Shattered Legacy

by Shane R. Daley

  “She started working as a technical consultant about six months after the company went public.”

  That was how Merrick had firsthand knowledge of how the company operated. That might tie her into the surplus material purchases, since most of the purchases were for research and development purposes.

  If she was an insider, then she wasn’t working alone. The pieces were falling into place, and Tyler was starting to understand what he was dealing with. Merrick was never trying to help him. She was an industrial spy. She had spent the last week distracting him - and had done a damn good job of it. The question now was just how much damage she had inflicted, and whether he could find evidence of her crimes.

  “Can you fax me your information?” he asked.

  “I could email you the files.”

  “I don’t trust email from the office. I’m going to need you to print out and fax me the material.”

  “I can do that. Just give me a number to send it to.”

  “I’ll get you the number to the hotel fax machine. Does anyone else know what you’ve found?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Don’t tell anyone. Keep a copy of the material for yourself and hang onto it. You did great, Cindy. Thank you. And thank your husband for me, will you?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ll call you back with that number.” Tyler hung up, leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling with a grin. Now, he knew what he was dealing with. For the first time in days, he felt ready for what was coming next.

  ***

  Over the next ten minutes, Cindy faxed her material to the hotel's front desk. Tyler went over it carefully as it came through at the front desk. The company personnel records revealed little. There was no accompanying resume, though the paperwork indicated that Merrick was a U.S. citizen, complete with a Brooklyn address and what was probably a fake driver’s license and Social Security number. The employee photograph looked nothing like the woman he knew as ‘Merrick’. Because of that, Tyler was not convinced that the information was accurate.

  If Merrick actually worked at Templar, then she was more than just a consultant in Templar’s R&D outfit. She would have worked directly with the Advanced Prototyping and Designs division. The records provided the basic information on Evelyn Merrick’s career. Date of hire, positions, assignment locations, date of departure. There was no indication of an exit interview, and no indication that she was ever involved with material acquisition.

  But the fact that she actually worked for Templar meant that people must have met and interacted with her. He would have to track down employees who might have worked with her when he returned to New York.

  He placed the information, along with a short note, into a manila envelope. Then he used the desk phone to call out. After a few rings, Teresa’s answering machine came on. He had left a final message for her before he had left on his flight, so he didn’t bother leaving another. When he got back, he would try to patch things up with her, no matter what it took. Now that she was gone, he really missed her.

  He dialed another number.

  “Dusty, it’s me. What’s going on?”

  “I heard Sinclair forced you to take a vacation.”

  “This is hardly a vacation, my friend.”

  There were a few moments of silence before Dusty continued. “Listen, Samson, I wanted to talk to you about what happened earlier. I should have taken a stand against Ramona. Believe me, I had no idea that she was going to -”

  “To give you my job?” Tyler broke in. “I think we were both caught by surprise. I thought you’d keep me in the loop a little better, though.”

  “Hey, it’s only been a few hours.”

  “So, how much damage did you do?”

  “Well, I managed to screw up our peace offering.”

  “That’s because you moved too soon. A good settlement offer is all in the timing.”

  “It gets even worse. Rumor has it that Justice will be moving forward with full-blown criminal charges.”

  Tyler bit his lower lip. He had expected that. “Does Ed Greyson know about this? Outside counsel is going to need all the time they can get.”

  “I’ve already spoken with him. He’s suggesting that we shut down operations.”

  “No way,” Tyler said. “Justice can do all they want, but without an injunction it’s still business as usual for us. Besides, what are we supposed to do? Leave our spaceship floating around in orbit?”

  “Ramona should not have gotten involved in this. She should have left you alone.”

  Tyler grinned. “Can’t take the pressure, pal?”

  “Funny, but who’s calling whom here?”

  “Ouch.”

  “It should never have come to this, Samson.”

  “I know. I’m working on setting things right.”

  “There’s one more thing. Someone sent you a packet of information. Cindy opened it and gave it to me since I’m, uh, heading things up here right now.”

  “What was in it?”

  “See, that’s the thing. I’m not sure what it is. It looks like disclosures and memorandum from the time Templar had issues with the SEC. Copies of documents and internal memos. All sorts of stuff. A lot of the material has your name on it.”

  Tyler didn’t reply.

  “Hello?” Dusty asked.

  “I’m here,” Tyler replied, feeling the strength drain from his body. He sat down in the chair. “Where did you - where did these documents come from?”

  “I wish I knew. Personal courier delivery. No return address. And there’s one other thing. A note was attached saying that a copy of this material was being sent to the authorities.”

  That package was from Merrick. Tyler was sure of it. There was no telling what damning information it contained. Some of it might even be fabricated. “Dusty, I think it would be better if you left that package alone for now.”

  There was silence on the line for long moment. “Samson, what the hell is going on here?”

  Tyler squeezed his eyes shut. He wished now that he never discovered the truth about Templar’s history. This was Merrick’s fault. She had set him out on this chase. Now he was trapped by the very truth he had sought. He squeezed his eyes shut even tighter.

