by Stan Mason
‘By the way,’ she informed him, glancing at her notes. ‘Mr. MacDonald would like to see you in his office at eleven forty-five.’
‘Hell!’ he swore, getting to his feet. ‘I’d better get my skates on! It’s nearly that now.’ He took a second look at the clock on the wall and made a beeline for the door. ‘We’ve only been doing this job for a couple of hours yet it feels like a lifetime. Hold the fort, will you? If anything urgent comes through from Croydon, redirect straight into the Old Man’s office.’
She nodded and he left the room. The pressures that had built up were beginning to simmer at a higher level. There was a distinct change they would surge ahead to a point where every nerve would be strained before they eased off. The most important action at this time was to pray and to keep praying that no one got hurt.
Chapter Three
Rigby moved swiftly to the door of the office of the Assistant Chief Executive. He paused for a moment, staring down at the thick blue carpet beneath his feet, considering that it was time to review the situation. The impression he wanted to convey indicated control, authority and success, yet the very essence of those factors which motivated him tended to drive a wedge deeply into his personal life. At his age, it was something he could no longer afford to risk. Sandra represented a new lease of life for him... offering a new start... and for the first time in many years he suffered a strong desire to over-ride his loyalty and dedication to the bank which he had always given freely. There existed a trim element of personal pride that stood between himself and his conscience, however, which refused to allow him to acknowledge any crack in the fabric of his career after so many years of service. He tried to recall some of the words of his predecessor when they had dined together in the past. It was all very vague and distant now, especially as he had lent only half an ear to Davies’s dialogue in the first place. At that moment, he felt like castigating himself fro having take such little interest in past encounters, although there had been no practical reason at the time for him to have taken more notice. It was always the same when a person died. There were so many things of importance that were suddenly beyond recall for the living. In any case, he would not have dreamed... not in a million years... that he would be appointed as Head of Functional Control!
Today, he stood at the gateway to many avenues. Some would take him towards a new destiny; others were likely to end nowhere. Unfortunately, he was unable to determine whether the future pointed to happiness or disaster... but he would find out in due course! Certain, if the work tormented him, it would be only for a period of three months. That was the deal! Then, if he kicked up enough fuss, even the Board would become tired of his antics and release him for another task in the bank. On the other hand, especially after the double raise in promotion levels, he began to nurse a secret ambition... to get to the top of the bank! He was reasonably young for such a role but he was not daunted by the ideal. However, the secret was not to get locked in to Functional Control for the rest of his working life. He knew that if he failed to free himself, he would be sacrificed to satisfy the role for the bank because the job was greater to the organisation than their need for his progression. As he stood outside the door of the senior executive, he found it difficult to assess the way ahead.
‘Well, Rigby,’ declared MacDonald as he entered the office. ‘We have a fine kettle of fish on our hands this morning. On your first day too. What’s your view of the Croydon branch situation?’
Rigby stared at him dolefully, sitting down in the chair opposite. ‘I’m not satisfied with the way the police are handling it,’ he criticised bluntly. ‘I’ve spoken to Chief Inspector Church twice and I’ve advised them to steer clear while we deal with it in our own way As far as I’m concerned, their main task is to evacuate the area and prevent possible danger to the public.’
‘Hm!’ snorted the senior man laconically, rather surprised at the attitude of his subordinate. He pressed his hands in front of him as though in prayer. ‘You’re taking a lot on yourself, aren’t you? After all, the police are well versed in this sort of situation. They have lost of experience.’
Rigby decided to ignore the challenge and press his own claim. ‘Sadly, they’ve already shown their inexperience. I have no respect of Chief Inspector Church. He decided that the best method of approach was to shout at the criminal through a loudspeaker in a threatening manner. He was lucky the man didn’t explode the bomb in fear.’
‘Perhaps that’s the standard form of procedure carried out by the police in such circumstances.’
‘The upshot is that the man has given us an ultimatum. He wants the money in less than an hour or he’ll explode the bomb. Time’s ticking away.’
‘Hm1’ repeated MacDonald thoughtfully. ‘What are the chances that he’s bluffing? That he hasn’t got a bomb. Just a holdall and a lot of nerve.’
The junior executive shook his head firmly. ‘Take it from me, Mr. MacDonald, that man has a bomb and he’ll detonate it, It’s no hoax.’
‘Have you any evidence for that assumption?’
‘Only a gut feeling.’
‘That’s little enough to go on to make a decision of such magnitude with such a lot at risk.’
‘Isn’t that what you’re paying me for... to make such decisions? That’s why I can’t afford to let Church handle the problem. I need to see it through every step of the way.’
‘If you do, the responsibility will rest on your shoulders only. Are you strong enough to live with that on your conscience if disaster occurs?’
‘We shall find out in due course, won’t we, sir? It’s my job to see that the bank ends the day the way it started... in peace and harmony.’
The senior man lowered his hands to the desk and leaned forward earnestly. ‘What action have you taken so far?’ Clearly he had dealt with the main points regarding responsibility. Now he wanted to learn the finer details.
