by Paul Bagnell
Chapter 9: SUIT ME UP ’N SEND ME OUT
Shortly after McBridle and Tom vacated Sector 2, they returned to the main complex office tower for their prearranged meeting with Carravecky senior.
Tom mentally mulled over what Zeppic had said while McBridle parked. “How well do you know Milnip’s sidekick?” he asked while getting out of the clean vehicle.
“Why do you ask me that?” McBridle replied with a blank expression.
“I’m just asking so don’t take any offence to my prying into the unknown.”
She walked fast, like she wanted to shake him off her scent.
“He said something strange,” he revealed, almost running to catch up.
“Oh, what was that?” she stopped, and faced him.
“There was an odd-looking object covered up on the work deck. I’m sure you saw it.”
She replied aggressively, “That’s an old broken-down private jet Robert Carravecky bought a few years ago, and Zeppic is doing some restoration work on it.”
“It didn’t look like a plane.”
“Why bother yourself with his bad manners and foolish behaviour.”
“Because I was going to look beneath the white tarp; and he said that if I did, I’d be dead by morning or something like that.”
“That half-baked idiot’s dreaming in technicolor,” as she continued toward the marble steps.
“Maybe so, but what do you think he meant by that?” he rushed to keep up.
McBridle shrugged with a who-cares type of attitude, “...a young unambitious IT technician who invents spy stories to spice up his drab existence. Don’t believe a word he says, or you’re just as stupid as he is.”
“It’s more than that.”
“You’re making it more than that.” She was getting angry. “Let’s just proceed with the facts and get on with our objective.”
Tom tailed McBridle’s sweet flowery scent and entered the front doors of the complex. His mission: investigate and analyse the muddled facts surrounding the case. Internal personnel was one of his main concerns, especially top-level executives who were hired within the last six months. External agents were also suspect. “What’s your security clearance?” he asked McBridle as she cooled her pace.
“Why?” She resisted his inquiry.
“I’m just curious.”
“Level three.”
“And the highest security level is...level seven?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
“So why doesn’t Carravecky give you increased security clearance?”
“There’s no need for my obtaining higher than level three; and if he gave it to me, I wouldn’t take it.”
“Why not?”
“As an outside consultant, I audit and report project advancement dates to him and the assigned finance committees; that’s all I do. Why complicate my life with more information?”
“But you report directly to Doctor Carravecky.”
“That’s right, sometimes, but not always.”
“Then you have information concerning Milnip’s project?”
She stopped dead in her tracks, “You think I’m holding back? You think I have information concerning this security fiasco?”
“I’m just trying to understand your relationship with Carravecky.”
“Okay,” she gave in, just a bit. “I have scheduling information--no technical stuff, nothing anybody would kill for.”
“Then who’s responsible for managing the technical details?”
“I don’t know. I can only guess; there’s a very powerful organization festering within this conglomerate. That’s why I had to visit Milnip, today.”
“And what else did you discuss?”
“I mentioned that the project’s main group of financiers were concerned that their system would fail to meet the specified deadline, which is this Friday. I just wanted to tell Milnip, personally, that all parties involved were pleased with his performance and to remind him about Carravecky’s contractual commitment.”
Tom was pumping her for information, and she obviously knew it.
They arrived at the front desk of the main complex building, and security acknowledged their presence.
“We have a meeting with Doctor Carravecky,” McBridle informed the guard.
The guard accessed the computer system and linked into Carravecky’s appointment schedule. Then he delivered them to the elevator and sent them to the proper floor.
When the doors retracted, the chairman’s business office was right down the hall where Carravecky was waiting for them. It was obvious he loved her like a daughter he never had.
The Doctor gave her a cheeky kiss and shook Tom’s hand. “Come on in,” he said, and welcomed them into his spacious office; then, closed the door.
The boss sat behind his humble-looking desk while the sunlight shone through the partially opened blinds. The corner shadows made him appear weary. “Yesterday afternoon I got a call from The American News. It was some brash young journalist named Zell Smith. Have you heard of her?”
“Yeah, she reports everything but the truth, and people believe her,” McBridle replied.
“A very persistent young lady with a big, ugly mouth,” Carravecky said with a Hungarian temper.
“I’m sure the increased guard activity is stirring up a blizzard of suspicion, maybe tame down the security theatrics,” McBridle suggested.
“That’s impossible right now,” Carravecky admitted, his eyebrows turned mean and cross.
“Then... don’t sweat this news-pusher, ‘cause, if need be, we have a bag of industrial-strength tricks up our sleeve. If push comes to shove, she’ll learn who she’s dealing with mighty darn fast.”
“Let’s hear some of them,” Carravecky demanded, “and, hopefully, Celia, none of them are illegal,” and smiled with a renewed calmness in his eyes.
McBridle had to rethink. “We can play stupid and baffle them with false information. If necessary we can try to fool the authorities; but I don’t think that would be wise. We could prepare an external report to the shareholders explaining our dilemma and reassure them our security system is of the highest integrity and all technological developments are secure.”
Doctor Carravecky leaned back in his chair with his hands hooked together in front of him. “I’m interested in telling the least amount of information possible but, get our message across to the shareholders and to the public.”
“I fully understand your concerns,” she said.
“Whatever details you want to disclose, I want Robert to screen the report before it’s released,” the Doctor ordered. Just then the telephone rang, and Carravecky answered it, talked for a second; then he hung up. He looked at McBridle. “There was a recent newspaper article that pertained to a company’s information system. There was an alleged attempt to hack into their encrypted satellite relays; and according to the company’s President, no security was breached. We all know what that means, the system bleed.” He leaned forward with his hand fastened to a pen. “There’re billions of dollars at stake. We need to resolve this matter with the least possible friction. I don’t want anyone, either internally or externally, to know what we’re up to. Worldwide we have over sixteen thousand employees, and this rotten seed could be any one of them. Be careful whose feet you walk on and good luck.”
