Soft Focus (2 page)

SEATTLE
Between midnight and dawn, Wednesday morning

HE WAITED FOR HER AT THE REAR OF THE PARKING
lot, huddled against the brick wall, shivering in the light windbreaker. The streetlamp wasn't working right. It cast a faltering, sickly glow that did little to dispel the shadows. There were only a handful of cars left in the lot. Pioneer Square was quiet at this hour. The nightclubs and the taverns were closed. Other than the drunk he'd tripped over in the alley, he'd seen no one else. That was a good thing, because the kind of folks who did show up in this part of town at this time of night were usually quite scary.

It was raining, a relentless mist that drove the predawn chill deeper into his bones. But he knew it wasn't just the night air that made him feel so cold. It was the fact that he hadn't kept his twice-daily date with Madam Lola this evening. He hadn't been able to afford her tonight, and now he was paying the price.

He'd first met Madam L. back in grad school. He had been a good student in those days. Everyone had said he had a bright future in chemical engineering. Probably would have held a few patents by now if he hadn't met Madam Lola. It was a woman, a student in one of his classes, who'd
introduced him to Lola. She'd assured him that sex was great after just one dose. She'd been right. But Lola soon became more interesting than sex. More interesting than getting a Ph.D. in chemical engineering. More interesting than the successful future he'd once planned for himself.

Lola had taken over his life, and the lady was a harsh mistress. She demanded his obedient attendance twice a day. If he missed even one dose, he felt like that stuff on the parking lot pavement that he'd stepped in a few minutes ago. And he also felt cold. Very, very cold.

But
she
would be here soon, and she would bring the money she had promised to pay him and he would buy some more time with Madam L. and everything would be okay again. He could maintain pretty good when he kept up with his twice-daily appointments. Good enough to hold a job. For a while, at any rate. Balancing work and Lola was never easy. He could usually get by for a few months, and then something always went wrong. Either he failed a drug test or he started taking too many sick days. Or something.

He hoped he could last a while longer in his present job. He sort of liked it. Sometimes when he was working at Excalibur he pretended that he really had finished that doctorate; that he was a respected member of the research team like Dr. Page, maybe, not just a lowly lab tech. He felt bad about what he'd done tonight. But he hadn't had a choice. His salary at Excalibur was good, but it wasn't good enough to pay for the amount of time he had to spend with Lola these days. His other employer was very generous, though.

And
she
would be here soon. With lots of cash for Lola.

He heard her footsteps first, high heels echoing lightly on the wet pavement. He straightened away from the damp bricks, anticipation driving out some of the chill. Not long now and he would have what he needed to warm him once more.

“Hello, Ryan.”

“About time you got here,” he muttered.

She walked toward him through the thick shadows. The hood of a long, black raincoat concealed her face. “Everything went well tonight, I assume?”

“No problem. Lab's a mess. It'll take 'em days to clean up.”

“Excellent. It was probably unnecessary. Just a precaution in the unlikely event that Fairfax or Excalibur security calls in the police. It will send them off in the wrong direction.”

“Companies never call in the cops on this kind of thing if they can help it. Bad public relations. Freaks out the investors and clients.”

“Yes. And that is the one thing that Excalibur can't afford to do right now.” She moved her hand, reaching into her purse. “Well, I think that takes care of everything. You've been a fine employee, Ryan. I shall be sorry to let you go.”

“Huh?”

“I'm afraid I don't need you anymore. In fact, you've become a liability.” She removed her hand from her purse. There was just enough light from the dying streetlamp to reveal the glint of dark metal.

A gun.

He struggled to come to grips with the reality of what was happening. But by the time he understood, it was too late. She was like one of those women in the old black-and-white films that Dr. Page loved, he thought. A femme fatale.

She pulled the trigger twice. The second shot was unnecessary, but she wanted to be quite certain. There was a line in the script that summed up her philosophy on details.

A lady with a past has nothing to lose. But a woman with a future can't be too careful.

SOME CEOS HAD BAD DAYS.

Some got stuck with entire weeks that went so far south a map and compass were required to avoid the dreaded Sea of Red Ink.

He was now officially in that unfortunate latter group of corporate mariners, Jack concluded. He could even read the small printed warning at the edge of the map.
Beyond these shores there be dragons
.

It was enough to make a man superstitious. Apparently disasters really did occur in threes.

“We'll need damage control,” Jack said. “Lots of it.”

He surveyed the chaotic wreckage of what was left of Lab Two B. Broken glass and smashed equipment littered the workbenches. Sensitive instruments lay in pieces on the floor. One of the vandals had used a can of bloodred spray paint to scrawl the words “Vanguard of Tomorrow” on the east wall.

“This is too much,” Milo moaned. “It's just too much on top of everything else. Excalibur will be ruined.”

The monotonous litany was starting to get on Jack's nerves. But then, his store of patience had already been badly frayed.

The vandalism of Lab Two B was only the latest in a series of ominous incidents that had struck tiny Excalibur Advanced Materials Research in the past few hours. In the grand scheme of things, it was not even the worst incident that had occurred. The murdered lab tech topped the list.

