by V. B. Tenery
The welcome aroma of roasting coffee beans exuded from a high-tech coffee maker in the butler’s pantry adjacent to the executive boardroom. Sara ducked inside, filled a foam cup and stepped next door.
Orange oil mixed with the scent of leather, greeted her as she entered. An impressive mahogany conference table flanked by fourteen plush leather chairs held center stage. Original oil paintings, highlighted by hidden ceiling lights, adorned the fabric-covered walls.
She scanned the table’s occupants, recognizing the faces of her counterparts on the executive staff. With a good morning nod, she eased into the closest vacant chair.
Senior Vice-President Charles Edwards entered and sat beside her. He checked the time on his Rolex and leaned close. “It must be something important. Roger called in the big guns.”
Hiding a smile behind the cup in her hand, she glanced at him. In his early to mid-fifties, Charles was tall, well tanned, with short-cropped gray hair. He wore an immaculate dark-blue suit, always elegant and touchingly gallant. Jane called him GQ Man. He could be a bit arrogant, but Sara liked him. Perhaps because he reminded her of her father.
Before she could comment, Global’s CEO Roger Reynolds strode into the room and stood behind his chair. The first thing she noticed when she’d first met Roger was his charisma, packaged in a thin frame with perfect teeth and short blond hair. The second impression had been to stay on her toes. His reputation for ruthlessness preceded him. And in short order she understood why.
He placed a well-manicured hand on the back of his chair and scanned the faces around the room. His gaze stopped at Sara for a fraction of a second, then moved on. “People, this will be a short meeting. I’m aware rumors have been floating around about a Global buyout. The rumors are true. Yesterday, Millennium Ventures, a large investment firm, acquired Global Optics. The public announcement will hit newspapers this morning.”
Fragmented conversations erupted, filling the room with an audible buzz.
Roger held up his hand. “Two weeks from Monday, the new owners will arrive here at nine o’clock to meet with department heads and to tour the facility.”
Charles Edwards sat back in his chair, a furrowed frown on his face, clicking his Mont Blanc pen. He asked the question on everyone’s mind. “Will they bring in their own management team?”
Roger shrugged. “You know as much about that as I do, Charles. However, it’s always a possibility. I think we can expect some changes. A word of caution. Make sure your departments are spotless when the management team arrives for the tour.” He glanced around the table. “Any other questions?” Signaling that the meeting was over.
Sara remained in her seat for a moment.
Amazing. No rallying encouragement for the troops. Roger left them with the impression some or all of them could lose their jobs. Not a model of good leadership.
She retrieved her folder from the table and fell in behind the solemn group exiting the conference room. As she stepped into the corridor, Roger touched her elbow and guided her away from the crowd. “Come back to my office. We need to talk.”
A summons to Reynolds’ realm was a rare occurrence for her. Although one of Global’s eight vice presidents, she’d never been part of Roger’s inner circle. He liked yes-men, and she didn’t fit that mold.
She eased into step beside him. They moved without speaking into the executive suite. As they entered, Roger’s phone rang. He waved her to a seat and stepped behind his desk to take the call.
Sara sat on one of the earth-toned sofas grouped near the windows. Her gaze roamed to Roger’s massive desk clear of everything, except a pen set, computer, and telephone. No family pictures, nothing personal.
She studied the bookshelves above his credenza. Books said more about a man than his clothes or bearing. For a moment, her father’s study flashed into her mind. The classics found a home there, as well as his light reading collections by Zane Grey and Louis L’Amour. The King James Bible held a prominent spot within easy reach.
Roger’s books consisted of business management best sellers. Nothing to give insight into the man. Perhaps that in itself, said something. She mentally shook herself—being too critical. After all, this wasn’t his home library.
The call ended, and Roger crossed the room. He sat on the sofa across from her and sucked in a deep breath. “I need you to clean out your office. Pack your files and personal items. Leave the cartons there until further notice.”
Shock must have registered on her face. Heat warmed her cheeks, an event always followed by red splotches on her neck. A curse she’d lived with through every emotional crisis in her life. “I...don’t understand. Are you letting me go?”
He laid one arm across the sofa back, his face void of expression. “That’s not what I said.”
“Then what...?”
“The new owner hasn’t given any specifics, except to say you would be leaving your current position. There were no instructions to let you go.” He winced as though trying to show compassion. “I assume these people have other plans for you. Details have been vague, to say the least.”
She didn’t buy his lack of knowledge. How much input Roger had in the decision to move her out, she didn’t know. However, she felt certain he hadn’t gone to bat for her. Whatever happened when the new firm took over, she couldn’t expect any support from Roger.
No point in pursuing it now. Difficult as it was, she had to keep it together. Stay professional.
Roger asked, “Do you understand what I need from you?”
Of course, she understood. “The part about cleaning out my office came through crystal clear.”
He leaned back and crossed his legs. “Take the rest of the day off, if you like.”
She shook her head. “I’d rather pack after the warehouse staff leaves at noon. I’ve scheduled two weeks of vacation to start Monday.”
Roger nodded. “That’s probably best. The time off will do you good. I’m confident you’ll be offered another position, either here or in one of their other divisions.”
