Palm Sunday (10 page)

“See ya,” said the guard.

Stanley took the elevator to the fourth floor, turning left as he got off. At the end of the hallway he walked through a set of double glass doors. The secretary’s station was on the right, but even it was empty. From farther inside he could see lights coming on. Katherine hadn’t beaten him by much.

He caught up with her near an empty cubicle. “Good morning, Katherine.”

“Hey, Stanley. All rested up? We missed you on Friday.”

“Had some things to do.”

“You missed the staff meeting.”

“Oh, I forgot all about that,” said Stanley.

“I bet you did.” She gave him a sly look. It was a longstanding joke that their staff meetings induced a state remarkably similar to sleep.

“No, really. I wouldn’t take a whole day off just to…”

“Stanley, chill. I’m only raggin’ you. I know you wouldn’t blow us off like that.”

He couldn’t tell if she was serious or not, so he just nodded and went to his desk. Katherine had moved to the small kitchen area, which boasted a tiny refrigerator and an ancient coffee maker.

“Get you some coffee?” she offered. “I just made it.”

He couldn’t see her over the cubicles. “Oh, yeah, that would be great.”

She picked up the pot and brought it to his desk. He was just booting up his computer. “You know, we really should give this stuff up.” She poured the hot liquid into his company mug.

“Are you kidding?” said Stanley. “Without this black goo the company would be mentally bankrupt.”

She nodded her agreement. “I should bring you up to date on what happened Friday.”

“Something happened?”

“Not a big deal,” she said. “The deadline for the project has been moved up.”

“Our project?”

“Of course our project. Would I be briefing you on someone else’s project?”

“No, but I just thought that…”

“We’re going to have to cut some corners on this one. Personally I don’t see why they don’t just market the beta version and declare victory. Everyone else does it.” She shook her head as she drained her cup.

“Is everyone else jumping off bridges?” asked Stanley.

“Very funny, Mom. Couldn’t you tell I was being sarcastic?” She leaned toward him and rolled her eyes up in their sockets.

“Is that your impression of sarcasm, or a seizure?”

“Twit.” She jumped down from his desk where she had been sitting. Her skirt had bunched up in back, and as she walked out from his cubicle he could see a substantial portion of the back of her leg.

“Katherine, your…”

“I’ll be right back. Need more black goo.”

As she disappeared around the corner, another employee, Boyd Sanders, trooped past Stanley’s cubicle. Boyd was tall and lanky, a true canopy dweller in the cubicle jungle. He had seen Katherine headed towards the coffee and was hot on her trail.

“Morning, Boyd.” Stanley tried to slow him down, but it was no use.

“Hey, Stan.”

He hated being called Stan, and Boyd knew it. But before Stanley could say anything, Boyd was past, and quickly overtook Katherine at the coffee area. He stood several feet back, quietly admiring the view of her partially raised skirt. Katherine had just finished pouring her coffee and was adding creamer.

“Hey, Boyd. What’s up?” she said.

Stanley had just walked up behind Boyd. “It would seem that your skirt is what’s up.”

Katherine noted Boyd’s impish grin, then quickly reached in back of her and straightened her skirt. “Get a good peek, Boyd?” He smirked and shrugged his shoulders. Katherine looked at Stanley. “Thanks for telling me sooner.”

“I did try.”

“Okay, okay. I guess I deserved that. Boyd, you’re a pig.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He smiled and bowed politely.

She was about to say something else, when their supervisor, the pudgy, yet perfectly tailored Paul Klugman, rounded the corner.

“Glad to see you could all make it,” he said. “Coffee ready?”

“Yes, Mr. Klugman. Nice and strong.”

“Good girl, Katherine.” He selected one of several coffee mugs that lined the wall near the coffee pot and filled it. He sipped the steaming liquid, making a slurping sound, and then lowered the cup. “Did you bring Stanley up to speed on the new timeline?”

“I mentioned it.”

“We should go over it, the three of you and me. Come see me at nine-thirty.” Coffee in one hand and briefcase swinging in the other, he turned and headed for his office. 

