The Capitol Game Read online

  “Sounds ideal,” Golightly commented, obviously not meaning it.

  “Yes, doesn’t it?” Jack replied, matching his insincerity ounce for ounce.

  “So why don’t you explain this irresistible offer you were bragging about?” Blank asked. Having cut Wiley down to size, it was time to cut to the chase.

  “In a minute, Mr. Blank. Let me start by telling you, you’re not the only people I’m talking to. I developed a model. Four firms fell out. You’re one of those four and any or all of you could fit the bill. It doesn’t mean only four firms will do, but four of you are ideal.”

  Casual nods from across the table. Standard fare, and also empty bluster. Nobody with a noodle of sense ever confessed up-front that CG was the only firm they were talking with. Offers always came juiced up with a little competition. The boys from CG heard it all the time. Nice try, Jack.

  They nudged one another under the table and played along. “But we do fit the bill?” Blank suggested, straight-faced, as if there was any chance in hell they might not.

  “You might even be the best fit,” Jack agreeably allowed.

  “What a relief.”

  “Should I go on?”

  “Yes, do.”

  Jack uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. “It’s a company that came to my attention a few months ago. At first glance it looked like a perfect fit for Cauldron—midsize, profitable, well led, courting an infusion of capital. Their CEO and head financial guy were making the rounds through a few firms like ours. Call it a road show.”

  “And you met with them?” Golightly asked.

  A fast nod. “It wasn’t my meeting, but I was present, yes. Forty-five years ago, the CEO founded this company. Built it from scratch, the usual story, sweat, smarts, and his bare hands. His life’s work. He’s now in his late seventies, has two sons and a daughter. He’s in fairly good health, but a realist. He had two heart attacks in his late fifties. He quit smoking and watches the cholesterol, but long lives don’t run in his genes. Either of his children could succeed him. He wants to leave them set up for success.”

  “So this company’s his property?”

  “No,” Jack said. “Not exactly.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “It’s listed. A penny stock, though. Through his stock and a few friendly stockholders he controls slightly over half of the voting shares.”

  Caldwell suddenly developed a deep frown. “If you’d done your homework, Wiley, you’d know we prefer private companies.”

  “Who doesn’t? Less complications, less mess.”

  “Plus,” Golightly—also frowning—stiffly noted, “it doesn’t sound like management wants to relinquish ownership. You mentioned that this geezer intends to hand it over to his kids. CG never shares. We buy it, and it’s ours to do with as we please.”

  Jack leaned back in his seat. The legs crossed again. He smiled at the three men and let a little more cockiness show. “Do you want to hear the setup or should I find my own way out?”

  “We’re asking fair questions,” Golightly replied. His tone made it clear he wasn’t the least bit apologetic.

  “No, you’re nit-picking before you’ve heard the pitch.”

  “No, we’re—”

  “If I’m wasting my time, Brian, let’s call it quits now.”

  Blank had cleared his calendar for this meeting. He had an hour to kill with nothing better to do. He cleared his throat and decided to hear him out. “All right, continue.”

  “Good decision. As I said, this is a midsize company. About four hundred million in revenue, and fifty mil in profit two years ago. It’s lean and efficient, but competes in a low-margin business. They were asking for a hundred mil. See where I’m going with this?”

  The three boys from CG exchanged looks that quickly turned into shrugs. No idea.

  Jack smiled again, and exposed a little more of the chip on his shoulder. “I asked the CEO what he intended to do with the money. About half for plant expansion, a quarter to hire more salespeople, the rest for updating a few systems.”

  “And what bothered you about that?” Golightly asked.

  “According to him, his company was already clearing fifty million in profit annually. Do the math, Brian. That means a hundred and fifty million for investment, minimum.”

  “So?”

  “So, for fifty million they accomplish the same goals, without selling any ownership. For a hundred and fifty mil they could build an entire new company.”

  This point seemed to arouse some interest. “You think he was hiding something?” Golightly asked.

