defeated Goliath."
"Defeated him with nothing but his sling," the senator finished the analogy. "Moreover, he defeated the enemy by striking at his command center." He touched his forehead, as if he could feel the blow of a slingshot stone against his temple. "May our Sling work as well," was Hilan's parting prayer.
"May we never need to test it," was Nathan's.
Far beneath Daniel Wilcox's office, the cherry blossoms along the George Washington Parkway fluttered in a frenzy of color. From here, high in the Wilcox-Morris Building that dominated Rosslyn, the view took panoramic proportions—two sheer walls of glass, floor to ceiling, enclosed half the office. The sweeping view overcame the sense of enclosure with the sense of open sky. Daniel's eyes crinkled with amusement as he watched the new advertising executive, Kira Evans. She tried to shift her chair to look across that panorama. Her efforts amused him because the room had been designed so that he had the pleasure of that view from his desk. Kira could turn her back on the view, or she could turn her back on him; she could not face both at the same time.
He considered shifting to the conference table to accommodate her, but it was more fun to watch her cope with the problem. Besides, she had not earned such a view yet. If she wanted the use of an office such as this, she would have to take command of a corporate empire, as he had done.
Even as he watched, Kira resolved the dilemma, leaning forward, focusing her whole concentration on the job at hand. Daniel returned his attention to the layouts she had brought him, shuffling through to his favorite advertisement. This one ad suggested that Kira might indeed get an office of her own with panoramic windows. The ad was a beautifully crafted full-page paste-up, carefully explaining why the tobacco industry wasn't at fault for the rising incidence of smoking among children. He took a drag off his cigarette, and blew the smoke into the faint blue haze that swirled around him on its way to the air conditioning vent. "This is great stuff," he congratulated her. "An excellent utilization of our reborn plain-talk advertising strategy at work." He smiled. "I particularly like your point about advertisements saying that cigarettes are strictly for grown-ups, not for kids."
Kira fumbled with her cigarette, showing the same skill a thirteen-year-old girl might show in handling a snake, but she continued gamely. Clearly, she had gotten the word: if you worked with the Wilcox-Morris Tobacco Company, you had to smoke with them as well. That policy was strictly, strictly unofficial, of course. It would have been technically legal to hire, fire, and promote on the basis of smoking habits, but Daniel knew the consequences if he started such a policy: the news media would flay him alive, and legislation would follow. It was better to leave it unstated. Kira was a good example of how effective such unstated policies could be. She would get used to the cigarette between her lips; she would get hooked on the rush; she would become a good member of the team.
But not yet. His compliment on her advertisement had not pleased her; she seemed disturbed with the explanation that cigarette advertisements were strictly for adults. "Thank you for the compliment," she said, with a sincere smile that turned quickly to a frown. "But I'm afraid this ad may not work the way we intended. Our adults-only advertising may be the most effective kind of children's advertising possible. After all, what could possibly be a better way to get children started than telling them it's for grown-ups?"
Daniel waved the objection aside. "Nonsense. We're just being up-front and honest. Nobody can get angry at us for that." From time to time, similar thoughts disturbed Daniel himself. He would have to help Kira overcome the sense of guilt, as he had himself. He would have to help her look beyond the intellectual questions if she were to mold herself into a useful
"Defeated him with nothing but his sling," the senator finished the analogy. "Moreover, he defeated the enemy by striking at his command center." He touched his forehead, as if he could feel the blow of a slingshot stone against his temple. "May our Sling work as well," was Hilan's parting prayer.
"May we never need to test it," was Nathan's.
Far beneath Daniel Wilcox's office, the cherry blossoms along the George Washington Parkway fluttered in a frenzy of color. From here, high in the Wilcox-Morris Building that dominated Rosslyn, the view took panoramic proportions—two sheer walls of glass, floor to ceiling, enclosed half the office. The sweeping view overcame the sense of enclosure with the sense of open sky. Daniel's eyes crinkled with amusement as he watched the new advertising executive, Kira Evans. She tried to shift her chair to look across that panorama. Her efforts amused him because the room had been designed so that he had the pleasure of that view from his desk. Kira could turn her back on the view, or she could turn her back on him; she could not face both at the same time.
He considered shifting to the conference table to accommodate her, but it was more fun to watch her cope with the problem. Besides, she had not earned such a view yet. If she wanted the use of an office such as this, she would have to take command of a corporate empire, as he had done.
Even as he watched, Kira resolved the dilemma, leaning forward, focusing her whole concentration on the job at hand. Daniel returned his attention to the layouts she had brought him, shuffling through to his favorite advertisement. This one ad suggested that Kira might indeed get an office of her own with panoramic windows. The ad was a beautifully crafted full-page paste-up, carefully explaining why the tobacco industry wasn't at fault for the rising incidence of smoking among children. He took a drag off his cigarette, and blew the smoke into the faint blue haze that swirled around him on its way to the air conditioning vent. "This is great stuff," he congratulated her. "An excellent utilization of our reborn plain-talk advertising strategy at work." He smiled. "I particularly like your point about advertisements saying that cigarettes are strictly for grown-ups, not for kids."
Kira fumbled with her cigarette, showing the same skill a thirteen-year-old girl might show in handling a snake, but she continued gamely. Clearly, she had gotten the word: if you worked with the Wilcox-Morris Tobacco Company, you had to smoke with them as well. That policy was strictly, strictly unofficial, of course. It would have been technically legal to hire, fire, and promote on the basis of smoking habits, but Daniel knew the consequences if he started such a policy: the news media would flay him alive, and legislation would follow. It was better to leave it unstated. Kira was a good example of how effective such unstated policies could be. She would get used to the cigarette between her lips; she would get hooked on the rush; she would become a good member of the team.
But not yet. His compliment on her advertisement had not pleased her; she seemed disturbed with the explanation that cigarette advertisements were strictly for adults. "Thank you for the compliment," she said, with a sincere smile that turned quickly to a frown. "But I'm afraid this ad may not work the way we intended. Our adults-only advertising may be the most effective kind of children's advertising possible. After all, what could possibly be a better way to get children started than telling them it's for grown-ups?"
Daniel waved the objection aside. "Nonsense. We're just being up-front and honest. Nobody can get angry at us for that." From time to time, similar thoughts disturbed Daniel himself. He would have to help Kira overcome the sense of guilt, as he had himself. He would have to help her look beyond the intellectual questions if she were to mold herself into a useful
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