Rufus was thumbing a message to T.R.:
> If you get me access to the videos I will investigate.
> You got it T.R. texted back, even as he was saying out loud, “Hell no, it’s a thousand miles away from Flying S. You’re right, Tatum. This meeting is concluded.”
RIJSTTAFEL
India’s pissed off.”
This obviously wasn’t news to T.R., but it was enough to pull him away from his phone for a minute. He had just concluded some kind of virtual meeting in the conference room on the top floor of the T.R. and Victoria Schmidt Medical Pavilion. Willem and Amelia had been loitering in the reception area along with something like a dozen members of an Indonesian family who had come here to serve them dinner. Now they had all flooded through. Willem and T.R. retreated to a corner while the conference table was set and the dishes arranged.
“What are they pissed off about now?” T.R. asked.
“The monsoon.”
T.R. cackled. “The monsoon that’s in full swing right this minute?” He pulled his phone back out. “Hang on, let me check the weather in Amritsar. Oh, look!” He held it up so that Willem could see a pictorial weather forecast. “Right now it’s raining cats and dogs in Amritsar.” He put his phone back in his pocket. “So what’s India got to be pissed off about?”
“Perhaps,” Willem said, “they regret you did not consult with them before building a giant machine that fucks with the weather.”
It was almost midnight. The view from this corner was as good as it got, in Tuaba. The nighttime cityscape was spread out before them, and they could see part of the airport’s single runway. The most prominent thing on the skyline was the half-collapsed ruin of the Sam Houston Hotel, lit up by work lights that had been trucked down from the mine. All the fires had long since been put out, but recovery and demolition work were putting enough dust into the air that the ruin appeared to be wreathed in smoke.
The signal to eat was given. Most of the restaurant clan cleared out, though the matriarch stayed for a minute while Willem
switched into her language to express his gratitude for their staying up so late, and to remark on the astonishing beauty of the dishes’ presentation.
When she had finally taken her leave, beaming, Willem turned to see T.R. appraising him.
“That’s what you do, ain’t it?” T.R. said.
“What? Talk to people and make them feel seen and appreciated? That’s part of it.” He sat down and reached for his napkin. “I can also be a cold-blooded son of a bitch.”
“And under what circumstances, pray tell, would you allow that side of your personality to come out?”
“When it was necessary to achieve the goals of the state.”
“Would that be . . . Netherworld?”
Willem laughed. “Seems everyone has heard of it.”
“Is that why you’re here? To bring Papua into Saskia’s orbit?”
“It’s fascinating,” Willem said, “that people have such inflated notions about Netherworld, which a few days ago was just a word painted on a bedsheet in Venice.”
“It’s fascinating to me that you’re so clueless about marketing. If I saw a hashtag go viral that fast, I’d have a hundred people on it the next day.”
“For all I know, Cornelia has done just that. It’s all her doing.”
“Mm!” T.R. exclaimed. “We Texans brag about our tolerance for spicy food but our stuff is child’s play compared to Indonesian! This is fiery!”
Willem let the remark pass without comment. T.R. had been born here. The hotness of Indonesian food could not actually have come as a surprise to him.
“Look, man,” Willem said, after they had spent a few moments enjoying the meal, “you have to have known from the beginning of all this that the great powers of the world weren’t just going to sit by and watch while you implemented a scheme on your ranch that was bound to alter the climate everywhere.”
“I would remind you,” T.R. said, “that I convened a group of people last year, including you and Saskia, to start the conversation.”
Willem was irritated by T.R.’s offhand use of the familiar name “Saskia,” but decided to let it go. She had encouraged people to call her that during their sojourn in Texas. “Start it, yes. But you chose small countries. Microstates. Venice, for god’s sake.”
“Gotta start somewhere. I invite China and India to such a meeting, what do you think’s going to happen?”