But we are at a critical crossroads, don’t you think?”
“How so?”
“Ironically, in the name of free trade, government power is becoming more centralized in order to erase borders and eliminate national sovereignty. But if we lose our national identity, what good does it do to belong to the European Union?”
“If Polish people become more prosperous, wouldn’t it be worth it?”
“But will they? What happens when power is centralized? Do you think the largest German and French corporations will allow Brussels to let Polish corporations grow at their expense? Or do you think it will be the other way around? Not in theory—tell me, you studied history. What happens when big corporations partner with big government?”
“The rich get richer, and the politicians get more power.”
“Fascism and socialism are the same things.” Liliana cursed herself under her breath. “I’m sorry to keep talking this way. It’s not polite.”
“I don’t mind, really. It’s fascinating.”
“You must remember, my country disappeared from the map for one hundred and twenty-three years. Occupiers wouldn’t allow Polish to be taught in our schools, or for our children to learn their own history. Same with the Nazis. We had to fight to keep our identity and our culture and our language. We don’t want to give it all away for the sake of cheap toaster ovens and Chinese takeout, even though I happen to love kung pao chicken.”
Jack pointed at a pair of flashing lights on the road up ahead. An elderly woman stood in the rain without an umbrella, trying—and failing—to pull out a spare tire from her trunk.
“Poor thing. I’ll call for help,” Liliana said.
“Pull over. I can handle it.”
“But it’s raining.”
“What if nobody shows up?”
“Okay.”
Liliana pulled in behind the woman’s rusted sedan, a Volkswagen Jetta. She turned around, squinting against the thick drops pelting her concerned face.
Liliana and Jack jumped out and dashed over to the woman. Liliana identified herself as an agent of the Polish government and that Jack was her American friend—or so Jack assumed. He didn’t wait around for the formalities. He was getting soaked, too.
The old woman insisted on showing Jack what to do, and Liliana kept trying to wrestle her under the mini umbrella she had. She finally convinced the woman to come sit in the Audi while Jack finished the job. Fifteen minutes after they’d pulled over, the woman’s spare tire was attached and Jack was soaked from head to foot, slathered in mud but satisfied with his work.
The rain had stopped. The old woman thanked Jack profusely in a spate of Polish that Liliana hastily translated, then climbed back into her car. She stomped the gas and sped away, throwing a rooster tail of mud that splattered all over the two of them.
All they could do was laugh.
Liliana opened the trunk of the Audi and fished out an emergency blanket. The two of them toweled off as best they could, climbed back into the Audi, and headed for Warsaw. Liliana cranked up the heat. Twenty minutes later, Jack was sound asleep, snoring his head off.
40
SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA
Watson put her desk phone on speaker as it rang. Four rings in, Elias Dahm finally picked up.
“Hello, Amanda. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I was checking my calendar and I saw that I hadn’t received the text for your speech yet so I can review it.” The sound of gusting wind battered the phone speaker.
“My speech?”
“The TechWorld conference, remember? It’s two weeks away.”
“Oh, yes. Sure. Sorry. My mind is somewhere else.”
“By the sound of it, so is your body. Where are you?”
“I’m standing in front of the Wickenburg Chamber of Commerce building. It’s quite charming. The whole town is charming. Straight out of an episode of Lassie. Do you know what I’m looking at?”
“Wickenburg where?”
“Wickenburg, Arizona. So can you guess what I’m looking at?”
Watson wanted to scream obscenities at him. He was a genius and a great lay, but mostly he was a precocious, self-centered man-child.
“I haven’t a clue.”
“A Texas longhorn. It’s standing on top of the building across the street. It’s plastic, I’m sure.”
“Fascinating. Is that why you’re in Whackaburg—”
“Wickenburg.”
“Wickenburg, Arizona? To look at cows standing on buildings?”
“Didn’t I tell you I was flying out here today?”
Of course not. “It’s not on your calendar.”
“There’s a tract of land I’ve had my eye on not too far from here. Thirty-two thousand acres. Perfect for a solar farm.”
“Solar farm? I thought we weren’t walking down that road again.”
Like many of Elias Dahm’s brilliant ideas, solar farming was both the wave of the