branched out to technology, transportation, trade, and international law of the sea. Cheyenne’s technology would, no doubt, fall under Kuipers’ umbrella, and that made Graham very happy indeed.
How fantastically strange life is, Eatwell thought to himself – to think that he and Kuipers would again be on the same side of good, as they had been when they were young boys. How utterly sublime it was that he and his old Bletchley playmate would again have the opportunity to defeat a common foe, in this case Cannondale – who he would take particular pleasure in taking down.
Tomorrow, Eatwell would ring Kuipers. He wanted his friend to be prepared. More important, he wanted to hear the resolve in Kuipers’ voice – a resolve that both of them would need in order to stand up to Cannondale. Eatwell wanted to know that Kuipers still felt as strongly as he did about this experiment called the European Union.
“Your dinner, sir,” Bernard announced.
“Thank you, Bernard.”
“Shall I pour?”
“Yes. And pour a glass for yourself.”
“Sir?”
“Join me, Bernard. Eating alone is so dismal.”
Bernard poured the wine, wiped his hands on his apron, and drew the chair at the far end of the long table from Eatwell. They chatted. The meat was good with the creamy béarnaise. It was all good, save the loneliness.
They had all left his life, one by one — his parents, his colleagues at Downing Street. All had gone on to fame or faded obscurity. He was okay with it, though. He had found that life was a bit that way, a series of decks on a cruise ship. Some decks were music and laughter and drink. Some were reserved for pondering. Still others, like the captain’s bridge, kept the vessel on course. That’s where Eatwell saw himself firmly perched at this moment in time, at the helm. Yes, Europe needed him to make the right decisions, however unpopular. He would not shun his responsibilities in carrying this vessel called the European Union to port. Problem was, he wasn’t entirely certain where that port was.
“Bernard, what say you of the Canary Islands this time of year?” Eatwell said, making himself a perfect mouthful of steak, a couple of frites, salad, and a daub of béarnaise at the end of his fork.
“Good weather right about now, I imagine, sir.”
It was going to be all right. Eatwell would see to it.
PART II
(2005)
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Cheyenne was humming. Timmermans and his CFO, Michelle, had taken it public in the Netherlands. It was now trading as an American Depository Receipt (ADR) on the Nasdaq in New York, which allowed Americans to purchase shares. The company didn’t have customers yet, but the stock had almost doubled on the promise of riches alone.
Timmermans was spending almost all of his time negotiating endless partnership agreements between Cheyenne and municipal water suppliers throughout Europe to allow communications signals to flow through their systems. Peter had swallowed his pride from the experience with Cannondale in Brussels, and had spent the winter and summer cobbling together the necessary land and water-based technology. He was now supervising a series of tests. For his first test, he had chosen to send a scanned photo of a crotch shot from the Kamasutra to a fellow grad student back in Groningen. Peter hooked up his computer to the water device with three assistants looking on. There was much rejoicing when he hit “Send.” Within a minute, the friend in Groningen sent back an email that simply said, “Ouch.” It wasn’t quite, “Come here, Watson, I need you,” but it was good enough for Peter.
They were at the helm of pushing the concept of two cans and a string out further than anyone ever had. The media had already put them on the cover of Wired Magazine. In addition, BusinessWeek, The Financial Times, Le Monde, and the Economist had run major stories . There would be talk shows and girls, and hopefully, lots of money. But before any of that could
How fantastically strange life is, Eatwell thought to himself – to think that he and Kuipers would again be on the same side of good, as they had been when they were young boys. How utterly sublime it was that he and his old Bletchley playmate would again have the opportunity to defeat a common foe, in this case Cannondale – who he would take particular pleasure in taking down.
Tomorrow, Eatwell would ring Kuipers. He wanted his friend to be prepared. More important, he wanted to hear the resolve in Kuipers’ voice – a resolve that both of them would need in order to stand up to Cannondale. Eatwell wanted to know that Kuipers still felt as strongly as he did about this experiment called the European Union.
“Your dinner, sir,” Bernard announced.
“Thank you, Bernard.”
“Shall I pour?”
“Yes. And pour a glass for yourself.”
“Sir?”
“Join me, Bernard. Eating alone is so dismal.”
Bernard poured the wine, wiped his hands on his apron, and drew the chair at the far end of the long table from Eatwell. They chatted. The meat was good with the creamy béarnaise. It was all good, save the loneliness.
They had all left his life, one by one — his parents, his colleagues at Downing Street. All had gone on to fame or faded obscurity. He was okay with it, though. He had found that life was a bit that way, a series of decks on a cruise ship. Some decks were music and laughter and drink. Some were reserved for pondering. Still others, like the captain’s bridge, kept the vessel on course. That’s where Eatwell saw himself firmly perched at this moment in time, at the helm. Yes, Europe needed him to make the right decisions, however unpopular. He would not shun his responsibilities in carrying this vessel called the European Union to port. Problem was, he wasn’t entirely certain where that port was.
“Bernard, what say you of the Canary Islands this time of year?” Eatwell said, making himself a perfect mouthful of steak, a couple of frites, salad, and a daub of béarnaise at the end of his fork.
“Good weather right about now, I imagine, sir.”
It was going to be all right. Eatwell would see to it.
PART II
(2005)
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Cheyenne was humming. Timmermans and his CFO, Michelle, had taken it public in the Netherlands. It was now trading as an American Depository Receipt (ADR) on the Nasdaq in New York, which allowed Americans to purchase shares. The company didn’t have customers yet, but the stock had almost doubled on the promise of riches alone.
Timmermans was spending almost all of his time negotiating endless partnership agreements between Cheyenne and municipal water suppliers throughout Europe to allow communications signals to flow through their systems. Peter had swallowed his pride from the experience with Cannondale in Brussels, and had spent the winter and summer cobbling together the necessary land and water-based technology. He was now supervising a series of tests. For his first test, he had chosen to send a scanned photo of a crotch shot from the Kamasutra to a fellow grad student back in Groningen. Peter hooked up his computer to the water device with three assistants looking on. There was much rejoicing when he hit “Send.” Within a minute, the friend in Groningen sent back an email that simply said, “Ouch.” It wasn’t quite, “Come here, Watson, I need you,” but it was good enough for Peter.
They were at the helm of pushing the concept of two cans and a string out further than anyone ever had. The media had already put them on the cover of Wired Magazine. In addition, BusinessWeek, The Financial Times, Le Monde, and the Economist had run major stories . There would be talk shows and girls, and hopefully, lots of money. But before any of that could
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