In Limbo (6 page)

             
Ken Messer took another sip of his now cold-coffee.  Relax, my ass, he thought.  That's probably what the Vietnam Vets were told about Agent Orange.  Not that this would be anywhere close to that, but he just wasn't satisfied.  I've been working on this for several years, he thought and there are still too many variables remaining.  They passed through a small town, never slowing down.

             
“Hey,” he said, grabbing the door handle.  “The speed limit's twenty-five and you're doing sixty!”  The driver had turned off the interstate highway and was now southbound on a two-lane state route.

             
“Sure am.”  Ron did not seem overly bothered.  “These little towns don't have any cops and nobody really cares.  Are you one of those law and order people?”

              “Not particularly.  I just think that we have rules and we need to abide by them for the good of society.”

             
“Yeah, right.”

             
But he did slow down some as they entered the next small town.  Ken enjoyed looking at the picturesque old white frame houses with their wraparound porches and bright-colored flowerbeds.  He was surprised to see the number of people up and about at this early hour and equally surprised that Ron seemed to wave at everyone. 

              “You seem to know everyone.”

              “Not really.  But if you don't wave, folks around here think you're some stuck up city slicker.  So you wave and blend right in.  See, it's all part of the PR we do routinely.”

             
At the far end of town he slowed down and turned to the left.  A small green street sign gave the name of the narrow unpaved road as “Possum Squat Road”.

              “What a name!” he said to Ron.  “How would anybody come up with a street name like that?”

             
Ron laughed.  “I have no idea.  But they have some real winners in this town, most of the names go back to the pioneer days and are related to the first settlers in this area.  But 'Possum Squat' takes the cake.”

Chapter 7

             
8:45 a.m.

             
They had been given free time to unpack, with the promise from Ron to meet them in time for brunch.

              Jeff Craft almost did not hear the soft buzzing.  He wasn't used to the sound and did not
recognize it as a phone call.  His gruff “What?” was answered by a very sweet female voice that reminded him of the time, the date and that he had a scheduled meeting with Mr. Jonathon Brooks in fifteen minutes in the executive dining room in building A.  Jeff just grunted in response.  He stretched and yawned.  Time to find building A for his meeting with SERPAC's CEO.

             
Jonathon Brooks was a large man in his fifties.  His salt-and-pepper hair was neatly trimmed and his clothing was a carefully-selected casual that probably cost more than most people paid for formal attire.  He was larger than Jeff remembered from previous meetings, but it had been a while and when he stood to greet him, Jeff was awed.  He must be at least six feet, six inches and tipped the scales at three hundred pounds if not more.  He now sported a double chin and an expanding middle.  Jonathon Brooks believed in a hardy meal and to Jeff Craft's relief also believed in healthy things.  There were bowls of fresh fruit in the center of the big dining room table, next to a platter with assorted donuts and pastries. 

             
A young oriental woman discreetly poured coffee and ice water.  Jonathon Brooks quietly said, “Thank you Maria, we won't need anything else.”  She disappeared without a word.  Jeff Craft looked around, expecting the others, surprised to find himself alone with the big man.

              They sat in silence. Jonathon Brooks reached for a donut.  “Jeffrey,” he said between bites.  “You have been with this corporation for a number of years.  You may not realize it, but I
have been following your progress for quite a while.  I'm in need of a reliable assistant.  I'm looking for a man I can trust, completely!  A man who will have the good of SERPAC in mind, at all times.  A man who shares my vision for the future.  I believe you are that man, Jeffrey.  Of course your salary would reflect your new responsibilities and so will the profit sharing.  With AMAG, that could be substantial!  I believe you would be quite satisfied.  Interested?”

             
The question caught Jeff off guard.  He swallowed the hot coffee, searing his throat.  Ever the company man, he did not dare keep his boss waiting for an answer.

              “I'm honored by your faith in my abilities, Sir.  I'll strive not to disappoint you.”

              “I take it, you are accepting my proposition?”

              “Yes, I do.”

              “Wonderful, wonderful.”

             
As they ate, Jonathon talked about the corporate retreat.

              “When we embarked on the AMAG project many years ago, I knew we would need a base away from the corporate offices.  The competition must be considered when you plan such a major undertaking as AMAG.  So I decided that we would move the project headquarters closer to where we would finally do the real testing.  We had a military base in mind, close to here.  When the Federal Government went on a base-closing spree, we spent a fortune to keep it from happening here.  We just couldn't allow the base to be closed.  It's ideal for us, ideal for AMAG.  It's remote, actually quite isolated, and has very little permanent staff. 

             
“Well, sure it costs us, but Camp Crowder is no longer on the list of bases even
considered for closure. I am not sure the folks in D.C. even remember it exists.  Anyway, one of our local operatives located the three farms that make up the heart of this retreat.  We spared no expense, bought the land and paid a very healthy price.  Then we hired a West Coast firm, a very discreet firm, mind you.  They converted the whole thing into our retreat.  From the outside, it still looks like a couple of old buildings being used for some executive R & R.  That's the image we want to present to the local population.  But we have labs in the barns and tunnels connecting everything.  You will be amazed!  We spared no expense!  We spared no expense, because we believe in AMAG.  We believe that AMAG will be such a success, that it will validate any expense.  Our latest venture is our computer network.  It's located in one of those big old barns.  It links us directly to anything and anywhere in the world, including the satellites we work with.  It made AMAG a reality.”

