by Leslie Wolfe
“Do we have any reason, concern, or strategic determination in favor of the second vendor or the third?” Robert looked around the table, inviting input from his team.
“None from me,” Ellen said.
“Nada,” Eddie seconded.
“All good here,” Brad confirmed.
“Seems to me we have a winner,” Robert said. “Taiwan it is. Eddie, engagement?”
As director of Vendor Engagement, Eddie’s responsibility kicked in the moment a contract was awarded.
“We will have one of my team onsite the entire duration of the contract, and we’ll also need an analyst,” Eddie said, looking at Ellen.
“You got it. I’m giving you Scott.”
“Great, he’s bright and thinks fast on his feet. I like him. He makes a good team with Brent. They can both make arrangements to be onsite within a week.”
“That closes hardware for today,” Jimmy said. “Move on to software?”
“Let’s take a break first,” Robert suggested. “Let’s get coffee.”
Robert needed a minute to collect his thoughts and figure out how he was going to award the contract to ERamSys. Jimmy was going to fight this. Jimmy put a lot of heart into everything he did, and his convictions were strong. Normally, Robert appreciated his strong input because it balanced the team and didn’t allow groupthink to happen. He played the devil’s advocate against any offshoring, and a good one at that, picking and pointing at anything that could impact the quality of delivery for which he was responsible. It’s gonna be tough, but not impossible, Robert thought. Let’s get this over with.
“All right, guys, everyone ready for round two? Let’s get some work done before pizza gets here. Finalists, Jimmy, please?”
Everyone settled in their seats as a new data table appeared on the screen.
“Our shortlisted five vendors consist of one consulting firm from Texas, a major household name, one UK-based software house with offices in the United States and more than 5,000 American employees, and three companies from India: one in New Delhi, one in Bangalore, and one in Hyderabad.”
“OK,” Robert said, “let’s see preliminary numbers.”
“The technical-requirements document calls for the software to be compatible with the tablets, easy to install via the cloud, and to incorporate the barcode reader logic for voter registration cards. InfraTech, the NSA-appointed vendor in Utah, will build the databases and install the server application at its facilities. InfraTech will test the devices and install the software on all the tablets. The process is kind of clunky, but in the interest of national security, the NSA has decided its vendor will handle the installation instead of the tablet manufacturer. InfraTech will receive empty, clean devices with only an operating system installed. It will handle the rest.”
Jimmy stopped speaking, then went through his notes. “Development should be complete by August, with plenty of time allotted for quality assurance and test runs with simulated data. The Taiwan hardware vendor will be shipping 200 of the first units to the software vendor to facilitate testing on devices. The software has to be reusable on future elections, so it has to have an administration interface, where techs will be able to configure future polls and enter the candidates, amendments, or anything else future polls might be about.”
“Thoughts?” Robert called.
“As far as software is concerned, this is not difficult or complex development. It’s actually quite straightforward,” Jimmy said. “Laura checked with our technology expert, and so did I, last week. He confirmed that this shouldn’t be hard at all to achieve.”
“It’s easy for me to gauge performance and progress,” Ellen said. “The requirements and project plan are calling for completion by modules, giving us ample time to correct lateness or subpar performance. I’m not worried about this contract, regardless of which vendor we choose today.”
“I’m also not concerned with anything else but the strategic dimension of this project,” Brad added. “The project plan contains generous reserves due to the very nature of this project. Change requests might come in the last minute, based on the public’s reaction to this reform or political pressures. Media attention could generate issues we can’t even estimate or foresee at this point. From a project perspective, there is an infinite number of ways this could go terribly wrong.”
Jimmy nodded his head in approval.
“Great,” Robert intervened, “we all knew that, but what else does this risk bring?” He looked around the table, but no one volunteered. “The opportunity to shine, to prove what a fantastic team we are. We’ll think of everything, and we’ll support the e-vote project management team as we’ve never supported a project team before. Our vendors will do great, because we will choose well, we will monitor closely, and we won’t let them slip, not even an inch.”
“Speaking of choosing,” Jimmy interrupted, “shall we go back to that?”
“Absolutely,” Robert agreed. “Who’s on top by rankings?”
“This selection is also very tight.” Jimmy turned on his laser pointer and started underlining numbers on the screen. “All quotes are relatively high for the amount of coding the vendors will actually need to do, around two hundred million dollars. We were expecting that, again, due to the strategic nature of this engagement. They also have risks they need to manage on their end. The Texas company comes in as the most expensive, followed closely by the UK, and, with some distance, the New Delhi software house is on the third spot. Hyderabad fourth, and Bangalore is the cheapest.
“In terms of a commitment on delivery dates, they all signed off to deliver at least one month ahead of schedule, but we all know how that can go. In terms of prior experience and client portfolio, Texas ranks first, New Delhi second, London third, Bangalore fourth, and Hyderabad ranks the worst. Actually, Hyderabad scored so poorly on portfolio and references that I’m asking for your approval to eliminate them from the list.”
“Agreed,” Robert said.
“Same here,” Brad said.
“No objections from me,” Ellen added.
