“What about the resumes you were to get via Bixby?”
“I believe they’re in, sir,” McQuade said. “I’ll review them, then send them up.”
Mangrum shook his head in disbelief. “McQuade, why do you think I told you to get them? So they could rot on your desk? Bring them back here. We’ll read them together.”
Moments later McQuade stood at attention in front of Mangrum’s desk. “You have the resumes?”
“Yes, sir,” McQuade answered. He handed two sheets of paper to Mangrum. Mangrum scanned the resume headed ‘Sloan, Thomas T.’ “Nothing there. High
school, undergraduate degree, graduate degrees, postdoctoral studies.” He handed the sheet to McQuade and read the second resume. “Nothing useful for
Tyler, S. Woodruff. Two years in the Army. Undergraduate degree and masters in
accounting.”
“Tell Josh I want full files on both of them—photos, habits, marital status, sexual
preferences, work and play schedules, clubs, churches, bank and brokerage accounts—
everything.”
“Yes, sir.”
May 25, Atlanta.
Bea read the FAX, then left it on Sloan’s desk.
FACSIMILE DATE:
TO:
FROM:
SUBJECT: May 25, 1999
Professor Thomas T. Sloan Office of Senator Ralph G. Bixby Sloan study
It has been brought to our attention valuable time is being wasted in some facets of your efforts regarding your requirement for details. You should remember the object of your study is to determine concepts and circumstances operable at the time of incorporation of some of our major U.S.A. corporations. You do not require the actual numeric data or precise wording related to these long ago events. I recommend your team limit its investigations to those facets of history that will allow you to produce a report that will be useful in the first decade of the 21st Century.
Ralph G. Bixby,
by Owen W. Perry,
Administrative Assistant
Sloan pounded his desk top. “Outrageous!”
“Who’s Senator Bixby?” Bea said.
“Chairman of the Senate Energy and Commerce Committee. One of the committee’s
overseeing the Task Force’s efforts.” He waited, cal ming himself. “Will you please arrange a meeting for Woody and me with Mr. McQuade? As soon as his goofy work schedule will allow.”
Bea nodded
“In the meantime I’ll talk to Joe Earl Harding.” Sloan read the offending FAX to Harding.
“Who signed it?”
“Owen Perry.”
“Humph! I didn’t think old Ralph was dumb enough to have put his name on a thing
like that. So Ralph’s running er rands for Wally Mangrum now? If losing my services wouldn’t be such a mortal blow to the nation, I swear I’d be for limiting terms of office.” Sloan could hear Harding chuckling to himself.
“Anyway,” Harding resumed, “forget the FAX. I’ll let Ralph know he stepped in
some fresh. And you can deal with the ICP goons however you want. Within reason, of course. We do still want to study them, don’t we?”
“Yes, we do. Even more so, now.”
“Excellent. Now, I suggest you apply a little honey to your voice when you call them.”
Soon after Sloan had finished talking to Harding, Bea stuck her head in his door. “4:00 tomorrow, Tom. Do you want to accept?”
“That’s four in the morning?”
“Correct.”
“OK, we’ll play the game.”
May 26, Atlanta. Sloan’s alarm cl ock went off at two forty-five the following morning. Tyler did not respond well to his wake-up call, but they both managed to arrive at the entrance to the Tower at 3:55.
“Calm and cool, Mr. Tyler. We are guests.”
“Which is why we’re putting up with this behavior from this hoodlum? I can assure you I’ll burn some readers’ ears when I get through with this assignment, even if they’re only the subscribers to Southeast Accounting Quarterly.”
“But we wait until then, right?”
“Right.”
McQuade looked as if he had stepped from his dressing room the minute before. “Thank you for coming, gentlemen. And I do apologize for this abominable hour. It was the only time I could be sure I could spare you a few moments.”
Sloan explained the problem: Senator Bixby’s of fice was sticking its nose where it was not appropriate it be stuck.
“But I assure you neither I nor anyone else at ICP had anything to do with Senator Bixby’s taking an interest in your study or our attempts to satisfy your demands. I do, however...”
