by Mike Brogan
“Welcome to the Motor City, Madison, Kevin . . .”
“We’re delighted to be here, Pete,” Madison said.
“We’re delighted you are.”
Pete led them inside, then upstairs to a conference room with polished wood walls, thick mahogany furniture, and three massive-screen televisions. Seven other executives walked over and introduced themselves. Madison was pleased to see three women among them.
Women had broken through the auto industry glass ceiling. Mary Barra had blasted through the concrete roof when General Motors named her CEO.
Everyone settled around a long gleaming cherry wood table. In mid-table sat two rows of power ports with plugged-in laptops, iPads and phones.
Pete Naismith stood. “Welcome again, Madison, Kevin. As you know, our new XCar launch is critical to Global Vehicle’s future. The great news is we have a great car - the XCar. There’s never been a car with its revolutionary long-range battery system. The most innovative battery technology in the industry. The supercapacitor graphene battery system. Super because it lets a person drive close to 500 miles before needing a battery charge. That’s almost double the mileage of most other electric cars. And you can recharge your XCar batteries at home in about fifteen minutes.
Madison was surprised how fast the battery recharged.
“But the great news is - the average XCar drivers will pay about seventy-five percent less than driving their gas-powered car the same distance.”
Madison was excited. Rarely did an advertising agency get a product with such a terrific USP (unique selling proposition) for consumers and a significant benefit to offer them. A reason to buy. Saving thousands of dollars in driving costs . . . and driving farther between recharges.”
“But as good as XCar is . . .” Pete said, “. . . there’s trouble.”
Madison held her breath, wondering what he meant.
“Our Global Vehicles brand still suffers from our tire crisis two years ago. Those WideRider tire blowouts caused serious accidents and damaged our brand.”
“But the tire maker acknowledged their negligence,” Madison said.
“True, but even though their tires met all industry standards, many car buyers blamed us for installing the tires. The buck stops with us, the car maker. It hurt our brand. The question is for how long?”
Madison agreed and said, “Our research suggests rebuilding a car brand image can take from a couple of years to many more. Depends on the severity of the problem.”
“But we don’t have a couple of years. We have twelve months to grow sales enough to keep Global Vehicles Corporation financially healthy.”
The warning hit Madison like a punch to her stomach.
No one spoke.
Madison saw Pete’s eyes narrow with worry.
“Are you concerned about a possible merger? Or a hostile takeover?”
“Those are always valid concerns for companies these days, Madison.”
Her stomach tightened. She’d already lost one automotive client to a major industry merger and didn’t want to lose this one before she could help them.
“So, bottom line,” Naismith said, “the XCar is basically our make or break vehicle. As you know, we sank billions into its research, development, and manufacturing.”
Madison nodded.
“And . . . we have another consumer concern.”
“What’s that?” Kevin asked.
“The XCar’s new battery system is revolutionary. And many car customers are hesitant to try revolutionary technology.”
A valid concern, Madison knew. “But a segment of consumers want to try new technology. They have to drive the latest. But like you say, most people probably wait and see how the new technology pans out.”
“Make sure the kinks are worked out,” Pete said.
Madison nodded. “But XCar is different. We think most XCar prospects will be so overwhelmed by your XCar’s money-saving benefits, they’ll be eager to try its new technology.”
“From your lips to God’s ears!”
“And then from your customers’ lips to prospective customers’ ears. We might make customer-to-people testimonials,” Madison said.
Naismith nodded as his phone rang and he answered it. He turned serious quickly, mumbled yes a few times, then hung up.
Madison saw it in his eyes. Something was wrong.
He sat down, staring at the carpet. “We just got a report of an XCar incident.”
Everyone turned toward him.
“One of our top young engineers, Lilly Thompson, appeared to lose control of her new XCar on the Mackinac Bridge and plunged into the water below . . .”
Everyone gasped. Clearly they knew her.
The room went graveyard quiet.
“How is she?” Madison asked.
“Critical.”
EIGHT
“One last stop!” Pete Naismith said as they walked out of the conference room.
Madison and Kevin followed him down a long, paneled hallway to a spacious area where a well-dressed woman about sixty, with gray-auburn hair and brown horn-rimmed glasses sat behind a polished oak desk with two large-screen Apple computers. On her desk sat a bowl of apples labeled The Original Apples.
“Hey, Doreen,” Pete said introducing them to her.
“Go on in, guys. Hank’s expecting you.”
They followed Pete into the office. The door plaque read: Hank Harrison, CEO.
Great, she thought. We’re getting a courtesy visit to meet the CEO, the Big Honcho.
But the Big Honcho’s office was small, one fourth the size of Doreen’s outer office. Madison saw dark mahogany furniture, photos of GV vehicles and sports cars on the walls, and a surprisingly small teak desk.
Harrison, a broad-shouldered man in his mid-fifties, had dark-brown hair, dark-green eyes, and glasses hanging on a silver chain. He sat at his desk, talking on the phone. A beautiful old red and purple Persian carpet graced the polished oak floor. File folders were arranged in neat stacks on the floor along the walls.
