***
“Penny!” shrieked Cindy. “PENNY!” she called even louder.
Penny Stein looked behind her. She had been completely baffled by the delay because no one had taken the time to explain to incoming passengers what had happened. The incoming passengers had been interviewed separately but they were just told that an “event” had occurred in the airport and that the police were involved. Penny was looking for Cindy when she heard her name called.
“Cindy!” she shouted back.
The two screamed adolescent screams, fitting of girls fifteen years their junior, and then ran towards each other and hugged.
“Bizarre, eh?” asked Cindy.
“Oh yeah,” said Penny.
“Sorry about all this,” apologized Cindy, thinking about her attempt to warn the security guard.
“Oh, so you’re responsible?” asked Penny.
“Well, not exactly,” admitted Cindy. “But you’ll never believe the story I have to tell you.”
Chapter 5 - NAT
Mon May 3rd
On the thirtieth floor of a downtown Philadelphia office tower a dozen serious men sat around a large oval oak conference table, their high back leather chairs turned toward the front of the room. There at the front, behind the head of the table, stood a well dressed man along side of a projection screen displaying arcane financial information. Using a laser pointer he slowly began to elucidate his audience though, at his current pace, it would take a long time. Nevertheless, even with the lights dimmed, the presenter could see that he still had everyone’s attention.
Cold Rolled Steel, a large Pennsylvania steel manufacturer, had always had its offices in Philadelphia though two years ago they had moved out of an old, red brick low rise into this downtown office tower. CRS, as the company was commonly known, was in the midst of a transformation that was to shift public perception of the company from that of a metal bashing company to that of a technological niche player in the steel marketplace. Part of that transformation was a concerted effort to outsource its non-core activities including payroll, collections, and the subject of today’s presentation: its computer systems infrastructure.
The presenter kept looking to the far end of the conference table to gauge the reaction of the man who sat there. Half in shadow Sheldon Mintz sat listening to the presentation along with everyone else. Although Mintz was had been involved in the planning and approval of most large proposals, he almost never made presentations. In fact, except for the largest of the contracts, he often did not appear at the presentation at all. But this proposal was different. Until recently, like many other companies, CRS had staunchly resisted using an outside contractor for its information technology work. If NAT could pick up CRS’s business, it would be well placed to pick up the business of other, even larger, outsourcing holdouts.
Six months ago CRS, like so many companies its size, decided that it was spending too much money and much too much time trying to manage its own computer operations. It had gone looking for a company to which it could outsource this work over a five year period at a fixed cost and for guaranteed savings. After an exhaustive search, CRS’s Chief Information Officer, Stanley Fortuna, had solicited proposals from three of the best known technology companies. Today the last of these companies, NAT, was presenting its proposal to the CRS board.
Mintz was having difficulty concentrating on the presentation. In front of him on the desk was a copy of the Philadelphia Inquirer and on its front page was a small article about the kidnapping in Ottawa on Friday. Mintz was dwelling on Friday’s events and what an insane day it had been. He was lost in thought when he felt someone poke at his shoulder. He looked up to see a familiar face two seats away from him, reaching across Ken Timmins, his private secretary.
“You were there?” the man asked Mintz in a hoarse whisper, pointing to the article in the inquirer.
Mintz nodded.
“Christ,” said the man. “What was it like?” he asked, his blue eyes sparkling in the dim light.
“Not good,” said Mintz quiet and serious. “Wouldn’t want to do it again,” he added sombrely.
The man nodded knowingly and retracted his arm. Mintz tried again to watch the presentation but still found himself distracted.
A cell phone rang, briefly interrupting the presentation. Ken Timmins answered the phone and then handed it to Mintz. Mintz held the phone to his chest, stood up, walked to the back corner of the room, and spoke quietly into the phone.
“Yes?” he said.
“The subject was at the airport when you were,” said a monotone voice.
“Philly?”
“No. Ottawa.”
“On Friday?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“Friday was a little … well, we were busy on Friday.”
“Why didn’t you tell me on Sunday?”
“Couldn’t find you.”
That’s right, thought Mintz. Sunday he had been preparing for today’s meeting and he had disconnected the phone in his office. Sunday night he had flown to Philadelphia.
“Alright,” said Mintz. “Is the …,” Mintz searched for the correct word. “… the subject okay?”
“Yes.”
“What was he doing at the airport?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“Well find out!” yelled Mintz a little too loudly into the cell phone. “And keep me posted.”
“Yes sir.”
Mintz lowered his voice. “What about the other business?” he asked.
“They definitely want to outsource their infrastructure,” began the monotone voice.
“But?”
“But they also have grand plans to develop their own software.”
“To do what?”
“To automate the whole company with custom software.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes sir.”
“Why would they want to do that?”
“That we don’t know, sir.”
Mintz hung up, passed the phone back to Timmins, and returned to his seat at the conference table. Mintz thought about what he had been told about CRS, that they were going to outsource their infrastructure but that they were also going to develop their own software. How could Mintz turn this information into an advantage? Mintz looked around the room and saw Timmins looking at him quizzically. Timmins was an odd looking man, like a rat, thought Mintz. He was a good secretary but his thinning hair, thin moustache, and large ears did make him look like a rat. Or Prince Charles. Timmins turned quickly away when he saw Mintz looking at him.
