Читать книгу Naked Ambition - Dan Roberts - Страница 9

NICK HEARD THE CLOCK DOWNSTAIRS chime six times. As he rubbed his eyes—eyes that had been mostly open for the last half hour—he looked toward the window nearest his bed. He saw that the soft yellow rays of the morning sun were already peaking over the treetops.

The night had been a difficult one—a restless one—for Nick. He would sleep for a while, then wake up and stare at the ceiling for what seemed like an hour. Maybe more. Always in his mind was the problem of how to do what had been asked of him: to integrate himself into the M/X Technologies-sponsored volleyball camp staff and do it in a way that would bring him into a close, trusting relationship with Coach Herb Clarkson. And to do it in a very short time. How would he go about doing that? That was the really tricky part.

However, it wasn’t just Nick’s apprehension over the ‘how’ of doing the job but, also, of the ‘why.’ That ‘why’ was one of his major concerns, one that made saying ‘yes’ to Mr. Baker’s request very easy. The thought of any kind of inappropriate interaction between an adult male and a young victim made a deep impact on Nick. That a man would maneuver and manipulate a boy like that, “Well,” he said to Zach at one point, “that just makes my skin crawl.” Adding to his overall revulsion of this kind of relationship was the feeling of anger brought up by memories of a situation where one of Nick’s friends, a boy named Jimmy, had been physically and emotionally abused by Jimmy’s mother’s boyfriend. The very thought of Jimmy and what he had endured and the resulting impact that the abuse had made on his young life brought Nick to the point of wanting to strike out in some kind of vengeful manner, a behavior that was an anathema to his basic peaceful nature.

Seeing that the day had started and knowing that to lie in bed another moment was a waste of time, Nick got up and dressed. Within minutes he was rolling his bicycle out of the garage. Once at the road in front of his house he looked at his watch. It was 6:15 am.

As Nick mounted his bike, he looked up at the blue, mostly cloudless sky. What a joy it was for him to be outside in nature on such a beautiful day. Anxious to get going, it took him very little time to get the bike up to speed as he peddled down an open stretch of road. Almost from the start Nick had maintained a velocity that would challenge most cyclist, especially as he raced down the first hill, the first of several hills he would encounter on this particular route. However, upon entering the longer, flatter part of his chosen circuit of the day, he settled into a regular cycling rhythm, pacing himself for the long haul. As his feet moved in a rapid, repetitive manner, he began to pick up on the tempo—the rhythmic beat—that could be so mesmerizing. Over and over, his feet went round and round. The constant, recurring sound of the chain as it moved through the sprockets were, like musical notes, pleasing to his ears. Eventually, Nick noted that the cycle of pedaling matched the beat of his own heart. Once that synchronization happened, he smiled with delight.

For Nick, biking was as much therapy for the mind as it was exercise for the body. It was, in fact, one of the activities that he relied on to help him when faced with some difficulty or problem, particularly one that needed to be thought through. As strange as it seemed, repetitive activity like biking, swimming or jogging had the potential of unblocking what he called the ‘mental junk’ that, at times, impeded his ability to problem-solve. A bike ride of this kind could actually bring clarity to his sometimes foggy or confused mind. In fact, it was not unusual for him to come back from a long ride on his bike to find that he had an answer to a question or a solution to a problem.

And so it was on this morning, approximately one hour after he had taken his bike from the garage and after many miles of riding, that a hungry Nick Blick was back in the house, standing at the kitchen sink eating a slice of cold pizza. As he did so he knew what his next move was going to be regarding Herb Clarkson and the boy, Jack.

NEW YORK’S CHATEAUX 54 is a small but elegant boutique hotel located on the Upper West Side, near Central Park. It was there that Chen Xong Wu, still experiencing some jet lag from yesterday’s cross-Atlantic flight, was finishing his breakfast—a croissant, homemade strawberry jam and coffee that had been delivered by room service. After folding and smoothing his linen napkin, a habit from his youth, he lifted a silver carafe from the tray and poured himself a second cup of the Chateaux’s special blend. After taking a sip of the steaming brew, Chen opened the newspaper that had come on his breakfast tray. He read the headlines; a war here, an uprising there, and, of course, the local police activity from the night before.

One article of interest to him was the update on changes within the Chinese Communist party. He read it with extreme concentration, noting the way it was reported as well as the names mentioned. In China, the nuisances of such an article were extremely significant. In fact, names not referenced were as essential to the story as those that were. It was important for him to keep abreast of the developments of the party since his way of life was dependent on some of the men in leadership—both those presently in authority and those aspiring to be placed in such an honorable and powerful position. Chen often compared the behaviors exhibited within the party to the game of chess with each member, like a chess piece, ready to move ahead, many times at the cost of another member’s position; sometimes their life.

