“Good. You can start by looking into this.” He handed Kanavos a slip of paper.
Kanavos quickly read the note, folded the paper in two, and tucked it into his breast pocket. “No problem, Dr. Gettleman. But there's one more thing I'd like in exchange for this - besides getting management off my back.”
“Name it.”
“Do you think you could get me a good view of the Naiad landing? I’d really like to see it in person.”
Gettleman smiled and clapped the younger man on the shoulder. “You help me out with this, kid, and I'll get you a VIP seat in the grandstands.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Listen to me carefully,” said an unfamiliar female voice. “Your enemies will tear your company apart before they’re through. They will stop at nothing. Do I have your attention, Mr. Tyler?”
Samson Tyler’s mouth opened a fraction, and he frowned. Whoever this woman was had dialed him directly. Only a handful of people knew his private cell phone number.
“You have my attention,” he replied evenly, standing up and stepping away from his desk.
“I have information that may interest you.”
“I’m listening.”
“You don’t think the FBI is going to just stop with your New York offices, do you?”
“What are you talking about? Who is this?”
“I’m a friend.”
“Friends usually know each other’s names.”
“Call me Merrick.”
“What information do you have for me, Merrick?”
“So, you’re interested?”
“Yes.”
“Good. We’ll be in touch again soon.”
The line went dead.
Tyler checked the phone’s caller history, but the number was listed as “unavailable”. Until the woman called him back, he would have no way of contacting her.
He wondered if there a leak in the company, and whether this ‘Merrick’ was a possibly a whistleblower. It occurred to him that he might have to begin limiting information to others, even within his own department. Until he had a complete picture of what he was dealing with, he would have to remain cautious.
He walked to the conference room. Through the glass wall, he saw his legal team assembled around the table, going through stacks of files and accessing data through their laptops. It was almost seven-thirty. They would probably be there for another few hours. He opened the door and poked his head inside. “Can I see you for a moment, Dusty?”
The two walked back to Tyler’s office. “I need to know if we are violating any laws or regulations in our procurement.”
“I’ve gone through our government procurement procedures. Jacob says we’re clean, and I’m inclined to agree with him.”
“Double-check everything.”
There was a knock on the door. Both men turned to see Teresa Keller. She was dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, holding a plastic bag in each hand.
“Teresa,” Tyler said, smiling. “What are you doing here?”
“I figured that if you couldn’t make our date, then I would bring our date to you.”
“I didn’t know you had a girlfriend,” said Dusty, giving Tyler a jab on the arm. “Hell, I didn’t even know you had a social life.”
Teresa gave Tyler a curious look. He raised his hands. “I don’t share my personal life at work.”
“He doesn’t,” Dusty agreed, giving Teresa a smile. “Sadly enough, I’m probably the closest thing to a friend he has around here.”
Teresa held out her hand. “Then you must be Dustin O’Dell.”
“Pleased to meet you.”
Tyler motioned to the bags. “What’s going on, Teresa?”
“You said you were going to be busy tonight, so I brought some food.”
“Lucky man,” Dusty said with a grin. “You’re definitely going to have to tell me more about this lady.”
“There should be enough for everyone,” Teresa said, handing one of the bags to Dusty.
“You just brought a bit of joy to four hungry attorneys. Thank you.”
“Glad I could help.”
As Dusty left, Teresa stepped up to Tyler and kissed him. “So, what’s so important that you needed to cancel our night out?”
“I can’t really tell you,” he said, his expression grim.
“Someone suing your company?”
“Worse, actually.”
She set the bag down on the corner of the desk and removed several containers. “Are you a mac-and-cheese kind of guy?”
“I could be. Is that what you brought?”
“Not even close.” She pulled out a bottle of wine and smiled. “I think you’ll be surprised.”
***
Tyler poked his Chicken Kiev with his fork before cutting off a piece and trying it.
“This is wonderful.”
“Thanks. You were out of a few things, so I improvised a bit. By the way, I love your convection oven.”
“You cooked this at my apartment?”
“I can’t cook in mine. The place is a mess.”
“And you raided my wine cabinet?”
“Figured you wouldn’t mind. I don’t know what this stuff is, though.” Frowning, she held up her glass and swirled the contents in the candlelight. The two were eating at Tyler’s desk, using plastic tableware and paper towels for napkins.
“It's Pinot Gris,” he explained. “It's a little dark. Rather like a Frascati. It’s actually a decent choice to go with the chicken.”
“I hope it's not too expensive.”
Tyler shrugged. “As far as I’m concerned, a ten-dollar bottle is as good as a hundred-dollar bottle. It's all about what you like.”
“And you like this... Pinot?”
“I like hard liquor more.” He ate another bite and shook his head. “I had no idea you were such a good cook.” He reached for the bottle to re-fill their glasses.
“See what you learn when we spend time together?” she said, setting down her glass. “So, how did that date with your ‘colleague’ go?”
“If it was a date, I’d say that I didn’t even make it to first base. Sinclair Dorian wasn’t really up for a visit.”
