“Horrible,” Stuart said. “Pull up a chair.”
Devinn sat down and together with Stuart propped a foot up on the railing overlooking the courts. “I guess Cole gave you the bad news?”
“Couldn’t have come at a worse time.”
“When’s it ever a good time?”
On the floor of the court below, two younger men raced doggedly back and forth, soles squealing on hardwood, grunting as they clobbered the ball at a pace the older men could only dream of.
“Kinda’ like old times,” Devinn observed, referring to their undergraduate tournaments together at Georgia Tech.
“Except they seem to be hitting the ball.”
From the corner of his eye, Stuart saw Devinn turn toward him. “I understand the investigation could be going better.”
“I’ve actually become more optimistic. It’s me that everyone’s frustrated with.”
Devinn smiled knowingly.
“I know, hard to believe.” Stuart chuckled. “A bunch of folks started getting comfortable with what I thought was too convenient an explanation for the failure.”
“That oil-leak vibration problem during the flight?”
Stuart was surprised that a lawyer by training was abreast of the technical controversy. Then again, the man did hold an engineering degree; he remembered Devinn had flown to Mojave to witness the test. “I guess there’s hope for ambulance chasers after all.” Stuart took a long sip of beer. “I decided to push the investigation in a new direction.”
“Yeah?”
Stuart looked at him. “You’re really interested?”
Devinn shrugged, drinking his orange juice.
“The chief engineer’s leading the charge to unload a shotgun solution on the problem, hit as many targets as possible. Before we throw in the towel on pinning down a specific cause, I decided to shake things up a bit. You know as well as I do the minute the committee declares an engine fix, the people and money focused on the problem will scatter.”
Devinn nodded thoughtfully. “I’ve had a number of people through my office lately. Interested in what they have to say?”
“That depends.”
“Some of them maintain that perhaps a more, oh, balanced approach might be in order. That you’re driving the staff a little too hard.”
“Everyone’s feeling pressure to wrap this up.”
“I’m only passing on what seems to be the general—”
“And so I won’t burden you with the facts.” Sometimes Devinn had a way of getting under his skin. “My job is to lead, not run some psychological love fest every time...forget I said that.” He was surprised by his sudden impatience.
“You ought to know how people see things.”
“Sure. Here’s the way I see it. If down the road we have another problem, but this time in revenue service and hundreds of people die, the question will be asked why the company proceeded when none of the theories stand up to the rigorous scrutiny that will certainly follow. The only way around that trap is to have the correct answer. The only way to have the correct answer is money and people working the problem.” Stuart went over the points he thought important for the HR department to understand. It was also a rare opportunity for him to unload his thoughts on a neutral observer.
At length, Stuart said, “One of my guys—Ian Vickers, you know him?”
“The Brit.”
“Vickers said something thought-provoking the other night.”
“What was that?”
“He and I were shooting the breeze. By the way, Vickers is a proponent of the oil-leak vibration failure theory that I don’t support. Any way, we’d had a couple of beers and were commiserating our dismal failure getting the program back on track. Vickers got this far-away philosophical look on his face, which if you spent time with Vickers like I do you’d know is rare. He pointed out how much easier our job would be if a bomb or a missile had simply blown the plane out of the sky, like what happens to commercial airliners every now and then.”
Devinn slowly put down his glass. “Are you saying a bomb?”
“No, of course not. No doubt about it, this was an accident. We’re just perplexed how the clues refuse to yield under the force of so intense an investigation. On the one hand, we’re overwhelmed with the amount of engineering data, and on the other, key pieces are missing. I guess we wouldn’t be the first.” He fixed his gaze on the opposite wall of the racquetball court.
“Be the first what?”
“The first not to pin down the specific cause of a crash.” Stuart finished his beer and set the empty glass on the table. He turned toward Devinn and narrowed his eyes. “Certain individuals are going to be off-limits of this lay-off.”
“Like who?”
“Emily Chang’s group, for starters.”
“I’m afraid that may not be your call. What’s so special about Emily Chang?”
“She and her staff are key to dredging up the initiating cause of the crash, which I believe may prove to be something electronic or software related.”
“Huh. We’re going to have to see. Listen, Stu, this is going to sound awful. I’ve put in for a leave of absence.”
Stuart did not respond.
“I realize this is not a good time but it’s been in the works for awhile—long before Cole’s reduction-in-force announcement, or even the crash. Our preparations for the RIF will be in order by the time I leave. I’m giving everyone several week’s notice.”
“What are your plans, Paul?”
A tight smile passed over the man’s rugged features. “A fishing trip up north, nothing exotic.”
“Do me one favor before you go.” Stuart tried unsuccessfully to conceal the irritation in his voice. “Help me keep Chang’s work unit intact. We can claim special needs of the business, which is true.”
The grave expression returned to Devinn’s face. “I’ll do what I can. You’ve been through these. Nobody’s off limits.”
EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, Devinn looked up from behind his desk to find his assistant standing at the door. A smile creased the beige-colored cosmetic at the corners of Janine Norris’s mouth.
“What is it?”