Noting the time, Chen scanned through the rest of the section. Then it was onto the financial pages, which were of interest to him not only because he had investments in the stock market but also because of his investments in the people who controlled some of the banks, brokerage houses and financial institutions around the world. Fortunately, everything seemed to be on the upswing today, which pleased Chen very much.

Not being one interested in sports, at least, not the kind of sports that most Americans were so hyped about, Chen mostly passed by this section, stopping only to see what the Yankees had done the night before. That was important because he needed to have at least one sports-oriented subject in mind as he spoke with a small group of American businessmen later in the day. Chen didn’t want to be completely out of touch when it came to the topic that would inevitably come up. In fact, he found it to be impressive to some Americans when he was the one to broach the subject, like, “I see that your Yankees won last night.” It made him seem more approachable, even trusting, with some, which allowed him to go to a deeper level of interaction with them. Trust was one of the qualities that Chen tried his best to demonstrate and, eventually, elicit in others.

Chen was just about to review the Lifestyle section when the telephone rang. He placed the paper down onto the serving cart, reached out to the nearby phone and answered it.

“Hello.”

There was a brief pause and then a male voice spoke. The only thing the man said, in Chinese, was, “Call me.” With that said, the phone went dead. Chen knew who it was. And he knew what the man wanted.

After hanging up, Chen reached for his cell phone, one that had a sophisticated encryption function. Not wanting to leave anything culpable on the phone, in case it was lost, stolen or, worse, confiscated, Chen had memorized all the necessary telephone numbers so as not to rely on the phone’s directory. Just after pressing the last number on the dial, Chen heard one ring and then a voice. It was the same voice that had called him moments earlier.

Knowing the reason for the call, Chen was quick to speak. In Chinese, he said, “I’m in the process of taking care of the problem that we discussed last time. It’ll be done by tomorrow night. After that there should be no further delay. The package should be delivered on schedule.” He then added, “Anything new on your end?”

The reply from the voice on the other end was, “Nothing at this time. I just wanted to make sure you made it to your hotel and that things are on track.”

In less than a minute the phone conversation came to an end.

After putting down the cell phone, Chen reached for his coffee cup, took a sip of the now cooler contents and sighed as he looked at his watch. The time was 9:12. The day was still early. Although he had planned an afternoon filled with lots of hand shaking and smiles, he was not looking forward to the hours in between. For him, there wasn’t much more to do until lunchtime. My god, he thought, how dull is my life at times. How utterly dull.

“I UNDERSTAND.” THAT WAS THE RESPONSE from Herb Clarkson when George Baker called him to tell him that Zach had been asked by his boss to fill in for a café manager that had a sudden family emergency. “It’s at one of their locations in Philly. He’ll be starting over there on Wednesday but has to get some additional training this week here at the store in Reading. So he just can’t continue with the coaching right now.”

“I’m really sorry to see Zach go, George,” was Clarkson’s follow up. “He was a valuable asset to the camp.”

It was then that Mr. Baker said, “The good news is that one of Zach’s volleyball buddies is willing to fill in for him.”

“Oh,” said Clarkson, “that’s great. We can definitely use him.”

“His name is Nick. I think you’ll find him very helpful. He’s a really good kid and a very talented volleyball player. I’ll bring him by this afternoon so he can get started right away.”

It was no surprise that Clarkson enthusiastically thrust out his hand when Baker introduced Nick to the coach on Monday afternoon just before the camp class was to start.

“Good to meet you, Nick,” Clarkson said in welcome.

As Nick shook Clarkson’s hand he responded with, “Same here.”

Baker had already given Clarkson some background information. “Nick is a high school junior this year. He lives with his mother down near Ephrata. His mom is away for the next week. She’s getting some treatments for a reoccurring cancer and asked if Nick could stay with us for a short while.” This was partially true. Barb Blick had intermittently received treatments for a rare form of cancer at a medical center near Pittsburgh. However, she was now in remission and hadn’t had a treatment for months. She was, in fact, in Colorado visiting her other son, Brandon, for the next week.

Baker continued. “Even though he’s sixteen, he’s been wanting to do some coaching for some time. So when Zach told me he couldn’t help out any more, I thought Nick could step in to help you.”

“Good choice,” said Clarkson.

