Scott Roarke 03 - Executive Command by Gary Grossman Read Free Book Online

brushing slightly against him. He shifted back in his chair and eyed her exquisite body, which he was determined to experience. Soon, he hoped.
    For years, Patrick had been a loose cannon; speaking before thinking and not framing those thoughts particularly well. But he could be molded. Slocum knew it and used it. That’s why she was there. For the man, currently second in line of succession because the nation was without a vice president, Duke Patrick was definitely someone who needed to improve his game and up his public persona if he was going to make it to the White House. Christine Slocum was now close enough to counsel Patrick; to coach him on what to say and when, and who to say it to, whether it was Ed Schultz or Rachel Maddow on the left or Bill O’Reilly to the right. And with every well-positioned sound bite, Patrick gained ground.
    Duke Patrick would have to consider how to respond to Taylor. Or more accurately, Slocum would, though he would still think it was his idea. He was good. She was better.

Four
    North Shore Boston
    Charlie Messinger stepped off his G-4 at the Beverly, Massachusetts, Airport. His flight from Chicago was made all the more easy since he didn’t have to go through Logan. But that hadn’t been a problem for years; not since his government contract. Messinger developed key software used in the intelligence community’s newest generation of Echelon—the telephone and Internet probe that listened for and identified words that might be used by terrorists, anarchists, or spies.
    Messinger was not a computer expert himself. He was a man with connections, family money, and the ability to capitalize on opportunity. He retired from the military with honors and Pentagon contacts. He then set up a business, and struggled only as long as it took to build one of the leading Route 128 software companies. Within three years, Globix ComPrime, went from nothing to a firm valued at more than $3.5 billion. He commuted anywhere in the world from Beverly Airport, which was minutes away from his exquisite home on the ocean, along Route 127.
    Obviously, Messinger could have had chauffeurs, but he preferred driving himself. He kept his Bentley in the garage for the sixteen-mile commute to his office and drove a pale blue Thunderbird back and forth from the airport.
    Today, he wasn’t going right home. He scheduled a luncheon meeting not too far away in Rockport. A French software manufacturer was interested in a new program Globix was developing. Messinger intentionally leaked news of it to trade magazines. On the open market, it could increase the company’s price per share. The Frenchman represented a buyer he hadn’t cracked yet. And though the former army colonel did not trust the French government, he believed in the Euros they traded.
    The visiting Frenchman flew in the night before, and Messinger proposed a favorite North Shore haunt. The plan was to meet M. Paul Le Strand at The Greenery, a small restaurant with one of the best views of Rockport’s famed Motif #1 on Bearskin Neck.
    Messinger arrived thirty-five minutes after landing. He might have made it quicker, but a late afternoon storm slowed traffic along state highway Route 128. He easily found a parking place on Main Street.
    With time to spare, he took a stroll along Bearskin Neck, which could be shoulder-to-shoulder crowded in the summer months, but in January only attracted diehards and locals.
    Messinger enjoyed the quaintness of Rockport, though he didn’t get there often enough. As a kid he used to bring dates to the rocks at the far end of the jetty, share a lobster, and watch the ocean slam against the breakwater. There’d be no eating outside today. Light rain was still falling. The air was raw, and, most importantly, Roy’s, the great lobster joint along Bearskin Neck, was closed for the season.
    Still, a few people were out, determined to get a snapshot of Motif #1, a simple red shack that jutted into the harbor and was