The Big Blue Sky-Three

The steel and glass towers of Chicago’s Loop dwarfed Sonny’s Prime Chop House along Ontario Street, like some Monstrous forest. Golden setting sun fell as channels among those great towers, falling upon Sonny’s unassuming red brick face. It might have been a home, for the wood shingled roof and pale yellow lanterns at the door. Bright flowers and cascading ivy’s dripped from rustic window boxes. They appeared almost out of place as people hurried y in scarves and long coats with the deepening autumn cold.

Simple, elegant places such as this was where the real business of government was conducted. In hallways, locker rooms or private dinners proper negotiations for things common folk believed immovable were bartered and haggled over. Far away from intrusive cameras, the distraction and fever of the Senate floor or the halls of Congress, away from public partisan pretense and the vaudevillian Press the nation moved forward with quid pro quo handshakes and nods. Sonny’s had seen its fair share of such deals, and was known in proper circles where discretion was as much a part of the service as the fine and suitably priced menu.

Ellen McMurtry arrived just as the last sun disappeared behind the low neighborhoods to the west. She was no stranger to Sonny’s, and could point to a number of meetings here that help precipitate her rapid rise to become the President’s new chief of staff. Shadowed by an ever-present Secret Service Agent. At thirty-six she was a stunning woman. Her precisely managed blond hair teased the collar of her long steel-gray cashmere coat. Tall and slender, she might easily have been mistaken for a former model, a quality that allowed her to disarm opponents in the male dominated world of politics and business. Her bright blue eyes could be vivacious or vicious in the blink of an eye.

It was those qualities that McMurtry brought to her new position in the White House, giving the office the confrontational constituent supporters had long craved. But she could boast a long and successful career in and out of politics. After the premature and unexpected departure of the previous Chief of Staff Ellen found herself at the top of very short list of candidates. Within just few short months she had transformed the President in the eyes of the nation, strengthening his image, lifting him in the ratings, lining up an impressive donor list and throwing republican critics back on the defensive.

Sonny himself greeted her at the door. Smart in a well tailored suit, his thick hair prematurely gray, he took her cot personally and escorted her personally to a private VIP room upstairs. Her guard, confident she was well looked after retired to the lounge and a complimentary dinner.

Umberto Shosa was already waiting for her, having arrived a short time earlier. By contrast the sly and eternally calculating Croatian warlord turned industrialist boasted a very different reputation. Nicknamed The Shark, Shosa famously and infamously held a reputation for being fearless and unconcerned about the size or power of an opponent. Indeed, the bigger the adversary the more he relished the fight. Not that he preferred enemies, only that they came with the territory.

Modern war, he had learned, was not won on the battlefield, but in the halls of government. It was not settled by general or presidents, but in the boardrooms of companies such as his, and paid for by taxpayers and hardworking citizens, most of whom would never see a battlefield in their lifetime. This was less a dinner than a courtship between the government and big business. Their sexuality only added a more enthralling dimension to the game.

Shosa rose and bowed slightly as she entered the room. It was softly lit, the dark paneled room swathed in passion red fabrics, but for the brilliant white table cloth. A lone candle flickered in a frosted glass, throwing its buttery light across a vase of fresh flowers and bottle of Dom Perignon. Sonny closed the door behind Ellen, leaving them alone.

She smiled warmly and shook his hand, blushing a bit when he pulled out her chair. He poured her a glass of champagne and lifted his in toast. Ellen swept a lock of hair back and raised her glass in kind.

“Thank you for coming.” His accent was softer now that when he’d first left Croatia after the war. It was almost mysterious and nondescript now.

“Normally I wouldn’t have accepted your invitation,” she said.

“Business and pleasure?”

She found him strikingly handsome, as much for his power and achievement as for those chiseled Balkan looks. Molly couldn’t help but smile. “Business is my pleasure.”

“Indeed!” he exclaimed quietly. Umberto leaned back, regarding her beauty, and hoping to tease her with a bit of embarrassment.”

Ellen gazed into her drink. It seemed far safer that tumbling into those deep dark eyes of his. She stifled that smile, and wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction.

“A man can be worth billions, the best education, well travelled, in the finest clothes, but he’s still that obnoxious little boy farting on the other children in the schoolyard.”

He leaned closer, finding her eyes. He held hers. There was something in his voice, almost dangerous. “I grew up in Croatia. I stepped out of school and into a battlefield.”

“You fought in the civil war?”

“Nothing civil about it, but even the darkest situations can be very profitable if one is wise.”

“Is that why Shosa Industries is purchasing First Thrust Inc?”

“Purely business, and I know the business of war.” He downed a glass of champagne. “When I do something, Ellen,” he paused. “May I call you Ellen?”

“We’ll see.”

“I believe in doing everything to the fullest extent,” he said.

“Quite the confident boy.” Her voice was low. Ellen felt herself swept away by him.

“Quite,” he replied.

“So, you must have your pick of women.”

“Women? Yes. Challenging women are quite another story.”

“Am I a challenge to you, Umberto?”

He poured each of them another glass. “You are as powerful and brilliant as you are attractive. One false move and I risk creating a formidable enemy.”

Ellen regarded him for a moment. This was as much a negotiation as a flirtation. “We’re scaling back in Iraq and making a final push in Afghanistan. The economy and the Gulf Coast are the issues now, and the administration is committed to cutting costs, creating jobs and making Sarah Palin look like a half-wit. I’m afraid that doesn’t bode well for exotic ventures like yours.”

“The country is still afraid of terrorism.”

She scoffed. “There were thirty Americans killed by terrorism last year. By contrast three hundred kids died in pools, thirty four thousand died in car crashes and seven thousand died in gang violence. It’s important to maintain a perspective, Umberto.”

Shosa chuckled and shook his head. “Could be a tragic oversight by the Administration. One crackpot brings down an airliner or shoots up a shopping mall and no one will be talking about the Gulf Coast.”

“I mean to get this President re-elected, and this quite frankly is a hard one to sell.”

“Isn’t that what life is all about, selling?”

This, she thought, was precisely where their interests coincided.

“You generous donation will be immensely appreciated by the President. That much I can promise you.”

“Consideration is all I can hope for,” he replied.

“In the tragic wake of Congressman Bernstein’s passing the Pentagon appropriations committee will get a new makeover, no doubt with a fundamentally different perspective.”

The Congressman’s death was unexpected.”

The President has friends in congress who share the view that what is called far are smarter weapons to wage war against our enemies.

“Nano-technology is the next great technological frontier,” he said. “The Chinese are already years ahead of the West. With the proper funding we could quickly bridge and surpass that gap.”

Ellen took another drink and leaned close to Umberto. Her eyes were dreamy and deep. Now, enough with business…”