“He's doing what we hired him to do,” Walt remarked dismissively as he took a gulp of a drink which seemed too early in the day to consume. “He's helping us plug up the holes.”
“Is he asking questions beyond what he'd be expected to?” Merrill asked, looking up from a plush chair at a small conference table.
“Not yet,” Colin answered. “So far, he's limited his attention to the scope of his audits, but I think that won't last if he continues to run into these irregularities. We have to discuss what happens when that occurs.”
“When that occurs?” Walt repeated.
“The accounting on this project is getting too fucking clumsy,” Colin retorted. “ He's going to start noticing patterns in these mistakes, and it's only a matter of time before he stumbles onto something bigger.”
Merrill turned to Walt. “Now you can see why I had reservations about staffing this position with someone outside of The Initiative.”
“But you know an Initiative employee would have too many reasons to overlook the type of problems that Sam's been unearthing,” Walt countered. “We need to find and deal with these problems, not brush them under the rug for government auditors to find later. Sam's doing exactly what we need him to do.”
“And there's the rub,” Merrill grumbled. “Now we have to contend with a strong program recruit whose candidacy is being tainted because he's doing the job in the manner we needed him to.”
“But he's gone through proper channels every time,” Walt pleaded. “I don't see this being a problem.”
“Until the next time he sees something he shouldn't,” Colin added. “We can't expect this kid to keep playing by the rules when it becomes clear that we're not.”
Merrill paused and let out a sigh. “It's still far too early in the program for him to know anything about what we're really doing. We'll pull him in the next time he uncovers something and feed him the standard cover story.”
“You know he'll also need to be transferred,” Colin reminded. “That's protocol.”
“Yes, I'm aware of that,” Merrill fumed. “Walt, I need you to clamp down on your accounting procedures. Things are getting damn sloppy and it's putting Sam at risk. Besides, it's not like we're swimming in cash right now.”
“Speaking of which,” Walt said as he sat down, “did you get word from the Senate committee on the Dignosco implementation funding?”
“It's all tied into the overall Initiative implementation funding,” Merrill replied with a troubled tenor. “They're trying to run it through Congress piecemeal, but there are still too many questions and concerns bogging it down in subcommittee. The Democrats are trying their best to stick it to the Republicans ever since they lost control of Congress, so black budget items don't get a free pass like they used to. It seems that people have to die in order to get anything funded these days.”
“I have enough cash to get Dignosco working, but after that we basically go dormant,” Walt cautioned.
“Walt, just get it working. Leave the funding battle to me. I didn't burn through two marriages and a heart valve to take The Initiative to the brink of its implementation only to run out of goddamn money.”
Wednesday, March 15, 1995
Sam's Townhouse – North Chelmsford, Massachusetts
“Tired?” Angela asked Sam as she brought a chicken casserole to the table. She noticed his attention was drifting.
“Sorry, just thinking over a problem from work.”
“I thought we agreed that was out of bounds,” Angela complained as she scooped out a serving.
“Yeah, you're right. My bad. It's supposed to be our evening.”
“Something must be pretty wrong at work.”
“Are you trying to bait me?”
“Okay, I'm temporarily lifting our ban,” Angela said as she sat. “Because you haven't been here since you got home. What's going on?”
“Honestly, I'm not sure.”
“Is this your code for not being able to share company secrets?”
“No, it's not that. I just keep finding mistakes.”
“Isn't that your job?”
Sam paused as he took a bite. “Yeah, it is.”
“So, is it that people aren't learning from their mistakes?”
“It's the type of mistakes I've been finding. They're too strange.”
“Strange as in...”
“The accounting people are usually picky about details, but the shit I'm catching isn't about being sloppy. More like being shrewd. It gives me the feeling that something's hinkey.”
“Have you talked to Ken about it?”
“I took my first two major finds to him and he's had reasonable explanations. The minor stuff gets reported back to the unit managers.”
“Okay, I'm not seeing the problem.”
“The problem? Ken sucks at accounting. He usually calls a bean-counter to check on a ledger account before he submits anything and he still doesn't get it right half the time. But those two times that I talked to him about what I found, he's suddenly an expert who doesn’t need to consult anyone.”
“What about taking it to Walt Thompson?”
“Go over Ken's head? That could bring down a lot of new problems on me.”
“But it's your job to watch for this, right?”
“If Walt gets involved, then he's likely going to bring in Colin Ross. He's the director of corporate security. You met him at the Christmas party. Mr. Drake introduced him to us.”
“I remember him. He was the serious looking man who looked like he was in the Army or something.”
“Or something. He's a former colonel in Army Intelligence. I've been told he's a scary bastard who used to be into a lot of espionage shit. He's not someone I want to mess with.”
“He didn't seem that bad to me.”
Sam laughed. “Sorry if I don't look nearly as good as you do in a little black dress.”
“So what are you going to do?”
Sam smiled. “Welcome to my world.”
“Are you sure Ken is lying to you? He's been a great boss so far.”
