The Babel Conspiracy Page 6

  When Audra saw that the door was unlocked, her anxiety increased. Patterson Aviation’s eight-building complex sprawled, like a sleeping lizard, in the desert twelve miles south of Everman. R&D’s Building Six formed the tail. Its front and back entrances were always locked. But Audra had heard the rumors of a recent break-in. So why weren’t the individual rooms of the research department locked? It seemed careless.

  “I’ve instructed everyone to give your needs top priority,” Trisha said, entering the room. “Just remember, you’re not alone. Don’t try to assume all the pressure and burden. When you’re stressed or have problems, come to me.”

  Audra scanned the familiar concrete bunker-like room. A large, glass window gave a clear view into the connecting room and at what looked like a jet engine in a type of sling device. The special glass, the concrete walls, all unnecessary precautions as essentially no radioactive waste was produced by deuterium. In front of the glass, an array of buttons and switches dotted a panel like miniature cookies on a platter. The engine was controlled from outside.

  Audra eyed Trisha who was pressed against the glass like a mother viewing her newborn through a nursery window. No, she didn’t care for her boss. The holy-roller prayed before eating lunch and even went to church a few times a week. She couldn’t imagine Trisha bellied up to a bar and ordering a Black Label on the rocks; or using four letter words; or bringing strange men home to enjoy for the night. But she had to admit Trisha knew her job, knew every nut and bolt that went into this project.

  Now, Audra only hoped she knew hers well enough to solve perhaps one of the most difficult problems of all.

  “I have confidence in you,” Trisha said, taking her eyes off the NPR910.

  “I appreciate that,” Audra muttered, feeling like she was about to heave her breakfast.

  • • •

  The pile of papers hit the desk top with a thud. “Here you go, boss,” Trisha said. “One briefing as ordered.”

  “The name is Mike or Mr. Patterson, take your pick.”

  “I like, ‘boss.’” She smiled. “On top of the pile you’ll find a short outline encapsulating the entire report. And I’ve made six copies, one for each board member.”

  Mike flipped the edges of the pile like a deck of cards. “Did you go to secretarial school, too?”

  “No praise, please. I accept cash or credit cards only.”

  Mike leaned back in his chair. “I suppose you do deserve a raise. You’re a constant surprise, Callahan.”

  “The name’s Trisha, Patricia, or Miss Callahan.”

  “Thanks, Callahan,” he said, with warmth in his voice as he picked up the top pages. For a moment Trisha felt his dark, searing eyes bore into her own; felt their heat. If she let him, he’d burn right through her defenses and expose her vulnerability.

  She turned away.

  For a while Mike remained silent, nibbling a pencil. “By the way, we’re having a party Friday night,” he finally said. “And before you say ‘no,’ let me add, you can’t refuse. It’s for my wife’s political friends, but I’m combining it with business. Much to her distaste.” He paused to chuckle as though picturing his wife’s anger and finding it amusing. “Three rich, influential cattlemen have just purchased an EX4 apiece, and our sales director is hoping to sell them part of that C101 order we got stuck with.”

  Trisha visualized the corpulent sales director with his pleasant, red face.

  “He’s going to pitch the idea of transporting livestock by air. If successful, some of the other cattlemen may follow suit. It could mean big money for PA.”

  “But I know nothing about the cattle industry. What exactly am I supposed to talk about?”

  “Talk? Who said I wanted you to talk? I need you as window dressing. Wear something sexy.”

  “There are dirty words for women like that.”

  “I . . . suppose.”

  “I thought I was just one of the boys?”

  “Well . . . .”

  “Of course I’ll expect a raise.”

  “I know, cash or credit cards only.”

  “See, you are temperate. I don’t know why anyone would call you unreasonable.”

  “Someone called me unreasonable?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Who said it?”

  “You shouldn’t take these things personally.”

  “Who, Callahan?”

  “Well . . . I have called you that once or twice.”

  Deep, throaty laughter filled the room. “Alright, Callahan, would you mind coming and giving our sales director a hand?”

  “I’d be happy to. I assume your invitation includes my date?”

  “Your date? Well . . . I guess . . . . But it’s going to be all shoptalk, boring . . . but yes, fine, bring a date.”

  The black, flowing hair hung like an ebony cloud around Trisha’s shoulders. She brushed it from her cheek as she thought of Daniel. Perhaps she shouldn’t ask him. She still hadn’t forgotten that look of humiliation on his face after his proposal. Maybe she should leave it alone. She didn’t want him taking it the wrong way. It would be cruel to give him false hopes. But Daniel would provide a buffer between her and Michael Patterson.

  And she really needed a buffer right now.

  “Then we’ll both be there,” she said as she moved towards the door. “And regarding the board meeting—just remember what Lincoln said. ‘You may fool all of the people some of the time . . . but you can’t fool all of the people all of the time.’”

  The athletic body rose from its chair like a mountain rising out of the sea. “It’s obvious Lincoln didn’t benefit from Despreauz’s wisdom.” In only a few strides he was beside her, his hand on the door next to hers. “‘Greatest fools are oft most satisfied.’ Now beat it, Callahan, before I qualify you for unemployment.”

