The Babel Conspiracy Page 10

  • • •

  For the next several hours Trisha helped assemble the huge mobile platforms and ladders which resembled scaffolding in a shipyard. By the time they were completed, she was so exhausted that when Mike said, “Okay everyone, let’s knock off,” she was one of the first to leave, and quickly slipped out the side in order to avoid her boss.

  All afternoon she had managed to keep her distance. But this was an impossible situation. How had this happened? How did she wake up one morning in love with a married man?

  Buck called it a cancer. The question was how to get rid of it? The most obvious answer was to quit. Walk off the job. But could she do that? Could she leave the project in a lurch?

  Still . . . the way he had looked at her! He said he wanted to be friends, but did he know, like Buck did? Had he seen something on her face, heard something in her voice that told him how she felt? There was only one way out. As soon as the project was finished, she’d hand in her resignation.

  Mike’s reputation with women was legendary. As Trisha walked to her car she imagined his face contorting with laughter; envisioned her name scrawled over some dirty urinal in some dirty men’s room; heard it bantered about in a locker room heavy with male perspiration; visualized his friends slapping him on the back in congratulations over his latest conquest.

  The half moon made usual shadowy objects appear more luminous. But some things were best left in shadows she thought when spotting the helicopter bearing the name of Patterson Aviation and the initials M.P. in gold and white lettering. He was a man used to flying in and out of people’s lives, oblivious to all the turmoil he created, as if it could be easily tidied-up. How many hearts had he broken? How many lives had he damaged?

  Suddenly, she felt angry—at herself, at her weakness. And when she pulled into the Sea Breeze parking lot she was still angry even though she had tried to dispel it by driving around for nearly an hour.

  She parked her BMW in front of a marble horse-head post with a large brass ring through its nose. The Sea Breeze was a converted mansion, and several touches of the former splendor still remained. It was here that Michael Patterson had rented one entire wing for the Gibs Town staff.

  When she neared room twelve, she stopped. “Mike . . . what are you doing here?”

  “My room’s beside yours,” he answered casually, but his face was anything but casual.

  She stood looking at him, her silence prevailing like a great shield of armor between them. Then the strong, powerful executive took the key from her hand and unlocked the door.

  “Look, I’m tired.” She tried slipping past him but she wasn’t fast enough for suddenly he had hold of her.

  “There was something I wanted to tell you, over our coffee earlier.”

  “What’s that?”

  By way of answer he kissed her and when he did, she felt pulled by some invisible tide, felt herself being swept away. Then, just as suddenly she felt herself leaning against the frame of the door looking into the face that a moment ago had been so intimately a part of her own.

  “Trisha, I can’t explain what I’m feeling now. I don’t understand it myself. I know that I want you. But it’s more than that, too. I also know you’re not the type to look twice at a married man. But my feelings are so strong I can’t be silent.”

  “You have no right to say that to me. As you pointed out, you’re married. You’re talking about adultery.”

  “That’s an ugly word. And I’ve never viewed it that way. I like to think of it as two consenting adults.” He shrugged. “I had to try. You of all people know how impetuous and impatient I am.”

  Buck had known this was coming. He had warned her. But in her heart, Trisha didn’t believe her boss would actually make a pass. Now that it had happened it seemed so silly, like something out of a romance novel, and yet so . . . frightening, too.

  Mike gently grazed her cheek with his thumb, his face inches from hers. “Don’t look so worried, Trisha. You’re not going to have to spend all your time at Gibs Town fighting me off. But just so you know, the door between us locks both ways. My side will remain open. Good night.” With that the powerful frame disappeared into room eleven.

  Trisha entered her own room, closed the door, and without turning on the light made her way to the bed.

  Lord you are my refuge and strength. A very help in times of trouble. Whom shall I fear? I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.

  And as she sat in the dark, she heard that still small voice.

  “I will never leave you or forsake you. I love you with an everlasting love.”

  • • •

  CHAPTER 7

  Joshua leaned back in Senator Merrill’s tufted executive’s chair and stared at Cassy in disbelief. “Why have you waited so long to tell me this? You realize that every change you make will cost you? I’ve already started encrypting the second server.”

  “I decided the volunteers don’t need the extra security. They’ll have nothing but call numbers for pitching to small donors or voters. A few will have Photoshop and other tools for creating brochures, etcetera. Nothing to worry about.”

  “Your uncle contracted for two encrypted servers. Why the sudden change?”

  “I’m thinking of the cost.”

  “That’s not the place to save money. Especially since you’ve already been hacked.”

  “Actually, I want to put that money toward the first server. In addition to it being encrypted and with fingerprint recognition, I want the self-wiping feature so if the system is breached, all information will be erased. We already back-up our servers so no problem there.”

  Joshua tented his fingers. “You’ve paid for one of our best security systems but it doesn’t come with a self-destroyer. Sorry.”