She was taking a big risk. Kayoko had no plausible explanation for being in Tom Snelling’s office, but she needed information from his computer. She was certain that he had cooked the numbers from the last profile to support his theories, and finding evidence to this effect might slow the breakneck pace that Mason had set for altering the profile. If she could find out exactly how Snelling was doing it, she might be able to stop the madness, or at least slow it down long enough for cooler heads to prevail.

She had quietly stolen into his office while he was in a meeting with Mason, and quickly logged onto his computer, using the password that she knew he always incremented by one number each month. He was a bonehead when it came to security.

At best she only had a few minutes before Tom would return from his meeting. She hurriedly searched his computer files, not knowing exactly what she was looking for.

“Come on, come on. Where are you?” She spoke under her breath as she quickly typed in various keywords to search on. She got plenty of hits, but nothing seemed to be what she was after.

“‘D’ drive. Maybe he hid you there.” She switched drives and typed in the word ‘profile’; too many. She added the word ‘quotient’. Fewer entries appeared, but there were still more than twenty. Almost out of time, she switched to email and entered her private account as the destination. Attach, attach, attach. One more, then send.

“Go, baby.” She looked at her watch. He wasn’t back yet, but she could see the elevator doors and feared they would open at any second. The emails were sent. Close, close. Get out.

She ran from the office, taking the staircase to make sure she didn’t run into Snelling. Just as the stairwell door clicked shut, the elevator bell rang. Snelling and his secretary walked out, joking about something. It had been a close call. 

After Bobby and his father left his apartment, Slocum drove to a town thirty miles away and placed a call. He dialed the fourteen-digit number and waited. As the phone concluded its third ring, he looked at his watch. He could stay on for ninety seconds, no longer. The line clicked twice, followed by a short buzz. The tracer was active. Two seconds later a voice came on.

“Receiving.”

“One four one requesting emergency contact.” A moment passed with no answer, and it seemed as though the line had gone dead.

Then the voice came back, the tone definitive. “That is not authorized at this time. You are directed to remain at your current location. A team will bring you in.”

“Negative,” said Slocum. “I request an immediate conference with the field supervisor.” He was running out of time.

“Wait one.” The line went dead again.

He knew what they were up to, but he wanted to hear what Pampas had to say, and more importantly, how he said it. They were stalling, trying to set up an intercept. They might track the call, but he knew they didn’t have anyone close enough to reach him in time. Of course, they might try the local police. It depended on how desperate they were. He looked at his watch. Almost time.

“Slocum, this is Pampas. What do you think you’re doing?” The tone was brisk, reprimanding.

“Mr. Pampas, I don’t have much time here, so let’s cut the crap. What’s going on? Why’d you send a team after me?”

“You were tagged as a runner. Now we know that was bad information. The team has been recalled and you’re to be fully reinstated, assuming that you have the palm unit.”

“I have it, but sir, those men were shooting to kill.”

Pampas hesitated. “A miscalculation on their part. One of the agents was a rookie and got a little excited. It happens.”

Slocum knew he was lying. They would never send a rookie to help retrieve a seasoned implementer. He was supposed to be killed, and that meant they thought he had done something very bad. It was time for the conversation to end.

“Mr. Pampas, I don’t know what you think I’ve done, but it’s not true. Seek the truth, sir, and you will find it.”

“Slocum, wait…”

It was too late. The phone was already in its cradle. Slocum looked up and down the street, but nothing seemed out of place. Then he heard them. Sirens, still pretty far away. That was a mistake. They should have told the local police to approach silently–they might have had him. He quickly got into his car and drove away. As he checked his rearview mirror he considered the use of the locals. For the agency to risk even this degree of exposure was an indication that they wanted him badly. He would have to be on his toes. The sound of sirens quickly faded as he headed back towards his apartment. 

The white panel truck with the yellow light on top had been parked in the same spot for three hours. The manhole cover behind it had been removed, the opening in the ground carefully roped off with yellow plastic tape. A man in coveralls stood watch above ground, while deep below street level his partner prepared to make the final adjustments to the piece of equipment now enveloping the fiber cable bundle.