  Five minutes ago, he had clues to Merrick’s identity, he knew the truth about Templar’s origins, and he had a good idea who was behind all these problems. Now everything had fallen apart. The focus of the investigation had shifted from the present to the past, where the criminal evidence - real or fabricated - was now directed at him.

  Tyler opened his eyes. “You just hang tight, Dusty. I’ll take care of things from this end.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means you’re going to have to trust me,” he said as hung up.

  ***

  Tyler stood dripping before the bathroom mirror that had steamed up from his long, hot shower. He squinted through the fog at his reflection.

  The dark rings under his eyes betrayed his exhaustion. He ran a hand over the dark stubble on his chin. He needed to get back to New York. With new evidence showing up about Templar’s IPO, he was on the path to becoming a full-blown scapegoat. If the company decided to cut him loose, he would be entirely on his own.

  Now it was a matter of finding out who was out to get him. Merrick was his primary suspect, of course. She had warned him about Templar’s past, and pointed him in a direction that confirmed his suspicions. Now that he found out the truth, it was coming back to haunt him. The timing wasn’t a coincidence. He was being set up.

  But who had set fire to his apartment? Who had tried to kill him when he left the nightclub? Merrick could have killed him at any time. If it wasn’t her, then it meant that someone else was out to get him.

  Perhaps someone close.

  Two sharp raps sounded from the door. Tightening a white terrycloth robe around his waist, he walked out into the dark room, peered through the peephole, and then opened the door.


  Lynn Anholt entered, still dressed in her business suit. She noted Tyler’s robe. “I can come back.”

  “It’s all right,” Tyler replied. “What’s going on?”

  “I’ve arranged for a private tour of the space center tomorrow morning.”

  “Great. Is Ramona coming with us?”

  “No.”

  “Even better.”

  Tyler walked across the room to shut off the air conditioner beneath the window. It died with a final rattle, leaving behind an empty silence. Slowly he pulled back the curtains. Bright moonlight bathed the room as he looked out through the window. After a few moments, Lynn walked over. She followed his gaze to the half-moon that hung in a cloudless blanket of stars.

  Tyler stared at the sky, transfixed.

  A few moments later, he said, “When it comes to protecting a client - when the moment comes that you must put everything on the line for them, how do you know that you’ll actually do the right thing?”

  “I don’t think I understand your question, Mr. Tyler.”

  “I mean, what makes you take the bullet? In that most desperate moment, what drives you protect your client over yourself?”

  Lynn thought about that for a moment. “I believe in what I’m doing,” she said. “It’s my job and my duty. For me to do my job, that duty must trump my own self-preservation.” Then she turned away and headed for the door. “Better rest up, Mr. Tyler. We have a big day ahead of us.”

  When she was gone, Tyler sat down on the edge of the bed. As he watched the night stars, he knew he was in for a sleepless night.

  He thought about contacting Teresa again, but it was too late to call her. Besides, he thought, she would just be jealous that he was in New Mexico to see the Naiad landing.

  An “historic” event, indeed.

  FRIDAY

  (AP) Seven new space exploration companies have gone public in the last twelve months, raising over twelve billion dollars, and making the aerospace industry the fastest-growing IPO sector in the market today. - At the Thomas Dorian Space Center, thousands of spectators are gathered in what many consider to be the most anticipated spacecraft landing since the maiden flight of the Space Shuttle Columbia in 1981.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Halogen lights arced across the vaulted roof of the Vehicle Assembly Building, casting crisscrossing shadows though the support beams and onto the gleaming orbiter below. Small groups of workers crawled over different sections of the craft, preparing it for its scheduled shakedown flight.

  “Okay, let's do it,” said the first technician, as he slid a metal access plate to one side. He and his partner were working on an electrical conduit on the flat wing section, just in front of the number one starboard engine. The technician dropped to his knees and shifted his portable light to one side. With two hands, he lifted his heavy power driver, jammed the tool into place over the knuckle-sized screw, and in quick succession secured it to the large coupling ring. He yanked the drill free and slipped the tool back onto his belt. Then he slid the access panel back into place and stood up and stretched.

  The second tech nodded in satisfaction and tapped the screen of his tablet computer, transmitting the job report back to Control. That marked the end of the job, and the end of the shift. Ten hours on a single wing subsystem was enough for anyone. The two turned to leave, but stopped short as they found someone blocking the way, silhouetted before a garish halo of lights on the scaffolding. The technicians hesitated, squinting at the figure.

  “What's that?” snapped Tony Kanavos, as he stepped into the light. He pointed down where the two techs had been working. “What’s that?” he asked again.

  The first tech looked down at the open access panel. “What?”

  “You didn't secure that plate.”

  “So?” answered the second tech. “Your crew is taking over for us. You finish up.”

  Kanavos was shaking his head. “That’s not procedure. Everything gets put back the way you found it. Everything! Did you sign off on the job yet?”

  The techs rolled their eyes, shrugged, and walked off. Kanavos wasn't their boss, so his reprimand held little weight.