“That's what's so confusing. He's been great and it seems crazy that he'd be hiding anything. I really like him and don't want to get him into trouble.”
“Maybe it's time to move on?”
“I've had the same thought, lately. I like the travel, and meeting people, but I'm getting tired of everyone pretending to like me. Ken helped me to build a reputation that's scaring people.”
“It's going to be hard to find a job that pays the same.”
“I know. I'm thinking maybe I should give it a couple of more months to see if it gets better or worse. I don't want to have to find a new job already.”
Angela folded her arms and leaned back in her chair with a smile.
“What?” Sam asked.
“We actually talked about work and you shared your feelings. We didn't get into a fight.”
Monday, April 17, 1995
Blanchard Corporation – Chelmsford, Massachusetts
“It's starting to escalate,” Walt ranted to Colin in his office, where they were reviewing wire-tap transcripts from Sam's phone lines. “Maybe we need to stop editing these transcripts before it comes back to bite us in the ass.”
“Oh, stop being such a pussy,” Colin mocked. “It's still pretty far away from putting Sam in a compromising position.”
“His girlfriend is considering attending that church again. She's even scheduled an appointment to see some sort of therapist. I'm not getting a good feeling about this.”
Colin relaxed himself. “The day Sam steps back into a church is when we should start to get worried. I'm not seeing him going that way. I'm a bit more concerned about that therapist appointment. I hope it isn't bad news. Once the girlfriend goes high maintenance, it usually means the end isn't far away. Poor guy.”
“So we continue editing?”
“Like I told you before, please leave this to the experts. If it goes south on us, then you don
't need to worry about your ass. I'll take the fall.”
Sunday, May 14, 1995
Blanchard Corporation – Chelmsford, Massachusetts
“The X99B is on schedule,” Merrill announced to his weekly meeting attendees, causing many smiles to surface. “Its final flight trial was last week and it performed flawlessly. We're clearing it for active duty, which will start with escorting the Dignosco test flight. I have one associated question regarding the pilot recruitment roster. I wanted to confirm that Captain Johnson was bumped.”
“Yes, Merrill,” a voice chimed in from the far end of the conference table. “Johnson turned us down and re-upped in the Air Force.”
“So, you're moving Lieutenant Murphy into his spot?”
“Yes, he's that test pilot from Navy.”
“I want to look that over a bit more before you approach him for the pitch. I'm not keen on married pilots for this type of work. I'll also need a full surveillance work-up.”
“I'll hold on the pitch until I hear from you.”
“The next item on the agenda is the Dignosco test flight on the twenty-second. Walt, how are we doing on prep?”
“Everything is on schedule. My crew is ready. They'll be assembling in Burbank next Sunday.”
Merrill smiled. “I'd like to suggest that Sam Maxwell be present on that flight.”
Walt nodded in agreement. “I agree. He's earned it. It'll be good experience for him.”
Monday, May 15, 1995
Blanchard Corporation – Chelmsford, Massachusetts
“Pack your bags, Sam,” Ken gleefully said in his office. “You're heading to Burbank, California on Saturday to take a seat on the big Dignosco test flight. Congratulations. You've earned this.”
“Thanks, Ken. How did that happen?”
“It came from Walt, who hinted it came from Drake. You have some fans in high places.”
“I didn't know I was that popular. What do I need to do to prepare?”
“Nothing. All you're going to do is sit and enjoy the ride. It'll be a one-way flight from Burbank to Fargo. Once you get up to 30,000 feet, they turn on the system and you get to watch the magic. They expect it will detect and identify every single aircraft in the western hemisphere. It should be something special to watch.”
CHAPTER TEN
Monday, May 22, 1995
Burbank-Glendale-Pasadena Airport - Burbank, California
Sam got out of the company limo that parked next to a row of aircraft hangars. It was a warm, cloudy afternoon as he watched an unremarkable white jetliner being slowly towed out. The site supervisor, Marcus Elliot, accompanied him.
“That's really the test aircraft?” Sam asked as he put his sunglasses on.
“Yes, that's our Dignosco test platform,” Marcus explained. “It's a Fokker F100 medium range twin turbofan airliner.”
“I was expecting something more military.”
“It was our intention to make it look ordinary. Once it gets out onto the tarmac, it'll blend in with the other airliners. You wouldn't know by looking at it that it's packed with a billion dollars of our most sophisticated LIDAR equipment. It's usually not a good idea to advertise stuff like that. It's almost the same configuration as the commercial version. We installed beefed up Rolls Royce Tay 650 engines, mainly because once the LIDAR is fired up, one engine will be slaved to generate power to the system. The other will keep the plane in a high-altitude cruise.”
“We'll be flying on only one engine?”
“Don't worry, they're designed to do that. There's plenty of power to keep you up there.”
Sam turned to see an airport bus approach.
“Here comes our system operators and crew chief,” Marcus said. “Besides the pilot and co-pilot, there will be six other people, including you, on the plane today. It's a one-way flight from here to Hector Field in Fargo, North Dakota.”
