The Midas Code

Sherman’s last command was as deputy director of the Strategic Command Center for Combating Weapons of Mass Destruction. In coordination with the civilian adjunct Defense Threat Reduction Agency, his responsibility had been to develop strategies and tactics for defeating WMDs.

“Not yet,” Sherman said while chewing on his final bite of sirloin.

“Whatever it is, I’ll double it.”

“I’m considering a lot of positions right now. How do you know you can afford me?”

“General, whatever your price is, you’re worth it. You’ve been involved in some of the biggest weapons-development programs of the last ten years. You know everyone, and they listen to you. Gordian is the largest private engineering firm in the world. We can help with virtually any project the military contracts out to civilian defense contractors. That sounds like a buttload of synergy to me.”

“Does Tyler know you’re asking me?”

“He’d crap a show pony if he knew I was talking to you.” Miles looked him straight in the eye when he said this. Direct. No dancing around. Sherman liked that. He wouldn’t have expected any less from a former Army officer like Miles.

Sherman and his son had a testy relationship at best. Lately, they’d begun to patch things up, but working in the same company might be pushing it, especially in a company that Tyler had co-founded. No doubt he’d see Sherman’s hiring as an intrusion into his space. On the other hand, spending more time together might help them mend some fences, something Sherman wanted to do even more as he got older.

“Okay,” Sherman said. “Just for grins, what would the job be?”

“You would interact with the Pentagon’s senior officers on appropriations that might provide business for Gordian. Part of your duties would be reviewing upcoming weapons-development programs and analyses to determine where Gordian’s expertise would best fit. Of course, you would have a staff, and we would offer you full partnership after two years with the firm.”

“So I’d be a salesman?”

“No. We have guys for that, but I need someone who knows how Pentagon proposals are evaluated and doled out.”

Sherman leaned back and studied the ceiling. He’d commanded fighter wings, the entire First Air Force, and a department of thousands of people tasked with protecting the nation from the most hideous weapons imaginable. The thought of being some kind of glorified paper jockey didn’t sit well with him.

“I don’t know,” he said finally.

“Just promise me you’ll think about it. And I know it’s not all about money for you, but the year-end partner bonuses have been spectacular the last few years.”

“So that’s how Tyler affords that cliff-side house.”

“He’s worth every penny,” Miles said. “Takes on the toughest assignments and doesn’t bat an eye. You know, I met him when I was still teaching at MIT. Student of mine. Tyler had a combination of brains, creativity, and guts that was rare. Unique, I’d say.”

“You forgot to mention that he’s also pigheaded and thinks he’s always right.”

“He usually is.”

“And he never listens to his dad.”

“How many sons do? Listen, I know he’s got his faults- he’s a pain in the butt whenever I want him to do some paperwork-but you should be proud of him.”

“I am. He just can’t get it through his thick skull sometimes.”

Sherman felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see a waiter.

“Excuse me, sir,” the waiter said. “A gentleman has asked to see you. He says that it’s urgent.” The waiter pointed at an Army officer standing in the doorway of the restaurant.

“Will you excuse me, Miles?”

“Of course.”

Sherman stood and walked over to the officer. “Yes, Captain?” he said. The name tag said Wilson. Sherman didn’t know him.

“General, I’m sorry to interrupt your lunch, but I’ve been asked to drive you to a briefing at the DTRA. An issue has come up, and they’d like to consult you about it.”

“Now?”

“They said it was quite urgent.”

“What’s it about?”

“I don’t know, sir. They just told me to come find you.”

“They could have just called. Who’s running the meeting?”

“General Horgan requested your presence.”

“Wonder what Bob’s up to.”

The phrase was rhetorical, but Wilson shrugged anyway. “No idea, sir.”

“All right. I’ll be with you in a minute, Captain.”

Sherman returned to the table to retrieve his briefcase. “Looks like I’m needed elsewhere,” he said to Miles.

“Perhaps we could talk more about the offer over drinks later?”

“If I can make it back, sure. You have my number. Call me when you’re at the bar.”

They shook hands, and with his briefcase in hand, Sherman went back to the door.

“Okay, Captain, lead the way.”

They got on the elevator, and a hotel waiter joined them.

“Parking level, please,” the captain said, and the hotel worker pressed the button.

As they descended, something about the captain’s decorations caught Sherman’s eye. The ribbons on a soldier’s shirt indicated the medals and commendations he had been awarded. For a moment, Sherman couldn’t figure out why one ribbon looked out of place until he remembered what it signified.