right," replied the actor, holding his left side and sitting down, "but we owe this courageous woman so much. She saved my life!"
"Are you hurt, young lady?" shouted Giselle, leaning over her husband's legs and grabbing Moreau's agent's arm.
"I'm fine, Madame Villier. Quite a bit better when you call me a young lady. I'm well beyond that." Breathlessly, she smiled.
"Aren't we all, my dear. I must get my husband to a doctor."
44MY associates are taking care of that, madame, believe me. [email protected]
Claude Moreau, appearing as if from nowhere, walked into the Baccarat Room, his expression one of both concern and muted exhilaration.
"We have done it, monsieur and madame-you have done it! We have our Blitzkrieger.
"My husband has been wounded, you idiot!" shouted Giselle Villier.
"For which I apologize, madame, but it is not serious, and his contribution has been enormous."
"You promised he'd be safe!"
"In my business, guarantees are not always absolute. However, if I may say it, he has greatly enhanced the quest of his natural father and performed an act for which the Republic of France is eternally grateful."
"That's gratuitous nonsense!"
"No, it isn't, madame. Whether you accept it or not, the unholy Nazis are coming out of the mud, out of 'the filth of their own creation. Each rock we can turn over brings us all closer to stamping out the snakes underneath. But your part in this is over.
Enjoy your vacation on Corsica. After you see a doctor, our plane is waiting for you in Nice, everything paid for by the Quai d'Orsay."
"I can do without your money, monsieur," said Jean Pierre
"But I should like to reopen Coriolanus."
"Good heavens, why? You've proved your triumph.
You certainly do not need the employment, so why go back to such a grueling schedule?"
"Because like you, Moreau, I'm pretty good at what I 40."
"We shall discuss it, monsieur. One night's success does not mean the battle is over."
Gray-haired, [email protected] Senator Lawrence Roote of Colorado hung up the phone in his Washington office, a disturbed man. Disturbed, bewildered, and angry. Why was he the subject of an FBI investigation he knew nothing about? What did it concern and who called for it? Again, why? His assets, admittedly considerable, were in a blind trust by his own choice s3 as to avoid even a scintilla of legislative compromise; his second marriage was solid, his first wife having been tragically killed in a plane crash; his two sons, one a banker, the other a university dean, were upstanding citizens of their communities, so much so that Roote thought they were at, times insufferable; he had served in Korea without incident but with a silver star; and his drinking consisted of two or three martinis before dinner. What was there to investigate?
His conservative views were well known and frequently attacked by the liberal press, which consistently took his words out of context, making him appear like a rabid proselytizer of the far right, which he definitely was not. Among his colleagues on both sides of the aisle, it was common knowledge that he was fair and listened to the opposition without rancor. He simply believed firmly that when government did too much for the people, they did too little for themselves.
Further, his wealth did not come from any inheritance; his family had, been dirt poor. Roote had climbed that elusive ladder to success, frequently slipping on the rungs, by holding three jobs through a small, obscure college and the Wharton School of Finance, where several members of the faculty recommended him to corporate recruiters. He chose a young, profitable firm; there was room and time to grow in the executive ranks. However, the smaller company was taken over by a larger corporation, which was in turn absorbed by a conglomerate, whose board of directors recognized Roote's talents and audacity. By the time he was thirty five the sign on the door to his suite of offices read Chief Executive Officer. At forty it proclaimed President and CEO. Before fifty, his mergers, acquisitions, and stock options had made him a multimillionaire. At which point, tired of the limiting pursuit of an ever-increasing profit margin and bothered by the direction the country was taking, he turned to politics.
As he sat at his desk, ruminating over his past, he tried to coldly objectify, searching areas where his actions might call into question his ethics or morality. In the early days, overworked and vulnerable, he had had several affairs, but they were discreet and only with women who were his peers, as