. You were the number four audio talker in the land once, although not for very long. My clients are offering you a chance to go to number one and stay there, for as long as you want to be there.”

“And how are they going to manage that?” Birnbaum wanted to know.

“Mr. Birnbaum, I assume, given your profession, you know who William Randolph Hearst was,” Washington said.

“He was a newspaper publisher,” Birnbaum said. That was the extent of his knowledge; Birnbaum’s knowledge of American history was solid regarding the founding and the last fifty years, and everything else was a bit of a blank.

“Yes,” Washington said. “A newspaper publisher. In the late 1800s the United States and Spain were warming up for a war over Cuba, and Hearst sent an illustrator to Cuba to make pictures of the event. When the illustrator got there, he sent a telegram to Hearst saying that as far as he could see, there was no war coming and that he was going home. Hearst sent back that he should stay and said, ‘You furnish the pictures, and I will furnish the war.’ And he did.”

Birnbaum looked at Washington blankly.

“Mr. Birnbaum, my clients need someone to furnish the pictures, as it were,” Washington said. “Someone to start a discussion. Once the discussion starts, my clients can take care of the rest. But it has to start and it has to start somewhere other than with my clients.”

“I furnish the pictures and they will furnish the war,” Birnbaum said. “What’s the war, here?”

“Not a real war,” Washington said. “And indeed, what you’d be saying could prevent a real war.”

Birnbaum thought about this. “No money, though,” he said.

Washington smiled. “No,” he said. “Just audience, fame and power. Money often follows those, however.”

“And you can guarantee the first three,” Birnbaum said.

“Furnish the pictures, Mr. Birnbaum,” Washington said, “and the war comes. Pretty damn quickly, too, I would add.”

Birnbaum’s opportunity to furnish the pictures came the very next day.

“Can we talk about world government?” Jason from Canoga Park was saying to Birnbaum. Jason from Canoga Park was one of Birnbaum’s most reliable listeners in that sooner or later everything came back to world government, the fear of world government and how whatever topic was the subject of discussion would eventually lead to world government. You could set your world government clock by Jason from Canoga Park.

“I love talking about world government, Jason, you know that,” Birnbaum said, more or less on automatic. “How is it coming this time?”

“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?” Jason said. “Right now the big discussion is whether or not we should resume diplomatic relations with the Colonial Union. Note the ‘we’ there, Al. It’s not ‘we’ as in ‘we the United States,’ is it? No, it’s not. It’s ‘we’ as in ‘we the people of Earth.’ Which just means ‘we the world government of Earth, which is being constituted in secret, right under your nose.’ Every day we talk about relations with the Colonial Union, every day we discuss whether to send diplomats to the Colonial Union, is a day the tentacles of the world government constrict further on the throat of individual freedom, Al.”

“It’s a compelling point, Jason,” Birnbaum said, using the phrase that in his mind meant
You are completely full of shit, but arguing with you would be pointless, so I am going to change the subject on you,
“and you bring up a topic which has been on my mind a lot recently, which is the Colonial Union. Have you been following the official narrative on the CU, Jason?”

“As it relates to world government?” Jason asked.