On Broken Wings (52 page)

He took a deep breath and tried to collect himself. "He's the VP for this division, Chris. Why?"

She waved the note. "Says here he wants to see me." She glanced at his desk. "Maybe he wants to see you, too."

He followed her gaze to a matching slip of paper wedged into his keyboard. He'd managed to sit down without seeing it. He plucked it from its resting place and unfolded it.

TO: R. Svenson.

FROM: Floyd Holloway

DATE: 04/15

Please report to my office at the conclusion of the customer demonstration.

FAH/rc

He passed the note to Christine, who glanced at it and nodded.

"Same as mine. What do you think it's about?"

Svenson shrugged. "Probably just a pat on the back for the past two weeks. Holloway's just an administrator, doesn't really know what we do here, but he never misses a chance to grab a piece of anything that's going well. I'm kind of surprised he wasn't at the demo himself." He rose and shook himself. "Come on, let's get it over with."

He led her down the corridor and up the stairs to Mahogany Row.

***

Holloway's secretary glanced up from her crossword puzzle and waved them toward the closed door of the VP's office. Rolf turned the knob, opened the door, and stopped in confusion.

"Come in, Mr. Svenson, Ms. D'Alessandro. And close the door."

Floyd Holloway's face had always reminded Svenson of an animated lemon. The vice president's jaundiced, deeply lined skin combined with gray Mephistophelean eyebrows, suspicious eyes, and a tightly pursed mouth to make a face that many people would cross the street to avoid. Whether sitting or standing, the old man held himself ramrod straight at all times. It was difficult to imagine him bending over. Svenson had never seen him do it.

Before the VP's desk stood Roger Morrison, a saga of pain written across his features. At Holloway's right, radiating triumph, stood Terry Arkham.

"Mr. Svenson," rasped Holloway, "Mr. Arkham has just brought me evidence that Miss D'Alessandro here has compromised the integrity of our computer systems for her own personal purposes. Are you aware of any activities along those lines?"

Svenson stared at the corporate officer for a long moment before turning toward Arkham.

"What have you done, Terry?"

Arkham bared his teeth and said nothing.

"Mr. Arkham has done exactly what any responsible employee of this company should have done when he became aware of a breach in our security." Holloway's voice became sharp. "I understand Miss D'Alessandro is your subordinate?"

"Yes, she is. And I am incredibly proud of her."

"Oh? Really? For corrupting the systems administration programs on our computer system?"

Svenson strained to put steel into his voice. "Miss D'Alessandro acted in defense of the Simulation Group, after discovering that Mr. Arkham had tried to destroy the fruits of six months' of our work. You may have heard about how well our rescue mission turned out."

Arkham laughed and shook his head at Svenson's foolish goal-line stand.

"Control yourself, Mr. Arkham. This is a serious matter." Holloway's contemptuous stare made him want to flinch. "Mr. Svenson, if there were even a shred of truth in that accusation, you could have brought the matter to me before taking matters so completely upon your own shoulders. Did Miss D'Alessandro do what she did with your prior knowledge and approval?"

"My prior knowledge, no. But Miss D'Alessandro has my full and unqualified approval for everything she does, Mr. Holloway. She is the best person I know."

Christine gasped. Morrison cringed and turned away.

"I can't say much for your judgment, Mr. Svenson. And your attitude is unacceptable for managerial personnel in this company." Holloway's eyes moved briefly to Christine. "Mr. Morrison has given me to understand that Miss D'Alessandro is an exceptional talent, one that the company simply can't afford to lose. Nevertheless, she must be disciplined, and after I've had some time to think about what would be appropriate, she will be. You, on the other hand, are far too senior to be carrying the convictions you've expressed. Your services are no longer needed here. Gather any personal items from your work area, and leave your badge with Richard Orloff before you go."

Svenson had thought he was braced for anything. He was wrong. Morrison darted to catch him as his knees buckled, and lowered him into a guest chair.

Christine moved forward, pulled the Onteora Aviation badge from her lapel and tossed it onto Holloway's desk. She walked with measured steps to where Arkham stood and stared down at him with loathing.

"I don't think this can wait for tomorrow."

With a single thrust, she drove the heel of her pump through his left instep, then pulled it free. Terry Arkham burst into the shrill scream of a pig being castrated. He stood still an instant more before crumpling in shock.

Holloway snarled and reached for his telephone.

Morrison's hand landed on it first. "You withered obscenity, if you lift that thing I'll tear your arm off and beat you to death with it."

The vice president recoiled into his chair. Morrison straightened up and cast a contemptuous glance at Arkham's collapsed form.

"We'll be going now, Floyd. Best of luck getting along with your new head boy."

Morrison nodded to Christine. She moved to where Svenson sat, pulled him upright, and shepherded him out of Holloway's office with an arm around his waist.

"Was that what you meant by him 'getting his,' Chris?"

"More or less." She looked straight ahead and kept them moving.

God, I wouldn't want to get in the way of that temper.

"I'm surprised you didn't kick him in the balls."

She elbowed open the door to the stairwell and nudged him into it. "I wasn't sure he had any."

***

Christine stood and watched Svenson as he packed his personal oddments. It was like watching a film run at half or quarter speed. His every movement screamed with pain.

"Is it that bad?"

He nodded without turning toward her. "I've done a lot of my best work here."

"You'll find another job."

He said nothing.

"You will, Rolf. If I could get in here, somebody with your experience will be able to sign on with any firm he likes."

