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40

After returning from Montana, Lee had spent two days on her new duties. She knew Millennium's worldwide operations thoroughly, from her work on the operations chart. Now she was discovering the problems of training and installing a large number of new counselors and supervisors at field locations, integrating them, and providing suitable facilities, at minimal cost, and without disrupting ongoing counseling and training.

One thing in particular troubled her, and she'd arrived at the office that morning intending to speak with Lor Lu before he could leave on another tour. It was a nuisance having him gone so much. When he was away, Anne Whistler could answer almost any of her questions, but no one could fill Lor Lu's shoes.

She touched a key on her pad, and waited a second.

"This is Lor Lu. What can I do for you, Lee?"

"Give me a few minutes of your time."

"How would right now be?"

"I'll be right there."

Standing, she grabbed her stenographic recorder and left at once. Lor Lu's office was near the other end of the third-floor corridor. She was there in less than a minute, and began without preliminaries.

"As of last Friday you had a total of 370 Life Healing counselors in training or internships in the U.S.," she said. "About 160 are expected to be certified over the next three months. We have 316 training abroad. Add the 83 advanced counseling trainees, 48 counseling supervisor trainees, and 74 training supervisors . . ." She trailed off, looking meaningfully at the small Asian.

"We'd train more if we had more training supervisors in place," he said. "But I feel quite pleased with our progress."

He grinned. Usually she found that reassuring; just now it troubled her. "So," she said, "where is the business going to come from to keep them productive? It's costing Millennium money to train and house and feed them, and pay their weekly stipends. And when they graduate, there'll be salaries to pay."

Lor Lu's mobile eyebrows had raised questioningly. "True," he said.

"Our business projections only extend for three months. And while the trend has been steadily upward, it's not steep. And if anything, the Depression seems to be getting worse. If we're going to install hundreds of new staff, rent or buy facilities for them, and pay them actual salaries, we need to bring in a lot of new customers. And except for speaking tours, we have about the tamest, least imaginative promotion conceivable. With no plans to increase it, so far as I can see. Is there something I haven't been told? Or what?"

"Not at all. If I may use a cliché, what you see is what you get. We have no plans for expanded promotion. That doesn't mean we won't expand it, but we have no plans to." His eyes were bright but inscrutable. "I'm confident the demand will be there as the counselors are available. Or shortly afterward. The physical universe does not often provide perfect timing, but the people will come to us."

Frowning, she stared at him. "And that's it?"

He laughed, the sound light in the winter sunshine slanting through his windows. "I have faith," he said. "I recommend it to you. The Tao will provide."

She snorted. "Famous last words."

"True again. Nonetheless, act on it as a working assumption: the demand will be there."

His grin had eased off to an easy smile. Deliberately to fit her mood, she had no doubt.

She returned to her office not greatly eased, to find a message on her phone. Duke Cochran wanted to talk to her "for a few minutes, at your earliest convenience."

Well hell, she thought, why not? She could use some distraction before returning to what she'd been doing. It wasn't easy to focus when she had serious misgivings about basic assumptions. Reaching, she dialed Duke's number. He answered on the first buzz.

"Mr. Cochran," she said, "this is Lee Shoreff. What did you want to talk about? I really can't see the time for an interview this week." Her tone, she realized, was brusque, an effect of her unsatisfactory talk with Lor Lu.

"Another interview wasn't what I called about," Cochran answered. "Though when you find an opportunity, I very much want to get together with you on that. No, this won't take more than five or ten minutes. I'd like to talk with you about something more specific. In your office, this morning if possible."

She frowned. "The best time would be right now. Before I get reimmersed in what I'm working on."

"Great!" he said. "I'll be right over."

He hung up immediately, leaving her wondering what he might want to know about her work that she could possibly tell him. Minutes later he knocked. When he came in, he was breathing deeply, as if he'd run. "Hi," he said. "How was your trip to Montana?"

He must have asked for her while she was away, and Marge had told him where she'd gone. "Interesting. Is that what you wanted to talk about?"

"Not primarily. But I do want to talk about it sometime soon. I want to visit it myself, when spring arrives."

"So what do you want to talk about now?" she asked pointedly.

"I need some information, and I'm not sure you have it. Or whether you can give it to me if you do. Let me tell you what brought it up. I did a WebWorld search on Millennium's financing, and its board of trustees. Aside from providing money, they seem mainly advisory. Actually they could be just window dressing, wealthy supporters who lend their names to help bring in more support. Seemingly—that's seemingly—they don't involve themselves in management. But they do make up the big gap between Millennium's earned income and its expenses, as estimated by people who know how to figure those things. And—"

Lee interrupted. "If you're looking for actual figures, I'm afraid I can't help you." She said it crisply, decisively, leaving no room for discussion.