“You asked to review Stuart’s salary plans,” the woman reminded him in her thick Long Island accent. Plans for conducting a lay-off were still being held under wraps, so the excuse he had used on Norris for retrieving the files was to review all of the salaries in Stuart’s division. He nodded curtly toward the chair on the opposite side of his desk.
Norris sat down and presented Devinn a manila folder with the word ‘Private’ stamped on the cover. Inside he found that Norris had categorized payroll information for the three-hundred-and-five engineers and administrative personnel under Stuart’s purview. Norris looked on and so Devinn feigned interest in these only because he had specifically requested them. His patience ebbed the longer he searched for the one chart that he wanted, the real reason he’d ordered her to construct the report to begin with. It looked as though he would have to explicitly ask for it, something he had hoped to avoid.
He shook his head. “We need to flatten out the distribution of salary increase,” Devinn said while perusing the charts. “There’s no need to punish the people on the bottom. They work just as hard as the stand-outs.” He cleared his throat and glanced up from the desk. “Where’s the summary of Stuart’s high-performance individuals?”
Norris pursed her lips and frowned. “Back at my desk.”
“Get it, please.”
Norris returned in a flourish and presented Devinn with a lone sheet of paper. There were twelve names on the alphabetical list of individuals designated by Stuart to receive above-average raises, subject to final approval by the CEO and the human resources department. Second from the top he read Chang, Emily. But a scan of the page revealed that her name had appeared on the elite list for four years running, a full year before Stuart’s employment.
Devinn realized it would be hard to implicate Stuart’s
request to protect Chang from the lay-off as based in some sort of favoritism—better yet, an office romance—and that much more difficult to refuse. Combined with Stuart’s suspicion that the engine failure was related to software, it appeared as if Sean Thompson’s fears were coming to fruition.
He closed the folder and slid it across the desk to his assistant. “I’ll need personnel files on the top five of the list.”
The telephone rang on Devinn’s desk. His secretary was out sick today so he reached to pick it up. The call was from Thanatech’s lead counsel.
“I’ve got an unusual question,” Brian Fulmer said. “Are you alone?”
Devinn looked at Norris fidgeting with the assortment of rings on her fingers. “Go ahead.” He swiveled his chair away from her.
“Do you have knowledge of anyone on the engineering payroll who you might describe as a malcontent? Maybe there’s a situation you’re privy to, say, of a contentious relationship between an employee and his boss?”
Devinn leaned forward in his chair, alarm bells ringing in his head. “I’m not sure I know what you mean. What are you trying to find out?”
There was a pause. “I’m not at liberty to divulge that just yet.”
“It’s just that your request is a little vague. If you’re looking for someone or something specific then the more I know, the better I can help.”
“What if I said I’d be interested in some instance where you would not be surprised to learn that the employee had turned in evidence against the company.”
“Like a whistle-blower, as in a government lawsuit?” If so, Devinn suddenly feared, perhaps Sean Thompson had completely cracked. A lawyer by training, it also seemed to him that Fulmer’s inquiry was probably illegal, if such a case was in fact being prepared against the company.
“Something like that. But that’s all I can say.”
Devinn pondered Fulmer’s question. “I’ll give it some thought, Brian. How soon do you need the information?”
Devinn agreed to call Fulmer back in a day or so. Thanatech’s lawyer reminded him before hanging up to keep his investigation discreet.
Devinn recalled hearing that lawsuits were brewing against the company over the Mojave crash. It was a logical outcome, but he had dismissed the matter as unlikely to materialize any time soon. Perhaps he’d been wrong.
“Say, Janine. You’re an intelligent woman.” He watched her sit up in her chair. “You’ve had time to observe several styles of management here. What sense do you have of Stuart’s leadership?”
Norris had the nervous habit of darting her eyes around the room while struggling for words. It wasn’t often that he asked her opinion about anything. She seemed determined to give it her all.
“It’s not a trick question.”
Norris exhaled deeply. “At first I thought the guy was some sort of Neanderthal.”
“Explain what you mean.”
“Well, I don’t think you were around yet. But he shows up a few years ago supposedly with some mandate to whip the division into shape. You know the propfan thing-a-ma-jing has always been Cole’s pet project, and I guess it was in pretty deep shit at the time. Anyway, he’s here a few weeks and throws away the company’s process guide as if nobody knows what the hell they’re doing. I attended some meetings where he made all these decisions on his own...you know, I actually saw him do that?”
“Do what?”
“Lose his temper and storm out of a meeting and heave a big, leather-bound copy of the engineering process guide right into a parking lot dumpster! He started hiring in all his own people. There’s no doubt the man’s a cowboy, makes unilateral decisions all the time. But,” she glanced up at the ceiling and puckered her lips, “I have to admit a lot of people took a liking to the guy. Not me.”
“I see.” Her response was actually better than he would have expected. “Incidentally, don’t you know somebody in legal?”
“Yes. We have lunch every day. Hey,” she said with her voice almost a whisper and her eyes growing wide. “Did I hear you say something about a whistle-blower? I wonder if it has anything to do with that lawsuit.”
“Which lawsuit is that?”
