The Wizardry Consulted (Wiz, #4)(52)

“Senator Halliburton’s office called this morning. His committee wants to hold hearings on violating civil rights in national security cases. This Judith Conally and the science fiction writer are going to be his star witnesses.”

A public relations disaster and a political nightmare, the director amended. “Could this get any worse?”

“Only if Pashley gets back out on the street,” Rutherford ventured. The director glared at him and he wilted. “Uh, no ma’am, I don’t think it’s likely to get much worse.”

Unbidden a snatch of a country song came into the director’s head. You gotta know when to hold ‘em, and know when to fold ‘em. She hated country music.

“All right.” She mashed out the half-smoked cigarette. “Settle!”

“Settle?”

“That writer’s case against us. Tell the Justice Department to settle with him. And settle with this Conally woman. Make apologies, blame it on a rogue agent. But settle.”

“Ma’am,” Rutherford said carefully, “that sets a very bad precedent.”

“It will set a worse precedent if the director of the FBI murders an agent,” she growled. “Just pay whatever it takes.”





Seventeen: Invitation To an Auto-de-Fe


At --- Bullshit Is Our Most Important Product

graffiti on the lavatory wall at a major consultantcy



Wiz got home just after noon to find the mayor sniffling on his doorstep. At first Wiz thought someone had died. Then His Honor produced a well-used handkerchief from his sleeve and blew his nose again.

Wiz invited the man in. As they crossed the threshold Malkin was just coming up from the kitchen. They eyed each other with mutual distaste for a moment and the mayor put a protective hand on his chain of office.

“You wanted to see me, Your Honor?” Wiz asked, as much to break the tension as anything else.

“I came to warn you, Wizard.” He stopped, his face screwed up and he sneezed thunderously.

“What? That it’s pollen season?”

The mayor sniffled and wiped his watering eyes. “No, it’s Dieter. He’s moving against you in the council. At our next meeting, two days from today, he plans to call for your resignation.”

There was nothing Wiz would have liked better than to resign. But since his resignation would doubtless be followed immediately by his condemnation to The Rock, it didn’t seem like a good idea to follow his desires.

The mayor looked even more like a basset hound than usual. “He’s gathering votes on the council. I’ll support you, of course, but it will be close, I’ll tell you that.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Could you perhaps be at the meeting? You know, talk to them the way you did before.”

“Of course. Can you get me some time on the agenda before the vote?”

After the mayor departed, sniffling and mumbling, Malkin looked at her boss. “Well, O great Wizard, what are you going to do now?”

“I am going to do what any consultant does when he gets into trouble,” Wiz said. “I am going to give a presentation.”

Malkin snorted. “If I was you I’d give a thought to a quick escape. You heard the mayor. Dieter’s got enough votes on the council to have your guts for garters.”

“Maybe now he does. But the council will have to take a formal vote and they won’t do that until they hear me out because there’s always the chance I’ll come up with a miracle. A successful presentation doesn’t just impart information. It changes attitudes.”

“Look,” Malkin said slowly and carefully, as if explaining something to a small and none-too-bright child, “Dieter wants to be cock of this dungheap and get more money from taxes. Ol’ Droopy wants to stay cock of the dungheap and he doesn’t want more taxes. Cross either one of them and you’re a dragon’s breakfast. Now how in blazes is this presentation of yours going to change any of that?”

“Presentations don’t change things,” Wiz said airily, “they just change perceptions.”

“And just how do they do that?” she demanded.

“Generally by confusing the issue.”

The tall girl chewed on that for a while. “Well,” she said at last, “if you’re set on this, I want to be there when you make this presentation of yours.”

Wiz quirked a smile. “An expression of loyalty?”

“No, I want to see which way it goes so I can get out of here while they’re still busy tearing you to pieces.”

“Oh, it won’t come to that,” Wiz assured her. I hope! “Before this is over I’ll have them eating out of my hand.”

Malkin eyed him under raised brows. “Maybe, but my question is how many fingers you’re going to have left on that hand.”

Bright colors and pretty pictures, Wiz thought. That’s the essence of a successful presentation. He looked at the code taking shape in glowing characters above his desk and sighed. Especially when you don’t have any content.

The conventional wisdom was that the more images, graphically displayed numbers and visual tricks you packed into a presentation, the more effective the presentation. Of course the logical implication of that is that the average executive has the attention span of a three-year-old and the analytical skills of a magpie. Normally Wiz would have found that a very depressing reflection. Just now it was comforting. The only thing standing between him and doom in an utterly impossible situation was his ability to sling creative bullshit.