Pete nodded at the folders and whispered, “Hank can find any file faster in those stacks than in his computer.
Still on the phone, Hank smiled and waved them into the chairs near his desk. Behind him, Madison saw a family photo with a wife and two red-haired twin daughters and a small Italian greyhound, plus photos with George W. Bush, Barack Obama, and Michigan governors. An old Gibson L5 guitar stood in the corner.
She looked out the window and saw a stunning view of the Detroit River and Windsor, Ontario on the Canadian side of the river.
Harrison hung up, came around to greet them.
“Welcome to GV! I’m Hank Harrison,” he said, smiling and shaking hands with Madison and Kevin. They introduced themselves.
“Pete tells me you guys ride white horses!”
“White XCars these days, Mr. Chairman,” Madison said, meaning it.
Harrison smiled. “Excellent choice! And call me Hank, please. Coffee anyone?”
“I’d love one with cream,” Madison said, expecting Harrison to signal Doreen.
Instead Harrison walked over to a corner, poured coffee from an old-fashioned Mr. Coffee pot, added cream, and handed it to her.
“Thank you.”
They sat around a small round table in an adjoining alcove.
Harrison said, “We focus-grouped your ad concepts and the concepts of the other agencies. Yours tested highest by far.”
“That’s great to hear,” Madison said, relieved at the news. “Kevin’s team created those ads.”
“Terrific work, Kevin.”
“Thank you.”
Harrison smiled, then grew more serious. “I have a confidential piece of information I’d like to share with you now. But we need your assurance that you won’t mention it to anyone until we release it to the press.”
“You have our assurance,” Madison said, wondering what could be more secret than their intention to launch the new XCar in a few weeks – instead of
four months.
“It has to do with our revolutionary new supercapacitor graphene batteries.”
They waited.
“We’re doubling and eventually tripling our battery production. Once production’s ramped up, we’ll begin installing the batteries in some of our other GV model lines. First in our hybrid-electric models. Eventually, we hope seventy to eighty percent of our vehicles will be available with our supercapacitor graphene system.”
“Will customers still be able to choose gas-powered versions of those cars?” Madison asked.
“Absolutely. We’ll always have gas-powered vehicles in all our model lines.”
Madison felt that was a smart decision.
“Of course, other car makers will eventually develop similar battery technology. But it will take them time and money.”
Madison said, “But today - your new battery can start lowering driving costs for Americans!”
“And lower carbon emissions.” Harrison nodded.
“And our dependency on foreign oil,” Pete said.
“All important goals,” Harrison said. He sipped his water.
“Just one last point,” Hank said.
She waited.
“Since the majority of our vehicles will eventually have our supercapacitor graphene batteries, Pete and our marketing and sales teams and I believe all our communications to consumers should be consistent across all our vehicle models. Including advertising and social media messages. Our thinking is that Global Vehicles should speak to consumers with one voice. Does that make sense to you?”
Madison nodded. “Always has. Our advice to all clients has always been - One company. One brand. One voice.”
“I couldn’t agree more. Then we have another request of you.”
“Just name it,” Madison said.
“We’d also like you to handle all our marketing consumer-influence communications. Namely, all our Global Vehicles advertising and promotional work . . . for all our vehicles. Not just XCar.”
Madison’s heart stopped. She opened her mouth to speak, but felt like a hand had gripped her throat. Kevin’s mouth fell open.
“Can you guys handle it?”
She swallowed hard and squeaked out - “Yes!”
“Good. Pete will start setting up the transfer timetable for moving all GV advertising and promotional work to your agency. We’ve studied your advertising work for several years actually, and we’re impressed.”
“Thank you for your confidence, Mr. Chairman! . . . Hank!”
“You’re welcome, Madam CEO, . . . Madison. But now I’m late for another meeting.”
He stood, shook their hands, and left the room.
Pete smiled at her, obviously knowing before the meeting that Harrison intended to give her his entire advertising and marketing communications business.
“Thank you, Pete.”
He shrugged and smiled.
Her heart pounded. She’d just been handed nearly a seven hundred million dollar annual advertising account.
NINE
Chuck Chensen spit his coffee out.
He just heard Hank Harrison give Madison all Global Vehicles’ advertising business.
The tiny Q-Bug device in Madison’s briefcase let Chensen hear their conversation even though he was in Manhattan and she was six hundred miles away in Detroit. The tiny Q-Bug mic linked to a communications satellite that relayed their conversation to Chensen’s cell phone.
Infuckingcredible! Chensen thought.
She just got handed all Global Vehicles advertising . . . for cars and truck lines, plus the social media business. At least seven hundred million dollars in annual billings!
A stunning win!
This would be my money to spend on media if Madison hadn’t screwed me by giving the top Media Director position to Howard Goldberg instead of me. She’ll regret that decision!
Chensen took out his burner phone and speed-dialed Nester Van Horn.
“What now?” Van Horn sounded busy.
“Harrison just gave Madison all the Global Vehicles advertising business! Everything!”
Van Horn was silent so long Chensen thought the line disconnected.