‘I’ve obtained the co-operation of the media. A photograph of the bandit has been taken and will appear shortly in the first edition of the Daily Tribune. I’m toying with the idea of flying to the branch by helicopter... mainly to save travel time. The branch has been cleared of staff with the exception of the Assistant Manager who is in touch with me all the time. The television networks are going to broadcast details in the news, showing a picture of the man at the same time. We need to know who he is... although the police don’t seem to care about that.’
MacDonald tried not to show any sign of emotion but he was very much impressed. ‘You seem to have most things under control,’ he ventured.
Rigby shifted uneasily as he came to the bone of contention. ‘I’ve covered as much as I could but there’s one element I can’t control.’’ He paused to collect his breath at that juncture.
‘Well spit it out, man!’ commanded the Assistant Chief Executive. His bushy eyebrows moved upwards as he listened intently.
‘He’s given us an ultimatum which ends at twelve-thirty. I asked the Assistant Manager of the branch to talk to the man and gain some more time. At the end of the day, it’s out of our control!’
The senior executive pressed his lips together and placed his hands in front of him again. ‘We’ll have to pay the bandit the money. I want no loss of life, do you hear?’
‘That goes for both of us,’ continued Rigby dolefully, realising that he would not be fettered with regard to the ransom. ‘I hope we can gain more time and find out the identity of the man.’
‘I want no loss of life,’ repeated MacDonald as though there was a choice. ‘The bank can well do without such dramatics!’
Rigby stood up to leave but he was waved down by the other man. ‘I know you’re dealing with urgent business but there’s one thing I want to talk about.’ The subordinate stopped in his tracks to stand behind the chair in preference to sitting down. ‘I’ve been talking to Elliott who advises me about a series of comp
uter-related frauds which may have penetrated both the domestic and international divisions of the bank. It’s a very serious situation which needs investigation requiring time and patience to fathom out the truth. I mention it as you’ll be spearheading the research.’
‘I’ve already been in touch with Strangeway in Computer Division and arranged to meet him this afternoon.’
‘What about Croydon branch?.’
‘Hopefully it’ll be resolved by then.’
‘Very well,’ decided MacDonald crustily. ‘Let’s have the meeting in this office. I want to find out more about computer fraud so I ought to take an interest.’
Rigby returned to his office with an air of irritation. Sam Elliott had begun to interfere into his life again. There was little harm normally in the skirmishes of office politics but direct conflict with Functional Control was certain to start a war between them. If Elliott insisted on riling him, there would come a time when both of them would have to pay for the consequences.
‘Get me Strangeway, will you?’ he ordered his secretary as he sat in his comfortable executive chair simmering over the underhand actions of his colleague. The man had gone directly to MacDonald knowing full well that the allegations he made were not urgent. It was his way of stretching Functional Control unnecessarily at a time when all resources were vital. Well he would give Elliott a fair amount of rope and then strangle him with it!
‘Mr. Strangeway’s on line one,’ Betty Brewer told him breaking into his thoughts.
‘Strangeway!’ growled Rigby firmly. ‘Further developments have take place in relation to computer fraud. The meeting will be held in Mr. MacDonald’s office... the Assistant Chief Executive. Is that all right with you?’
There was a long pause at the other end of the line and then the feeble voice from Computer Division was heard to confirm it. ‘Weird person!’ commented Rigby as he replaced the receiver into its cradle. ‘Did you tell the television networks they could get the photograph of the bandit from the Daily Tribune?’
‘All done!’ she returned easily. The sound of a helicopter could be heard from the distance and she stared out of the window. ‘I contacted Premises Department to check whether the weight of the helicopter could be supported by the roof of the bank. They couldn’t give me an answer but said they were working on it. In the meantime, I hired a helicopter although I don’t know where it’s going to land.’
‘Thanks, Betty!’ he commended appreciatively. He thought about the lives of the three men in the Croydon branch which rested on a hairspring. All the man had to do was to touch the two wires together and the result would be disaster.
His concentration was broken by the jangling of one of the telephones.
‘It’s Mr. Grover, Industrial Relations, for you.’ muttered his secretary with a miserable expression on her face.
He moved back in his chair and answered the call in his own time. ‘Yes, Grover!’
‘I’m fighting a losing battle with the union,’ bleated the man at the other end of the line, pouring out his problems to the nearest sympathetic ear.
‘Go on, tell me what’s happening,’ he continued in a bored tone. The last thing he needed at the present time was a man like Grover bleating about union problems at the other end of the line.
‘They’re demanding the earth. More pay, extra bonuses, additional profit sharing, improved holidays, and better working conditions. You name it, they want it! it’s not as though they’re trying to be reasonable. And now they’ve twigged on to a new idea... a day off each week for staff in return for Saturday morning attendance. They’re asking for the world.’
‘What’s the bottom line, Grover?’
‘Well,’ declared the other man solemnly. ‘They intend to make their point firmly and immediately. As from tomorrow, junior staff in sixteen branches in the North will go on strike. Some forty branches in the Midlands will follow suit while sixty branches in the South will strike a week later.’