In front of Nick, Baker said to Clarkson, “I think you’ll find Nick a good teacher and a great inspiration to the guys here.”

Nick felt like blushing but tried hard not to. Compliments like that were not something he welcomed. As Baker continued talking with Clarkson, Nick looked out onto the field where he saw several groups of boys. Some of them were at the nets, playing. Others were going through some practice routines. Still others, like the group that was normally coached by Zach, were nearby, standing under some trees, shading themselves from the intense rays of the evening sun.

Seeing this himself, Coach Clarkson turned to Nick and said, “Guess we should get your team started with some laps to warm ‘em up.” He laughed as he said, “As if they aren’t hot enough.” Then Clarkson, looking at Nick, said, “How about you going with them. Two laps should do. Don’t want to push ‘em too much.” As an afterthought he said, “Once you’ve done the laps then lead them through some stretches.”

“Yes, sir,” Nick replied politely and walked onto the field with the coach.

The next thing Nick heard was Clarkson blowing his whistle while motioning with his hand in a way that brought everyone together. As he looked at the group gathering, Nick saw what his dad, an experienced volleyball coach, would have called a rag-tag bunch of boys. All sizes and shapes. Some skinny ones. A few fat ones. And, yes, there were a few that looked like they could actually play the game. Especially, the tall boy. The thin, blond one. The one that looked very much like a skinny version of Nick Blick.

“Listen up, guys!” Clarkson said in a loud, artificially gruff voice, one that many coaches use to exhibit their authority. After placing his hand on Nick’s shoulder, the coach continued. “This here’s Nick. He’s taking Zach’s place. Treat him with the same respect you gave Zach.” All eyes were now on Nick as Clarkson continued. “Okay, boys. He’s going to get you warmed up. Follow him.”

After Clarkson nodded, Nick clapped his hands together and said, “Okay, guys, follow me.” With that Nick took off running with the gaggle of players following close behind. Some running. Some jogging. A couple of the stragglers were loping along, not even trying to keep up with the others.

Once the boys were on their way, Baker turned to Clarkson. “Well, I’ve got to get going. Believe it or not, I’ve got some work at the office to finish up before Wednesday’s meeting.”

“Which meeting is that, George?” Clarkson asked inquisitively.

Baker lowered his voice as he said, “There’s a meeting I’ve set up with the Department of the Navy. It’s in D.C. We’re finalizing the ArrowStar project.”

“I thought that wasn’t until next week.”

“We’re still having the general meeting next Tuesday. But there are some questions that have to be answered before then. And some suggested changes that have been made that we need to get clearance on. So, I made arrangements with Admiral Lewis to meet this week. It’s to make sure we have everything ready. That way, if there are any questions or problems, we can iron out the wrinkles at that time. I don’t want anything that could slow us up or delay the Navy’s approval for the next stage of the project.”

Clarkson’s head nodded in agreement. “Understood. We don’t want any hitches. As you know, we’ve got a lot riding on this project. Honestly, the future of our company is dependent on this one.”

“I might be down there for a day or two, depending on how things go.”

“Okay. Just keep me informed on what’s going on.”

“Will do,” Baker said. With that Zach’s dad turned to go but stopped as if suddenly remembering something. “Oh, by the way, with Zach being gone…” Baker paused, then continued. “Well, Herb, I wondering if you would do me a favor. Nick’s car is in the shop. He said it won’t be done ‘til Friday. Zach’s taking him home tonight and tomorrow night. Then a friend who works nearby can bring him here the other days but can’t pick him up. I was wondering if you would be able to drop Nick off at our house after practice on Wednesday. And maybe Thursday, too, if I have to stay in D.C.”

Looking rather indifferent, Clarkson said, “Sure. Anything to help, George. Besides, it’s not far out of my way.”

“Thanks, Herb,” Baker said with a nod. “Now, I’ve got to get going. See you later.”

“Take care, George.” With that said, Clarkson looked up and out onto the field to watch the boys—his boys—running in the distance. As he gazed at the group that was now being coached by Nick, he saw that there were two separate groupings of runners: one small group of stragglers following the larger group, most of whom were keeping up the pace. He was especially taken by the two front-runners. Two tall blonds, running almost neck-and-neck. Out front by only a half a step was the taller one—Nick. Just to his right was young Jack Thompson, trying to keep pace with the newly appointed student coach. To see these two young men casually vying for first place produced a smile on Clarkson’s face, one that would be repeated later that night.

THE TWO YOUNG MEN HAD HARDLY GOTTEN into the car when Zach turned to Nick and asked, “So how did it go?”

