Disappearance (47 page)

Kumar paused as he read through this confidential report just received from a Wall Street firm specializing in industrial intelligence, a front for ex-military intelligence officers posing as legitimate businessmen.  He himself, in his escapades, had come across some of the companies mentioned in the reports, but none provoked his imagination until he came upon the Davidof firm.

He had heard the name being mentioned on more than one occasion by Langone and his people, obviously a rival firm fighting for business, but it struck him as odd that the sole Vitcon partner in the US just happened to be a primary Langone rival.

On impulse he reached for the phone and dialed Stana's home number.

"Karl, it's Kumar," he said as the German picked up his line. "Sorry to call you this late but I have just come across an interesting item.”

"What is it?" Stana asked, a little impatient.

"Vitcon's only dealings in the US are with a firm called Davidof Investments.  I seem to recall that name being mentioned as a Langone rival.”

"What kind of dealings do they have?"

"Not sure.  It says here that they have formed a joint venture a few years ago but it does not go into details.”

"What do you make of it?"

"Could be a coincidence, just another investor looking to keep the third world in turmoil, or there could be a connection.  Do you know this company Karl?"

"I bumped into them on occasion when I worked in New York," Stana said.  "Head man is Arthur Davidof.  Sharp fellow; took over from his father a few years ago.  I don't see a conflict - Davidof is mostly in computers, but one can never know.”

"I'll look into it," Kumar said.

"Have you gone through my Greece file yet?" Stana asked.

"It's right here in front of me, next on my list.”

"Let me know what you find. I'll be in the office tomorrow.”

"Will do," Kumar said, noting the name Arthur Davidof on the hotel pad lying by the phone, then picking up Stana's Greece file and sagging back to read.

The phone rang when he was half away through the file.  Absorbed in the material, Kumar absent-mindedly picked up the phone, eyes still focused on the document.

"Yes," he answered irritably.

"Kumar, it's me, Paul.”

"Glass, how nice of you to call.
Got anything to cheer me up? I've been having a rough morning.”

"Matter of fact I do.  Pre-production lot is complete.  First ten units are out the door. Now it's up to Matlock.”

"Jolly good show," Kumar said, sounding more chipper than he felt.  "Keep this up and we'll really be making some money.”

"Oh, I intend to.”

"That's the spirit, old boy; now tell me what's wrong.  It must be quite early on your side of the world.”

"Nothing's wrong," Glass blurted out hastily, "I…
it's  just that… there's a few things we need to discuss.”

"Come now, Mr. Glass, we've been through this.  A few more months, we'll sell a few
units, establish ourselves... by the way, we may have another buyer. I'm working it right now.”

"How big?"
  Glass asked his voice suddenly alert.

"Can't quite say, but looks pretty big.  I'll be smarter tomorrow.”

"Don't ignore me, Kumar," Glass reiterated, "I've waited long enough and I won't release the final production version until I get my guarantees.”

"Just get these things to work, Glass," Kumar said dismissively
and hung up.

Three time zones away, Paul Glass peered at his wife across the desk then dialed a second number to a waiting party in New York.

CHAPTER 46

The entourage walked through the production facility, stopping now and again for short demonstrations outlining the formation of the missile's production line.   They had all put on white robes and face covers to enter the clean room housing the assembly line for the missile's laser seeker head. The lead  engineer took great  care  illustrating the  complex array of sensors, mirrors and microchips all meshed into a miniature  metal  cone,  transforming  the  individual  modules into a remarkably effective tracking mechanism.

"What's the effective range of this seeker?" someone asked.

"That would be limited to the laser's effective range which is roughly ten thousand feet," the engineer replied.  "The seeker's camera can recognize a target from about 20 thousand feet, but the effective kill range is again,  limited to the  laser's range.”

"How fast can its head turn?" another asked, provoking the engineer into further technical jargon.

"The seeker head is mounted on a gimbaled platform with two axes: pitch and roll," he explained tilting his hands to illustrate the slant.  "The pitch axis has a field of regard minus 45 to plus 45 degrees.  The roll has 360 degrees.  Both axes can achieve a range of 30 degrees per second which is a match for any fighter aircraft maneuvering at  less than  ten  thousand feet.”

"What maneuver would that be?" someone challenged.

"Nine G vertical at 1.2 mach," the engineer spat out, silencing the gathered crowd.

Scott Vitcon leaned back from inspecting the exposed seeker up close.  "Quite an achievement," he murmured, partly to himself, noting the relieved looks on the faces of his hosts. "When do you start deliveries?"

"We have several systems going through environmental qualification testing at the moment," Wes Bradley, Matlock's VP for Marketing, replied, taking over from the engineer. "Once that's done and all the development data are transferred to production, we should be pumping these babies out, twenty a month.”

"Yeah, but you didn't answer my question," Vitcon said icily,
causing the crowd to once again grow silent.

"Hard to pinpoint," Bradley said, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief, "but if all goes well we should be delivering the first lot by April next year.”

Vitcon, a burly man in his late fifties, with a towering frame and a down to earth attitude, looked around the room, noting the row of technicians standing on elevated counters surrounding the entire room, each tending to a rack of seeker heads at various stages of assembly.  His group was standing in the middle of the floor where several completed units were being probed by an assortment of test equipment.