“What’s he like?” Teresa pulled her chair closer to the desk. “Is he really as happy and carefree as he seems in the media?”
Tyler thought about that and shrugged. “Not really. He’s a complex man.”
“He seems honest.”
“I suppose.”
Teresa didn’t push the subject, and turned her attention back to her meal.
Tyler’s thoughts drifted back to his current problems. He had even more to worry about, now that he suspected a leak within the company. To ensure secrecy, he would need to personally handle as much of the company’s internal investigation as possible. That would be difficult.
He glanced up and realized that Teresa had asked him a question.
“What was that?”
“I said, ‘do you want to go out later?’”
Tyler glanced at his desk clock. Times like these justified the pullout couch in the office.
Teresa asked, “Are you going to be here all night?”
He stood and stretched. “Probably.”
“Then I probably won’t see you for a few days.”
He grinned. “Not unless you move in with me.”
“Don’t start. I’m not living with you.”
“Come on, you’re not that traditional. You've slept over plenty of times. Besides, it'll get you out of that tiny apartment and into a -”
“We’re not living together, Samson. I don't know why you keep pushing it. It’s a bad idea. If you want to live together so much, why don't you move into my apartment?"
"Point taken." As he started packing the food containers back into the bag, his thoughts strayed again. He thought about this ‘Merrick’ woman who called and had hinted that the government investigation was bogus. How would she know that, unless she had inside information? If she was an inf
ormant, he would have to be careful in handling her, so she wouldn’t get scared away. There was also the issue of trust - on both sides.
“So, are you going to the landing?”
Tyler handed her the bag. “The what?”
“The landing in New Mexico.”
“What landing?”
“The Naiad landing. You know, that big spaceship your company built and launched into space? Are they sending you there to see it when it lands?”
“They asked me if I wanted to go, but I said no.”
“Are you crazy? You could have taken me!”
“You would have wanted to go?”
“Of course! It’s a historic event!”
“Oh,” he said, frowning. “I never really thought of it that way.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
While the new orbiter was undergoing extensive pre-launch inspections, there were a number of hold times in place for clearing up small technical glitches. With the rush to complete work, the overtime hours for technicians were adding up.
Besides the extra money, Tony Kanavos liked working the second and third shifts. The evening hours were more laid-back; there was the added bonus of premium pay, and best of all the big bosses were never around. Night managers like Cliff Newlon were hardly ambitious enough to be dangerous - not that Kanavos was worried about Newlon anymore. Kanavos knew that while he was doing the bidding of Noah Gettleman, he was safe.
At least, he hoped he was.
During his lunch break, he made his way down the long corridor of Building Seven's basement. He walked with heavy footsteps beneath the harsh glow of the fluorescent lights past dozens of closed, unmarked doors. No one was working here at this hour. At the end of the hall, he turned and pushed open the door to the Records Retention Room. The lighting inside was dim. A young woman sat in a booth behind a heavy mesh screen. Her chin rested in her hands as she stared down at a book illuminated by a metal desk lamp. She wore headphones. Her head was bobbing up and down as she flipped through the pages. Kanavos smoothed his overalls as he approached the cage.
He stood before the booth for a moment. When the woman did not acknowledge him, he rapped sharply on the screen. The woman’s head shot up in surprise. Then she slammed shut her book and yanked off the headphones. She was about Kanavos’ age, slightly overweight, with stringy straight brown hair and almond-shaped eyes. She stared at him and blinked.
“Hey,” Kanavos said with a broad smile. “They shouldn't do this to you.”
“Do what?” she asked, frowning.
“Lock you down here. You're far too pretty to be kept in a deep, dark basement.”
The woman half-smiled at the complement. She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and looked him up and down.
“Name's Tony,” he told her.
“I can read the badge.”
“Wit and beauty.” His smile broadened. “I take it you're the gatekeeper around here.”
“Hmm, perceptive and charming,” she replied dryly. “May I help you?”
“I'd like to check some records.”
“This is a restricted area.”
“I was hoping someone would let me in.”
“You need authorization.”
“I thought I could get that from you.” With that, Kanavos beamed his most ingratiating smile.
The woman raised her eyebrows. “What do you want to see?”
“Just some hard copy maintenance logs on the Naiad.” He shrugged and stuck his hands in his pockets. “The boss wants to run some status comparisons, but a few of the old schedules aren’t coming up on the computers. We know we did the work. I have a bet with the guys as to whether someone forgot to input the logs properly.”
“A bet, huh?”
“Yeah. A bet.”
As the woman gazed at him, as if trying to read his true intentions, she slipped her hand under the desk to press the entry button. A buzzer sounded and the door beside her unlocked with a metallic crunch.
“You are most kind,” Kanavos said as he pushed open the door.
The woman slid off her stool. “I have to scan your badge in,” she said. “You also have to sign for any materials you want to copy. Nothing leaves here without authorization.” Before Kanavos could say another word, she added, “And I can't give you that authorization.”