‘It’s their prerogative,’ replied Rigby bluntly, trying to avoid being drawn in too closely. ‘If they want to withdraw their labour, that’s up to them but they must also be prepared to accept the consequences. What’s the official union line?’
‘They intend to support unofficial strikes. If they’re successful, they intend to make it official.’
‘What about the other banks?’
‘They’re using us as a test. Lucky blighters! We always follow the other banks... except on issues like this. This is the only time we can boast that we’re the first in the field. Bloody marvellous, isn’t it?’
‘Surely you must have some kind of a sweetener you can offer them to head off the strikes.’
There was a long pause at the other end of the line while Grover collected his thoughts. ‘That claptrap is exactly the same as that handed to me by the union.’
‘Have you never thought they might be right... that they deserve better pay and conditions. Naturally I’m on the side of the bank, Grover, but you must have empathy otherwise there’s no room to negotiate. Offer them something attractive if you want them to relinquish privileges. Most of them are dedicated workers who recognise that the bank makes an enormous profit each year and yet their salaries increase annually very slowly. How do you think that makes them feel. You have to let the line out a little to negotiate freely.’
Grover appeared to have lost the trend of the discussion, however he insisted on continued with his own side of the argument. In his opinion, the union was comprised of a lot of thick uncooperative drones who demanded the impossible for their members and gave little in return. ‘There’s another thing,’ he went on a if suddenly alerted to a new cogent fact. ‘Some junior staff have threatened to resign rather than work on Saturdays. Now what sort of basis is that for negotiation on their side?’
‘How many do you estimate will resign?’
‘The claim is that it could be as many as a thousand.’
‘Take it with a pinch of salt. Fifty would be nearer the truth but don’t press them too hard. If you threaten to impose penalties against strikers such as loss of pension, you’ll force them into a position where they’ll have not alternative but to strike. My advice is to play it cool. Go back and discuss all the point with them again in great detail. Let them talk it out of their systems.’
‘But I’ve already done that a hundred times!’ returned the exasperated manager. ‘We’re all sick of talking about it.’
‘Then dress it up a bit, Grover. Think of yourself as a woman over the age of fifty who wants to be admired like a woman of thirty. A little bit of powder here and thereto cover up the wrinkles, some mascara, pretty-coloured lipstick, and a new hair-do. You’re the same woman but different. Do you get the picture?’
‘What are you talking about, Rigby? I have a potential strik on my hands and you’re talking about women!’
The senior executive sighed with despair and stared at his secretary as though faced with a mission impossible. ‘I’m talking about the continuation of talks with the union, Grover! Talks to prevent those branches from closing! You want those branches to remain open. I want them to do the same and so does the bank. It’s your job to keep those discussions moving forward until you turn blue in the face from the effort. If you fail, all the bleating in the world won’t help us!’
‘You’re talking to me like that again, Rigby!’ warned the other man angrily. ‘I don’t like your tone!’
‘Grover,’ pleaded the senior executive almost at the end of his tether. ‘Go back to the table and talk! Listen to their terms and tell them you’ll report back. And, for Heaven’s sake, don’t treat them like the enemy!’ They’re still part of this bank and, like it or not, we can’t keep the branches open without the staff.’ He replaced the receiver and flung his hands into the air in anguish. ‘How does the bank get away with it?’ he asked rhetorically
, ‘The personnel system is a shambles!’ Betty Brewer turned to stare at him but she failed to speak. ‘I’ve yet to meet one person... one person... who’s not a square peg in a round hole. Personnel Department seems to pick the most illogical people for all the responsible jobs! The most puzzling fact is that somehow they get away with it. Take Grover, for example. A total incompetent! He couldn’t organise a booze-up in a brewery yet he’s in charge of Industrial Relations dealing with some of the most delicate negotiations vital to the bank. How we’re still in business is beyond my understanding. We should have suffered total paralysis through official strikes. Round pegs in square holes. I could name legions of people in that category starting with myself in this particular job. Yet somehow the bank manages to survive!’
He stared out of the window to see whether the helicopter was still hovering around but there was no sight of it. Losing interest, he reverted back to a file that Betty Brewer had recovered from the office of his predecessor.
‘I believe that Personnel Department is wiser than you give them credit for,’ ventured his secretary indicating her disagreement with his view.
He stared at her bleakly for a moment, a little angry with himself. Whatever his personal views or convictions about any department or members of the staff, he needed to recognise that Betty Brewer was a loyal faithful servant in the bank. She had spent many years in dedication and regardless of the fallible decisions made within such a large empire, he needed to consider her feelings and aspirations. Nonetheless, he was reluctant to give way on this issue and stuck to his guns. ‘Well I don’t see it that way!’ he uttered miserably.
She hardly batted an eyelid as she took up the challenge. In her opinion, he was under extreme pressure and experiencing a great deal of self-pity. But if he wanted a fight, she would let him have one. ‘We’ll,’ she went on coolly, ‘if you want examples, they’re self-evident. We haven’t had a strike for many years. Nor have there been any serious mishaps. Surely that proves a point. Therefore, the people selected for their appointment must be good at what they do to maintain such excellent control.’