"It's not that, Chris. But thanks for trying."

She groped for words, any words that might have some healing power, and found none.

Arkham beat us. We thought we had him by the short and curlies, and he slipped the hold and took us out with one shot.

We didn't fight dirty enough. We didn't sink low enough. You can't beat someone like that at his own game, unless you're just as foul as he is.

"Chris?"

She turned to find Dick Orloff standing behind her, looking rumpled and bewildered.

"Hi, Dick. I guess you've heard."

"Yeah." He jammed his hands into his pockets. "Just what did you do to Terry Arkham?"

She snorted. "No more than he deserved for trying to fuck us over. Hey, we didn't let him, though, did we?"

Orloff grinned. "No, you certainly didn't. Chris, if I cash in every marker I've got, I can get you back in here. Make it as if it never happened, I think. And the company needs you something fierce. Think about it?"

"Thanks, Dick, but I don't want this job any more. Unless," she glanced in Svenson's direction, "you could get him back in as well."

The Director of Software Engineering shook his head.

"I can't do it. Arkham wanted his scalp, and right now, since that demo, what Arkham wants, he gets. By the way, did you find out why he torpedoed the simulator?"

"I don't have a clue. Unless this is the windup he wanted, and damned if I can see that. He didn't think we could do any of the things we've done these past two weeks. Oh, here." She extracted a disk cartridge from her purse and handed it to Orloff. "There's our evidence against Arkham, in case anyone ever decides to care. The file names are all self-explanatory."

Orloff nodded and slipped it into his breast pocket. Christine stuck out her hand, and the executive took it.

"You did your best, Dick. Mostly, the past six months have been a ball for me. None of the bad stuff was your fault. Just let it all go. We might meet up again."

"I hope so, Chris. Hey, Rolf," he called past her, "Are you gonna say goodbye, or just sleepwalk right out of here?"

Svenson turned from his packing and clasped Orloff's hand.

"G'bye, Dick. What is it Roger's always saying? Keep 'em loose and swinging. I'm sure we'll be in touch."

Orloff shook, and nodded, and walked away.

***

Christine had nothing to retrieve from her cubicle. She'd never brought anything personal to work to leave there, and on Morrison's advice she hadn't brought Boomer that day.

When Rolf had finished packing, she shouldered one of his boxes as he hefted the other. The two of them threaded the cubicle maze toward the building exit for the last time.

"Hey, guys, wait a minute!"

They set their burdens down as Roger Morrison came puffing up behind them.

"So this is it, eh? Did Dick catch you yet?"

"Yeah, Roger," Rolf said. "You're our last goodbye."

Morrison looked down, abashed. "I tried, Rolf. Honest. I pulled every string I thought I had hold of. They all went limp on me. Arkham must have Holloway's first born locked in a closet or something."

Svenson grinned. "Thanks, Roger, I'm sure you gave it your best shot."

"Of course the real hell of it is losing this hot babe over here." The AAR project director grinned at Christine. "Keeping her around was certainly worth tolerating your ugly puss. They should have known better, but they never do."

Christine giggled. "You plan to grow up any century soon, Roger?"

"Never, cutie. Promise you'll look after this clown for me? Make sure he doesn't pitch himself in front of a truck?"

She nodded. "Count on it."

Morrison offered his hand to Christine. She slid past it, wrapped her arms around him and kissed him firmly.

"Whoo! Remember my age, cutie. I might not survive two of those. Rolf," Morrison turned to the team leader, "call on me for anything. I know I haven't been much good to you in the past."

Svenson took Morrison's hand in both of his own.

"Roger, you're the best boss I ever had. I can't imagine why you'd think I felt otherwise."

The project director's face filled with surprise as they shouldered their boxes and continued on.

***

Christine helped Rolf load his boxes into the back of his old Ford, then stopped him before he could slide into the driver's seat. "Do something for me, Rolf?"

His brow furrowed. "Anything, Chris. Name it."

"Come back home with me, keep me company for a while? I don't want to be alone."

The request appeared to confuse him.

Don't say no, Rolf. I don't want to drag you.

"Well, okay, sure. Should I follow you?"

"Yeah." Her voice became husky. "It's not far. Stay close behind and I'll try not to lose you." She slipped into her little Chrysler, pulled out and headed home, driving more slowly than usual. Every few seconds she checked for him in her rear-view mirror. He stayed right behind her.

When they had both pulled into the driveway at 633 Alexander Avenue, she leaped out of her car and went to his. He was slow to dismount.

"This is Louis Redmond's house."

She nodded. "Been here before?"

His expression was blank. "A few times. Louis and I got along pretty well."

She pulled open the door of his car and reached for his hand. He let her lead him up the walk and into her living room. Malcolm was not in evidence. Neither was Boomer.

Malcolm must be taking him on a stroll. Good timing, guys.

"Are you and Louis...?"

She closed the door and turned to him. "We were, Rolf. Louis is dead. He died last October. I'm sorry to have to be the one to tell you."

His eyes went wide and filled with sorrow. He shuffled a few steps over to the sofa and collapsed onto it. "My God," he whispered. "Louis dead. How?"

"Cancer."

"And him so young. My God." He started to weep.

That a man sheds tears upon learning of the passing of another good man may not be infallible proof of his own goodness, but it was confirmation enough for Christine. A seed deep within her opened and began to sprout. She squatted before him, took his head between her hands and raised it to face her.

"Louis left you something, Rolf."