The operation was real, he thought.  Matlock was a determined company on the verge of achieving success.  If they were to be discouraged, he'd better work it fast.

Bradley, a short man with a piercing stare, impeccably dressed in fastidious suit and tie, signaled to the engineer who led the group out of the clean room.  Then came lunch with several Matlock VP's, followed by a private chat with the CEO.

-------

"Quite an operation you got going here," Vitcon commented, addressing the CEO, as the three men settled in large comfortable leather sofas in the lavish penthouse office at the Matlock corporate compound, overlooking the runways of the Dayton International airport.

Richard M. Matlock, descendant of a long line of Matlock chiefs, all the way down to his great grandfather, the founder of Matlock Ammunition back in the dawning years of the previous  century,  was  an  impressive  a  figure  as  he  was rumored  to  be.    Vitcon had never
met  the  man  but  had recently made a point of carefully exploring his background. Matlock was fifty-nine, a year older than himself, and had been at the Matlock helm for nine years, taking over from his father who had retired at seventy-five.  He was a tall man with a handsome face, hardened and creased by age and years of adversity.  He wore a graying mustache and kept a pair of reading glasses loosely hung around his neck.

The Matlock Defense Company was traded publicly on the big board at the New York Stock Exchange. Current worth: approximately five billion dollars; stock shifting between fifty-one and fifty-three dollars a share for the last six months. Richard Matlock, Chairman and CEO, was currently under fire by his board of directors for losing several major defense contracts to weaker companies.  Some of his ongoing projects had gone into cost overruns and were feeling heat from the government. Matlock was in
need of a break.

Addressing his marketing VP, Matlock skipped the preliminaries and moved right to the point.  

"Did you show him the missile?"

Bradley concurred, nodding his head slowly.

"We should have the first lot out in February, but we've had our difficulties," Matlock continued.

Vitcon, watching Bradley shift restlessly knowing he had quoted two months later than his boss, turned his attention to Matlock.

"Mr. Bradley predicts twenty a month once you get going. How does this sit with supplying your customers?"

"We'll have to push it initially, but we should settle after the first year.”

"It's an impressive system, but a dangerous investment," Vitcon said, straightening his gaze at Matlock.

Both Matlock and Bradley moved uneasily in their seats.

"With a little effort, I can guarantee delivery a year from now," Bradley said, nervously glancing at Matlock.

"I'm not so sure you can do that, Mr. Bradley.”

"With all due respect sir, you've seen the line, we're just about…"

"It may not be up to you," Vitcon said, quietly undermining Bradley's reprise.

"Would you mind explaining that statement, Mr. Vitcon?" Matlock demanded.

"By all means Mr.
Matlock.  I've been led to believe you're targeted by the US export regulators.  This missile of yours violates every rule in the book and they have you marked.”

Matlock and Bradley exchanged glances.

“From where did you get this load of bullshit?” Matlock questioned, visibly disturbed.

“I have my sources,” Vitcon replied poised, “and they are reliable.”

They stared at one another for a long moment before Matlock lowered his gaze. "How long have you known this?"

"Long enough, Mr. Matlock."

"Before meeting Langone?"

Vitcon nodded.  "It's why I asked to meet him.  I wanted to get to you so I can offer an arrangement.”

Richard Matlock remained still for a long moment then leaned over to whisper something in Bradley's ear.  Bradley, looking quite shaken, violently shook his head in reply.

"Mr. Bradley here thinks you're serious," Matlock said scornfully, "but I beg to differ, mainly because I can't see your motivation to get involved in this, especially if you think i
t’
s such a risk.”

"Solid argument, Mr. Matlock, but you'll have to trust me for now.  There is a motive here but I can't quite disclose it until you meet my terms.”

"And if I don't?"

"Then a four year investment goes down the drain and your board of directors has ample justification to get rid of you. Not to mention the disgrace and potential long term jail sentences for you and Bradley among many others.”

As their glances met again, Scott Vitcon felt a chill charging down his neck and spine.  Matlock's gaze had turned dangerous, but he kept his voice level.

"I'll need that motive Mr. Vitcon," he said stubbornly. "Without it I see no reason to believe an Englishman has this kind of leverage here.”

"I'm not alone in this, Mr. Matlock and I wouldn't be here if I didn't think I had this leverage.”

Bradley's face had turned a shade paler.  Matlock sat rigid on the large sofa, conspicuously weighing his odds.

"What are your terms?" he finally blurted out. Vitcon did not hesitate.

"You sever your ties with Langone and Krauss-Hauser, cancel their orders claiming export control restrictions, and I'll call off the dogs and fill the gap with legitimate orders.”

"It's a pretty large gap to fill," Matlock said.

"I know.  Langone and his German friend told me all about it.”

"What assurances would we have to protect our investment?" Bradley anxiously jumped in.

"I won't be responsible for your non-recurring, but I can guarantee you half the orders you now have.  As for the rest, we'll do our best to help you market the product.  From what I've seen, you should have no problem landing additional orders for such an advanced product.  Needless to say, I think the domestic market is your best bet.”