“Did you say -”
“- everything! Harrison gave Turner all GV’s advertising!”
“How can you be sure?”
“I heard Harrison say it five minutes ago!”
“He’s in Detroit! You’re in Manhattan. How could you - ?”
“Technology. And here’s something else he said. You won’t believe it!”
“What?”
“Harrison plans to eventually install their patented new supercapacitor graphene XCar battery system into most GV vehicles.”
Van Horn cursed a blue streak. “The boss will go batshit! He wants the fucking XCar and its new battery system dead on arrival. Still-born! He wants XCar’s death to destroy all electric car sales! You know what that means?”
“It means we start his program now!”
TEN
Robert Bruner watched retired Colonel Clete Cannon stagger out of a bar near Selfridge Air National Guard Base thirty miles north of Detroit after a hard day’s work at his chosen profession: Drinking.
Officer ShitFace, as his squadron called him when he flew F-22s drunk in Iraq. Like the day near Kirkuk when he unleashed 9-X missiles that killed Bruner’s grandparents in their home and the family of four next door. He missed his intended military target by seven city blocks. Two Air Force mechanics swore they saw Clete Cannon drunk a hour before the mission. Cannon should have been grounded, but wasn’t. He should have been court martialed for the resulting war crime, but wasn’t. Cannon had heavy-breather friends in high Air Force positions who managed to have him acquitted.
It took Bruner three years to finally locate Clete Cannon, who lived, ironically enough, just seventeen miles from Bruner.
But now he’s in my cross-hairs.
Cannon slid behind the wheel of his big black Ford Excursion and raced off, bouncing gravel off a guy’s pickup in the lot.
“Slow down, asshole!” the pickup guy shouted.
Cannon laughed and sped off.
Bruner followed, hanging four cars behind.
As expected, Cannon drove onto M 29 heading east, probably driving toward his home on nearby Harsens Island. He passed Anchorville and then Anchor Bay.
Bruner followed. The sun glinted off the blue water into his eyes and he put on his sunglasses. He wanted to see every detail.
Minutes later, Cannon pulled in at Champion’s Auto Ferry. Each day the dependable ferry took Cannon’s big Excursion to and from Harsens Island.
Cannon drove onto the ferry. His Excursion was the only vehicle.
Bruner parked near the Champion’s Auto Ferry sign. He focused his binoculars on Cannon sipping more booze from a flask. Then his head started bobbing in rhythm, probably listening to his whiny tear-jerker redneck music.
Right on schedule, the ferry pulled away from the dock. Cannon’s Excursion was still the only vehicle on board. The ferry eased into the choppy channel, heading over to Harsens Island, minutes away.
Bruner tapped in more commands on his laptop, entering into the Excursion’s OBD II port and Wi-Fi Bluetooth system. Seconds later, Bruner took control of the Excursion.
He was the driver now.
He was also an avenger.
Bruner started the Excursion.
Cannon bolted up in his seat - wondering why his car suddenly started running. He looked around, spooked. He hadn’t touched the ignition. And with keyless ignition, he had no key to yank from the slot. He hit the ignition On-Off button to turn it off, but the car kept running. He started to panic . . . reached to open the door.
Bruner locked all doors.
Cannon tried to open the sunroof . . .
Bruner locked it.
Cannon looked around for help, panicked.
Show time! Bruner revved the engine, put it in gear, and hit the gas - pedal to the metal!
The Excursion’s 7,700 pounds of steel bolted ahead, smashed through the wood exit barrier, and flew into the water ahead.
The ferry Captain, whose head was buried in his cell phone screen, heard the crash and stood up – just in time to see the ferry ram the sinking Excursion deeper under water.
Bruner watched Colonel Clete Cannon, trying to unlock the locked doors and hatch. He stared back at the ferry captain, screaming for help, banging his fists on the rear window. But it was too late.
Bruner watched the water rise over the windows, and suck the heavy vehicle under water.
Justice finally! he thought.
Lieutenant Clete Cannon, the man who killed his grandparents with fire . . . was now dying in water.
ELEVEN
Kevin sat with Madison and started reading the script aloud as though he was the voice over for a new XCar television commercial.
“You’re looking at California’s Mohave Desert. It’s three billion years old . . .”
“. . . and this is the new XCar. It’s three days old. And the only car with the revolutionary new supercapacitor graphene battery system . . . like no other car battery system ever.”
“Next to the silver XCar you see six silver, gasoline-powered cars. All six have full tanks of gas. The XCar battery system is fully charged. And all cars have been equalized to the exact same weight.”
“What does each car cost to operate per mile? Let’s find out.”
The seven cars drive off, side by side, at exactly sixty miles per hour.
The video fades and you see 100 miles superimposed on the screen as the cars drive past a 100-mile marker sign.
The visual fades again . . .
This time you see 200 miles superimposed on the screen.
Again the visual fades to 300 miles and all cars come to a stop.
“Let’s check their cost-per-mile at three hundred miles.”
We see two National Highway Traffic Safety technicians take single sheets of paper from each computer and turn them toward the camera. The camera zooms in tight on the numbers.
