Power Play by Ben Bova Read Free Book Online Page B

fucking deal,” Younger grumbled. “He wants me to produce test results so he can write papers about them and get his name in the journals. Well, if that’s what he’s after, he’d damned well better leave me alone so I can get the fucking results he wants.”
    Rogers raised both hands, palms outward, showing his agreement. “I’ll talk to the prof about it.”
    “You do that,” Younger growled.
    Jake heard himself say, “Uh … I’d better get back to town. Thanks for letting me see the run. It’s damned impressive.”
    Younger nodded curtly at him.
    “Come on,” Rogers said, gripping Jake by the arm, “I’ll walk you to your car.”
    They walked across the now-silent test cell, footsteps clicking against the concrete floor.
    “Like I told you, Tim’s very proprietary about the test runs,” Rogers explained, his voice low. “He still feels bad about the explosion last year. Some people blamed him for that technician’s death and Sinclair didn’t do much to protect him.”
    Jake nodded, but replied quietly, “He doesn’t do much to make friends for himself, though, does he?”
    Rogers chuckled. “No, not Tim. Making friends is not his style. Most definitely not.”
    They shook hands at the door, then Rogers turned back toward the control booth and Jake stepped outside. It was glaring hot under the bright, high sun. Jake saw Glynis Colwyn sitting disconsolately in her car, a sleek classic Jaguar XJ-S, forest green. Probably more than twenty years old, Jake estimated, but it still looked as if it was in mint condition, beneath its coating of road dust.
    “It won’t start,” she said through the open driver’s window. She looked close to tears.
    Walking over to her, Jake saw that she was seething with anger and helpless frustration.
    “What’s the trouble?” he asked. Before she could reply he added, “With the car, I mean.”
    “The damned electrical system. Every time I turn off the engine the battery dies.”
    The older Jags have a reputation for electrical troubles, Jake knew. He remembered an old line to the effect that the only people who can afford a Jaguar are those rich enough to have a mechanic ride with them.
    “I’ve got jumper cables in my trunk,” Jake said.
    “You do?”
    With a weak grin, he admitted, “I’ve had my problems with my old Mustang.”
    Within minutes he had jumped the Jaguar’s battery and Glynis had gunned its engine into a throaty purr.
    “Better keep it running,” Jake shouted as he disconnected the cables.
    “Don’t worry. I won’t turn off the engine until I reach the dealer. The head of their service department knows my American Express number by heart.”
    “I’ll follow you, just in case. Okay?”
    “Terrific.”
    So Jake drove behind the sleek Jaguar all the way back to the city. Glynis pushed the speed limits and he worried that a highway patrol officer or city policeman might pull them both over. They wouldn’t look twice at his old Mustang, he thought, but they love to give tickets to expensive cars.
    She made it to the Imperial Jaguar service department’s parking lot without being stopped. Jake parked near the street under a shady tree and watched her in earnest, hand-waving conversation with an older, bald, potbellied man. Jake glanced at his wristwatch: two forty-three. He’d get her to her meeting with Sinclair in plenty of time.
    Glynis looked surprised once she spotted his drab gray Mustang still in the parking lot. She hurried over to him.
    “You waited for me?”
    “Sure. Get in. I’m going back to the campus anyway.”
    She climbed in and clicked on her seat belt. “What’s the sense of having a convertible if you don’t put the top down?” she asked as he started the engine.
    He looked at her. “It’s kind of hot, don’t you think?”
    “No. It’s a pretty day.”
    Together they reached up and disconnected the latches holding the roof to the windshield, then Jake pressed the button and the fabric roof folded