  • • •

  Mike returned to his desk and sat down. The massive hands folded over each other into a beige knot. They were hairless, smooth hands with large, square, well-manicured nails. But they were also strong, sinewy, with knuckles like walnuts. They were hands not only at home on the top of a desk, but on the throttle of a four hundred ton machine. Mike had wanted to put them on her. Instead, he had fabricated a story so flimsy a child could see through it, all to draw her closer.

  He had done this twice before. “Compulsory business parties,” he had called them. But this desire to bring her close always stopped short of any real intimacy. And it had nothing to do with mixing business with pleasure. It had to do with fear. If one touched, then one could be touched. It was the kind of risk Mike had avoided all his life.

  He could sense the threat like a hunter senses the lion in the bush. Even a tame circus lion was unpredictable, dangerous. But this time he had come too close. He had felt an inexplicable jealousy because of her desire to bring a date. Even now it gnawed at him.

  A strange feeling, jealousy. An alien emotion. Uncomfortable and overwhelming. In ten years of his open marriage, he had never once been jealous—not even when one of Renee’s lovers turned out to be Mike’s friend. So how was it possible to feel jealousy over a woman he had never even touched above the wrist?

  His hands moved across the desk to pick up the outline. There was comfort in the crisp, white paper, in the bold, black lettering, in its . . . inertia; to be moved only at his pleasure, at his will.

  It could be controlled.

  Presently he began reading. “Page One. Patterson II. Aerodynamic Control Surfaces . . . . ”

  • • •

  “Page Four. Patterson II. Subassemblies. Please note that in spite of the wide body and considerable passenger capacity, weight without payload or fuel is only two hundred thousand pounds. Now, if you flip to the last page you’ll find the estimated cost for total development of our SST. Two hundred and fifty million, the bottom line, g
entlemen. Only ten million above our last projection. A mere pittance when you consider the development of the Concord cost over nine hundred million.”

  The pinstriped suits clustered together like a gray lotus. Pages turned with a crackling noise as heads bent together. Mike paused to allow the five men sitting around the large, rectangular conference table time to digest all he had said.

  One did not chew bitter herbs readily.

  “You’re aware that we have been unable to replenish our R&D fund since it was depleted during the creation of the EX4, even though that aircraft has been leading the industry in the executive craft category for over a year. We’ve gone over the reasons before and I see no need to rehash them now. The problem I want to focus on is how to get the additional ten million needed to complete the P2. In the past we obtained several grants from the government, but even that source has dried up.

  “Once before, when we were first developing the fusion reactor and before garnering government interest, I asked you to procure loans for its development, using your influence and prestige to attract investors. I now make that same request. Naturally, stock warrants will be issued, same as last time.”

  Mike studied their faces. As expected, all were favorable except one. The dissenter, Robert Gunther—a thin, sickly looking man— was one of three board members affiliated with an oil company. And of the three, the most powerful. Mike needed his support.

  “Your reaction, Bob?”

  The pasty lids blinked over dull eyes. It was as if he had not heard the question. But Mike knew better than to underestimate Gunther. What he lacked in stature and strength, he possessed in knowledge and cunning.

  “Well Mike, I’m not impressed.” He thumped the papers in front of him, his blue veins visible beneath the thin, tissue-like skin of his hand. “Where are the progress reports on the NPR910? Where are the test results? We have already stuck our collective necks out far enough. I think before you ask us to stick them out any further we need the performance data. Just what have you done so far?”

  “You’re talking about highly sensitive material. Only a handful has access to it. DHS insists we keep it that way. I need not remind you that in our business industrial spies are not uncommon. As for why you should stick your necks out again, here’s a reason: to guarantee the return of the money your investors have already made in the NPR910.”

  “And if the P2 fails,” Gunther said, “not only will we lose our investors’ capital but our credibility.”

  “A valid consideration, but if you don’t back me now the project cannot progress further and we’ll have no chance of recouping the R&D funds already invested. That could mean bankruptcy. And what, gentlemen, would that do to your credibility?”

  Four of the executives went into an immediate huddle.

  “Alright,” Gunther said, breaking up the conclave. “I believe you’ve made your point. No one here wants to see Patterson Aviation or the project fail. However, at present PA is overextended. Perhaps if you suspended your R&D, brought this matter up in six months or a year, then backed it with some performance data . . . .”

  “Six months! A year! In less than six months I could produce a full scale mock-up. In a year the P2 could be rolling off the assembly line!”

  “The reactors . . . you’re that close?” Gunther appeared stunned.

  “We’re that close.”

  “And the mock-up? Six months or less?”

  “That’s right.” Mike looked at the other four and knew he had them. Then he searched out the dull eyes of Robert Gunther and smiled.

  Men of cunning always understood each other.

  • • •

  Joshua wished Cassy Merrill wasn’t stuck to him like gum on a shoe. She had not left his side for longer than ten minutes at a time, and he needed more than that to clone the senator’s hard drive. He had promised headquarters they would have it soon. Maybe now he’d catch a break. Just moments ago, she told him she had a phone call to make, then disappeared.

