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“Bulfert’s outside. He’s being shown in,” he informed him.
“Good.” Dyson closed the report he’d been reading and sat back in his custom-designed swivel chair. “Have the cigars ready for him.” Stricklin walked to a side cupboard and removed the box of imported cigars, placing them on the Texas-
sized desk.
The doors to the executive office of Dy-Corp were opened and a statuesque blonde stepped aside to admit the heavily jowled politician. Excess weight had bulged his middle considerably, evidence of his self-indulgent ways. He mopped at his florid face with an expensive linen handkerchief. Dyson came out from behind the desk to greet him, submitting to the pumping handshake.
“Welcome to Texas, Senator.” He paused, then smiled. “I guess I shouldn’t be calling you Senator anymore since your retirement from office, but it’s a habit I’m going to find difficult to break. I hope you don’t mind—Senator.”
“Not at all. Not at all,” Bulfert replied with his usual show of aggressive joviality.
“Have a cigar.” Dyson gestured to the box of the senator’s favorite brand. “May I pour you a drink? How about some bourbon and our good Texas branch water?”
“Too early for me.” He waved aside the offer of a drink. “But I will have a cigar.” Stricklin offered him his pick from the box. “Thank you, Stricklin.” He smiled at the darkly tanned man with sun-bleached hair, never completely comfortable with those steel-blue eyes on him.
“I try, Senator.” Stricklin smiled back, ready with a light for the cigar the politician rolled between his lips.
“Sit down, Senator,” Dyson invited and returned to his chair behind the desk. “We’ve had an opportunity to go over this . . . confidential file you left with us, and our findings concur with yours.” His words were couched in polite terms, mocking what both had known from the start. “It would seem that the title to those ten thousand acres of land Calder supposedly purchased from the government was obtained by fraudulent means. It appears that this recently deceased”—Dyson paused to check the report for the name—“Mr. Osgood had no authorization to make the sale. His bank records show there was a sizable cash deposit made at approximately the same time the transaction occurred. And a similar amount was withdrawn from Calder’s bank account some weeks before. An obvious case of bribing a government official.”
“A terrible thing—violating the public trust,” the senator agreed, smiling smugly. “So well documented, too.”
“The government obviously has grounds to declare the sale of that land null and void,” Dyson agreed.
“Exactly my thought.” The cigar was clenched in his teeth as he responded to the assertion.
“As I promised, the file has gone no farther than this room. However, now that you aren’t in office, I can think of no reason why it couldn’t be arranged for this information to come to the attention of the proper official. Discreetly, of course.”
“Of course.” Bulfert nodded, the bagging jowls bunching out with the movement. “I’m sure, with your connections, you would have no difficulty obtaining the mining rights on that particular portion of federal land.”
“We can certainly hope.” Dyson smiled, admitting nothing.
The politician became serious, assuming a grave air. “You are aware that property is landlocked. Completely surrounded by Calder land.”
“I’m sure the government can obtain the authority to demand and receive an easement access.”
“Yes.” Bulfert showed an uncommon interest in the fine ash building up on the end of his cigar. “I know Calder. He’ll fight this every way he knows how. Injunctions, court battles, suits. Litigation could drag out for a long time. He’ll fight over every inch of it. Never give for a minute.”
“I expect he will.” Dyson appeared calm.
“Do you?” Bulfert studied the Texan, wondering if he knew the breed of man he was tackling. “If he has to, he’ll fight dirtier than the next man.”
“He has that reputation. But that’s hardly your problem, Senator.” Dyson smiled. “I failed to ask how you liked your new office. Was it satisfactory?”
“Very nice. Quite comfortable.” He tapped the cigar on the lip of the ashtray.
“Good. Of course, you have your own private secretary and a full expense account. The company won’t be expecting you to keep any regular hours, since consulting work is an irregular business. But I know Advance Tech Ltd. is happy to have you on its staff.” Both of them knew it was a manufactured position in a subsidiary company of Dy-Corp, with full salary and benefits, and no duties. “I expect it will take you some time adjusting to life in Texas after living in Montana for so long.”
“I shall enjoy the warm climate. Montana’s gotten too cold for these old bones.” And the senator knew the atmosphere would soon grow colder for him back there, as soon as Calder realized he’d had a hand in this.
A few more pleasantries were exchanged before the senator took his leave of the two men. After he’d gone, Dyson stared thoughtfully at the closed doors.
“Calder will fight this,” he said finally to Stricklin. “I wish there was something I could do to keep Tara from being caught in the middle of all this. I certainly don’t want to cause her any unhappiness.” An agitated sigh broke from him as he pushed out of the chair and strode from behind the desk, wanting to pace and trying to control it. “If Calder is as bullheaded as Bulfert says, this dispute is bound to affect Tara.”
With his computerlike mind, Stricklin could sift through information, analyze it, and come up with specific answers, but only with the proper input. For a man who worshiped at the shrine of Tara, it was unthinkable that she should suffer any unhappiness.
“There must be some way of reaching Calder.” He walked to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a drink.
“None,” Dyson announced grimly. “The man’s rooted in his opinions.” He stopped in front of a large window, his hands clasped behind his back. For a long second, he stood silent. Then he swung away, disgruntled. “It would be so much easier if I were dealing with Ty. He’s intelligent and reasonable . . . progressive in his thinking. You only have to look at the changes he’s made at the ranch to know that. It would be a much simpler matter to convince him of the viability of our plans. Unfortunately”—Dyson took in a long breath and let it out—“Calder is in charge, not his son.”