Eddie made a gesture in response, running the tips of his right-hand fingers across his neck, as if decapitating someone. Everyone chuckled.
“Four candidates left, then,” Jimmy continued. “The four have ranked quite closely on error rates on the test engagement, on communication, on scalability—that’s in case of last-minute change requests—and on reports, analytics, and control systems. Shall we move to final scores?”
“Go ahead,” Robert confirmed.
“And the winner is,” Jimmy said, imitating the Academy Award announcers, “ERamSys from New Delhi, followed just seven points behind by Texas. Subtract twenty-three more points and UK comes in third, and Bangalore is last.”
Robert felt a wave of relief washing over him. He didn’t have to do anything wrong after all.
“But, boss, we gotta talk about this,” Jimmy said in a stern voice, all humor instantly gone. “I don’t care what the points say: this is just wrong. We have to give the contract to Texas.”
Robert’s heart started pounding. “Jimmy, listen, we have a process—”
“I don’t care about the damn process,” Jimmy interrupted, raising his voice. “This process was built for regular contracts, not for one of the most impactful changes to our core democratic processes. Not for this.”
“I tend to agree,” Ellen intervened. Robert shot her a quick glance. Another one, he thought. She sustained his gaze, did not even blink.
“Brad? Your thoughts?” Robert probed, bracing himself.
“Offshoring in this case bears strategic implications, I agree. However, we have a system for a reason, and the worst possible moment to challenge a system that has been working very well for us in the past is when we’re presented with the biggest risk in our history.” Brad’s rational thinking was encouraging, almost soothing. He always brought order to their chaos. “In short, let’s stick with the system.”
“Eddi
e?” Robert invited the input of one of the brightest members of his team, always able to see things from completely unexpected perspectives.
“Who are we kidding with Texas, anyway? Do they have software development resources in the United States? All its development is done offshore, in many different centers. Most of them are in India anyway. Yeah, we’d look great on paper and in the media, and we’d deflect any flack for offshoring onto them, but we’d achieve nothing else than making a major competitor richer.”
“Huh,” Robert said, “I hadn’t thought of that. So where do we stand?” He turned to look at Jimmy and became instantly worried. The pale and intent Jimmy had turned a sickly shade of purple, and the usual intensity in his gaze had peaked to unfiltered anger. “Are you OK?”
“I’m fine,” Jimmy snapped. “I’m not relenting on this. This is just wrong. Laura thought so too.” He hesitated a little, wiping the sweat off his face with the back of his hand. “With any offshoring there are quality concerns.” He shifted back to a lower tone of voice and rational argument. “Offshore vendors do not see quality like we do. They over-promise and under-deliver, and then, when you’re screwed to the bone, they sometimes apologize, but most of the time they just make up excuses and charge you more money to fix it. And I cannot possibly comprehend how a company from India can have the nerve to bid such a high amount, so close to a US-based corporation’s bid. It is robbing us blind.”
He had a point, and everyone’s demeanors changed slightly. They were starting to see the value in his logic.
“Is it possible,” Robert offered in a mild, pacifying tone, “that the quotes came in so close because Texas is also offshoring the contract? After all, the actual work will be done in the same part of the world, right? With the same quality concerns and subpar performances and so on. We wouldn’t be fixing much but our image in the media, should this even become an issue.”
“And that is worth nothing?” Jimmy shouted, panting and sweating profusely. “Did you speak to Campbell about this?” Campbell was the president of the company and one of the two original founders. He was the “C” in DCBI and Robert’s boss.
“And when exactly could I have done that, in your opinion?” Robert came right back at him, irritated with Jimmy’s escalation and suddenly fearing that Campbell and even Donaldson might see things differently and override his decision-making privileges in this case. That wouldn’t go well at all with Helms. “You just showed me the finalists today!”
“Well, maybe you should,” Jimmy came back just as angry, “because the company’s reputation is at stake. I know I’ll stop by today and explain my point of view. You people just don’t get it.”
Their heated argument was unprecedented in the entire history of the team working together. The silence that fell thick as smoke around the table expressed everyone’s shock with where this session was heading.
“All right, Jimmy, if this is the way you wanna play it. I’ll need a print of that,” Robert said, gesturing toward the screen showing the finalists in the software bid.
He stood up, pushing back his chair a little harder that necessary. Jimmy headed for the coffee machine.
“Jim, are you sure you need more coffee?” Ellen’s worried voice stopped him.
“I’m fine,” he snapped. He looked everything but. The purple on his face was blotchy and getting darker. He was visibly unstable on his feet, and he touched the wall as he was walking to steady himself. Beads of sweat were forming on his forehead, neck, and chest, soaking his shirt.
“No, you’re not,” Robert intervened. “Why don’t you go home for the day, and I’ll go see Campbell on this? You are obviously not feeling well.”
Surprisingly, Jimmy did not fight him. He just nodded and left, walking with difficulty.
“Get a cab, don’t drive,” Robert said as he was departing. No one else said anything.
Robert braced himself and went to see Campbell.