The bus-van stopped and let out the passengers. Among those filing out with their carry-on bags was a tall, African-American man who stood out from the rest. His muscular frame gave him a formidable presence.
“Hank!” Marcus called with a wave. “Over here!”
“Who's he?”
Marcus waited to answer until Hank walked over. “Sam, this is Hank Tiller. He's the crew chief. Hank, this is Sam Maxwell, chief auditor on the project.”
“Nice to meet you,” Hank said as he shook hands with Sam. “I hear you're hitching a ride with us.”
“I certainly am.”
“Good to have you. We'll be boarding as soon as they get a mobile gantry stairway out here.”
Sam looked over to the small group of operators. He recognized two from his visits to Dallas.
“See anyone you know?” Hank asked.
“A couple of familiar faces from Dallas.”
“I'll leave you guys to your flight,” Marcus said and turned to Hank with a sly smile. “Hank, I hope it goes well, you lucky sonofabitch.”
“I'd rather be lucky than good,” Hank retorted. “Don't be too jealous. There's no first class on this flight to sit your pampered ass in.”
Marcus laughed and got back into the limo. Sam walked over with Hank to the group of operators.
“Everyone, this is Sam Maxwell,” Hank announced over the whine of the engines that were spinning up on the aircraft. “He's going to take the ride with us. He's strictly an observer, so please don't get all worked-up. He's not playing auditor today.”
Sam exchanged handshakes and caught up on some small talk with those he knew. The mobile stair gantry vehicle drove up a couple of minutes later and allowed them to board the airplane. Sam entered and looked down a mostly empty cabin extending halfway down the aircraft before a wall separated it from the back. There were four workstations clustered in the middle with an assortment of wires leading up into the ceiling panels.
“Most of the LIDAR hardware is behind that wall at the back,” Hank explained as he walked up from behind. “You and I are going to sit in those seats at the back for takeoff. We'll all be wearing headsets that will allow us to talk to each other and the pilots.”
Hank led Sam to his seat and opened an overhead storage bin for his carry-on bag. The other operators put their bags away and started their pre-flight checks.
“We won't be able to fire up the system until we get up to cruising altitude. Then one of the engines shifts over to power the system. The other will keep us flying. Nervous?”
“Marcus already explained that to me,” Sam replied as he sat.
“The part about only one engine keeping us up there usually raises peoples blood pressure. I know a couple of our system operators are a little nervous.”
“I guess I've been flying so much lately that it doesn’t bother me.”
“You know, you look pretty damn young for what you're doing.”
“Expecting someone older?”
“It's just that the way you're talked about. I expected a hard-charging colonel, not a baby-faced L-T. No offense.”
“None taken. Are you in the military?”
“Former Army Special Forces.”
“Cool. Were you in Desert Storm?”
“Sorry, I'm not allowed to say.”
Sam shrugged his shoulders as he buckled his seat belt and put on his headset. The airplane started its way out onto the taxiway. It soon joined a line of airliners of all sizes waiting their turn for takeoff. Sam listened to the pilot chatter over his headset. Hank had already muted their mics so they wouldn't disturb them.
It was another ten minutes before the pilot announced they were cleared for takeoff. It was uneventful as the sleek Fokker jetliner reached up into the late afternoon sky. Hank released his seat belt and staggered over to the workstation cluster to confer with the operators. Sam continued to sit as he looked out the window. Hank soon returned to his seat.
“It'll be another half hour or so until we're at altitude,” Hank said as he sat. He looked back to the controllers, leaned into Sam, partially removing his h
eadset to whisper into his ear. “I think you have a fan over there.”
“Really?” Sam glanced over in time to catch the eye of a young female operator. He had noticed her striking attractiveness before, but didn't think anything of it.
“She's pretty hot and looks to be around your age.”
Sam grimaced. “I already have a girlfriend.”
“Too bad, you had a good shot at some real fine action after we landed.”
* * *
“Okay, Hank, we're at altitude,” the pilot's voice reported over the headset. “We're starting engine transition now.”
“Affirmative, Ernie,” Hank replied and then turned to the operators at their workstations. “We're spinning up now. Deploy and energize the emitters.”
The airplane shuddered a bit as the pitch of the engines changed. Sam was standing, silently watching from beside Hank.
“The system is energizing,” an operator reported. “I'm deploying the emitters.”
“We should get to peak power in thirty seconds,” another reported.
Sam stepped closer to a panel of color monitors. Hank stepped closed a few window shades that were casting annoying rays of sunlight on the monitors.
“We're ready to light it up.”
“Start the data recorders,” Hank ordered as he examined the power supply settings.
“Data is live.”
“Hey, Ernie,” Hank called out over his microphone. “Can you patch me into the control channel?”
“You're on,” Ernie replied.
“Dignosco-One to Blanchard Control,” Hank called into his headset.
“Go for Blanchard Control,” Walt's voice answered. Everyone with a headset could hear him.
The Initiative: In Harm's Way (Book One) Page 14
