Authors: Chris Stevenson
At her desk across the room, Linda Wu tossed her hair, then shuffled some papers. “When am I going to get my own office? Whatever happened to that corner suite with a view that you promised me?”
The muscles in Drake’s jaw twitched. “You’re annoying me right now. Can’t you see I’m reading this report? Anyway, you know I like you near my desk.”
“I spend too much of my time
under
it. Besides that, a girl can’t get any privacy when she’s in the same room with somebody else. Secretaries are supposed to be stationed out in a lobby somewhere. This is not the way it’s supposed to happen. It really blows.”
He looked at her in disgust, noticing that she had her hair frothed up again in that ridiculous cotton candy clump. She’d used a trowel to apply her makeup. Was there any wonder he kept her hidden away?
“What would you do if I weren’t here?” he asked. “What do you mean by privacy? Honest to God, go to the bathroom if you have hygiene problems or need to fix yourself up. If you don’t like the arrangements, maybe you would prefer another company that pays you less than I do. Maybe somebody who hasn’t heard of medical plans or has no solid career advancement opportunities.”
“Sometimes I think the real reason you keep me around is to toot your flute.”
“That ought to be enough for you. You didn’t even graduate high school. That means you’re under-qualified for the position.” He blew out a sigh. “You’re standing very close to the edge right now.” He turned a page. “It’s a long fall without a parachute.”
“Maybe I can fly, you never know.”
“Shaddap! Show a little initiative for a change. Give me some news, any news. Look at your inbox. I mean the one on your desk, not the other one.”
She snapped her gum, then brought a few pieces of mail to her face. “Well, our lawyer didn’t make the court appearance with Sony. They’re expecting us to respond with a reschedule date. IBM is threatening to sue us over a patent issue regarding that new hard drive we exhibited at the expo. What else? Oh, yeah, both partners are expecting their quarter profit shares. They’re wondering why we haven’t cut them a check yet. They sent us certified letters. I ducked their phone calls like you told me.” She sighed. “I’m surprised they haven’t shown up on your front steps. Especially your mother. Jesus, Drake, you should cut your parents some slack.”
“You don’t have the math skills to know how much interest accumulates for that amount of capital over a quarter. I can always apologize, but I can’t always expect a bag of nickels like that. Hey, we pull it off once a year. After a couple of years it adds up. Nobody is getting hurt—It’s all part of our creative disbursement strategy.”
“Yeah, but you could end up pissing them off. They have high profile lawyers.”
“I’ll make it up to them. That reminds me. Buzz Auggie; tell him I want to see him. When he shows up, take lunch.”
Drake watched her, making sure that she rang Auggie. He did have something very important to discuss with his security chief because Linda had just reminded him that a certain topic couldn’t wait.
It didn’t take long for Auggie to appear, stumbling through the door. He was rotund and nearly bald. He was out of breath, but not from walking fast or running. The man had emphysema due to a three-pack-a-day smoking habit. When he spoke, his voice sounded like his throat was full of pine cones.
Drake waited for Linda to leave before he motioned for Auggie to sit. Augustus Hollywood had been with Drake for sixteen years. Auggie’s security force wore matching black double-breasted suits over Forzieri dress oxfords. Each carried a two-inch thirty-eight in a shoulder holster. The Cyberflow workforce, who always got a kick out of them marching down the plant aisles while looking like penguins, had dubbed them the Hollywood mafia. High-tech wise guys in an unwise age. But Drake knew he could count on any one of them to see a job to completion, where sometimes strong-arm tactics were needed. The only thing that had changed over the years about his head of security was his declining health. His devotion had remained steadfast.
Drake began with the basic pleasantries—the wife, kids, doctor visits, annoying in-laws, the current political arena. It was a ritual they went through every time they met—a warm-up, a prelude to the matter at hand. Drake stopped speaking to clear his throat. That was the signal for Auggie to check the door by cracking it open, assurance that no one stood within earshot of the room. Auggie did so, returned to his seat and gave a curt nod.
Drake laced his hands. Then the delivery came. It could have been written by a presidential speechwriter and spoken by an announcer. His voice took on a low pitch. Auggie pulled his chair closer to the desk.