“We'll deal with it, Milo,” Jack said. He was paid to say things like that, he reminded himself. Today he was going to earn every cent of his salary.

“Deal with it?” Milo snapped around to face Jack, his thin face working furiously. There was a feverish light in his eyes. “How do you deal with the end of everything we've worked for for so long? How do you deal with a disaster? We're not going to get a second chance. The Veltran presentation can't be canceled. You know that.”

“I said we can handle it.”

“How are we supposed to do that?” Milo bounced wildly. “Getting Grady Veltran's attention in the first place was an incredible stroke of luck. You know his reputation. If we start making excuses and try to postpone the presentation even a day, he'll cross us off his list.”

Jack suppressed a groan. He did not need this. He had enough problems on his hands. But Milo Ingersoll was his client. Clients needed to be handled with kid gloves at times like this. It was part of the job.

Milo was barely twenty-five, but as the only member of the eccentric Ingersoll clan who displayed any potential for leadership and management, he had assumed a heavy burden. Following the death of his great-aunt, Patricia Ingersoll, the founder of Excalibur, he had left engineering graduate school and taken the helm of the small, family-held company. Within days he had realized that he was in over his head. Patricia had been bedridden during the last year of her life. Without her guidance, the company had floundered.
When Milo took charge he realized at once that the firm was on the brink of bankruptcy. He also understood that he lacked the management skills and experience to pull it back from the brink.

He'd known that he needed help, and he'd known that he needed it fast.

Displaying the foresight, determination, and raw passion that Jack figured would one day make Milo a formidable executive, he had sought out a turnaround specialist, a consultant who might be able to save the faltering little high-tech company.

Jack would never forget the day the intense young man had burst into his office and alternately demanded and pleaded for assistance. Milo had been passionate, frenzied, willing to do anything, promise anything, sign anything, to save the family firm.

The Excalibur situation presented just the kind of problem that intrigued Jack. Saving small, closely held companies in dire straits was his specialty. Training his replacement, in this case Milo, was part of the package deal. He had long ago understood that teaching and mentoring the next generation of leadership was crucial to real long-term success. There wasn't much point salvaging a small company if it went under the day after the turnaround specialist walked out the door because no one left behind could manage it.

Milo had all the qualities needed for his future job. He was enthusiastic, intelligent, hardworking, and, most important, wholly devoted to Excalibur. During the past six months he had begun to imitate Jack in a variety of ways, not the least of which was his choice of attire. He now routinely eschewed the casual look that was endemic throughout the high-tech industry in favor of a classic suit and tie. Unfortunately, his taste still tended toward green and brown.
Jack had made a mental note to take Milo to a good tailor before he finished the Excalibur project.

But this morning Milo was not a model of the conservative business style. He had still been in bed when Jack had phoned him to tell him about the vandalism. Milo had apparently been so shaken by the news that he had not bothered to finish dressing before he left the house. He had managed to pull on a pair of jeans, but he was still wearing the top half of what looked like very old, very faded, striped pajamas. His bony bare feet were encased in worn, scuffed slippers. His red hair stood up in jagged little tufts. Behind the thick lenses of his heavy, black-framed glasses, his sharp hazel eyes glittered with a combination of outrage and frantic despair.

Jack took pity on him.

“This isn't a disaster, Milo,” he said quietly. “It's a setback, but it's not a disaster.”

“I don't see how you can tell the difference.”

“Trust me, I can tell.” Jack glanced at the thick-bellied man hovering uneasily in the doorway. “All right, Ron, let's get this lab cleaned up.”

“Yes, sir.” Ron Attwell, the head of what passed for Excalibur's small security department, was sweating. There were dark stains under the arms of his khaki uniform shirt. Perspiration beaded his forehead.

Jack didn't blame him. He wasn't feeling real cool himself, in spite of the fact that, like everything else in Lab Two B, the HVAC system was state-of-the-art. The air-conditioning was the only thing that was still working in the trashed research wing.

Milo was right, the ruined lab definitely qualified as a disaster, but damned if he was going to admit it out loud, Jack thought. He was the guy in charge. It was his job to pretend
that there were no problems that could not be dealt with here at Excalibur.

“I want full security maintained,” Jack continued quietly. “Use only janitorial staff who have been authorized to work in this building and make certain no one throws anything away, not even a broken bottle, until someone on the Soft Focus team has looked at it first. Got that?”

“Yes, sir.”

Milo twisted his long-fingered hands in a gesture that would have done credit to a character in the last act of
Carmen
. “What's the point of employing full security measures now? Talk about closing the barn door after the horse has gone.”

“Milo,” Jack said very softly.

Milo jerked at the tone of voice. He blinked quickly and broke off abruptly.

Jack held Ron's gaze. “Box up all the debris and leave it here in the lab. Make sure nothing gets hauled away.”

“Yes, sir.” Ron wiped his forehead on the back of his khaki sleeve. “I'll get right on it, Mr. Fairfax.”