“Practice went well,” was the response from Nick. “Definitely some challenges there. But some of those boys have potential.”

“No!” said Zach, a bit frustrated. “I mean with Clarkson.”

“Oh, yeah,” Nick said as he stripped off his T-shirt and used it to wipe perspiration from his neck. “Good, I think.” He then added, “Dude, how about turning on the A/C.”

Zach placed his finger on the air conditioning ‘high’ button and pushed it. Almost immediately, cool air started blowing from the vents. “Dad said that Clarkson will be taking you home tomorrow. And Thursday night, too. You okay with that?”

“Sure,” came the reply. “That’s what I was hoping for.” As he spoke those words, Nick leaned forward so that his face was just inches away from an air vent.

“So, did you get to talk with Jack?”

“A little,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “He’s not a very friendly kid. Kinda shy. A loner, I think. But he’s definitely a competitive dude.”

“How’s that?”

“Well, he seemed to always want to do what I asked but to do it better than the others. You know, faster, stronger, higher.” He then looked at Zach with a smile and said, “The kid tried to outpace me on the final warm-up lap. He’s got some spunk.”

“Anything else?”

“Yeah,” Nick said with a special notation, “he’s pretty tight with Clarkson. I mean, anything Clarkson asked, Jack was right there to do it.”

“So, did Clarkson make any moves on you?”

“Naw,” he said, shaking his head.

“Dad said he could see that he was looking at you with interest.”

“It’s my charming personality,” said Nick showing his famous grin.

“Seriously, dude. You gotta watch yourself. ‘Cause if this guy is who we think he is, things could get, like…” Zach rolled his eyes.

“Like what?”

“Like, weird. You know.”

“Dude, it’s all gonna be cool.”

“Well, Dad’s worried about not being in town over the next few days. He’s afraid you might need help and he won’t be here for you.”

“Look,” Nick said with all seriousness, “we’ve decided on a course of action, right? And it’s going well so far. Besides, if I need help I know just what to do.” He then tapped his finger on the pocket where he kept his cell phone. “I just call your number and scream ‘HELP!’ And you come riding in to rescue me.” Nick then laughed.

“Damn you! It’s not funny. I worry, you know.”

“Sorry, bro. I know you do. I just don’t think there’s anything to be worried about.”

“So what’s next?”

“Next?” Nick repeated. “How about you put this car in gear and we get our asses home. ‘Cause I need a shower and some food.”

From a distance, a pair of eyes observed Zach’s VW drive out of the Samuel Scott Recreation Center’s parking lot. Only minutes later, those same eyes were focused on a tall, blond young man with a shy smile on his face. As he approached, the young man speaking in a still-adolescent voice said, “Thanks for waiting, Coach. And for the ride home.”

IT WAS LATE—ALMOST MIDNIGHT—when the telephone rang. Clarkson, who had been in a deep sleep, was brought, suddenly, into the present. As he opened his eyes, he saw that he was still on his patio, near the pool, looking up at a star-filled sky. He shivered a little, the result of a cool breeze blowing across his naked body. He rubbed his eyes as he tried to focus on the present, leaving behind a highly sexualized dream he had been having.

It was the persistent ringing of the phone that finally got Clarkson to move. Slowly, he pushed himself up and out of the lounge chair. It was then that he discovered that he had a partial erection, one that dissipated as he walked toward the patio phone. He wondered who would be calling at such a late hour. Actually, several names came to mind. Finally, at the phone, Clarkson picked up the receiver.

“Hello.”

The voice on the other end was muffled; purposely disguised. It took less than two seconds for Clarkson to identify the purpose of the call. In an outburst of anger, he said, “Who is this?”

The person on the other end began talking again but was not allowed to finish because Clarkson interrupted with, “I don’t know who the hell you are but you had better stop calling me. Do you hear me?”

There was silence. Neither the caller nor Clarkson said anything for several seconds. But Clarkson could hear the heavy breathing on the other end. He also recognized how upset this caller had made him when he heard the words pervert and sodomizer and predator being used to describe him. Whoever it was on the other end was trying their best to scare him. At least, to harass him.

Not sure what to do he slammed down the phone only to have it ring again in less than a minute. After once more picking up the receiver, and without even attempting to listen, Clarkson yelled into the phone. “I’m going to report you to the police if you don’t stop calling here.”

The last thing Clarkson heard from the voice on the other end was, “Go ahead and I’ll tell them everything I know about you and your fucked-up activities.” Now it was the caller who hung up first, leaving Clarkson to wonder whom it was that had just called him? And why?