“It’s been brought to my attention, Auggie, that my parents, along with my daughter’s grandmother, have been inconvenienced again. Miss. Wu reminded me that I’ve been lax in my duty to get the checks out. This has happened in the past, I’m sure you know that. So, I was thinking it was about time I made up for these oversights with a presentation or gift. Something that might salve the wounds, ease the friction.”
“If I’m reading you right, you mean some type of goodwill gesture to make up for all these goofs.”
“You’re right on target, Auggie. I can’t think of anything more appropriate than a goodwill getaway vacation. You know, something the older folks are certain to enjoy or talk about until they’re renting real estate six feet under. Something worthy of postcards so they can bore their relatives. It should be something exotic. White sandy beaches, azure seas, gulls skiing in the clouds overhead—something like that. I’m thinking Bermuda.”
“I can hear the grass skirts swishing now. I can even taste those rum runners with the little umbrellas.”
“I think you’re talking about Hawaii, but you get the idea.”
“They’re all tropical, boss.”
“Fine, fine. Hold that thought. It also occurred to me that the commercial airlines can be a cluster-fuck affair, even if it’s first class. I mean, what makes such a flight special or exclusive, especially when it’s crowded? Shit, you have to pray for a window seat, wait in line for the head, then there’s the screaming kids. That could drive anybody to drink. You know how inflated the liquor cost is onboard a seven forty seven.”
“Haven’t flown on one for fifteen years. It was expensive then.”
“That’s my point. The cost, the inconvenience. It’s dehumanizing. I think seniors in the twilight of their years deserve much finer things. Something that will cater to finicky sensibilities. I couldn’t think of a better way to reach a paradise destination than with one of our corporate jets. No sense in using the Lear five-five. How’s that old Citation holding up?”
Auggie shrugged. “She’s airworthy, I guess. I don’t think the maintenance logs are up to date. The tires are bald. She’s more than behind on a scheduled inspection.”
“We’ve still got insurance on her?”
“Yeah, I think we’re paid up. You might have to ask Linda to make sure. But if you’re thinking about a flight to Bermuda, I wouldn’t advise it. That’s a lot of ocean out there.”
“That’s my point. Bear with me on this. She’s got a questionable airframe, an engine that’s on it’s last wheezing breath. Given her age, she’s not in the best of shape. However, she could make it. The decision to use her might appear a harmless oversight.”
“We’d have to get the engineer and pilot to sign her off.”
“The engineer doesn’t have to know where she’s going. Just that she’s worthy enough to take to the air, which would require him to sign her off with a couple of pen strokes. If the pilot sees a glowing inspection report, he won’t have any qualms about making the trip.”
“Possible.”
“Suppose the Citation had an in-air emergency over the Atlantic. The pilot would send a call out on the emergency frequency. If the situation were dire, a panicked pilot might decide to abandon the aircraft. He might parachute out once he had reached below ten thousand feet. The pilot wouldn’t stand much of a chance for rescue once he hit the water. Unless there was a watercraft waiting below that had those GPS coordinates, the exact location of the incident. If the pilot knew he had a chance for rescue, such a thing could come off without a hitch. If it had a faulty locator device, the craft would disappear into the ocean without a trace.” Drake snapped his fingers. “Poof!”
“That would be a terrible accident,” said Auggie, slathering his tongue over his lips.
“Yes, an unfortunate accident, Augustus. After a five or six-day search by the coast guard, it would be called off with the presumption that the craft, along with everyone aboard, were lost. I think the grieving process alone would go on for weeks. I could imagine how the relatives would take the news. Days off work, counseling, therapy, all of that would be involved.” Drake feigned a sad look, leaning forward. “Buck Reynolds is still our pilot, isn’t he?”
“Yep, Buck’s still with us.”
“I believe Buck is the type who has self-preservation in mind. It wouldn’t surprise me if he followed such a course of action. Auggie, I’m wondering if you can grasp all of the colors I’m using on this canvas.”
“Looks like a Rembrandt to me. But I can make sure it looks like a Picasso to others.”
“That’s what I needed to hear. Any questions?”
“Hmm, passengers on their way to a vacation destination. In-flight trouble. Accident. Check. I was wondering if your parents were frequent fliers.”