“Make sure everyone involved in the cleanup keeps his or her mouth shut. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Anyone who discusses the situation outside the company will receive an automatic pink slip.”

“Yes, sir.” Ron dug a notepad out of his left pocket and fumbled for a pen. “I'll do my best, sir, but you know what rumors are like in this business.”

“I know,” Jack said. “But our official stance is that no serious damage was done.”

Milo scowled. “Is that why we're not calling the cops?”

“Yes.”

“But why bother trying to keep this a secret? We're not
the only place that's been hit by those damned Vanguard of Tomorrow crazies. They ransacked one of the labs at the UW last month. It was in the papers.”

“And there was that software-design firm they tore up a few weeks ago,” Ron volunteered. “Tried to torch the place.”

Jack gave each man a level look. “We don't need this kind of publicity. The last thing we want to do is call attention to Excalibur's security problems.”

Ron blanched. “Yes, sir.”

Milo scowled. “It's not as if—”

Jack quirked a brow in Ron's direction. Preoccupied with making notes on his pad, Attwell did not notice the small gesture. Milo, however, finally seemed to get the point. He shut his mouth, tightened his lips into a thin, disgruntled line, and reluctantly subsided.

“Any kind of publicity which implies a weakness in our internal security measures is bad for the company,” Jack said with a patience he was far from feeling. “That type of news tends to make potential clients and customers very, very nervous. I doubt if we'll be able to keep a complete lid on this, because the Vanguard of Tomorrow crowd will probably go straight to the media to take the credit. But we're going to try to minimize the story on our end. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Ron snapped his notepad closed.

“It's your job to limit the in-house leaks, Ron,” Jack said. “Langley in PR will handle the press.”

“Right.” Attwell shoved his fingers through his thinning gray hair. He drew himself up with a visible effort and straightened his slumped shoulders. “I'm sorry, sir. This shouldn't have happened. Those thugs never should have gotten in like that.” He made a disgusted sound. “We've never had any kind of trouble like this before. Who'd have figured?”

“Yes,” Jack said. “Who'd have figured?” Obviously no one in Excalibur's creaky, painfully old-fashioned security department, he thought. But he refrained from pointing that out.

Updating security at Excalibur had been on the list of priorities he had made six months ago when he had agreed to take the CEO position. But retooling a low-tech group of night watchmen, most of whom were nearing retirement, into a modern, streamlined, security team required time and money. There had been so many other priorities, he reflected, none of them cheap. Excalibur's financial resources were limited. It had been his decision to pour everything into the Soft Focus project.

But sometime during the past twenty-four hours, Tyler Page, the researcher scientist who had finally made Soft Focus work, had disappeared together with the only existing specimen of the newly developed, high-tech crystal. It was enough to give even a sane, logical, reasonable executive a case of paranoia.

He turned on his heel and walked toward the swinging doors. “I'm going back to my office. Keep the area clear of unauthorized personnel during cleanup, Ron. Report to me when you're finished.”

“Yes, sir.” Ron cleared his throat. “Sir, I'd like to tell you again how damned sorry I am about all this.”

“If you apologize one more time,” Jack warned, “I'll fire you.”

Ron flinched. “Yes, sir.”

Jack planted a hand against one of the heavy doors, shoved it open, and went out into the hall.

“Wait,” Milo called. “Hold up there a minute, Jack. I want to talk to you.”

“Later, Milo. Right now I've got to get hold of Langley. I want to brief him before the press starts calling.”

“I know, I know.” Milo trotted into the hall behind Jack. “But we've got to talk about the other situation.”

“Later.” Jack kept moving toward the elevators.

“No. Now.” Milo bustled along beside him. “What if this business with the murder and the trashed lab brings that . . . that
woman
here? She'll start asking questions.”

“Don't worry, if Elizabeth Cabot shows up, I'll handle her.” Talk about wild, outrageous promises. If his recent track record was any indicator, he'd be lucky not to get impaled on the heel of one of her expensive, made-in-Italy, leather pumps.

Milo snorted. “But you know what she's like at the monthly board meetings. Always wanting details and demanding information. If she gets wind of the fact that Page and the specimen are missing, there's no telling what will happen.”

“You're wrong.”

Hope flared in Milo's eyes. “I am?”

“Sure.” Jack smiled grimly. “I know exactly what she'll do. She'll cut off our funding before we can finish sweeping up Lab Two B.”

He was pretty sure Elizabeth had been looking for an excuse to rip up their contract for the past six months. The destruction of the lab and the disappearance of Soft Focus would give the Aurora Fund lawyers grounds to claim that the company was no longer financially viable. As the major creditor, the Fund could force Excalibur into bankruptcy.

“I knew it,” Milo whispered. “We haven't got a prayer.”

“Get a grip. If Elizabeth Cabot calls about the vandalism, I'll deal with her. There's no reason for her to suspect that we've got a problem with the Soft Focus project.”

“But what if she does suspect something?” Milo quivered in agitation. “What if she starts nosing around? Asking questions? You know how pushy she can get.”