  Jack nodded. “I was sure of it.”

  They focused on his lips and waited to hear what was being hidden. Come on, Jack, spill it, their eyes were saying.

  Instead, Jack said, “I think I’d love a cup of coffee.”

  3

  The woman returned and filled three cups with coffee. The cups were fine china, boldly embossed with the large gold letters CG. Jack chose black and took his first deep sip; the coffee was watery and weak.

  The accountant drank tea, no cream, no sweetener. He made loud slurping noises as he sipped.

  Once they were settled, Blank decided it was time to shift control. He opened by asking, “If this is such an incredible opportunity, why aren’t your partners at Cauldron taking advantage of it?”

  “May I be frank?”

  “You better be.”

  “Not a good fit, Mr. Blank. Cauldron never involves itself in unfriendly takeovers, for one thing.”

  “Why not?”

  “My partners regard it as unseemly. They’re pretty old-fashioned that way, and so are our clients. They don’t like getting their fingers dirty.”

  By inference, the boys on the other side of the table had no compunction about wallowing in mud.

  “If that rubs wrong, I meant no offense,” Jack added quickly, nodding contritely at the men across the table.

  The apology was wasted—absolutely no offense had been taken.

  “Are we the first firm you’ve approached?” Blank asked.

  “Yes. But don’t think that means you’ll be the last.”

  “Why us?”

  Jack appeared to contemplate this question a moment. He took a long sip of coffee. “It happens that you share one or two common markets with this company, an essential quality in whoever I team with.”

  “Why is that important?”

  “I don’t intend to get into that yet.”

  “That’s it?”

  “No, there’s more, plenty more. The Capitol Group obviously brings a lot to the table—influence, marketing muscle, deep pockets, a track record for doing what it takes to win.” He quickly added, “And so do several other firms.”

  Blank shared a wink with Golightly that Jack was obviously meant to catch. “Why don’t we go back to this big secret the CEO was supposed to be hiding?”

  “All right. I did a little digging after our meeting. The more I dug, the more convinced I became the CEO was concealing something. I was right.”

  “What kind of digging?”

  “Later. Once we have a deal, I’ll lay it all out for you.”

  Not if, but once—as if the option belonged to Wiley. Who did this guy think he was dealing with? The boys from CG exchanged a few more looks.

  Blank planted his elbows on the table and bent far forward. “Look, we’re very busy people, Wiley. I think you better tell us what it is.”

  “Sure.” Jack smiled, as if to say, Lousy timing, but if you insist. “The CEO is a chemical engineer. He and a few of his people spent years working on a new product. They called it Project Holy Grail. For reasons that will become evident, the past two years they threw everything they had into it. They worked around the clock. Weekends, no holidays, late nights, they nearly killed themselves.”

  “But they found it?”

  Jack nodded. “Unfortunately, it’s a new market for them. One I think will be very difficult for this company to break in
to. It happens to be one where CG is a dominant player.”

  “Look, we’re all getting tired of the vagueness, Wiley. It’s about time you tell us what this product is,” Golightly prodded, tapping the table, clearly speaking for his friends.

  “If you like.” Jack paused. He let the suspense build for a moment. “It’s a polymer coating. Paint it onto a combat vehicle, any vehicle really, and it pretends it’s thirty inches of armor.”

  The three faces across the table displayed complete indifference. Blank shifted his rather broad rear forward in his chair. Big deal, his posture said. “Right now, the market’s full of crap like this, Wiley. If I had a dollar for every nutcase who claims to have invented a new lightweight armor, I’d own CG.”

  “I didn’t say it was armor,” Jack patiently corrected him. “Here’s the important point. This polymer is also reactive. Do you understand what that means?”

  Three collective shrugs.

  “Embedded in this polymer are millions of, well, for simplicity’s sake, call them beads. Tiny little beads. The concept is unique and performs beautifully. They act like explosives. When a penetrating rod hits the polymer, these little beads explode outward. Do you understand the physics of this?”