“Of course. They deserve a much-needed rest. We all know that flying over an endless expanse of water is enough to put anyone to sleep. Older folks can conk out anywhere. They’d be snoring away, dreaming about sunsets, beaches, hotel reservations. No stress, panic, or pain.”
Auggie stood up, his knees cracked. “The thing I’m wondering about is the departure time, boss.”
“There’s no hurry. Take some time to set it up. Maybe next week. Pick a mild, sunny day. The kind of day that’s perfect for a flight to Bermuda.”
“Can do.”
“That’s what I like about you, Auggie. You can expect a nice bonus in about a month for the overtime. Oh, keep your telephone traffic to me in the normal range. No flags, no tags. I won’t have to be appraised of any ‘mission accomplished’ type message. Just normal business transmissions.”
“Will that be all, Mr. Labrador?”
“I think that’s enough for now,” said Drake. He couldn’t contain a muffled laugh while he watched Auggie cross the carpet headed for the door. “Oh, Auggie.”
“Sir?”
“You can assure Buck that things are going to turn out all right—make it sound harmless and routine. But I don’t think you have to send that pickup watercraft hundreds of miles out there. It would just be an unneeded expense. We’ve got to tighten up a little bit around here.”
“Sure thing.” Auggie left, shutting the door with a soft click.
Drake grabbed a telephone book and thumbed through the pages. He found funeral services in the alphabetical listings. He looked at some of the prices in the advertisements. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “That much nowadays?” There was always a chance they wouldn’t find the bodies, negating the purchase of caskets.
A rap at the door drew his attention. He shut the book. “Enter.”
A man peered around the door edge, smiling with an almost apologetic look. Not any man, Drake noted with disdain. A Catholic priest. He looked like a male model, his blond hair hanging like a wet towel.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” said the priest. “I’m Father Geminus from the local parish. I was just wondering if you were available.”
“How did you get past security?” Drake asked. “My chief just left two minutes ago. You’re in a restricted area.”
“Please forgive me.” The priest cornered the door, then clasped his hands prayer-like. “I must have walked right through him. Hah! On a serious note, I was told that I could find you here. One of your staff gave me directions.”
“What staff? Look, I don’t have time for—please shut the door behind you. My visitor roster is very full right now.”
“Not to worry.” The man held up his hand like a stop sign. “I’m so glad I found you. I’ve seen your picture in
Fortune Five-Hundred, People, Computer Age
. I’m Father Janus Geminus. You’re Drake Labrador, aren’t you?”
“I suppose.”
“It’s a pleasure, an honor to make your acquaintance.”
Before he could stop him, the priest rounded the desk with his hand extended. Drake eyed him, knowing he was about to have the bite put on him. Why else would a man of the cloth be wandering around Cyberflow hallways without an escort or visitor’s badge? Drake refused the handshake.
Janus raised his arms at the open window expanse. “A breathtaking view. Even if it is a parking lot. Nice garden planters though.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
“You know,” said Janus, spinning around and laying a palm on the phone book. “You strike me as the type of man who wouldn’t think twice about putting something back into the community. You have the potential to reach thousands, even millions of people less fortunate than yourself. Some of our greatest philanthropists have discovered this outlet. Their contributions have left an indelible mark on society, not to mention brought their names back up into the spotlight of notoriety. You could reserve a first class seat in the social register.”
Drake winced. “Who do I write this check out to?”
Janus began fanning the pages of the phone book with his thumb while thumping a finger on the cover. “You won’t regret this. I can’t begin to tell you how this will help our organization. You can make it out to the Boy Scouts of America. Regarding the amount? I’ll leave that up to you. I’m sure you’ll do the right thing. I just hope you’re feeling generous today.”
Drake ripped a check out of his company binder and began filling it out, but he couldn’t take his eyes from the phone book, or the priest, who kept blathering away, smiling like an idiot. The man grinned like a dopey Samoyed dog,
thought Drake, handing the check over. He thought that ended the visit. He was wrong.
Janus eyed him, the grin vanished. “This will never quite make up for it. It never goes away, you know. Sometimes the severity of the repercussions can fall from the sky and land on us like a mountain. There’s nowhere to hide.”