  “I’ve done my homework and I know of companies that have Global Icon’s new app. I believe you actually call it, The Destroyer.” Cassy smiled and tossed her head, making her spiked hair, which was dyed all blonde today, swish pleasantly around her face. “I think it’s an equitable tradeoff. Only one encrypted server and The Destroyer.”

  Joshua eyed her, thinking how the new hair color made Cassy look like a young Meg Ryan. He liked this brainy non-conformist, though at times, like now, he found her annoying. “You’re making changes late in the game and you know I’ve already started upgrading both servers.”

  “How much do you want for the changes?”

  “You still owe for that cocktail party. But tell you what. I’ll make a few modifications to your general office server, leaving off our pricier features. It will still give your office more protection than it has now. And you, your uncle and the campaign manager’s computer will get the works.”

  “No, not the campaign manager’s. He’ll be fine with your basic package. But my uncle’s and mine—I want them as secure as Fort Knox.”

  Joshua pulled himself closer to the desk and tapped on Senator Merrill’s computer. “What’s on this thing that you need such tight security?” He hadn’t found anything interesting so far and neither had the Mossad. “And don’t tell me it’s none of my business. It would help to know what I’m trying to safeguard. And forget about telling me it’s to protect Senator Merrill’s campaign strategy.”

  Cassy picked at the black leather bracelet on her wrist. “How much extra?”

  “Look, Cassy, if I knew what was so important I could better tailor the package to your needs. You’re leaving me in the dark here.”

  “My uncle has enemies. Okay?”

  “All presidential candidates throughout history had enemies. Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “He’s had death threats.”

  “You mean like drop out of the campaign or else?”

  Cassy shook her head. “No, much more serious.”

  “Has he gone to the police? Or FBI?”

  Again Ca
ssy shook her head.

  “If he reports this, the Secret Service will assign him additional bodyguards.”

  Cassy’s eyes brimmed with fear. “His enemies are powerful and well connected.”

  “Are you talking about Senator Garby?”

  Cassy flipped her hand in the air. “No, he’s nothing more than a puppet for the current administration. But Tafco Oil for one . . . and others.”

  “You want to tell me about it?”

  “How do I know I can trust you? I don’t know who to turn to anymore. Who to trust. And Uncle Phillip won’t bring in the authorities. He says it’s because there’s no one we can trust. But I need to trust somebody. I can’t sleep nights and I . . . .”

  “Okay, take it slow, what’s going on?”

  Cassy stared at her leather bracelet as she twisted it around and around.

  “Cassy?”

  “My uncle has information some powerful people would like to get their hands on. Information he has been getting via email. Not long after they started showing up in his in-box, his computer got hacked and the death threats started coming.”

  Joshua straightened. Tafco Oil. He knew that name. Tafco Oil—TO? Was that who Arie meant when he scribbled those initials on the paper? He thought of the ladder-crane-like drawing. An oil derrick? It didn’t make sense. The Mossad already knew of Tafco’s ties to terrorists.

  Joshua stared at the woman in front of him. All his instincts told him she was frightened about something. But was it really the big deal she made it out to be?

  “Your uncle has erased all the emails on his computer. Does he still have a record of them somewhere?”

  “Yes, hidden in a safe place. But the emailer said there was more to come. And when they do, his computer needs to be fully secure so no one can hack in and see what information has been sent. If they don’t know what he has, maybe that will protect him, and maybe that will cause his adversaries to think twice for fear that Uncle Phillip has made provisions for releasing this information should anything happen to him.” Cassy rose to her feet. “The emailer has put my uncle’s life in danger. I’ve told you enough that you should understand how important your security system is to us.”

  “Maybe I can help. Not just with your software.”

  “I don’t think so.” Cassy walked to the door. “Though I wish you could.”

  “Meet me for dinner and we’ll talk.” When she shook her head, he added, “I know a great hamburger place.”

  • • •

  Mike toweled his wet body before throwing open the bathroom door. When he did, he was surprised to see Renee moving about.

  “You’re up early. It’s not even ten.” He wrapped the towel around his waist suddenly feeling awkward. He was not used to being home. He had spent few nights here during the past month.

  “I have a lot to do.” She rummaged through a huge mahogany dresser. “I’m going shopping. The Garbys have seen my entire wardrobe, everything decent anyway.”

  Mike chuckled. “Since when did you need an excuse to spend money? But I guess that means you plan on doing more fundraisers?”

  “The senator has roped me into three more. And he keeps insisting I wear the same black gown with the V neckline.”

  “I can’t imagine why,” Mike said sarcastically.

  “Truth is, I’m getting bored with it.”

  “Bored? With all that attention from, what did you call them—people who shape history?”

  “I don’t like being treated like a glorified event planner. Don’t get me wrong, DC was exhilarating and I won’t have missed it for the world. And, yes, I still believe Senator Garby would make a great president though the closer we get to the election the less likely it will happen. But I resent being taken for granted. The Garbys expect me to drop everything and be their ‘little hostess’ whenever they call.”

