George Wallace - Hunter Killer [Movie Tie-In]

O’Malley shivered from the cold. “I got to admit that sounds real good to me right about now.”

“See that red flashing light up ahead, off the port bow? That should be Roseneath Point Light.” Glass pointed at a pinprick of light three miles ahead, barely visible against the brighter illumination of the towns that stretched on beyond the point. “The tugs should be waiting just around the turn.”

They steamed past Strone Point and the broad entrance to Loch Long and started the long, hard turn to the northwest, skirting Roseneath Point to enter Gare Loch. Two Royal Navy tugs joined them there in Roseneath Bay with a friendly greeting. The little fleet steamed in formation as they squeezed through the Roseneath Narrows and transited the length of Gare Loch.

The bright lights of the Royal Navy Submarine Base at Faslane came into view.

As the two tugs pushed Toledo alongside the pier, Glass looked up and saw it for the first time. It was the shape of the Mystic , dangling like a gigantic hooked fish below a massive pier crane. That brought home once again why they were here.

That machine was designed to rescue submariners trapped deep below the surface of the sea. They had been summoned to deliver it to some place out there. It could be no more than a simple drill. It could also be that brother sailors were in deep distress and he and his crew and boat were their last hope.

“I appreciate you and your people coming down for this meeting, Mr. Smythe.” The tall, distinguished man had started the meeting at precisely nine a.m., at least three digital watches in the room all tweeting in harmony to confirm it. “It will be a quick one, but I felt it was important for us all to meet face-to-face one more time, considering how much more closely our staffs will be working together until the final implementation of your system.”

Alstair McLain was the director of the Market Regulation Division for the Securities and Exchange Commission. With his full head of silver hair, strong, piercing eyes, and commanding presence, it was clear who was in charge here. The fact that he had the full regulatory force of the U.S. government behind him added to his considerable majesty.

Alan Smythe nodded in his direction and tried to sit up just a bit straighter in his chair. He knew his future, the future of OptiMarx, was as much in this man’s hands as anyone’s.

“Thank you,” was all he said.

Smythe, Carl Andretti, and Dmitri Ustinov sat across the broad conference table from McLain and two of his people, a rather nondescript man in a bad suit and a pleasant-looking middle-aged woman. McLain waved his arm in their direction.

“I believe you know Stan Miller, my deputy. I wanted you to meet Catherine Goldman as well. Ms. Goldman is head of the Information Technology Branch and will be your key contact on the OptiMarx project from this point forward.”

The three OptiMarx executives had been frequent visitors to the imposing SEC Headquarters Building, which stood just two blocks north of the Mall in the heart of downtown Washington. From this building, the powerful government agency watched over even the tiniest move of every player in the U.S. stock market. While the exterior and public spaces of the headquarters spoke of power and grandeur, the working areas were plain to the extreme. This conference room was one of the working spaces. Windowless pale green walls accented the utilitarian furniture. Each plastic chair bore its Government Services Administration serial number, proclaiming it to have been bought from the lowest bidder. The lone concession to human comfort was the coffee carafe and stack of china mugs in the center of the Formica-topped table.

The executives from OptiMarx introduced themselves to Goldman, exchanging pleasantries and trying not to neglect Stan Miller. It was clear that Ms. Goldman was the newest obstacle they would have to hurdle. She was a smallish woman, not unattractive at all, but with a strong air of all-business about her.

Dmitri Ustinov was thinking that if she would allow her hair to grow out, do something to hide the few gray strands, maybe pay a bit more attention to her makeup, she might be worth taking a run at. Alan Smythe was pondering if she was at all corruptible. Carl Andretti was wondering what his two partners were thinking about this new and unexpected development.

It was obvious that McLain was ready to begin again and the room fell quiet. He read from a prepared text he held on the table in front of him.

“We are meeting today under the provisions of SEC Policy Statement 34-27445, the ‘Automation Review Policy.’ The ARP inspection will be run by the New York Stock Exchange, but we will observe it. Catherine will head up our team that will be responsible for monitoring every step.”

Goldman acknowledged the mention of her name with a quick nod of her head and smoothly picked up the very obvious baton that had just been handed to her.

“Gentlemen, we will be working very closely together over the next couple of months. We will be looking at all aspects of your OptiMarx system to make sure it is sized to handle the maximum expected volume. That is what ARP was chartered for.” She stood and looked over at the three corporate executives. Even though she was only a little over five feet tall, she still radiated a force of presence that demanded respect. “We will also be testing all the trading and clearing rules, as well as compliance with SEC policy, as you would expect. When we’re done, your system will be wrung out and ready for ‘prime time.’”

As she talked, Ustinov leaned over and whispered to Andretti, “Damn, she sure sounds a lot tougher than she looks.”

“I’ll bet she’s tough as she sounds and twice as smart,” Andretti whispered back. “Watch out for that one.”

Goldman stopped talking and cast a cold eye on the two men. “Questions, gentlemen?”

“Uh, no,” Andretti stammered. “We’re just discussing the schedule.”

“I was just getting to the schedule, if you will allow me,” Goldman said rather pointedly. “We will begin on Monday. Early Monday. The remainder of the schedule and the requirements documents are in these packages.” She handed thick bound notebooks to each of the OptiMarx executives. “Mr. Ustinov, I expect your team to be ready to go by eight o’clock Monday morning.” She looked around the room. “Any questions?”

There were none. The meeting was over.

Andretti and Smythe walked out of the conference room together. Ustinov stayed behind to attempt to make small talk with Goldman. It never hurt to be nice to a bureaucrat, even if she happened to be a tough-as-nails woman. Both the other two men had seen the look in Ustinov’s eyes. He was on the hunt.

Andretti waited for the elevator door to slide shut before he spoke.

“What did you make of that? They brought us all the way down here for a two-minute meeting and to hand us the paperwork they could have sent up to us by courier. Do you think we have a problem?”

Smythe half smiled when he answered, “I don’t think so. This was all for show, to let us know how serious they are about keeping an eye on us. It gave McLain a chance to trot out his attack dog to scare us, to put us on our best behavior. Maybe to even throw us off our guard. She growled a bit, right on cue. Ustinov will use that Russian charm of his on her. He’ll have her eating out of his hand. Besides, except for his tendency to chase everything in a skirt, he is so damned clean and innocent. He’ll soon have her convinced that the only sinister plot at OptiMarx has to do with him getting into her pants.”

Andretti was still chuckling at the idea of the young Russian programmer chasing the SEC inspector as they stepped out of the elevator into the marble-and-wood lobby. Smythe’s limo was waiting at the curb to whisk them back over to Reagan Airport and the corporate jet.