“Demands!” exclaimed Tyler. “I’ll have you know that—!”
Sloan placed a restraining hand on Tyler’s arm.
“What Mr. Tyler means, Mr. McQuade, is we have not made demands. Just requests—and only in keeping with the guidelines as to record-gathering we worked out with Mr. Howard. You aren’t being accurate in your saying...”
McQuade raised his hand. “Wait, Professor, before we say something we’ll regret. I admit I overstated a moment ago. ‘Demands’ is too strong a word. I apologize.” His smile was broad.
“Very well,” Sloan said, calmer.
“But I still want my early records,” Tyler continued.
“We’re working on that, Mr. Tyler. You should have them very soon.” He disappeared into the gloom.
The parking lot was threequarters full. “Round-the-clock staffing,” Tyler said. “I think you and I have no idea what it means to operate a company like this. Operations and offices in half of the countries on Earth. Vice presidents with more power than many heads of state. Unlimited funds. Aircraft and ships and communications equipment that surpass many of the world’s nations.”
“And real power.”
Sloan nodded.
“And what does power tend to do?”
“I understand it tends to corrupt,” Sloan said.
Chapter 6
After his meeting with the two academicians, Dan McQuade made two decisions: he would alter the documents Tyler was seeking and he would avoid going back into Mangrum’s office for approval.
“Helen,” he yelled, “get the archivist—O’Toole—up here.” ICP’s Archives Division occupied the Tower’s basement and two sub -basements. Construction of the archival facility had cost half as much as the entire aboveground portion of the building itself. The walls, floor, and ceilings had been designed to withstand a nuclear near miss. In addition to electricity from Georgia Power, there were two independent oil-fueled electrical generating systems. Two duplexed mainframe computers stored documents and electronic recordings, while a third mainframe monitored the performance of the other two. Employee access required acceptance by both voice recognition and eye scan. Employees were required to undergo annual psychological examinations. There was an internal security division that monitored lifestyles and expenditures of all employees of the Archives Division, and that division’s efforts were monitored by a private security firm.
Ten minutes later a small man entered McQuade’s office. “Who are you?” McQuade said.
“Pierce, Mr. McQuade. Mr. O’Toole is on vacation.” He had wisps of white hair, dull green eyes, and a whipcord summer suit that was too large.
“You’re in charge of Archives?”
“For now, yes, sir.”
“OK, now, this is a special demand.”
“Special demand, sir?”
“Yes. You know the drill, don’t you?”
Pierce shook his head.
“How long have you been with the Company, Pierce?
“Fortyeight years, sir.”
“Fortyeight years! And you’ve never been involved in a special demand?”
“No, sir. I’ve never heard the term used.”
“O’Toole must have kept the responsibility for himself,” McQuade muttered. “Where is he?”
“In Dublin.”
<
br /> “When’s he due back?”
“In nine days, sir.”
“Well, you have the duty, then. A special demand is a request by an authorized person to have access to the Special Files in the vault. There are three people who are authorized to make such a request—Mr. Mangrum, Herr von Scherner, and I. I wish to remove certain documents from the Special File, photocopy them, and return them to the file; I’ll take the copies away with me. I wish to do that immediately after lunch. Find out how to carry out such a request. At one-thirty this afternoon two security guards and I will be in front of your desk. Be ready to give me access to the Special Files.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And have a copy machine moved into that area of the vault to I can make the copies on the spot.” There was no reply. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
As soon as the little Irishman had cleared the suite, McQuade called the Domestic Applications Division.
“DAD. How can I help you?”
“This is McQuade. Give me Luis Velázquez.”
“Yes, sir.”
A voice with a Spanish accent answered. “Luis Velázquez.”
“Tell Bartlett I have work for you. Be in my office at two.”
Although Dan McQuade had known more about access to the Special File than Elmer Pierce that morning, he did not know as much as the old archivist had learned by onethirty. Pierce held up the transaction while a required third security guard was found to witness the affair. And he was careful while comparing McQuade’s eye-scan and voice print.