             
Impressed, Jeff nodded.  “But where do I fit in?”

             
“You are witnessing history in the making, my boy.  Right here!  Our first real test of AMAG.  I believe you have already met the key players.  Keep in mind, your role is different from theirs!  You are to represent me.  I can't be here much.  The industry monitors my whereabouts and if I should spend more than just a day or so here, it would be noticed.  And that's not what we need right now.  This needs to remain a corporate retreat, one of SERPAC's little perks, a place for executives to come for high-level meetings and a little R & R. 

             
I come here to fish.  You didn't know I love to fish, did you?  Well, I really don't, but it's a good image and it keeps nosy competitors off my back.  Anyhow, I need you to be here and watch over every step of this project.  You have plenty of people to do all the work, so don't get wrapped up in micromanaging this project.  That's not what I had in mind.  You are to be me, be visible and be accessible.  If problems arise, deal with them and report to me.  The others are each managing a portion of this project and they will fill you in.  I'll be on my way now.  I believe the chauffeur is waiting.  This is my cell phone number.  I can be reached at any hour.
 
Good luck.”

             
Saturday    12:55 p.m.

             
Jeff nervously clung to his empty coffee mug.  David Smith had long ago draped the coat of his Armani suit over the back of a chair, his red tie was in a heap on a desk in the corner, his shirtsleeves rolled up.  He too clung to his coffee mug.  Ken Messer, comfortable in faded jeans and a ClubMed T-shirt, sat in front of a computer nervously watching the screen and listening to a voice on the speaker phone. 

              “Okay, folks, we're coming up.  Looking good so far.  Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one and go.”  After a sixty-second pause, the voice continued.  “Gentlemen, we have had a successful thirty-second pulse of the AMAG system.  The rest is up to you.  Good luck.”

              Ken turned and high five'd with everyone in the room except Jeff Craft, who interrupted the commotion.

              “Okay, people, we need to get over to the area and videotape the test field.  Then repeat the taping every four hours for the next forty-eight hours.  Dave, Ken, let's go.  The rest of you, return to your recorded data, make sure we have no inconsistencies, no errors in targeting.  That program has given us far too many headaches!  If you find something off, give me a buzz on the cell, here's the number.  I'll be with Smith and Messer in the chopper.”

             
They met Ron the chauffeur, now the pilot, and in just minutes were airborne.  Ron signaled for them to plug in their headphones.  “We'll be over Camp Crowder in a few minutes.  SERPAC leased some land from a farmer, adjacent to Camp Crowder.  It's situated in a manner,
that severely limits access and, when combined with the federal land, allows for a point five percent margin of error in targeting.  The test field itself is on the leased land, we're using the federal land of the base as a safety buffer.”

             
Below them a blacktop highway wound its way through hills and valleys, running almost parallel to a small river.  They saw several dirt roads branching off the blacktop road and counted a couple of small farms.  There were meadows with grazing cattle and huge cornfields, but mostly it was all wooded.  Then they swerved to the left, crossed the river and slightly curved back.

             
“You can start the cameras now,” the pilot said to Ken Messer.  With one push of a button on the console beneath his forearm, Ken activated the mounted cameras on the underside of the helicopter.  They descended, almost low enough to touch the treetops and swept across the rectangular field of neat rows of corn.  Then they turned away and back toward the compound.

              “It sure is beautiful out here,” said Ken Messer.

             
“Say, Ron,” Jeff Craft could be heard.  “What can you tell us about the precautions taken on the ground.  You know, like keeping people out of the area for at least a little while today.  What has been done about that?”

              “That's easy.  Mr. Brooks is good friends with the Base Commander. Well, it appears that the Base Commander has some training exercises going on this weekend for several local Reserve Units.  Involves spending the night out in the woods.  One unit handles guard duty and as a part of its training simply sealed off all roads leading into the base in this sector for the next twenty-four hours, along with all roads accessing the river just above our test site, as of this morning.  The only other way in would be on horseback, across the fields.  We can't seal that off,
it's just not possible.  Would you like to see the base and some of the surrounding area?  It's really pretty out here, especially if you're into wilderness camping and that sort of thing.”

              “Yeah, sure.”  “Let's do it.”

             
They turned back toward the river, temporarily following its winding course upriver back toward the base.

              “Wow, look at those bluffs!  Beautiful.”

              “That water looks crystal clear.”

             
“ I can't believe that nobody lives here.”

              “Someone needs to build a resort out here, they'd make a fortune.”

              “Dave, do you ever not think of money?”

              “Yeah, when I'm in bed with a hot chick.”

             
“This is awesome.  I had no idea SERPAC owned this place out here!  I've been with the company for years, never heard about it.  When I was told to come out here, I never made the connection with AMAG.”

              “Hey fellas, check out the blonde down there, on that boat.”

              They swept a little lower and watched a young blond woman in a hot pink bikini floating
in a canoe in the clear water of a little river.  They forgot that the aircraft's automatic cameras were still running.

              “They do grow nice looking women here.”

              “Well gents, let's get back.  We need to set up the equipment for tonight.  Jonathon wants only key personnel to be involved.  That's us.  Thank God for automation.”