Kanavos nodded graciously and handed her his badge, which she swiped through a reader and returned. Then the woman led him into the Records Retention Room. The place was as long as a football field and nearly as wide. Bars of fluorescent lights dangled from the low ceiling, casting harsh shadows between the long aisles of metal cabinets. Halfway down the center row, they turned and marched down another long aisle of file drawers. Then they turned again. By the time they had reached their destination, Kanavos was completely lost.
“Here we go.” The woman stopped before a computer terminal.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“You wanted maintenance work assignments on the Naiad. You can search through this.”
Kanavos gazed down at the computer with a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. “How do I work it?”
She smiled. “You ever use the internet? Search for stuff?”
“Sure.”
“This works the same way.” She reached down and tapped the keyboard. A browser window appeared. She tapped in a username and password. The screen cleared and she typed in a few more commands. “There you are. You can do your document retrieval by keyword and date. Related documents are hyperlinked. I’ve limited your queries to only the orbiter maintenance records.”
Kanavos sat down and rubbed his hands.
“Do you have the work order numbers?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Kanavos replied, pulling a slip of paper from his pocket.
The Naiad's engine systems had undergone extensive testing and refitting after each shakedown flight. A problem had been discovered with the engine cowlings after the first two flights.
Noah Gettleman had asked Kanavos to find the original repair orders and any related problem tickets on the cowlings. Normally, that would have been a simple request. Only when Kanavos went to check on the jobs in the digital archives did he realize why Gettleman was concerned. Apparently, the tracking records did not exist anymore. Worse than that, there was no record of there ever having been a problem with the engine cowlings in the first place.
That struck Kanavos as odd, because he remembered that his team had helped refit the cowlings at least once.
So what happened? Had the repairs been purged from the computer systems?
That was unlikely. Virtually everything that happened at the Thomas Dorian Space Center was tracked one way or another. Templar Enterprises also made extensive use of imaging systems to convert all hard-copy documents to digital form. All incoming mail, technical paperwork, and hard-copy internal memos were scanned and archived to a closed archive network that was not accessible to the outside world. That was why he needed to be in the Records Retention Room to access the information.
As he started pulling up the work orders, it dawned on him that if he were caught snooping here, Noah Gettleman would probably deny everything. Then again, he was already in enough trouble. What could really make things worse?
He looked up to see the young woman still standing beside him, fidgeting nervously. She had broken several security protocols by even allowing Kanavos access to the room, but she was too polite to point that out now.
He checked his watch. His lunch break ended in ten minutes. He searched the work order numbers, opening each return in a new browser window, occasionally switching between them to compare the results.
As he examined the records, he tried to draw the woman into casual conversation. “You get many visitors down here?” he asked, squinting at the screen.
“Only during the day,” she replied, still watching him carefully. “We get mostly interoffice mail guys. They drop off material for processing. Nobody ever comes back for anything. I think y
ou’re the first person in months who’s actually wanted to pull anything out of here.”
Kanavos suddenly stopped flipping between screens and inhaled sharply. “Oh, man.”
“What is it?” The woman leaned down and looked over his shoulder. On the screen was an enlarged image of a standard work order form. Kanavos recognized the completion signature as his own. He flipped to the next screen and back again.
“Oh, man,” he repeated, softer.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” She turned her head to stare at his profile. “Did you win your bet?”
“Oh, yeah.” He nodded slowly. “Somebody's going to owe me big-time.”
WEDNESDAY
(AP) – Three hundred million people worldwide watched Monday's broadcast of the Naiad liftoff. The orbiter is expected to dock with the International Space Station on Thursday. - Templar Enterprises stock price rebounds from yesterday’s plunge. Some analysts believe the rise is due to anticipation of future space missions. “The stock has performed remarkably well,” states Bernard Drefus, Senior Portfolio Manager at Tobaro Investors, LLC. “This is despite the fact that the company went public without the expectation of profits for several years.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
W. Sinclair Dorian had funded one of the largest corporate takeovers of the 2000s when the sixty-four year old billionaire bought up a controlling interest in Templar Enterprises, an aerospace conglomerate he had founded in 1987. The takeover had been relatively smooth, since Dorian already owned nearly a third of the company stock. After reacquiring control, he reorganized the board of directors and spearheaded a management shift that returned the company’s focus to purely aerospace ventures.
He then presented his company with a single, monumental goal: to build a reusable orbiter that could take off and land like a conventional aircraft, and could launch a payload into space at a price of less than a hundred dollars a pound.
In addition, he wanted the company to make this technically feasible within three years, and to make the venture profitable within five.
Taking his vision to the public, Dorian spoke confidently of the private sector's ability to revolutionize the space industry, expand space tourism, colonize the solar system, and to bring about a common goal for humankind. While his ideas were inspired, many thought Dorian was a crackpot, trying to regain the lost glory of his old entrepreneurial days. Regardless, the old man lectured tirelessly, stressing that those willing to invest in space exploration today would reap untold future dividends. He explained to skeptics that although he could afford to build his orbiter himself, he did not want to do so. He believed exploration should be a shared undertaking, in both risk and reward.
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