“Adequate job, Pierce, but you overplayed your hand,” McQuade growled as he left the vault area. Luis Velázquez was a long-time employee of the Domestic Applications Division, Walter Mangrum’s domestic espionage service. He was tall and dark, but his features were gross, his skin marred. His black suit had South American styling and he sported a bandido mustache.
McQuade said, “I have here a copy of the minutes of a Board of Directors’ meeting. There are four pages. Certain paragraphs have been excised from the first page. You are to reconstitute these minutes, allowing for excisions.” Velázquez nodded.
“ When you are finished, bring me four pages that will seem to be first copies of originals.”
Velázquez nodded.
“There is one aspect of this task you may find challenging,” McQuade said, smiling. “The typing was done in 1900, meaning, of course, the typewriter was manufactured at some time prior...”
“Nineteen hundred! Where do you expect...?”
“I have no interest whatever in where you find your equipment or how you do your job, Señor Velázquez. We pay you, you perform. Claro?”
“Claro. How soon do you need...?”
“I will review your results at 5:00, Monday afternoon.”
“But, damn it, Tom, they’re not even trying to be clever.”
“I recognize that, Woody. You’re not gaining a thing by haranguing me on the point. Let’s put it to Joe Earl. I’m not quite sure why he is interested in this level of detail, but so far he’s been very supportive.”
Harding listened to Sloan’s complaint. “Doesn’t surprise me the least little bit. ICP is that kind of organization—a law unto itself. I can bring a stronger law to bear if I must, but I’d like to wait until we have no other choice.”
“I understand.”
“Keep me up to date.”
“One thing you could do for us, Congressman.”
“Yes?”
“Could you get us some information concerning these people?”
“What names?”
“The big four, I guess. Mangrum and McQuade. And the President, von Scherner, and the Chief Operating Officer, Roger Doucent.”
“OK, but let me add to your list—a gentleman named Seamus Hanrahan.”
“Fine. We’ve not run into him yet. What’s his role?”
“He runs what they call the ‘Foreign Applications Division’.”
“What goes on there?”
“Hanrahan runs a combination Gestapo and CIA in non-USA operations. He reports directly to Mangrum. There’s an another set of thugs who work inside the USA, called the ‘Domestic Applications Division’, run by a goon named Josh Bartlett, but Hanrahan is Mangrum’s favorite and can be called upon to handle the most difficult operations, no matter the locale.”
“I see. Well, I trust we won’t get into any situations that would cause Mr. Hanrahan to use any Gestapo techniques on us,” Sloan laughed.
There was no response.
“Well, thank you for the aid.”
“My pleasure. Now, perhaps you should rattle Mr. McQuade’s cage again.
Five minutes passed while Sloan waited for McQuade. “ Copies Tuesday morning at 4:00 AM? Good, Mr. McQuade. Mr. Tyler will be along to pick recover them around ninethirty or so.”
Sloan looked across his desk with a smile. “Every little bit helps with these people.”
McQuade summoned John Howard to his office later that afternoon. “Fire the archivist Pierce.”
“But...”
“I want him gone. Today.”
Five minutes later How ard’s secretary called Elmer Pierce. He was required to report to Mr. Howard’s office on the hour.
Elmer Pierce walked for what he sure was the last time into the bowels of the International Construction Products’ Archives Division. He had fifteen minutes until his appointment.
Chapter 7
May 27, Atlanta.
The FAX from Harding’s office arrived the next day. DATE: May 27, 1999
TO: Professor Thomas Sloan
FROM: Monica Lester
SUBJECT: Your request of this date
NAME: Mangrum, Walter Melvin EMPLOYMENT: Chairman and CEO, ICP; employed ICP entire career (1978-present) in various sales and management assignments; became CEO upon death of Earl White in 1992.