  “So when are you leaving?” Mike asked, smearing shaving cream over his face, his mind already on Gibs Town. He hated leaving it. Hated leaving her. He was sure he was in love with Trisha. Problem was, he didn’t know what to do about it. “So, when are you leaving,” he repeated, trying to sound interested.

  “In a few days. And Michael, the Garbys would like you to come, too. To be their guest at their big gala dinner next week.”

  “Impossible.”

  “Why? We haven’t gone away together in some time. A little vacation would do us both good.”

  “There’s too much happening at the plant. I can’t go anywhere, not for a long time.”

  “You’re just saying that because it’s the Garbys.”

  “Renee, right now the Pope himself couldn’t induce me to leave my company.”

  Renee laughed. “Poor illustration, darling. You’re a Methodist and in name only. No, you’ve let the rumors prejudice your opinion of them.”

  “We’ve been through all that. I’m not going to defend my position. And you’re right. I’m not interested in spending time with the Garbys. I’m particular about the company I keep. I’m at a point in my life where when I do have free time, I want to spend it with people I like. Can you understand that?”

  “Of course, Michael. What it boils down to is that we like different people. But it’s a shame. Senator Garby has taken an interest in you. And if you made half an effort you could be friends. He can do a lot for you, for both of us, even for Patterson Aviation. And for someone as ambitious as you, that should mean something. At any rate, he asks about you all the time.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, mainly about your company, the kind of planes you build, that sort of thing. I told him you’re so secretive I don’t even know what goes on.”

  Mike’s face knotted. “What else?”

  “Nothing. Well . . . he did ask why you were so secretive. Why are you?”

  “Ever hear of corporate espionage?”

  Renee made a face. “He also mentioned how he’d like to visit your plant, and then Alex, Alex Harner said . . . .”

  “He was there?”

  Renee nodded. “And Alex told Senator Garby it would be good publicity for his campaign, you know, senator visits factory, mingles with the common worker and all. Then Alex suggested the senator enlist you in his campaign.”

  “And that’s what this invitation is all about? You’re supposed to reel me in, is that it?”

  “I wouldn’t put it like that.”

  “And what were you supposed to get out of this? An invitation to the ‘inner circle’?”

  “Well, I . . . I . . . .”

  “Just how far would you go to get a little attention from your precious senator? Maybe it’s a good thing you don’t know anything about my company.”

  “You’re being a bore.”

  “And you’re being naive. Grow up, Renee. These boys don’t give anything away, not even their time or attention, unless there’s something in it for them.”

  Renee threw up her hands. “Believe me the senator doesn’t give a hoot about your company. The thing he didn’t understand was that I don’t either!” She slammed one of the drawers shut. “And don’t look at me like that. You know I’ve never been interested in your company. And ever since you started running off to that secret workshop of yours, you haven’t been the same. Michael, honestly, you can’t get so worked up over an airplane!”

  “Drop it, Renee.”

  “For heaven sake, what’s wrong with you? You have an opportunity here to make something of yourself and . . . .”

  “Make something of myself? I thought I already had.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that Senator Garby is powerful and I don’t think it’s wise to deliberately offend him. Surely you can’t refuse . . . .”

  “I can and do.”

  Renee’s face reddened. “Well, what am I going to tell him?”

 
A sudden rap on the bedroom door ended the conversation. Mike quickly put on his robe and answered it.

  “I . . . I’m sorry to disturb you, sir,” said one of the maids. “A phone call for you, a Mr. Buck McNight. He said it was urgent.”

  Without another word, Mike rushed to the adjacent sitting room and nearest phone. “Yes, Buck, what is it?”

  The voice on the other end sounded strained. “There’s been an explosion. The autoclave. Mike, the whole wall is gone! Five workers injured and on the way to the hospital. Thank God there weren’t more.”

  “I’ll be right over,” Mike said, and hung up.

  • • •

  Mike paced his office floor as he listened to Buck retelling the events of the morning. “It’s a miracle it wasn’t worse,” he said when Buck finished.

  Adhesives, which Lockheed helped develop, had replaced riveting in large fuselage panels. The adhesives were also used to apply titanium straps. Those parts of the aircraft on which adhesives were used had to be put into the autoclave—which functioned like a giant pressure cooker—and bonded the adhesives under tremendous heat and inert gas pressure.

  “How could this happen? There were safety devices, strict guidelines. Any indication of a malfunction?”

  Buck clicked a boot heel against the leg of his chair and shook his head.

  “Then we have to consider sabotage or terrorism. That means Homeland Security will be crawling all over us. Let’s just hope it won’t scare away any of our employees. In the meantime, I want constant updates on our injured linesmen. And see what can be done for their families while you’re at it.”

  Mike stopped pacing and sat down at his desk. “We’re backlogged with the EX4 and C101 deals . . . .” His voice trailed off. PA’s sales director had sold all ten C101s, plus five more. These five, plus the EX4s he sold earlier, put production schedules on an overtime basis. They couldn’t afford to be without the autoclave. It meant loss of productive man hours and that meant loss of revenue.