Executive: A Thriller

by Leslie Wolfe

  He ripped off her blouse and bra, with little effort. She gasped.

  He grabbed her throat and started suffocating her. "Why aren't you crying anymore, huh? That turned me on," he said, gripping her throat and squeezing tighter.

  She choked, started coughing and blacking out.

  "Oh, no, not yet," the man said, releasing his grip. "I told you it's gonna be fun. We got all night. And we haven't even started yet." He started pulling at her pants. She desperately kicked and screamed, hoping someone would hear her and come to rescue her.

  "'S'cuse me," a slurred, coarse voice came from the dark.

  The man turned to face the intruder. Alex breathed with more ease, as hope filled her heart.

  "D'ya need help with that broad?"

  What? Oh, no . . .

  "Get lost before I knock your lights out," her attacker said, visibly annoyed.

  The man approached them, and as the dim light shone on his body, Alex's heart sunk even further. He was one of those street bums, covered in layers of shredded clothing and stinking of crud and booze. His hair was a tangled mess of filth—yellowed gray hairs and street debris.

  "Don't ya' kick me out, this where I live. Y'all are in my house." He slurred something incredible, and he could barely stand up. "Here's wha' I'm thinkin'. I'll help you fuck her, and then you help me fuck her, so we both have a piece of that fine ass. What'd ya' say, huh? Got ourselves a little deal, huh?"

  Oh God . . . No! Alex thought desperately. There was no way out.

  "Don't need your help, you fucking moron. Fuck off!" Her attacker was standing now, ready to punch the bum in the face.

  The bum grabbed the man by his shirt, in a pleading gesture. "D'ya know how many years since I've seen me a fine piece of ass like that? D'ya know? Huh? 'Cause I don't even know it, eh?" His stench was unbearable, turning Alex's stomach. She wriggled some more, trying to set herself free.

  "Please, man," the bum continued, "You'll have at her first, how many times you like, I can wait . . . and watch," he said, with an aroused chuckle that made Alex whimper again.

  The attacker grabbed the bum and slammed him against a partial wall. "You fucking moron, you got two seconds to disappear, or I will kill you. You can count on that."

  "Ah, ah, you see, that's rude," the bum said, in a disapproving, yet unperturbed tone, fueled by alcohol-induced courage. "You come into my house, and you wanna throw me out? I take offense at that, man . . . There's more of us here, ya' know, all I gotta do is whistle. You just a mean, selfish mothe'fucker, who won't share the goodies with his host."

  The bum approached again, grabbed the man once more and continued his plea. "C'mon, how hard can it be to let me have a piece? I can go first if you don't mind waitin', then give y'all the privacy you need. I'm thinking, maybe you wanna do stuff to this fine lookin' broad ya' don't wanna let me watch . . . still rude, but . . ."

  The bum stopped his begging, as he tried to control his gagging, leaning his dirty forehead on the other's shoulder. He was about to throw up on the other man's chest. The man stepped back, made a disgusted gesture with his hand, zipped up his pants and abruptly walked away with a brisk pace.

  "The hell with it," Alex heard him muttering as he departed, "some other time."

  "I have money," she started pleading with the bum, hoping it would go better this time. "I have lots of cash with me; you can buy yourself plenty of booze."

  "Where's the green stuff you're so kindly offering?"

  Think, think!

  "At my car, right there," she pointed with her head, although her wallet was in her back pocket. "You can come with me, and I'll give you all I've got."

  "I guess that'll work . . . let's go." The bum freed her. She covered herself up as best as she could with her torn blouse and headed for the car in a hurry, not caring about the construction site debris hurting her bare feet.

  Seconds later, they were at her car. She opened the door and sat behind the wheel. From here, she knew she could easily push that lowlife away and make a run for it. He was barely standing, too drunk to pose a real challenge. She put her key in the ignition, as discreetly as she could. The man didn't react. She slammed the door shut and reversed as fast as she could, leaving the man in a cloud of dust. He stood there, immobile, just watching her leave.