They ended the meeting when the telephone rang again; it was Robert Carravecky. The Doctor placed his hand over the receiver and waved goodbye.
Tom babied the door, due to his suspicions that the Doctor knew more than he was telling. Tom could tell by the tone of Carravecky’s voice that he was becoming annoyed with Robert. The door was ajar; and if Tom was lucky, he’d hear some of the conversion.
“You can’t find that memo,” Carravecky said furiously, before Tom eased the door fully closed.
Outside Carravecky’s office, McBridle was friendly with Sandra, the doctor’s assistant, and passed her a note.
The beautiful lady assistant slid it int
o her blouse. “I’ll take care of this,” she said softly.
It was presumably a request for additional information. Tom thought it was strange; a matter of such importance would be silently deposited into this lady’s pocket. It looked rather suspicious, but he waited patiently while McBridle concluded her business with the woman.
McBridle pulled the purse straps over her shoulder and held them tightly, as if she were protecting a bag of gold nuggets. She was startled when Tom touched her on the shoulder. “Don’t do that.” She held her chest, spooked.
“Don’t do what?” he replied. He concealed his suspicions with a concerned, facial expression.
McBridle caught her breath. “It won’t be until after lunch till we get the stuff I requested yesterday,” she informed him. “We’ll have some time to kill,” and headed for the elevator; he followed behind her.
They walked apart in silence to the parking lot.
“About last night,” McBridle said while touching Tom on the arm as they continued toward her vehicle, “it was fun, I enjoyed your company.”
He didn’t expect her to say that. It was obvious, it had become something more than just employer and employee relationship; it was becoming more play than pay.
McBridle toyed with her glittery watch. “We have an hour or so to burn before the documents are released. There’s an excellent restaurant located a short drive from here. The Carravecky group operates a resort property. It’s a wonderful place; you’ll love it,” she said convincingly.
Tom felt more confident and relaxed; this was the perfect opportunity to ask her about bowling night. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you at the lanes.”
“It’s been a while.”
“Are you interested in going?”
“Are you asking me on a date?” McBridle replied with a womanish chuckle.
“We’re usually short a player,” Tom replied calmly. “But maybe it’s a date; maybe it isn’t. If we go together, maybe we can find out for certain.”
“All right,” McBridle replied, “this might prove pleasantly interesting.”
They drove up to the resort; the first thing visible through the tall trees was a long horizontal banner: WELCOME TO ROLLING HILLS. The establishment offered skiing in winter, golfing in summer; and hiking all year round, a quaint place for the invisible rich to escape. They pulled up to the entrance; a valet parked the car.
Tom stopped to admire the lodge and gazed up at the mountain that dwarfed the resort.
“It’s quite a sight,” she praised the natural view. “It’s Doctor Carravecky’s favourite place in the entire world,” she said, as they entered the warm lobby.
The interior design was that of a typical ski lodge with an extra high ceiling and stone fireplace that radiated a cosy atmosphere. They entered the restaurant area (photos of motion picture celebrates lined the wall where the maitre d’ greeted customers. He knew McBridle by name and seated them at the best table that overlooked the naked slopes.
“They seem to take good care of you here,” Tom said observantly.
“They know who butters their bread and feeds their families,” she replied while searching through her cluttered purse.
Tom glanced around the friendly surroundings and viewed the well-dressed regulars seated nearby--your typical well-fed, wealthy cats from the big city; but there within the room, he caught a faint voice coming from somewhere. “You hear that?” he asked McBridle.
“Hear what?” Her hand was at the bottom of her purse fishing around like a kid searching for the surprise at the bottom of the cereal box, “Me, grinding my teeth?” She found her company credit card and placed it on the table.
“That wasn’t what I was taking about.”
“Then what?” she asked unconcerned.
“It’s nothing, just my acting strange.”
“Yeah, I can see that,” she noted.
He sat back and scanned the view until he heard the voice again; this time he realized the voice was in his head so he secretively tried to match the mouth with the mind. Three tables over he observed an elderly gentleman seated with a delightfully young brunet lady. The man was talking loudly without being obscene. The lady didn’t say a word, although Tom heard her thoughts. She was having an affair with the old guy, and now she planned on killing him--tonight, a bullet through the temple while he slept--then dump the body and wait for the insurance money.
Then, there was another voice; it was that of a middle-aged man seated near the bar. He fantasized about romancing the blond lady a few seats over. Then there was another voice, then another and another. It was like a hundred digital recorders jammed on high-speed playback. Dozens of voices invaded his active mind. He gripped his face with his hands to crash the madness.
Then he envisioned McBridle, who was clothed scantily and sexier than he had ever experienced her before. She seduced him with her sweet olive eyes. Her hair was silky, wild and flowing, her lips fiery and waiting for human contact. Her plump purse swayed between her shapely naked legs like a clock pendulum, winding him into her love-zone trap. He mentally panicked and shook free of the erotic illusion.
She looked at him. “Tom, are you ready to order, or are you going to stare at the menu all day?”
“I’ll have a double screwdriver and a cold beer to wash it down; and a bucket of ice for my throbbing head,” he anxiously informed the cute waitress, then leaned into his cupped hand as an attempt to escape his misery.
McBridle didn’t question his changed behaviour. She ordered Atlantic lobster for both of them; the most expensive seafood item on the menu.