BORN: May 1, 1951, Springfield, Illinois PARENTS: Father Theodore G. Mangrum, small-town banker, deceased; Mother Lydia T. Mangrum, retirement home resident, age 78, Evanston, Illinois
EDUCATION: BA, University of Illinois, 1976, MBA, Harvard University, 1978
MILITARY SERVICE: Staff Sergeant, U.S. Army, Infantry, 1969-1972
MARITAL STATUS: Divorced; no children COMMENTARY: Mangrum’s personality is typical of many high-level business executives: he is egocentric. He may suffer from manicdepressive disorder, though he copes well. He has fought his way to the top of a ruthless company. He is prepared to do what he must to win.
NAME: von Scherner, Werner-Heinz Paul COMMENTARY: von Scherner is President. He is not involved in corporate matters. It is unlikely he is involved with, or even knows about, your concerns. Should you develop a different view and wish more information, please inform us.
NAME: Doucent, Roger Dornbush
COMMENTARY: Doucent is Chief Operating Officer. It is unlikely he is involved with, or even knows about, your concerns with ICP’s corporate matters. Should you develop a different view and wish more information, please inform us.
NAME: McQuade, Daniel Russell
NAME: McQuade, Daniel Russell
present
BORN: February 16, 1954, Atlanta, Georgia
PARENTS: Father Daniel D. McQuade, attorney, deceased; Mother Penelope D. McQuade, homemaker, deceased
EDUCATION: BA, Emory University, 1975; JD, Emory University, 1982
MILITARY SERVICE: First Lieutenant, U.S. Army, Infantry, 1975-1979
MARITAL STATUS: Married 18 years; two high school-aged sons COMMENTARY: McQuade is Corporate Secretary. He has a complex personality: he is a ‘family man’, goes to church and belongs to the best clubs; on the other hand, he was nearly expelled from Emory U. for cheating in his freshman year. He is competent, but uneasy with some aspects of the Company’s operations.
NAME: Hanrahan, Seamus Donetti
EMPLOYMENT: Vice President of the Foreign Applications Division BORN: August 21, 1954, Chicago, IllinoisPARENTS: Father (believed to be) Patri
ck Q. Hanrahan, vocation UNK, deceased; Mother Maria A. Donetti, deported to Italy 1961
EDUCATION: Philmont High School, Chicago, Illinois
MILITARY SERVICE: Master Sergeant, US Army, Special Forces, Vietnam, 1971-1975
MARITAL STATUS: Single COMMENTARY: It appears that he joined the Army in 1971 on a Chicago judge’s enlist-or-go-to-jail offer. He rose quickly in the enlisted ranks, becoming a senior non-commissioned officer with the Special Forces in Viet Nam. A year after he arrived, he was to be court-martialed regarding the marketing of a large cache of French francs stolen during the French regime; he left the Army’s jurisdiction and was next found in training at CIA’s ‘farm’ in Virginia. He then returned to Southeast Asia. There he became associated with drug manufacturers in the Golden Triangle. The CIA was about to cashier him, administratively or otherwise, when someone at Langley decided to call in a marker with Walter Mangrum. Hanrahan disappeared into the ranks of ICP’s organized thugs in 1977. He advanced quickly at ICP; upon the death of Wolfram Standard (widely attributed to Hanrahan) in late 1992, he was made Vice President of ICP’s Foreign Applications Division (FAD).
“Interesting group.” Sloan handed the FAX to Tyler. May 31, Atlanta.
Velázquez was waiting for McQuade when he arrived at the Domestic Applications
Division’s offices.
“Good afternoon, Luis. Are the materials are ready?”
He handed the pages to McQuade. “You be the judge.”
McQuade stared at the man. “Be assured of that.”
As McQuade began examining the first page, Velázquez said, “What did you remove
from the page? Must have been something interesting.”
McQuade looked up from his examination to stare at the forger. “I wouldn’t dwell
too long on the contents of these documents if I were you, Luis.”
Velázquez evidenced no reaction to the threat.
McQuade turned the fourth page over, then said, “Good. Tell me how you did it.” “I hit the internet first. But there were...”
“The internet? What did you imagine you’d find there?”
“Museums with typewriters.”
McQuade nodded.
“There were 13,450 web sites relating to ‘typewriter museums’. I then called the
IBM people we deal with, got the name of an old man in Syracuse who was supposed to
The Dryden Note Page 4