Dry Ice (13 page)

“Sir, there’s no way we would have been cleared for departure if someone down here hadn’t approved the flight plan,” Carmel McTeague said, legs braced, arms folded across her chest, apparently unfazed by the white-hot anger in Greg’s eyes.

“Are you calling me a liar, Ms. McTeague?” he asked quietly.

“That’s
Captain
McTeague, and no, sir. I’m suggesting that there might have been a snafu somewhere. Someone down here granted us permission to land and maybe forgot to tell you. Getting clearance is protocol, sir. I signed the flight plan and filed it. Approval was granted and your name is on the sheet.”

Greg seemed to swell up, his face hardening into an unattractive mask of fury. “This is preposterous. You’re accusing someone here of—”

This is going nowhere fast.

Tess cleared her throat and stepped forward. Everyone in the room turned to look at her. “Dr. Simpson, before this discussion goes any further, I want to speak with you privately.”

Those glacial blue eyes shifted to gaze at her. Greg’s brow furrowed; Tess assumed he was trying to cut her down to size.

Not gonna happen, cuddles.

She met his eyes calmly. The silence between them lasted long enough to have everyone in the room squirming except Nik, whose face wore its usual smirk.

“Certainly, Dr. Beauchamp.”

Giving the fliers a quick, neutral glance, Tess followed Greg out of the room, the two executives on her heels.

Tess kept up with Greg as he walked briskly up the stairs and down the corridor. He stopped in front of one of the blank, unlabeled doors and opened it with the hard swipe of a smart card and gestured for her to enter ahead of him.

“Just Dr. Beauchamp right now, if you please,” he said as Fred stepped forward. “You may wait here.”

Tess let her gaze flick from Tim to Fred. “This won’t take long. Just wait there, if you don’t mind, guys.”

Just inside the doorway, Tess stopped short, taken aback by what she saw.

The office was very small, as she’d expected from the schematics. The furnishings and equipment were standard and completely unremarkable. Three monitors, a keyboard, and a mouse—nothing more—sat on the shining surface of the desk. There was a small file cabinet in the corner; the bookshelves lining the walls were full to the point of almost overflowing. Every book was in perfect order, aligned at the edge of the shelves, just like his bookshelves in Gakona had been. Framed art and awards hung on the walls. A thick white rug covered the floor. A single chair sat to the right of the door.

The office was functional and neat.

But it was
not
the office of a man who would shortly be on a plane heading stateside.

She turned to face Greg. The cool appraisal in his eyes was more than a little unnerving.

“May I ask what you think you’re doing?”

Tess watched him for a moment before answering, calculating her best response. Physically exhausted by the long, uncomfortable flight and still emotionally drained from the drama and sheer terror of the last few hours of it, not to mention the weirdness of the last ten minutes, Tess knew she wasn’t at her best. Nevertheless, she was determined to get things out in the open, despite whatever convoluted head trip Greg was on.

“No, you may not,” she replied calmly. “I won’t play that game, Greg. You know why I’m here. Now why don’t you explain this?” She gestured around the room.

He seemed taken aback momentarily, then his eyes went cool again. “What are you talking about?”

“This room. Your stuff. Were you intending to leave all of your materials for me?”

“Excuse me?”

“You haven’t started packing. You know you’re heading out on the return flight. Why isn’t your office cleared out? I mean,
my
office.”

He’d seated himself and taken a file from a drawer. He opened the file as he spoke; she knew he was attempting to dismiss her. “My dear Dr. Beauchamp—”

Despite her resolve, Tess realized that even after all these years, his voice, with its sneering overlay and the lock-jawed flatness of his Midwestern accent, hadn’t lost its ability to abrade her nerves. Overplayed patrician scorn had always been his first weapon of choice, and he never failed to wield it with blunt force. Condescension oozed out of him like toxic sludge.

“Since you’re no longer my research director and I’m no longer your grunt, I’d prefer it if you didn’t speak to me in that tone of voice,” she replied, holding on tight to her temper. “And please call me Tess.”

He flicked his eyes at her and she saw something like amusement in them.

