Luz Alcala, vice president for programming and Rettig's boss. Neither Rettig nor Alcala smiled as they usually did. The man in black stepped back by the door and stood there with his arms folded. Security? Cordelia speculated. "Good morning, Cordelia," Rettig said. "Please have a seat. We'll be with you in just a moment." She turned her attention back to Alcala and pointed out something on the sheet in her hand.
Luz Alcala slowly nodded. "Either we buy it first, or we're dead in the water. Maybe hire someone good-"
"Don't even think it," said Rettig, frowning slightly. "It might become necessary," Alcala said. "He's dangerous." Cordelia tried to keep the bewildered look off her face. "He's also too powerful." Folding her hands, Rettig turned toward Cordelia. "Tell me what you know about Australia."
"I've seen everything Peter Weir ever directed," Cordelia said, momentarily hesitating. What was going on here? "You've never been there?"
"New York is the farthest I've ever been from home." Home was Atelier Parish, Louisiana. Home was a place she'd rather not think about. In most respects it didn't exist.
Rettig was looking at Alcala. "What do you think?"
"I think yes." The older woman picked up a thick envelope and handed it across the desk to Cordelia. "Open it, please." She found a passport, a sheaf of airline tickets, an American Express card, and a hefty folder of traveler's checks. "You'll need to sign those." Alcala indicated the checks and the credit card.
Cordelia looked silently up from the smiling image affixed to the first page of the passport. "Nice photo," she said. "I. don't remember applying."
"There was little time," said Polly Rettig apologetically. "We took liberties."
"The point is," said Alcala, "you're leaving this afternoon for the other side of the world."
Cordelia felt stunned, then recognized the excitement growing. "All the way to Australia?"
"Commercial flight," said Alcala. "Brief stops for fuel in L.A., Honolulu, and Auckland. In Sydney you'll catch an Ansett flight to Melbourne and another plane up to Alice Springs. Then you'll rent a Land-Rover and drive to Madhi Gap. You're going to have a full day," she added dryly.
A thousand things crowded into Cordelia's mind. "But what about my job here? And I can't just abandon the benefit-I want to go to New Jersey this weekend to check out Buddy Holley."
"He can wait till you're back. The whole benefit can wait," said Rettig firmly. "PR is fine, but the JADL and the Manhattan AIDS Project don't pay your salary. This is Global Fun & Games business."
"But-"
"It is important." Voice smoothly modulated, Alcala made it sound like a pronouncement.
"But what is it?" She felt as if she were listening to Auntie Alice on Radio Wonderland. "What's all this about?" Alcala seemed to be picking her words carefully. "You've seen the PR flacking GF&G's plan to inaugurate a worldwide entertainment service via satellite."
Cordelia nodded. " I thought that was years down the road."
"It was. The.only thing holding back the plan was the investment capital."
"We've got the money," Rettig said. "We have the help of allied investors. Now we need the satellite time and the ground stations to pipe our programming down to the earth."
"Unfortunately," said Alcala, "we have sudden competition for securing the services of the commercial facility in the telecommunications complex in Madhi Gap. A man named Leo Barnett."
"The TV evangelist?" Alcala nodded.
"The ace-baiting, intolerant, psychotic, species-chauvinist son of a bitch," said Rettig with sudden passion. "That TV evangelist. Fire-breather, some call him."
"And you're sending me to Madhi Gap?" said Cordelia excitedly. Incredible, she thought. It was too good to be true. "Thank you! Thank you very much. I'll do a terrific job."
Rettig and Alcala glanced at each other. "Hold on," said Alcala. "You're going along to assist, but you're not going to be negotiating."
It was too good to be true. Shit, she thought. "Meet Mr. Carlucci," said Alcala.
"Marry," said a nasal voice from behind Cordelia. "Mr. Carlucci," Alcala repeated.
Cordelia turned and took another, closer look at the man she had dismissed as some kind of hired help. Medium height, compact build, styled black hair. Carlucci smiled. He looked like a thug. An amiable one, but still a thug. His suit didn't look as if it had come off the rack. Now that she looked more closely, the coat looked expensively tailored to a T
Carlucci extended his hand. "It's Marty," he said. "We got to spend a day and a night on a plane, we might as well be friendly about it, you know?"