  “Why don’t we listen to you explain it,” Blank replied, giving the impression that he could write a textbook on the subject.

  Jack leaned forward on his elbows and explained, “Every time we invent a new type of armor, or improve on an old form, the bad guys initiate a mad scramble for a way to defeat it. It’s a game, a long game without end. The most common way to attack modern armor is through designed stages. Sometimes the explosive strikes first, maybe softens or ruptures the armor, then a penetrating rod hits and punches through. Sometimes the rod isn’t designed to penetrate, but to turn the tables, to use the armor against itself. The idea is to inflict spalling, to cause the armor to lose its integrity, to break apart, then these big chunks of metal bounce around inside the vehicle. It’s a tanker’s worst nightmare.”

  “And these beads prevent that?” Golightly asked. He specialized in defense industries; to his discomfort, though, his expertise was aviation systems, and this was way over his head.

  “Exactly, Brian. Remember, these beads explode out, tens of thousands of them, simultaneously. The force merges, becomes collective, dynamic. It counters, in fact, it defeats any of these so-called penetrators. Best of all, there’s no inward force; thus, no spalling.”

  “And you just paint it on?”

  “It’s slightly more complicated than that. But yes, essentially. Two coats, applied in a sterile, high-pressure environment, ten hours to congeal, and voilà—the equivalent of thirty inches of steel coating.”

  “And you could put this stuff on, say, a Humvee?”

  “Sure. A Humvee, a tank, a Bradley Fighting Vehicle, your grandmother’s car. It’s surprisingly lightweight. Coat an entire Humvee, you add only fifteen pounds to the overall weight. Its adhesive quality is almost miraculous.”

  “Has it been patented?” Golightly asked, the predictable question regarding all new developments.

  Jack obviously anticipated it. “As research progressed, the company filed every time it made a breakthrough. It’s a complicated formula and a long chemical process. Years of work and progress, a lot of small breakthroughs that add up to a seismic invention. All told, we’re talking twenty-one U.S. and sixteen approved international patents.”

  “But is the overall product patented?” Blank asked rudely, as if Jack had evaded the question.

  “No, not yet.”

  “Why not?”

  Jack, hesitated then released a heavy breath as if to say, I shouldn’t have to explain this, but… Instead he said, “Patents are public domain, Mr. Blank. The instant they’re approved, they’re posted online. Lots of firms hire researchers who study every new patent. File the finished product and you announce to the world what you’ve got. The CEO played it smart. He found a watertight way to protect the confidentiality. The entire process is wrapped in ten tons of legal protection, but nobody knows it exists.”

  “Has it been tested?” Blank asked in a tone that was growing increasingly antagonistic.

  “Yes, under very realistic conditions. Only by the company, though.”

  “Then you have only their word that it works?”

  “For the time being, I’d prefer not to disclose what I know, or how I know it.”

  “So we have only your word.”

  “That’s right.” Jack pushed his coffee cup away. With a few loud snaps, he opened his briefcase—they were sure he was going to withdraw filched lab results or a spreadsheet, some form of incontrovertible proof to back up his remarkable claims. He instead picked up the stack of slides and began stuffing them in the case.

  Blank watched him. “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like I’m doing?”

  “Leaving.”

  Very coolly, Jack said, “You finally got something right today, Mr. Blank. Congratulations.”

  “You’re not finished, are you?”

  Jack smiled and continued packing his briefcase. “Uh-oh, back to the dumb questions again.”

  The accountant looked at Blank and explained the obvious. “I think leaving usually means finished.”

  “I don’t get it, Wiley. You asked for this meeting.”

  “You’re right, Mr. Blank. My mistake.”

  “What are you talking about?” Golightly asked, unnerved by how quickly this was unraveling.