He stood and walked her to the door. “You will, of course, need to be here for the meeting Monday after your vacation. You should get answers to any concerns you have then.”
She released the breath she’d been holding and lifted her chin. Roger wouldn’t get the satisfaction of seeing her angst. She felt his gaze linger until she disappeared around the corner.
****
The rest of the morning passed in a blur. Warehouse personnel left at noon on Friday, so she had the place to herself. She sorted through the desk drawers, packed the files in cartons, and labeled them.
Jane would be curious when she saw the boxes. If she asked, Sara would have to tell her the truth.
Leaning back in her chair, Sara stretched tense muscles in her neck and shoulders. She’d packed, everything except a picture of Josh she’d kept in the desk drawer after his death. Misty eyed, she lifted the silver-framed photograph and ran a finger over the glass, smoothing back the lock of hair that always fell across her husband’s brow. A motion performed so many times in private before the relationship took a left turn.
The marriage had been anything but ideal, but she missed his dry sense of humor and his gentleness. She hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye, to say she was sorry she’d failed him—to say she loved him. He’d left for work that morning and never returned. She blinked back the moisture that stung her eyelids, and slipped the picture into her handbag.
Financially, she would be okay if she lost her job. At least for a while. She still had most of Josh’s insurance money. Aunt Maddie also insisted on contributing to the household expenses. But in a job market flooded with laid-off executives, finding another position that paid as well as Global could take a long time.
From the doorway, her gaze roamed over the office that had been hers for five years. Her chest tightened and she inhaled a deep breath. This might be her last walk-through inspection.
****
Security guard
Don Tompkins, glanced at the monitor as Sara Bradford left her office. His gaze shifted to the next screen as the warehouse camera clicked on, activated by motion sensors. Cameras followed her progress. With shoulder-length dark hair and olive complexion, she stood out in a crowd. In a quiet way. Large hazel eyes and a generous mouth took her looks to the next level, from just pretty to beautiful.
She stopped before a bank of high-rise forklifts plugged into battery chargers. A lone machine sat apart, unconnected.
Unusual.
Don leaned in for a closer look.
Warehouse supervisors routinely connected the machines before leaving at the end of a shift. Dead batteries meant lost productivity the next day.
Sara stopped and glanced around, then dropped her handbag on the lift platform.
A bright flash filled the monitor. The floor quaked, and a loud boom sounded from the distribution center.
The video screen went dark. Emergency lights immediately snapped on, casting an eerie glow over the scene.
Don dashed towards the skywalk and shouted at the young guard behind the counter. “Call 911. There’s been an explosion in the warehouse. Sound the fire alarm and evacuate this building. Now!”
A rush of adrenaline made the blood pound in his ears as he broke into a full run. In the dim lighting, the camera showed the forklift, mangled and enveloped in flames.
CHAPTER 5
Global Optics
A deafening thunderclap blasted in Sara’s ears. The air around her burst, and heat pushed against her skin. Shockwaves hurled her through space like a rag doll thrown by a petulant child. She landed on flat cardboard boxes, and skidded across the dock into rolls of shrink-wrap, where she lay gasping for air. Fireworks exploded before her eyes as she sucked oxygen back into her lungs. After a shake of her head, the pinwheels dissolved.
The silence made her pulse race.
Through a haze of smoke, flames consumed the forklift. Why didn’t the rain put out the fire? She blinked to clear the fog and realized the shower came from overhead sprinklers that had snapped on when heat from the explosion reached the sensors.
Great gushes of oily water spewed, coming in waves with each rotation of the sprinkler heads, soaking her clothes and pasting wet strings of hair to her face.
A form appeared in the dim lighting and moved towards her.
The security guard, Don Tompkins.
She pushed against the wet boxes and struggled to a sitting position.
Don knelt beside her, his face white and strained in the faint glow. He’d spoken but she couldn’t comprehend his words. Some of her hearing returned but not all. “Sorry...my ears.”
He nodded he understood and slowly mouthed, “Are you all right?”
That time she understood him. “I’m not sure...still taking inventory, but nothing seems to be broken.”
“What in thunder happened?”
She shook her head and leaned against the slick, wet plastic. “I don’t know, but if I lie here much longer, I may be the first person ever to drown in a warehouse.”
“I’ll see if I can shut off the sprinklers. They did their job—the fire’s out.”
Don disappeared for a few minutes, and the water trickled to a stop. Moments later, he returned to her side.
She raised a hand and wiped her face. “Why is the water oily?”
“They coat the inside of the pipes to keep them from rusting. It flushes out when the lines are flooded.” He squatted beside her. “Sara, I need to get you out of here before the emergency response folks arrive. The firefighters won’t let anyone inside until they make sure there are no more bombs. You’d have to stay here until they clear the building. The fire department will have to get a bomb squad from Dallas or Fort Hood. That could take hours. Do you think you can walk?”
She tried to process what he had said. “It was a bomb?”
He nodded. “Only two options. A bomb or battery explosion. I’ve seen both. I’d be surprised if it turns out to be the battery.”
