7
To his credit, Jack was not smirking when he reentered the room, fell into his seat, and crossed his legs. “Well?” he asked, watching their faces.
Jackson, trying to match Jack’s poised air, said, “Let me start by assuring you, Jack, that nobody in this room had a thing to do with the break-in. Apparently somebody in the LBO section got a little carried away. You know how that can happen.”
“Do I?”
“Hear me out, Jack. One of our junior executives, a man known for being a little overeager, well… just say he encouraged TFAC to pressure you. He’ll be taken care of first thing in the morning. We don’t abide with that kind of behavior. As for that picture of Mitch… uh, Mitch went there to tell them to back off and leave you alone.”
They watched his face and waited for the reaction. There was no reaction. Not a snicker, not a frown. “Let’s talk about the deal,” Jack said.
“The deal, yes, good idea. We’re willing to meet your conditions, all of them. Including the twenty-five percent.” Jackson paused, then scrunched his lips together. “Subject, of course, to reviewing your plan, assuring ourselves it will work, and is worth our efforts.”
Jack sat quietly and took that in. Finally he asked, “Are you willing to sign a contract to that effect?”
Arguing that Jack should simply trust their word or seal their agreement with a gentlemanly handshake seemed like a waste of time at this point. “Sure,” Walters answered quickly for all of them. “Of course, it will take us a little time to prepare one.”
Jack reached into his dreaded suitcase again, withdrew three copies of a draft contract, and casually tossed them on the table. For a moment, the four heads from CG ogled them in disbelief. They were incredulous-he already had contracts drawn up-what nerve! Then three sets of hands immediately snatched them. Nobody spoke. The CG boys dove into the conditions; predictably, all of the stipulations Jack had just laid down were there, in black and white. The office, the twenty million finder’s bonus, twenty-five percent ownership in what the contract termed a limited liability partnership.
The partnership would be incorporated in Delaware, a business-friendly state with wonderfully hospitable corporate laws, one where any problems could be speedily and fairly adjudicated. But CG’s usual preference regarding partnerships was to park them offshore, where taxes were nil and oversight wonderfully lax.
On the other hand, Jack’s stipulation made good sense: for such a high-profile defense contract, it was undoubtedly best to have a U.S. imprimatur on the partnership. Red-white-and-blue all the way.
Jack crossed his arms, sat quietly, and watched them read. His face was expressionless, his body motionless. He looked neither angry nor jubilant. If anything, he looked slightly bored, even a little disconnected.
He looked, in fact, very much like a man with at least two perfectly good offers already in his pocket. Go ahead and object, his posture seemed to say; it’ll cost you billions and I’ll laugh all the way to the bank.
Jackson, the lawyer, was first to speak. “Legally speaking, the contract appears acceptable.”
Jack nodded. The signature at the bottom was for Mitch Walters. Jack slid him a pen. “You first,” he said. Walters had to fight back a smile as he slipped on his reading glasses and scrawled his name three times. He pushed down so hard he nearly slashed through the paper. What a relief.
Jack’s turn, and he methodically attached his own signature to the bottom of all three copies. He slid one copy across the table to Walters, then neatly tucked the other two back inside his lethal suitcase.
“Before we get started with the details,” Bellweather said, “why, after this break-in, did you choose us?”
“Aside from your willingness to give me twenty-five percent?”
“Yes, that’s what I mean.”
Jack uncrossed his arms and leaned forward. “To tell the truth, your attempt was the tipping point. It was stupid and clumsy. That part didn’t impress me in the least.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You cared enough to go the extra mile, Dan.”
“You’re serious?”
Jack nodded. “This takeover is going to take a little of the right kind of elbow grease. It won’t be totally clean. I need a partner that doesn’t sweat the small stuff.”
“I see.”
“You’ll see better in a moment,” Jack promised.
Walters reached across the table and handed Jack a flute of champagne. “Congratulations, partner,” he offered rather pathetically.
Jack raised his glass and took a short sip. Bellweather planted his elbows on the table and said, “Now convince us it’s a deal worth pursuing.”
Jack took another sip, and they all watched him and held their breaths. At last, after nine days of chasing and wooing him, after raking through his past, trying to frame him and get their hands on this gold mine, they were about to hear the particulars.
Jack put down his flute. “The name of the company is Arvan Chemicals. Named after its founder and CEO, Perry Arvan. It’s located in Trenton, New Jersey.”
Blank expressions all around. This name did not register with any of the men.
Jack nodded and continued. “Here’s the story. Arvan makes products that feed into the munitions and automobile industries. Principally chemicals for bombs and supplying adhesives that bind paint to car components. This intimate familiarity with two of the basic workings of this polymer led to the breakthroughs. Perry Arvan is a thermochemist with expertise in chemical explosives. Nitroglycerin, C4, RDX, and HMX are a few of the key products his chemicals go into. Other chemists on his staff specialize in adhesives for metals. They pooled their expertise to create this polymer.”
Walters edged forward in his seat. “You said it took years.”
“It’s a difficult design challenge, Mitch. The biggest roadblock is stability. The beads have to be high-explosive, meaning that heat or force causes them to release all their energy at once, rather than just burn or expunge gas. By necessity, the explosive is nitrogen-based. But nitrogen is inherently unstable, and subsequently the military has very stringent requirements. The explosive has to be able to withstand smaller shocks, high and low temperatures, friction, even sparks. Perry toyed with a thousand variations before he found the perfect product.”
“But it works?”
“Yes, quite well.”
“You know this for a fact?”
“It definitely works,” Jack assured them again, more firmly this time. “Perry worked out a confidential arrangement with a contractor in Iraq. It’s a company that does security work, bodyguarding high-level Iraqi officials for the most part. Ten months ago, Perry coated their vehicles before they were shipped over. Over ninety explosions later, not one contractor or protectee was killed, or even seriously injured. A few nasty concussions from the shock, which is unavoidable, but it certainly beats the alternative. The coating was never penetrated or even fractured. They’ve been hit with everything. IEDs. Rockets. Grenades. Plenty of direct hits, and yet not one vehicle was punctured, much less destroyed.”
“Has this been verified?”
“Glad you asked.” Jack bent down, pulled a thick black notebook from his suitcase, and dropped it on the table. “Perry did the smart thing. He hired an independent outfit to examine the results. Here they are. They’re quite impressive.”
“How impressive?” Haggar asked, eyeing the report.
“After each explosion a technical team examined the vehicle and assessed the impact. A few lessons were learned. For example, two coats work better than one. As you’ll see, the results exceeded the most optimistic expectations.”
Haggar picked up the book and began flipping pages. The laundry lists of highly technical details only confused him, so he flipped to the photographs of vehicles taken post-explosion. After a moment, he whistled.