“And then we will negotiate how much you are to receive in your final payment.”
“What?” Pradera looked up sharply. “What sort of jest is this?”
“No jest at all, I fear,” said Saint-Germain.
“But … Why should you terminate my employment because of Señor Lundhavn? If he has disappointed you, why should you demand satisfaction of me? I am not privy to his work, or anything else.” Pradera set his jaw and tried to summon up his indignation. “How do you…” His voice dropped away as he saw Saint-Germain pull a carbon copy of a letter from his waistcoat pocket: it was the letter he had sent to the Departamento de los Extranjeros a month ago. “Madre de Dios,” he whispered.
“Well might you pray,” said Saint-Germain, his expression unchanged. “This is most distressing, Armando. I am not dismissing you for what Señor Lundhavn has done—I am dismissing you for what you have done. Do you have some reason for your disloyalty? I hope it wasn’t simple caprice.” He folded the letter and slipped it back into his waistcoat pocket.
“Saints save me,” said Pradera as his predicament sank in.
Saint-Germain studied him. “Can you tell me what you wanted to accomplish with this?”
Pradera had large, big-knuckled hands, and he knotted the two of them together. “I don’t know if I can explain it to you.”
“Armando: try,” said Saint-Germain.
“Oh, God. This can’t be happening.” He looked about as if his sentiments were innovative and not the same protestation Saint-Germain had heard countless times over the centuries. “I was assured that no one would learn about what I’ve done.” He bit his lower lip.
“You were misled,” said Saint-Germain, his voice gentle but his dark eyes keen.
Pradera nodded. “Yes. Yes. You’re right. I was.” He steeled himself to meet Saint-Germain’s dark eyes. “But how did it come about that you received a copy of the letter? I didn’t make one, not that I recall, and I never had it in the office.” He fretted, working his hands more tightly. “How did you manage to get your hands on it?”
“There are those whose task it is to monitor those in responsible positions, in industry and in government; you should not be surprised that you come under scrutiny as well as I.” Saint-Germain stared toward the high windows that provided light with privacy for the office. “I don’t employ spies, if you think I do.”
“But it seems you have them nonetheless,” said Pradera humorlessly. “You aren’t going to tell me, are you?”
“No; I’m not,” Saint-Germain told him. “Suffice it to say that it has become known that a few of my employees have made a point to try to gain the favor of certain political factions and will now have to reap the rewards of their efforts.”
“This is dreadful,” said Pradera.
“I would agree,” said Saint-Germain, and went on at his most urbane. “I am saddened to have to lose you, Pradera, but a man in your position must maintain the confidence his position demands, or he cannot be worthwhile. You have divulged too much that isn’t yours to impart to others.” He rose slowly. “You have compromised my company, Armando. You have put me in a position where I must divest myself of this company or have to enter into a pact with the government that will only be to my disadvantage.”
“You overestimate the importance of this company, Conde; it cannot be so significant as you seem to think it is. I have been told that interest in it is only cursory,” said Pradera with a forced smile. “The airplanes we make are not what the government is seeking. I sent the information to the Departamento de los Extranjeros so that they would know your company isn’t anything they’d want.”
“Of course,” said Saint-Germain, coming to stand directly in front of Pradera’s desk. “So you must be shocked to know that I am now being forced to deal with the military.”
“I didn’t intend that anything
“What?” Pradera looked up sharply. “What sort of jest is this?”
“No jest at all, I fear,” said Saint-Germain.
“But … Why should you terminate my employment because of Señor Lundhavn? If he has disappointed you, why should you demand satisfaction of me? I am not privy to his work, or anything else.” Pradera set his jaw and tried to summon up his indignation. “How do you…” His voice dropped away as he saw Saint-Germain pull a carbon copy of a letter from his waistcoat pocket: it was the letter he had sent to the Departamento de los Extranjeros a month ago. “Madre de Dios,” he whispered.
“Well might you pray,” said Saint-Germain, his expression unchanged. “This is most distressing, Armando. I am not dismissing you for what Señor Lundhavn has done—I am dismissing you for what you have done. Do you have some reason for your disloyalty? I hope it wasn’t simple caprice.” He folded the letter and slipped it back into his waistcoat pocket.
“Saints save me,” said Pradera as his predicament sank in.
Saint-Germain studied him. “Can you tell me what you wanted to accomplish with this?”
Pradera had large, big-knuckled hands, and he knotted the two of them together. “I don’t know if I can explain it to you.”
“Armando: try,” said Saint-Germain.
“Oh, God. This can’t be happening.” He looked about as if his sentiments were innovative and not the same protestation Saint-Germain had heard countless times over the centuries. “I was assured that no one would learn about what I’ve done.” He bit his lower lip.
“You were misled,” said Saint-Germain, his voice gentle but his dark eyes keen.
Pradera nodded. “Yes. Yes. You’re right. I was.” He steeled himself to meet Saint-Germain’s dark eyes. “But how did it come about that you received a copy of the letter? I didn’t make one, not that I recall, and I never had it in the office.” He fretted, working his hands more tightly. “How did you manage to get your hands on it?”
“There are those whose task it is to monitor those in responsible positions, in industry and in government; you should not be surprised that you come under scrutiny as well as I.” Saint-Germain stared toward the high windows that provided light with privacy for the office. “I don’t employ spies, if you think I do.”
“But it seems you have them nonetheless,” said Pradera humorlessly. “You aren’t going to tell me, are you?”
“No; I’m not,” Saint-Germain told him. “Suffice it to say that it has become known that a few of my employees have made a point to try to gain the favor of certain political factions and will now have to reap the rewards of their efforts.”
“This is dreadful,” said Pradera.
“I would agree,” said Saint-Germain, and went on at his most urbane. “I am saddened to have to lose you, Pradera, but a man in your position must maintain the confidence his position demands, or he cannot be worthwhile. You have divulged too much that isn’t yours to impart to others.” He rose slowly. “You have compromised my company, Armando. You have put me in a position where I must divest myself of this company or have to enter into a pact with the government that will only be to my disadvantage.”
“You overestimate the importance of this company, Conde; it cannot be so significant as you seem to think it is. I have been told that interest in it is only cursory,” said Pradera with a forced smile. “The airplanes we make are not what the government is seeking. I sent the information to the Departamento de los Extranjeros so that they would know your company isn’t anything they’d want.”
“Of course,” said Saint-Germain, coming to stand directly in front of Pradera’s desk. “So you must be shocked to know that I am now being forced to deal with the military.”
“I didn’t intend that anything
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