A half hour later the meeting paused for a break and the executives all filed out of the conference room into an ante room set up with juice, coffee, croissants and muffins. Mintz looked around for Bernard Ahern, the president of CRS, but could not find him. Mintz then picked up a coffee and was surrounded by a bevy of CRS people interested in what had happened at the Ottawa airport. He wanted to speak privately with Stanley Fortuna but, even though he saw Fortuna across the room, it would be difficult to reach him and impossible to reach alone. Besides, Fortuna was surrounded by a group of NAT people and Mintz was being inundated with what he thought were inane questions.
“You were there?”
“Did you see the terrorist killed?”
“How close were you?”
“Isn’t Ottawa in Kansas?”
And so the questions continued. None were about the contract; everyone was interested in the incident in Ottawa and what Mintz had seen when he was in the airport. How he wished people could focus on the task at hand. People were so superficial, he thought.
After the break the presentation continued for another hour and then it was over. As the men filed out of the conference room, Mintz grabbed Fortuna by the arm and spoke quietly into his ear.
“Stan,” began Mintz as they walked away from the conference room. “Can I have a minute?”
“Sure Sheldon,” said the aff
able Stanley Fortuna. “Come on, let’s go to my office.” Fortuna quickly led the way in order to avoid the attention of their subordinates.
After the two were seated in Fortuna’s office, Stanley behind his desk and Sheldon in one of Fortuna’s guest chairs, Fortuna asked what he could do for Mintz.
“Stan, I just didn’t want to leave before having a quick word,” said Mintz.
“Of course Sheldon,” said Fortuna. “What’s on your mind?”
“I know this contract will be very competitive,” said Mintz.
“That’s an understatement,” laughed Fortuna.
“I know,” said Mintz. “And you know, from our presentation, the depth of our capabilities.”
“Very impressive,” said Fortuna.
“Yes, well, what you do not know is how much I want this business. I am prepared to lose money on this contract Stan,” said Mintz.
Fortuna raised his eyebrows. “Really?” he asked.
“Really,” said Mintz. “Between you and me, Stan, yours is a watershed contract. I could ask you what it would take but I don’t think you would tell me.” Mintz looked at Fortuna but Fortuna said nothing. “No, I didn’t think so,” said Mintz. “To clinch the contract I am prepared to offer a bonus, a custom steel production solution, better than anything available in the market, built to your specifications. This is over and above the systems management work we are contracting for. And it will be provided at no additional cost.”
“Really?” asked Fortuna again.
“Really,” said Mintz. “And if this is not what you are looking for you need only ask for something else.”
“Your reputation seems well earned,” said Fortuna, clearly impressed. “You are very well informed.”
Mintz smiled. “I try to understand my customer,” said Mintz, rising. “I don’t want to take too much of your valuable time, Stan. Besides, I have a plane to catch.”
Mintz held out his hand and Fortuna came out from around his desk to take it.
“Thank you for your time,” said Mintz.
“A pleasure,” said Fortuna.
Just as Mintz took hold of the door handle he stopped, turned, and looked at Fortuna. “But Stan,” he said. “This arrangement has to stay between us.”
***
Mintz and Timmins took a limousine to the airport, leaving the other NAT executives to discuss the details of the proposal with their counterparts at CRS. In the limousine Mintz and Timmins discussed the meeting.
“Ken, I don’t know what to make of the meeting,” said Mintz. “Everyone was more interested in the Ottawa kidnapping than in the proposal.”
“I think it’s just human nature, Mr. Mintz,” said Timmins. “Who wouldn’t want to know what really happened? It’s not every day they get to talk to the witness of a major political kidnapping.”
“I know Ken, but we have work to do.”
“Yes sir,” said Ken. “Yes, we do.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes as the limousine drove toward the airport on I-95. It was Mintz who broke the silence.
“I hope we get back to Toronto early enough that I can get some work done,” said Mintz.
“Hold on,” said Timmins. “I’ll check.”
Timmins made a phone call using telephone in the limousine and then relayed the good news to his boss. “The flight crew says everything is on schedule.”
“Good.”
“Mr. Mintz?” asks Timmins.
“Yes Ken?”
“If I may ask, what was that phone call you received in the board room?”
“That’s just personal Ken.”
“Yes sir.” Timmins knew when to leave a subject alone.
The limousine drove around the airport terminal building and stopped at a gate over which was strung barbed wire. The driver showed a pass to the guard and then drove the limousine out onto the tarmac to a waiting Lear jet. As the luggage was being transferred from the limousine to the jet, Mintz and Timmins boarded the aircraft.
***
By the time Mintz arrived in Toronto he was exhausted, having spent his time reviewing the entire presentation to CRS en route. Then, after collecting his luggage, he and Ken waited in a long line to clear immigration and customs. As Mintz stood waiting he rolled his eyes at Timmins who shrugged. After twenty minutes Mintz gave Timmins a scowl. Timmins took the hint.