  Jack snapped shut his case and looked up. “I hope you enjoyed the insults, because they were very expensive. Now allow me to leave you with something to ponder. This company can be had for as little as a hundred million. One-fifty at the outside. The first year, sales will almost definitely hit the four billion range. The second year, at least six. After that, it depends on a few variables.”

  “Variables?”

  Jack looked at them as if he was tired of having to explain such simple concepts. “The U.S. Army and Marine Corps are the obvious first customers. They’ll be pleading for all the polymer you can produce, as fast as you can manufacture it. And did I mention this polymer can hold dye? Take gray, for instance; a prosperous color. Imagine now if the Navy was persuaded to paint its ships with this polymer. Twelve aircraft carriers coated, head to stern, then a hundred destroyers, and three hundred assorted other warships.”

  The jaws on the other side of the table were dropping. The numbers struck like bullets.

  Jack continued in the same assured businesslike tone. “And that’s only the beginning. There’s a large private market as well—corporate limousines, police cars, bulletproof vests. And of course, the United States isn’t the only country with military vehicles that need protection. Marketed properly, I envision sales to reach the fifteen billion a year range.” Jack smiled. “Of course, I come from a small, backward firm. Meekness is bred into me. Regrettably, I tend to underestimate these things.”

  The three men across the table suddenly found it hard to breathe. Their knees went weak. Had they heard right? The magic numbers hung in the air. The accountant was noisily scribbling figures on his beloved legal pad.

  Four billion the first year alone—a two thousand percent return in only twelve months. Four billion! Why hadn’t Jack announced that at the start?

  “Jack, sit down and stay a little longer. Please,” Blank pleaded, suddenly overwhelmed with affection for Jack Wiley. “There’s a lot more for us to discuss.” He tried a smile that came across like a tree tortured by the wind. “Please, Jack.”

  Jack glanced at his watch. “My flight leaves in thirty minutes. I meet with a firm in New York in three hours. At five, I have to be in Pennsylvania for another meeting. Sorry, boys, busy day.”

  “These meetings wouldn’t be about this polymer, would they?” Golightly asked, overcome with a sudden feeling of nausea. If this deal walked out the door, if it turned out to be half what Wiley promised, and if some other
firm bagged Jack Wiley, he might as well throw himself out of the window.

  If, if, if—three big ifs. A sickening feeling was telling him the ifs were about to become whens.

  At least it wouldn’t be a solo flight: Blank would splat in the parking lot right beside him.

  “I tried to warn you, Brian,” Jack said. “Three times. You blew it. It wasn’t an empty bluff, you should’ve listened.”

  “Don’t be that way. It’s not personal, Jack, it’s business.”

  “Exactly, it’s business.” Jack now had his case packed and was standing by the door. He turned his back on them and said, “I’ll listen to what the other firms offer. Then, maybe, I’ll get back to you.”

  With that parting shot he was out the door, gone.

  Like that, the fifteen-billion-dollar man disappeared.

  The three men huddled together for a terrifying moment. Agreement came quickly and unanimously; a few frantic, sweaty handshakes and a firm bargain was violently sealed. What a disaster.

  “You blew it,” he’d said—and he was right.

  Their only prayer was to keep this calamity from the big boys upstairs.

  They swore a solemn oath to carry this secret to their graves.

  4

  The existence of the taping system was known to barely a handful of CG’s most senior executives. Beyond that, there was just the small crew of closemouthed listeners hidden in the basement who monitored the action, sifted the nuggets from the useless chatter, and red-lighted anything alarming or worthy of interest to the big bosses upstairs.

  Only the LBO boys were targeted. Only their conference rooms were wired. Consideration had once been given to a wholesale expansion, to tapping their phones, bugging their desks, even planting a few listening devices in nearby bathrooms. Put in enough bugs and wire to match Nixon’s White House. No way. As quickly as it was raised, that dangerous idea was discarded. The overhead of listeners would multiply sixfold. The chance of exposure would become immense. Why risk it?