  She sped home running every stoplight, barely able to see the road through the blur of her tears. Once in the safety of her home the adrenaline vanished and shock took over. She headed straight to the shower, her shaking hands struggling to turn on the faucet. The warm jets of water helped her somewhat, but the shock lingered on.

  Minutes later, curled up on her sofa, clasping an ice-cold glass of Martini Vermouth, she struggled to slow her heart rate and stop her tears. Flickering memories started to play with her weary brain.

  "I don't need your money."

  "Before I finish you off."

  "A lesson for not minding your own business."

  Her tears stopped falling. This had not been a random attack. "You bastards," she said out loud, breaking the midnight silence of her quiet home. "I don't know when and how, but I will get you for this!"

  ...74

  ...Thursday, July 15, 8:00AM

  ...News of the Hour, Special Edition Report

  ...Nationally Syndicated

  "Recent developments have placed NanoLance, the San Diego-based corporation and well-known defense contractor, into the media spotlight. A series of incidents, resulting in significant loss of lives here and abroad in combat zones, incidents involving NanoLance manufactured drones, have led the markets to shy away from the company's stock and the public to ask some pointed questions regarding the operational safety of these drones.

  "Until recently, the quality of NanoLance's products, for military use and for the consumer market, was enjoying an undisputed reputation for best in class, endless reliability, and unparalleled operational safety. Well, not anymore. Through the voices of a heartbroken public, still mourning the twenty lives lost in Florida last month, concern is being expressed toward the company's ability to regain control over the safety of its products.

  "Some voices say that Dr. Barnaby, founder and majority shareholder of NanoLance, is now too old to be able to exercise the needed control over his company. NanoLance needs to take immediate and decisive action to prevent further losses of lives at the mercy of dangerous products.

  "Unspecified sources have leaked news of a potential transfer of control, scheduled to take place at the end of this year, when, sources say, Dr. Barnaby will sell the majority of his shares and retire. The same unidentified sources are talking about a potential congressional hearing, scheduled to investigate the defense contractor status of NanoLance and any wrongdoing related to the Florida drone incident.

  "However, the US Air Force has not yet released its full report about the Kandahar incident in April, and the Florida incident in June. While a spokesperson with the military was quick to confirm the fact that NanoLance had manufactured both drones, no other findings were released to the public in these two cases. In a third case, the Afghanistan incident last week, no confirmation has been issued about the allegation that a UAV was behind the thirty-six dead and six injured. Therefore, we have no confirmation of a link to NanoLance in this case. Yet.

  "NanoLance stock, traded on NASDAQ since 1998 under the symbol NNLC, closed yesterday at $73.28 per share, a 50 percent drop since it started its decline in April of this year.

  "Here, from our news studio, we are monitoring the situation and will come back with details as they unfold. You are watching News of the Hour with Stephanie Wainwright."

  ...75

  ...Thursday, July 15, 8:14AM

  ...The Agency HQ—Corporate Park Building—Third Floor

  ...Irvine, California

  Tom's hand was squeezing the TV remote, holding his breath, waiting for the massacre to be over.

  "You are watching News of the Hour with Stephanie Wainwright."

  Finally,
her irritating face disappeared from the TV screen. Nothing else was left to say to further harm NanoLance. For the first time since he had taken this case, Tom was having doubts that he and his team were going to be able to bring the case to a successful conclusion and restore this company's reputation.

  The phone's loud ringing brought him back to reality. The LCD display read "Barnaby cell." He picked it up without delay.

  "Dr. Barnaby," he said, sounding surer of himself than he felt.

  "Have you seen it?" Dr. Barnaby's voice was trembling, breaking up.

  "Yes, I have. It is a worrisome—"

  "Isn't it enough? How much more time do you need to find out who's doing this to me?"

  "We have some information, but not all we need. We're only asking for twenty-four hours more, that's it," Tom pleaded, holding his head down. He wished he could have something more encouraging to say to his client, something to help him regain the confidence he had lost. There was nothing more to say. Results were needed badly, plus a miracle.