Overshot the runway. Damn it.

“Very well,
Tess.
Please, have a seat.”

“No, I’ll stand, thanks. It was a long flight.”

A weird little smile appeared on his face, like that of a snake, complete with its own brand of repellent charm. It sent a ripple down her spine.

“How’s your family, Tess?” he asked, pausing minutely before adding, “All still alive?”

“They’re fine, thanks,” she replied coldly.

“Our communications are state of the art—we have our own ground station—,” he began, and she narrowed her eyes at the bizarre segue. He noticed that and paused. “After we’ve had our little chat, be sure to let your parents know you’ve arrived safely. Being the only child and all that.” He paused again. “Are they still living down there in Mexico, off the grid, far away from the fruits of their labors? Or have they lost their taste for the simple life and moved closer to cooling towers and fallout zones?”

Tess felt her fingers curl into fists and immediately flexed them open, cursing the day she’d told him anything about herself. About her family. About the role her parents and grandparents had played in the nuclear arms race and the industries it had spawned. But he’d asked the questions in an interview and she, wanting to get the fellowship desperately, had been candid. Too candid. He’d used her candor against her whenever he wanted to rile her.

She smiled back at him, tightly. “Let’s skip the pleasantries, Greg. And let’s not insult each other’s intelligence by pretending that you don’t know why I’m here. Fred and Tim are waiting out there to facilitate the paperwork and the speechmaking. When that’s over, you can hop on that big comfy plane and fly back to civilization.”

A flicker of something—frigid rage?—in his eyes made her wary, then he folded his hands on his desk as he stared at her.

“I believe you’ve spent time on this continent, Tess, although not in the interior—”

Okay, the attention deficit disorder is something new.
“I’ve spent time at the Pole, mostly at Amundsen-Scott,” she interjected.

“Then you’re aware that our weather here is significantly colder and windier, and much less predictable than at the coast,” he said in the voice one would use to open a lecture in Meteorology 101. “Which means there is no guarantee that we’ll be able to fly out as planned. Why your trip was scheduled for now is beyond me.”

What brand of bullshit is this?

She didn’t let her expression change. “Greg, you
do
know why it was scheduled now. Croyden wants you in a corner office in Connecticut
on Monday,
” she said bluntly.

He said nothing, just continued to stare at her with that creepy smile.

Tess stared back. “Why did you lie to everyone just now when the pilot—”

“‘Lie’?”

“That’s what I call not telling the truth. Do you have a different word for it?”

“It’s a strong accusation to make.”

It wasn’t easy for Tess to keep her temper under control. “Look, I’m not here to play semantic games or any other kind of game; I’m here to replace you,” she said very slowly and very clearly. “You are no longer in charge down here, I am. You and the entire staff here at TESLA know this. I was copied on all the emails sent to you by Gianni Barone, who is your boss and mine. I
know
you received those emails.”

“Yes,
I
received the emails Gianni sent out, but no one else here did.”

Tess stared at him. “
I saw the emails,
Greg. I know who they went to—”

“I run a tight ship down here, Tess. It’s a high-stress workplace and the personnel here have the weight of the world on their shoulders. The pressure is remarkable. The ramifications of a single small mistake made here at TESLA would be far-reaching and likely disastrous. A wrongly calculated parameter, an unforeseen variable, or a random, unpredictable event can overleverage all of our hard work, transforming the outcome from a planned mission perfectly executed to chaos of unimaginable, even epic proportions.”

The condescension returned to his face, his voice. “You understand the theoretical vagaries of chaotic systems, Tess, but do you know what we really do here? If you do, then you understand why it’s necessary to keep intrusions and distractions to a minimum. It’s critical that my team focuses on the work at hand. To that end, I have created a pleasant, comfortable environment in which they can operate free of outside disturbances.”

His meaning sunk in seconds later and Tess couldn’t help it; she felt her eyes widen in shock. “Outside disturbances like … email? You censor their email?”

“Censor?” Greg bristled at the word, then gave her that creepy smile again. “No, I monitor—I filter it. Yes, that’s what I do. Just as we take pains to remove impurities from our air, water, and power systems, I take extreme care to filter out all communication impurities that could potentially damage our most important system.”