“I’ll see what I can find out,” said Timmins, disappearing into the crowd. A few minutes later he returned. “There’s a shortage of immigration officers,” said Timmins.
Mintz grunted. Another half hour passed before Mintz was first in line to see an immigration officer.
“Be calm, sir,” Timmins whispered to his boss, knowing how frustrated Mintz could get in these situations. Mintz glared at him.
Mintz walked up to a female immigration officer.
“Citizenship?” asked the officer without looking up from the papers in front of her.
“Canadian,” said Mintz. The officer hardly looked at Mintz. “But right now I am ashamed to be Canadian,” added Mintz. “My God, I got better service at Russian immigration!”
The immigration officer ignored Mintz. “Documents,” she said.
Mintz handed the officer his birth certificate and driver’s license.
“Purpose of your trip?” asked the officer.
“Business,” said Mintz curtly and clearly mad. The immigration officer did not seem to have any interest in Mintz nor did she seem to want to move him through quickly. As the woman picked up his documents, Mintz, already red-faced, lost his composure. He turned around to face the rest of the passengers in line and began his tirade.
“What a lousy system we have here,” he began loudly. A few passengers turned to look at Mintz. “In other countries we Canadians wait in the long immigration line,” said Mintz. “And there we are made to feel like second class passengers,” he continued. “But here in Canada we would never dream of having a two tier system. Here, like with everything else in this country, we only have one system, a mediocre one. And for customs and immigration, we only have one line, the long line.”
There were quiet grumbles of approval from some of the people still in line.
“Keep your voice down, please, sir,” said the immigration officer.
“No!” said Mintz, even louder than before. “No I will not. You people are not doing your jobs. You are public servants. Well, serve us dam it!”
Several more people shouted approval. One man shouted, “You tell her man!” Another shouted “You’re absolutely right!”
The immigration officer was also now getting mad. “You will calm down sir or I will have you detained.”
“Oh great!” Mintz yelled at the office. “Wonderful!” he shouted to the others in line. “Waste even more of my time and my tax dollars on something stupid! You couldn’t just apologize for the delay?”
A few people in line started applauding. The immigration officer, now as red-faced as Mintz, pressed a button on her desk and a tall, burly man stepped out of an office at the far end of the room.
“Let’s see if a strip search will calm you down, sir,” said the immigration officer, smiling wickedly.
“You people don’t have any idea what you are supposed to do, do you?” asked Mintz.
The burly man approached Mintz and the officer. Mintz’s eyes twinkled when he saw him. “What’s the problem?” asked the man.
“Strip search,” said the immigration officer.
The man nodded. “Alright Shauna,” said the burly man. “This way, sir,” he said to Mintz, holding out an arm indicating the way.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Mintz.
The burly man, who had not paid any attention to Mintz, turned to look at him. “Mr Mintz?” he asked.
“Yes, Tony,” said Mintz. “How are you?”
“Fine, sir,” said the burly man. “What is going on here, Shauna?” he asked the immigration officer. “This is Sheldon Mintz,” he said, a
s if Mintz needed no introduction.
The immigration officer was stunned. Whether she knew of Mintz or not, it had clearly never occurred to her that Mintz might be someone important. She tried to speak but nothing would come out. The burly man ignored her. “I’m sorry, Mr Mintz. Is there anyone else in your party?”
“Just my secretary,” said Mintz, pointing to Timmins.
“Well, I’ll run him through myself,” said the burly man.
Mintz waved to Timmins and the two men followed the burly man through to his office. The immigration officer was left with her mouth agape.
***
Despite the delay, Mintz and Timmins arrived at the NAT head offices at Eglinton and the Don Valley Parkway just before 4:00pm. Mintz worked in his office for a couple of hours and then had his driver take him home, arriving at his house at 6:30pm.
When he arrived at his understated Forest Hill home Mintz quickly took a shower and then joined his wife for dinner.
“My God,” said his wife at dinner after he had recounted his day. “Both of you were in the airport at the same time? What happened to him? Is he okay?”
“Nothing to worry about my dear,” said Mintz. “Everything is under control.”
Chapter 6 - The Job Fair
Mon May 3rd
“Did your Mom get back to Toronto alright yesterday?” asked Ben as Jim sipped coffee. At 8:45 in the morning, the two friends were sitting at an open air indoor café in the basement of the downtown federal building in which they worked.
“Yeah,” said Jim, clearly tired, his eyes droopy. “But, man oh man, was there a lot of security. It looked like the army was running the airport. I haven’t seen so many guns since ‘The Matrix’”.
Ben laughed. “I can imagine,” he said. “Did you see the soldiers at the front door of the building this morning?”
“Sure, but there were more soldiers than that at the airport.”
Ben nodded. “Did you see the paper this morning?” he asked, rummaging through his briefcase and pulling out a copy of the morning edition of the Ottawa Citizen. He threw it on the table in front of Jim. The front page headline read “No demands yet from kidnappers”.
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