"No, no! That's not it. But they're very much in a position to insist their advice be taken, if they choose to. And it would be surprising if they didn't, from time to time.

"Also I've come up with someone—a financier—who's not on the board. Another investigator, a lot better qualified than I am to find these things out, has listed all the people who provide major financial support. And when I compare them to the board of trustees, I find a perfect match. With one exception.

"It's that exception that's troubling me. Why wouldn't he be on the board of trustees? His name is David Hunter. Major General David Hunter, U.S. Air Force retired. He's a scion of the 'old money' Hunter family, whose wealth came originally from Green Mountain Distilleries, founded in 1828. His great-great-grandfather predicted Prohibition, and built a distillery in Alberton, Ontario. When his forecast came true, he profited big time, from smuggling.

"As an Air Force officer, David Hunter's postings were more administrative and political than military. His career took off—no pun intended—after he was assigned to Air Force Intelligence. And he took an early and unpublicized retirement less than two weeks after the One-Day War, which occurred only three weeks after an unpublicized working trip to Damascus." Cochran paused.

"So?" Lee prompted.

"I realize none of that is incriminating in any way. But it does tell me something about his family and the way it does business. And it suggests a personality given to manipulation and intrigue. A personality who might be attracted to covert activities to get its way.

"And again, why would he decline to be a member of Millennium's board? I doubt very much that the members have to carry out any actual board duties, unless they want to. Memberships on the boards of foundations are often more honorary than anything else."

"What does this ex-general do now?" Lee asked. "Since he left the Air Force."

"He's a high-priced consultant, a fixer of 'broken companies.' He bails out once successful corporations that have fallen on hard times, often acquiring temporary executive authority to do it with. He's supposed to be very good at what he does. He certainly charges enough."

Lee was interested in spite of herself; interested yet resistive. "So what are you trying to tell me?" she asked.

"I was skeptical of Millennium's purposes myself once. But I've been more thoroughly immersed in its operations than an investigative reporter could possibly be, and seen nothing the least bit suspicious. And there's an obvious explanation for the general to keep his Millennium connection quiet. He doesn't have a buffered permanent position; he sells his services. And prospective clients might be uncomfortable with his Millennium connections. Cultish, you know."

She paused after her last sentence. "Why did you come to me with this?" she asked.

"Partly because you don't seem to have the emotional investment in Millennium that the others here do, and partly because you're brighter than hell. And you know Millennium's inside workings and still respect it, which is the kind of commendation for it that money can't buy."

Cochran had said that to make points with her; now it occurred to him that it was true.

"You and I both know that Millennium and Ngunda Aran have done a lot for the country," he went on, "especially through Hand and Ladder and Bailout. But what are Hunter's objectives? His credentials as a philanthropist? I haven't found any except his support of Millennium. On the other hand, he's been instrumental in takeovers of several corporations. (Engineered them.) And you and I both know that Millennium spends a lot more than it earns. Taking all this together makes me wonder what plans Hunter might have for Millennium."

She gnawed her lip thoughtfully. She couldn't imagine someone putting anything over on Lor Lu, but . . . "So you want me to do—what?" she asked.

"Besides completing our interview, I'd like you to see if you can find anything about David Hunter in the dim dark recesses of Millennium's mainframe. By and large, concealment technology is ahead of snooping technology these days, but with your insider knowledge, and your access . . ."

"I'll see what I can find out," Lee told him. "That doesn't mean I'll make a research project out of it. I can't imagine I could get away with one. Or that there's anything ominous going on. But I'll make a cursory search, and if I find anything suggestive, I'll let you know."

They shook hands on it. His was firm, dry, and warm. And his touch . . . She was reminded of her first impression. This was someone she really shouldn't have much to do with.

When Cochran had left, she sat down at her desk. Prior to her Montana trip, her loyalty to Millennium had been professional. But since her trip, she realized, she felt an emotional loyalty, because Millennium really had done—was doing—good works. Nonetheless, her talk with Lor Lu had disturbed her, and what Duke had said was troubling, even if far from demonstrating anything. And if she uncovered something, she wouldn't have to tell him unless it seemed like the right thing to do.

Turning her chair to her keyboard, she wrote in an instruction, and after a moment another. She kept pulling strings for nearly half an hour, going deeper and further than she'd intended. And learned nothing of consequence. Finally she keyed in a call.

"This is Duke."

"Duke, this is Lee. I didn't learn a thing. If you want to talk about my Montana trip, let's get together for coffee at 10:30, for 15 minutes. In the coffee room or my office, either one."

"Great. Your office at 10:30."

* * *

When they hung up, Cochran's mind went to other possible sources for information on David Hunter. Maybe Nidringham would spring for a private investigator, one who specialized in money people. A fishing expedition, for general information on associations, and anything suggestive of illegal activities.

 

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