“The most important system being the people here,” she said, wondering if he was playing some sort of sick, nerdy practical joke. That was a long shot; he had no sense of humor.

“Yes.”

“And one of the impurities you might filter out would be, say, a series of messages from the vice president of strategic planning in which he discusses a change in the administration of the installation.”

“Yes.”

A thin, icy needle of fear pricked her nerve endings as Tess held his gaze. “So, other than you, no one here knew we were coming? And no one knows that you’re on your way out of here, or that I’m meant to be running things now?”

“That’s correct.”

“Okay. It’s time to get Fred and Tim in here,” she said, reaching for the door handle.

“Not quite yet, Tess.” The quiet voice stopped her, and she looked at him. He looked back at her with unblinking, unwavering reptilian eyes.

Exuding a confidence she didn’t feel, Tess let her hand drop. “There’s not a lot more to say, Greg. You agreed to leave but now that I’m here, you’ve changed your mind.”

“I haven’t changed my mind. I never had any intention of leaving. I merely told Croyden what he wanted to hear.”

“You don’t have a choice in the matter. Flint wants you gone.”

“Of
course
I have a choice in the matter. I’m here. The executive committee is not. And it all boils down to the fact that I don’t want to leave,” he said simply. “They never should have suggested it. They certainly should never have challenged my initial response. They had no right to do that.”

“No right? Greg, they had every right. TESLA belongs to Flint. They paid for—”

“No, Tess. TESLA belongs to
me,
” he whispered, getting to his feet. “I’ve been working toward this my entire life. Fifteen years ago, while you were looking backward and whinging about dead relatives and needing time to
grieve,
I was working toward
this.
” He lifted his hands toward the ceiling as if he were elevating a wafer during a church service, then lowered them in a slow, expansive movement.

Just the way he said it, so mildly, so calmly, made a small spider of alarm race through Tess’s brain.

I’m the one that needs to be on the next flight out. I’ve been dumped headfirst into a bucketful of crazy. Damn you, Gianni.

Greg’s eyes focused on a point on the wall above her head as if he were looking into the middle distance while addressing a crowd. “TESLA is
my
creation,” he began. “I built this installation from the ground up. I made every decision from its very inception. I chose the design, the materials, the construction, the mission, and the personnel. Even now, I approve the menus and the movies and what kind of paper we put in the printers. Which operations we carry out and which operations we reject.
No one
contradicts me or supersedes me. Not even—” He stopped abruptly, and he brought his gaze to her face, staring at her and through her at the same time. “The decision to send you down here was the first challenge to my authority.”

He leaned forward then, his eyes boring into hers. She had to will herself not to flinch.

“I’ve spent a lifetime working toward making this happen. I don’t know what made them think I would turn it over to anyone. Especially you.”

“Oh, honestly, Greg. Think about it. I’m the only logical repla—”

He waved her words away. “Don’t talk to me about logic. You haven’t put in your time.”

Tess gaped at him, startled by his accusation. “Are you serious? How do you figure that? I’ve spent years—”

“You haven’t put in your time with
me.
On
my
projects. Working by
my
side. Learning what you need to know from
me.
I don’t care who else you’ve worked with.
I
decide who gets to come here. No one as undeserving as you should ever have been allowed to set foot on this installation.” He paused. “You’re a quitter.”

She brushed a sweep of her long blond hair behind her ear and refolded her arms across her chest. “I’m not a quitter, Greg. I just don’t like to be abused,” she said calmly.

He held up one long, slim-fingered hand as if to stop her comment in mid-air. “Nik Forde replaced you on that fellowship. His experience with me is the only reason he’s here. Even so, that gives him no right of succession, and you’re significantly less worthy of such a distinction.”

Tess stared at her former mentor. “With all due respect, Greg, choosing a successor is not your call to make. This is a commercial, scientific enterprise, not a medieval fiefdom. Whether you like it or not, Croyden Flint and the board of directors own TESLA, and they want me to replace you.”