Don rose to his feet and put his hands on his hips. “I’ll carry you out, and we can load you right into an ambulance. Do you think you’re up for that?”
Sara wiggled her toes and nodded. “Y-Yes, I don’t want to stay here for hours while they search for more bombs or whatever. Let me lean on you, and I think I can walk.”
His brow wrinkled. “Moving you goes against everything I’ve been taught. Your injuries could be more serious than you realize, and movement could make them worse. If Human Resources terminates me for this, you’ll have to find me a job.”
She squeezed his arm. “I’ll do better than that. I’ll see you don’t get fired.”
They had just reached the exit when police, fire trucks, and an ambulance converged on the parking lot. Firefighters swarmed from the truck, grabbing hoses and equipment.
A police officer reached them first. “Anyone else inside?”
“Not in the warehouse, and we’ve evacuated the home office building.” Don pointed to the fire truck. “They won’t need the water hoses. The sprinklers doused the fire.”
“What happened?” the officer asked.
“Looked like a bomb to me.” Don turned to Sara and patted her arm. “I’ll need to answer some questions for these guys. The EMTs will take over from here.”
A paramedic appeared and handed Don a blanket to wrap around his wet shoulders. Another EMT secured Sara to a backboard, positioned a brace on her neck, strapped her on the gurney, and covered her in blankets.
Sara closed her eyes and gave in to the warmth. Gurney wheels bumped over the rough parking lot, and EMTs lifted her into the ambulance.
Before the doors closed, a face came into focus among those in the crowd. A face that awakened old wounds—Police Chief, Matthew Foley.
****
Matt stood on the curb as the ambulance pulled away, and scanned the crowd for the fire marshal’s thin frame. He found Blake Dennis, in a corner of the parking lot, with two firemen and a police officer. Blake glanced up and waved Matt over.
The sharp stench of smoke still hung in the air, and the dank smell of wet cardboard grew stronger as he neared the warehouse dock.
“Anything of interest so far?” Matt asked.
“Explosions are always interesting.” Blake rocked back on his heels and readjusted his cap. “We’ll know more when the bomb squad arrives. They’re on their way from Fort Hood, ETA twenty minutes.”
Blake removed his sunglasses and placed them over the brim of his cap. “From what the security guard told us, there was a blast in the distribution center. The experts will want to run tests for explosive residue. Pretty straightforward stuff. According to the guard’s description, it appears someone planted a bomb in the product mover.”
“Want to make an early prediction?”
“You know me better than that.” Blake scratched the stubble on his chin. “But my guess would have to lean towards the battery. Not many people planting bombs in warehouses these days just to blow up a high-rise forklift.”
Matt jerked his head towards the receiving bay, where the ambulance had just pulled away. “Who was injured?”
Blake flipped the notepad in his hand. “Sara Bradford. She was in the warehouse when the blast occurred.”
“Serious?”
The fire marshal shrugged. “A doctor I’m not. You’ll need to check that out at the hospital.”
“How come you’re always so helpful?” Why could he never get a straight answer from the man?
Blake grinned. “It’s part of our indoctrination.”
Focusing on the details that mattered, Matt asked, “Your folks collected the warehouse security tapes?”
An edge entered Blake’s voice. “We tried. One of my men went to the guard station. Seems the tapes are gone.”
Matt fell silent for a moment, realizing the implications. The explosion wasn’t an accident. “Did the guard know when the security tapes were removed? Or why?”
“Nope.
Too busy evacuating the building. He thought we took’em.”
Blake could be obtuse. Tunnel vision made him miss the whole picture. The fire marshal was dead wrong on this one. If the battery exploded, there would be no reason for someone to take the security discs.
Twin Falls Memorial Hospital
Sara was cognizant, except for the swarm of bees that buzzed in her ears. She closed her eyes, shutting out the piercing rays of light as the paramedics lifted her onto the concrete dock.
Emergency room doors hissed open, and the overhead florescent lights blurred into one as she moved quickly along the corridor. Green curtains rolled back and the gurney stopped. A nurse followed the two paramedics into the cubicle. “She’s the only victim, right?”
A heavyset medic flipped the chart open and nodded. “Yep, just one.” He handed the nurse a copy of their report, and they left.
ER personnel rushed into the small space. The nurse glanced down with friendly, blue eyes. “My name is Gaye. I’ll be taking care of you.” She fastened a bar-coded band on Sara’s left wrist and a yellow “Fall Risk” band next to it. “Don’t let the tag scare you. We put one on everyone from eight to eighty.”
Gaye nodded her head towards a Hispanic woman, standing just inside the cubicle with a clipboard. “Feel like answering a few questions for the admittance office?”
Sara nodded. “I don’t have my insurance card with me, though.”
Gaye stepped aside as the admittance clerk moved to Sara’s bedside. “No problem. We’ll get it later.”
While the clerk took down the personal information, Gaye strapped a blood-pressure cuff to Sara’s arm and stuck a thermometer in her ear. The nurse punched information into a hand-held computer. “I’ll bring you a gown and some blankets, then we’ll get some x-rays.”
The change into dry clothes and warm covers stopped Sara’s chills. Soon after, the technician came and she rolled her down to the x-ray department.
