Bandwidth Read Free Page B

this week?” “Cannondale? He’s been out of the news for a while.” “We all have.”
    Braun grinned a knowing grin. “I didn’t hear the speech, no. What did he have to say?”
    “Same old digital divide crap. He called me the other day, Jack.” “And? He’s not getting into fiber optics, is he? It would be a bit late to go down that path.”
    “Not exactly. But he’s onto something.”
    “Like what?”
    “He’s not saying, entirely. I get the impression that he’s looking around.”
    “Interesting.”
    “It is. I know I don’t need to tell you this, Jack, but he’s one of the elephants.”
    “I know.”
    “We lose him, and … well … you can kiss more than just bonuses goodbye this year.”
    “I understand, Terry.”
    “It’s important to keep guys like him happy. Lord knows we could use the juice. The last couple of years haven’t exactly …” 
    “Terry, I get it.”
    “I know you do. Come by on Thursday and I’ll fill you in on what I know.”
    “Done.”
    “Oh, and Jack.”
    “Yeah, Vaughn.”
    “That buy rating you put on Western Line.”
    “Yeah.”
    “Nice. They were very pleased.”
    “They should be. It was a gift.”
    “Talk to you, Jack.”

CHAPTER THREE

    "Monique, Graham here. Listen, I’m on my mobile so I might lose you. Tell Alfred that I need that dossier finalized in a fortnight … What’s that? … Madrid? … Fine … but I need to get back to Brussels the following day … Who? Tell them it’ll have to wait until after my speech … Listen, I’m about to walk into the conference hall. I’ll have to call you back …”
    Sir Graham Eatwell stood taller than he had at any time during his career. He was in Paris for a technology conference. The big guns were there – the former head of Vivendi, senior executives from Bull, Hewlett Packard, Olivetti, Intel, and IBM. France’s minister of technology was present, as were his German and Dutch counterparts.
    As European Commissioner for Competition, Eatwell was one of the most powerful men in Europe. He could play God by deciding which mergers and acquisitions could go through – not just European companies, but global companies. He could also bust up cartels and throw his weight around when it came to providing aid to EU member countries.
    In the three years since Eatwell had joined the Commission, he had successfully grabbed turf from other commissioners in an effort to transform the role of Competition Tsar into something that had incisors. By all accounts, he had been successful. The rest of the world didn’t get the European Union. That much was clear. It didn’t understand what went on in the paneled backrooms of Brussels. A journalist once said of the European Commission that “if it had a sense of theater to match its mission, its members would gather for their meetings in a dimly lit medieval hall, clad Jedi-style in flowing robes, and accompanied by a light saber-wielding palace guard.”
    This was all fine to Eatwell. He kind of liked it that way. The world may not understand Europe, but it sure as hell was going to respect it, at least on his watch.
    He rose to the podium with characteristic poise. He liked the way his suit fell on his body. Cameras flashed. The conference host introduced him in French. He shook the gentleman’s hand, took off his watch and placed it on the side of his speech book to time himself. People clapped. He was popular. Few things were quite as gratifying as being the center of attention:
    “Mesdames et messieurs,” Eatwell said without accent. “Merci pour l’opportunité de m’adresser à vous. The economic state of Europe is sound.”
    (Applause)
     
    “The headlines of late depict a bruised Europe – a stumbling
    Europe.
    “We are experiencing a period of introspection about who we are and what it means to be European. The people of Europe are  speaking, and the obedient bureaucrats of Brussels must listen. “But I hope our period of