  He unzipped his attaché case and was about to pull out the cloning software when Cassy’s head popped through the doorway. Her hair was green-tipped today, her nail polish—purple, and in addition to the customary jeans, she wore a gray MIT sweatshirt.

  “What is it now?” he said, shoving the disc back into the bag. The girl, the woman—he didn’t know what to call her because sometimes she seemed both—was getting on his nerves.

  “A little testy, aren’t we?”

  “We? No, I’m testy. I’m trying to get work done here which, as you have so gracelessly reminded me, is costing your uncle a bundle, and you keep interrupting.”

  Cassy smiled and sauntered into the office, then took the seat next to him. “Since it’s my uncle’s money, I can interrupt as much as I like.”

  Joshua frowned. “And what’s with the MIT sweatshirt? Is that your way of telling me you went to a great school for your software engineering degree? Or was it a present from someone who did?”

  “You don’t like my wardrobe?”

  “It doesn’t bother me. Just makes me wonder what you’re trying to say about yourself. Your tipped hair, your dark nails, your crazy anarchist T-shirts, your . . . ?”

  “I just got a message from my uncle. Garby’s campaign is filing a complaint against him, charging him with a federal campaign-law violation by failing to display a disclaimer on his official website. Seems there’s no mention of who’s paying for it, which is required. The campaign’s paying for it! Who else! And this was clearly indicated on the site twenty-four hours ago which means someone hacked in and removed it. Seems like there’s nothing that crowd won’t do to stop us. Guess we’ll be working overtime. Dinner’s on me tonight. A burger.”

  “Is that all you eat? Hamburgers? I’m tired of smelling them in the office everyday.”

  “Boy, you are testy!”

  Joshua shot her an angry look. “My contract doesn’t require me to be nice.”

  When he saw her smug facade crack for an instant and reveal a vulnerable core that could be hurt, he sighed. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I don’t mean to be a jerk. I just want to do my job which your uncle really is paying a lot for and I’d like to see that he gets his money’s worth. And it would be helpful if I didn’t have you looking over my shoulder every minute. I don’t need babysitting. You can trust me to do my job. I won’t disappoint you, I promise.”

  Cassy pinched her lips then made a funny sound as she blew out air. “I’m not trying to be a pain and I’m not sitting next to you because I don’t trust you. Truth is, I’m impressed. I’ve never seen anyone expose vulnerabilities in software as fast as you did ours. And your suggestions for security hardening are brilliant. You do know your business and I thought . . . well, I thought here’s someone I could learn a thing or two from.”

  Joshua hadn’t expected that. He studied her face. He had done enough interrogations to know when someone was lying. “Okay, truce?” he finally said.

  Cassy brightened. “Then you’ll let me observe?”

  “Yes,” he said, knowing it was going to make his job harder. How was he going to poke around the senator’s files with her leaning over his shoulder?

  “Thanks,” she said in a near whisper.

  “Okay, but that doesn’t include meals together. I don’t want to be around when you’re eating one of those awful frozen hamburgers you nuke everyday.”

  • • •

  CHAPTER 5

  Mike stood before the full length mirror adjusting his tie. A lady “friend” once told him he was handsome enough to be a male model. He took it as an insult. His physique was powerful, his face, rugged, not “pretty” like those on the fashion pages.

  “Admiring yourself?”

  Mike watched Renee’s approach in the mirror and noted, with amusement, that her black, floor-length dress was tight and had a neckline plunging to her
waist. “I never admire myself when I can admire you.”

  “That’s because you already know how handsome you are. But I suspect if you were less so it would preoccupy more of your thoughts. People are generally preoccupied with what they don’t have.”

  “Looks mean nothing to me, Renee. I learned long ago that a man doesn’t need them to make money, a deal, or a woman. But I admire good looks in the female species. And you do look incredible. Out to impress someone? You’ve certainly baited the hook. Anyone I know?”

  “Don’t be vulgar.”

  “You’ll be hard to resist. I’ve always said you had the finest figure of any woman I’ve ever known.”

  “It got you, didn’t it?”

  “Yes, sex can sell anything.”

  “Our ten years together haven’t been so bad, have they? I’ve made a good partner—with my looks, money and social status. I’ve been your ‘gracious hostess’ and used my influence for the benefit of your company. You got everything you wanted.”

  “Not everything.”

  “You’re not going to bring that up again? I can’t help that I’m unable to have children. I don’t see why you resent me for it.”

  “I don’t resent you for it. I resent that you’re glad you can’t have any. It’s your easy-out of unwanted responsibility.”

  Renee laughed. “Look who’s calling the kettle black! You don’t want that kind of responsibility, either. Only, you won’t admit it. You can’t push a child away as easily as you can a wife.”

  “Don’t make it sound so one-sided. You got what you wanted, too.”

  “You were Daddy’s choice, not mine, remember?”

  “Save it, Renee. I’ve heard it a hundred times. But you never mention that it didn’t take much for ‘Daddy’ to persuade your straw-haired veterinarian to leave town. I understand it cost him less than fifty-grand to send him packing. And if you were so in love, why didn’t you follow him?”

  Renee’s face reddened. “Well . . . Daddy convinced me that love was overrated, that wealth and power were more important, so I settled for you.”