“I think they want it kept quiet for a few days. My friend signed for the courier pouch containing the summons.” She hesitated at the smile forming on his mouth. “She saw the copy of the plaintiff’s complaint or whatever it is. It’s about the Mojave crash.” She flashed a smile in response to his nod. “She told me about it because they sent the summons to Fulmer in the same high-handed way she remembered my ex-husband sent his to me.”
“Hmm. I wonder who ‘they’ are.”
“Oh I think she said there was a bunch of plaintiffs. I guess Cole’s not letting too many people see it.”
Devinn realized Cole would want such an assault held under wraps until they prepared a suitable response. So, then, what were Fulmer and Cole up to? The pompous ass must be pulling his hair out—Cole’s being sued for the same impetuous decision to fly that killed his daughter. The turn of events could prove useful in turning up the heat on Stuart.
“That’s unfortunate news, especially...” Devinn’s voice became heavy with concern. “Especially given the investigation trouble Stuart’s having now. So where were we...Stuart the Cowboy. Do you think many others share your view?”
Norris shook her head and shrugged. “I can think of a few people who might. I’m not that tight with many of the engineers.”
Devinn nodded slowly, his expression pained, compassionate. “This is difficult for me to talk about but...well, his salary plans reveal more of what I was afraid I would find. Poor Stu.” He paused, blinking his eyes. “I’m afraid as hard as the man tries, and as effective as he may think he is, the truth of the matter is that he’s simply incompetent. He seems to have trouble motivating his people—look at the mess the company’s in. I fear all of this pressure is bound to make him crack. The propfan program is about to fly off the rails. This lawsuit, if it’s what we think, is liable to make matters worse.”
Three hours later, Paul Devinn was in a dark mood as he fed the last pages of the one-time cipher pad through the shredding machine in his basement. Doubt gnawed in the pit of his stomach. Rather than just fizzling out as he had hoped, Stuart’s investigation seemed to be lumbering off in the worst possible direction, like an aircraft carrier, cumbersome and slow in its maneuvers, the difficulty in altering its course increasing with time and speed. Thompson’s emotional desperation was an unwelcome complication at best, a total disaster if the engineer was the reason for Fulmer’s mysterious inquiry. All this indicated to Devinn his greatest fear of all, that he was losing control.
Besides serving as a distraction, Janine Morris’s news of the lawsuit might actually bring enough pressure on Stuart to effectively derail his plans. Devinn decided that he needed to establish contingencies—he simply had to seek help. And however peeved his handler claimed to be with Devinn’s recent performance, the man would be hard-pressed not to provide it.
He removed the shredder from the top of the garbage pail and thoroughly cleared all remnants of paper from the device’s discharge. Once back inside his townhouse Devinn flushed the contents down the toilet.
* * *
EMILY STARED at the flat-panel display and struggled to suppress the fear surrounding the disappearance of her parents. If her parents had managed to slip free of the authorities, why had they not contacted her? If not directly, then why not through her relatives, or somebody else, as they typically had? Emily shook her head. In a very real way she was grateful for the distraction of her job.
Stuart had phoned late yesterday to inform her that two weeks were all they were going to have for reconstructing the electronic control. And so tonight, Emily sat before one of three computer terminals which she had had set up in the electronics lab. Jean Stuyvick-Coble occupied one of the others. She had sent Sean Thompson home for a break, and so the third terminal sat idle.
What she had tried
to explain to Stuart and the investigation committee was that the original job of designing the ECU circuitry entailed having engineers code, or write, a sophisticated artificial intelligence program—which subsequently designed the digital engine control circuitry itself. What this meant was that her Software Team needed to have the AI program extract the original specifications of each sub-component within the engine’s electronic brain in a way never intended. As soon as she or Stuyvick-Coble isolated another specification, they rushed the information across the lab to whoever was working the night’s repair shift.
Tonight that job belonged to Rick Abrams, a senior engineer and computer hack who built them nearly from scratch at home in his spare time. Abrams was presently huddled over a workbench surrounded by carts of diagnostic gear, his hands buried within the open carcass of the damaged ECU. A thin trail of smoke twirled up from the tip of a soldering iron past the fluorescent desk lamp. Abrams removed the smoldering iron and positioned the leads of a signal generator to some of the more visibly damaged circuitry. The sophisticated jet engine control included over four hundred miniature plug-in circuit cards, so the work was tedious and delicate. It was also not going well.
“SHIT!”
Chang spun around, her heart pounding against the wall of her chest. “What happened?”
“Nothing happened.” Abrams knelt to retrieve the box of Dinky Donuts he’d knocked to the floor. “Don’t be so jumpy. The effin’ gun touched the end of my finger, that’s all.”
Chang exchanged a worried glance with Stuyvick-Coble. Abrams was diligent and possessed the best skills demanded by the job. That defective soldering equipment had previously overheated and burnt a hole through one of the circuit boards was no fault of Abrams. Unfortunately, the incident resulted in the obliteration of one of only two memory modules. The odds of isolating aberrant lines of code that were slim to begin with now hung by a thread. Emily found herself panicking at the sound of every gasp, sneeze, and cough emanating from the other side of the lab.
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