...16
...Monday, January 4, 3:01PM EST (UTC-5:00 hours)
...Flash Elections: Breaking News
...Nationally Syndicated
“Another member of Congress announced his intentions to run for president this coming November,” Phil Fournier said. “This time, Democratic Representative Robert Johnson from Illinois is seeking support for his candidacy.”
The screen displayed the portrait of a well-known politician who enjoyed being the center of attention and was frequently calling press conferences to make announcements of little importance.
“Famous for his vision on immigration reform as well as healthcare, Bobby Johnson, now sixty-seven years of age, has declared that his presidency would restore the glamour that America used to have when the entire world was dreaming of our promised land. His statement made reference to recent statistics showing that, due to increased poverty and unemployment levels, fewer people every year decide to file for permanent immigration status in the United States, confirming that our country has ceased to present an attractive destination for people looking for a better future. Representative Johnson’s commitment is toward ‘righting the wrongs of our society,’” Phil stated, making quote signs with both his hands. “As of right now, support for Representative Johnson’s candidacy is registering modest levels, at only 17.6 percent. He needs to gain support not only from the Democratic Party but also from the electorate in general. Vice President Mark Sheridan is a very strong opponent in Johnson’s race to secure the Democratic Party nomination.”
The anchor set his hands gently on the news desk in front of him, preparing his exit.
“We will keep you informed with reactions to the announcement of Bobby Johnson’s candidacy. From Flash Elections, this is Phil Fournier, wishing you a good evening.”
...17
...Monday, January 4, 4:47PM EST (UTC-5:00 hours)
...Benning Avenue near Anacostia
...Washington, DC
Light snow flurries melted on impact with his windshield. Jimmy Doherty groaned and turned on his wipers. He was struggling to see straight as it was, but the wet windshield was making it worse. He slowed down a little bit more, crawling at twenty-five miles per hour or so and receiving angry scowls from drivers forced to pass him. He was not feeling that great, he had to admit.
A light chime caught his attention. His gas level indicator came on. He looked around, and with difficulty, he forced his blurry vision to identify the familiar markings of a gas station. Maybe it was time to stop. He wished he had taken a cab. With a sigh, he pulled into the Shell gas station on Benning.
He climbed out of his car, and the effort left him breathless. He leaned his forehead against the car’s cold and wet roof and closed his eyes for a minute, trying to regain his strength. Very slowly, he pulled a credit card out of his wallet and authorized the transaction at the pump. Getting the pump nozzle into the gas tank and starting the flow of gasoline took every ounce of energy he had left. He turned around and leaned against the car, looking at the snow flurries coming down in a blur.
A shot of pain froze his left arm. He gasped for air, but he wasn’t getting any. The pain expanded up to his neck and jaw, compressing his rib cage and leaving him almost paralyzed. He reached for the call button on the side of the pump but stumbled and fell on his knees, then buckled on his side. The pain was more bearable like this, lying down. Maybe all he needed was to lie down for a while. Eyes half open, he watched blurred flurries hurry down, melting one after another, until he slipped away.
The pump nozzle clicked shut with a loud noise. The tank was full.
...18
...Tuesday, January 5, 9:24AM Local Time (UTC+3:00 hours)
...The Kremlin
...Moscow, Russia
Mikhail Nikolaev Dimitrov unbuttoned his coat and relaxed a little on the back seat of his black, bulletproof Mercedes G-Wagen. The car heated well and fast, and his driver, Sasha, knew how to keep the car on the road despite the slippery layer of ice on top of last night’s snow. Ah, the Russians
still don’t know how to clean the streets. Dimitrov sighed. Winter always takes Moskva by surprise.
Dimitrov looked out the window. They were approaching the Kremlin from the south, from across the river Moskva, now frozen solid. Sasha was preparing to turn off Bolshaya Polyanka and onto Mokhovaya Street, approaching their destination.
Dimitrov fidgeted uncomfortably. He dreaded the meetings with his boss, President Abramovich, despite their lifelong relationship dating back to their early KGB years. He was one arrogant, unstable, dangerous bastard, hungry for power like no one else. And a drunk, of course, a loud, uncontrollable, violent drunk. Most Russians liked their sauce, and that’s no wonder, considering the cold weather and crappy economy; people needed an outlet. In Russia, drinking is a culture, and vodka is present in all houses, no matter how poor. But there has to be a limit, there has to be control, Dimitrov thought, especially when you hold a public office of such importance. Dimitrov liked moderation, which was an essential balancing feature for the minister of defense of the Russian Federation.
Dimitrov wondered for the tenth time that morning what the meeting was going to be about. Was it Crimea again? Abramovich simply could not get it in that thick and conceited skull of his that one cannot invade a foreign independent country like Ukraine and have no consequences to deal with. Now the crazy bastard wanted to invade half the world to make someone pay for the reactions to the Crimea situation. He scratched his forehead, thinking hard of new ways to calm the psychotic rages of his boss, if today was going to be one of those days.
“Dobroye utro, gospodin ministr.” The door to the Kremlin was being held open for him by a young and enthusiastic Kremlin guard.
“Good morning,” he responded as he walked through the door.