  He wiped his hands on his hips, shaking his head in exasperation. The auxiliary power units that provided power to the engine's hydraulic systems needed special care. Even if someone was supposed to continue your work, you were still required to close up. In the aerospace industry, lax maintenance work was responsible for a majority of mishaps. In a vehicle as complex as the Naiad, there was no margin for error. Even a missing nut could cause a disaster. Kanavos wasn’t going to accept shortcuts on his watch. Not anymore.

  He frowned, wondering when he became so responsible. Then his radio squawked twice.

  He stepped onto the scaffolding and looked out over the railing. Down below, a forklift scooted by, passing a tech that was waving his arms for attention.

  Kanavos used the emergency ladder to climb down since it was faster than the metal stairs. He jumped off the third-to-last rung onto the cement floor. A heavyset man with a bad complexion and thick glasses signaled him to follow.

  “Cliff wants to see you,” the man stated as they crossed the busy floor.

  “What's he doing here this time of day?”

  “I don't know. All I can tell you is that he’s pissed, and he wants to see you.”

  “But I didn't do anything,” Kanavos replied automatically.

  The other man shrugged. “I was just told to get you.” He pointed to the personnel exit. “He's in his office.”

  Kanavos passed through the large double doors. The noise level dropped off considerably. He walked past a small breakout room. Several people were seated around a table, talking and laughing. In his mind, he imagined they were laughing at him.

  Maybe he was in trouble for what he had done for Noah Gettleman.

  Or maybe it was something else. He tried to recall whether he had done anything over the last few days that could have gotten him in trouble. Nothing came to mind. Two offices down on the left, he stopped before the closed door with a cheap plastic nameplate that read 'Cliff Newlon'. The blinds were closed over the frosted glass window. Kanavos took a breath and raised his hand to knock, when he heard another round of laugher erupt from the break room.

  He took another, deeper breath, and rapped on the door window.

  “Come in,” boomed the voice from inside.

  Kanavos opened the door and took a tentative step into the office. He let the door close behind him.

  Under harsh fluorescent ceiling lights, Cliff Newlon was leaning back behind his slate-gray metal desk, his hands clasped tightly behind his neck.

  “Hey, big guy!” A big grin spread across Newlon’s face. He spoke as if the two were long-lost friends. “They want to see you over at the Tower, Tony.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, really,” Newlon replied, straightening himself. He was obviously curious as to why his most troublesome worker was being summoned to the Control Tower. He squinted and his smile faded a bit. “They called me up, told me they wanted you there immediately. What’s going on?”

  Kanavos looked right back at his manager, frowning slightly. “That was all? They just said they just wanted to see me?”

  “They weren't very chatty.”

  Kanavos felt a surge of relief.

  Newlon appeared to notice his subordinate relax and then dropped all pretense of friendliness. “What's this about?” he demanded. “What have you been doing?”

  Kanavos shrugged. “I don't know, Cliff. Maybe they’re finally going to fire me.” He cocked his head to one side and stared at his perplexed manager. “Maybe it’s a transfer. Hey, maybe it’s a promotion. Guess I won’t know until I get there, huh?”

  Then, with an obnoxious grin, Kanavos turned and left.

  ***

  “Doctor Gettleman?”

  Noah Gettleman was standing before his terminal, one hand pressed against his headset while he ran his free hand down th
e list of scrolling numbers on his monitor, oblivious to the commotion around him.

  Kanavos leaned a little closer and repeated over his shoulder, “Doctor Gettleman?”

  Gettleman looked up and glanced back. Kanavos stood with his hands in his pockets, chewing a large wad of gum. His bore a look that was a cross between anticipation and worry.

  “You wanted to see me?” he asked.

  Gettleman tossed his headphones on the desk and gestured to an empty chair beside him. “Have a seat, Tony.”

  Kanavos sat down and looked around. From the raised platform, he had a complete view of the control room. Everyone carried strained expressions, as if they were stock exchange traders on a day the market was plunging.

  “Tony, I’d like to thank you for your help. You risked a lot on my behalf, and I appreciate it.”

  “No problem.” Kanavos glanced down at the desk. Papers and schematics scribbled with handwritten notes were strewn about. “Is everything all right?”

  Gettleman ignored the question. The Flight Director opened his desk drawer and pulled out an envelope. “I believe I promised you something when we made our arrangement.”

  Kanavos took the envelope, slowly opened it, and pulled out a large laminated card. He looked up. “This is a pass to the observation decks.”

  “Actually, it’s a seat in the VIP observation gallery. The only way you’ll get a better view of the landing is if you set up a lawn chair on the runway.”

  Kanavos turned the pass over in his hands. A crooked grin crossed his face as he slipped it into his breast pocket. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Don’t say anything. Just have a good time.”

  Kanavos stood and stuck out his hand. “Thanks.”

  Gettleman shook it, and then he looked over Kanavos's shoulder to see Jack Kroft coming up the steps.

  “You’d better get going,” Gettleman muttered. “You won't want to miss the landing.”

  Kanavos glanced back. “Right,” he said, patting his pocket. “Thanks for everything, Dr. Gettleman.” Then he stopped and remembered. “Oh, and about my transfer…”

  Gettleman folded his hands over his gut. “You’re a model employee, Tony. Truly exemplary. Your record will soon reflect that. Look for your transfer request to be approved next week.”