Not his first installation by any means, it had been fraught with problems from the start. To begin with, two of the strands of fiber simply refused to bond to the epoxy gel he was using to form his temporary connectors. He had to cut them and let them dangle while he finished installing the optical interface for the rest of the bundle. When he was finished, he spliced them back together, but they could not be included in the segment to be monitored. This type of installation left no time for working around such problems, and ninety-five per cent inclusion of a fiber pack of this size was better than nothing. The agency would reel in gigabytes of data from this site alone.

He put the false sheathing back over the area where he had been working and signaled to his partner that he was finished. This section of Internet roadway was now available for agency monitoring, joining hundreds of similar installations. 

Paul Klugman–short, fat and balding–felt ill at ease around those who were taller than him. Nevertheless, he was an excellent supervisor. Not in the eyes of his charges, necessarily, but certainly in the opinion of his employer, as he consistently succeeded in deriving maximum output from his limited staff. He sat behind his oversized desk as he addressed his people.

“Okay folks, just to bring everyone up to speed, the project deadline has been advanced two months, and that’s not just for the mock-up. They want it ready for a full demo.”

Stanley was the first to respond. “That may be expecting too much. Even before moving the deadline up we were pushing it.”

“Stanley’s right,” said Katherine. “The interface is too complex to rush like this.”

Klugman leaned on his elbows and looked at Boyd. “What do you think, Boyd?”

Boyd had been standing to one side, leaning against the wall. “There’s still a lot of work to do, but if we pull together I don’t see why it can’t be done.”

“There, you see?” said Klugman. “Boyd is on board.”

Katherine looked at Boyd in disbelief. “Are you crazy? Linking the electronics to the comm unit will take several weeks all by itself.” She was furious. It was just like Boyd to kiss up to Klugman.

Boyd shrugged. “Hey, if you and Stan…”

“Stanley.” Stanley quietly corrected him.

“If you two would spend less time whining and more time working, the thing might be done already.”

Katherine was about to go through the roof. “You hypocrite! You two-faced, butt-kissing son of a …”

Boyd interrupted her. “Don’t hold back, Katherine. Tell me how you really feel.” He was pushing it, and Klugman seemed to be enjoying the show.

Stanley was puzzled. “Mr. Klugman, I…”

Klugman held up his hand. Katherine saw it now, too, and stopped. The room grew silent, as Klugman leaned back in his chair. “Thank you, Boyd.”

Boyd simply nodded and sat down.

“What’s going on?” asked Katherine.

“Just an experiment,” said Klugman. “I wanted to observe the dynamics of my little group in a stressful situation.” He leaned forward again, his face stern. “Because that’s what we’re about to face. Extreme stress. The boys upstairs seem to think that technology is driven by edict. Well, maybe they’re partly right. But this little circus is going to go bust if they keep pushing like this. Look at how you guys were acting just now, and the hard part hasn’t really begun.”

No one said anything for a moment.

“Why the change in the deadline?” asked Stanley.

Klugman shrugged. “Competition. Profits. Because they can. Who knows all the reasons? Bottom line–in short order we better have the project ready, at least for a practical demo.”

“How ready does it have to be?” asked Stanley. “Are we talking about a full production unit?”

“It has to be capable of being in production. And it has to be impressive.”

Katherine, still angry, glowered at Boyd, then looked at Klugman. “Who exactly do we have to impress? Techies, or some suits?”

“Probably both,” said Klugman. “No businessman in his right mind is going to throw the kind of money we’re talking about at something he doesn’t understand.”

“They did it in the dot com revolution,” said Boyd.

“And look where it got them.” Klugman shook his head. “No, look for this to be the worst of both worlds. They know what they want, and they’ll know if it works.”

“It’s a catch twenty-two.” Everyone looked at Boyd.

Katherine had to get a dig in. “No it isn’t.”

Klugman decided to help her. “Boyd, have you ever actually read Catch-22?”

“Aw, c’mon. Give me a break. It’s a catch twenty-two if ever I saw one.”

Stanley stood up and walked towards the door. “I’ve got work to do.”

The others nodded in silent agreement and went to attack the new timetable.