He had definitely not seen that coming: McCallon was terrific. He was engaging, likeable, friendly, bright—even if he did have to subtly remind you that he was more “connected” than you were. Patrick hoped he would get to spend more time with McCallon.
The six hallway minutes had given him time to process whether the appearance from the security chief was standard. He came up empty. The intercom buzz to the number on the card was answered by Benningham.
“Go downstairs. Walk out the back door. Grab a putter. I’ll meet you on the 8th tee.” This was a man used to giving orders. He also did not seem like the recreational type. Patrick could think of only one reason why they shouldn’t meet and talk in his office…and it worried him…a lot.
There was no handshake and no greeting. Each had already decided that the other was no friend. Patrick went straight to it. “Is my office bugged?”
“Yes, it is, Fox. Yours and everybody else’s. What’s more, you’ll be amazed, I expect, to learn that your computer is as well! How about that? Everything you’ve had up on your computer screen in the last three hours I have a picture of. It made fascinating viewing. Welcome to corporate America. They probably didn’t do nasty stuff like that at GWU, did they?” No holds barred. Benningham liked it that way.