  "Twenty-four hours could be all that this company has left. What do you think the markets are going to do today? We need to issue a statement today, not tomorrow. A statement naming names, not just dancing around the facts, like we have done lately."

  "Dr. Barnaby, I promise you'll have significant findings by this time tomorrow. Please come by my office in the morning, so we can discuss the next steps and containment actions."

  "You are my last hope on this Earth; you know that, don't you?" Barnaby said, in a quiet, defeated voice. "Please don't let me down."

  "I won't. We won't, I promise," Tom said, grasping at straws of hope that he would be able to keep his word.

  ...76

  ...Thursday, July 15, 8:24AM

  ...NanoLance HQ—Information Technology Floor

  ...San Diego, California

  The first email Alex saw when she opened her work laptop was from Angela Prescott, addressing the entire staff. She had to read it twice.

  From: Angela Prescott (VP HR)

  To: All Staff (HQ, MFG)

  Subject: Announcement

  Sent: Thursday, July 15, 7:42AM

  We are deeply saddened to announce the untimely death of Janet Templeton, director of manufacturing quality at our Alpine plant. As she was driving home late last night, Janet was killed instantly when her car smashed into a guardrail. Early findings indicate that she might have been intoxicated, contributing to her inability to steer and maintain the car on the road while approaching a tight curve.

  Janet leaves behind an aging, ill mother. We will deeply miss Janet, who was a valued contributor to the organization, and a good friend to many of us. Please keep Janet's family in your thoughts.

  Visitation and funeral details will follow.

  The leadership team has opened an account to help raise funds, to assist her family deal with this tragedy. Please contact HR for details about making a donation.

  Thank you

  Angela Prescott,

  Vice President, Human Resources

  NanoLance Inc.

  At first, Alex could not comprehend the fact that Janet was gone. Then, she struggled processing the poor taste of a companywide death announcement naming the victim a drunk driver. Afterward, she felt a wave of sadness come over her. Janet was young and full of life—wanted a beautiful Rottweiler puppy—was afraid—was afraid to be seen talking with Alex. Why?

  Alex tried focusing on other emails, but a rebel thought, a faint memory, stuck somewhere at the edge of her brain, kept bugging her. After a while, the fog lifted and she remembered.

  "Oh, no, unfortunately I can't touch any alcohol for another twenty days; I'm on an antibiotic regimen after gum surgery."

  Janet had told her she couldn't drink! When was that? More than a week ago? She struggled to remember, and then realized she had received a text message on her private phone that day, advising her that Janet was approaching the breeder's home. She pulled the message and looked at the date: July 7. No way she could have been a drunk driver last night. I gotta go back to the plant, she decided, grabbing her stuff.

  On her way out of the building, she ran into Bob Foster, the infrastructure manager who had trusted her to deliver his precious bomb-dismantling robot to the plant.

  "Hey, boss, in a hurry?"

  "Yeah, and I'll take your robot to the plant today, right now, I won't forget this time," she said, heading for the elevator.

  Bob took out his cell phone and speed-dialed a number.

  "She's going in," he said, then flipped the phone shut.

  In the downstairs lobby, she ran into Sheppard.

  "Leaving us so soon?" he hissed.

  "Personal emergency, but I'll be back before lunch, I hope," she said and stormed out the main door, against the solid inflow of employees coming to work.

  Sheppard took out his cell and dialed a number.

  "She's on her way," he said, and put the cell in his pocket.

  On her way to the plant, she remembered to stop by her house and grab the robot's remote from her other jacket. She had no idea why she wanted to go to the plant. It was just a hunch. Her gut was telling her that the plant held the answer to Janet's death and hopefully to a lot more.

  ...77

  ...Thursday, July 15, 9:31AM

  ...NanoLance Assembly Plant

  ...Alpine, California

  Alex approached the plant on foot, after parking her car in the middle of the crowded lot, avoiding the first row of visitor spots. She had decided to enter the facility by the side door, reserved for the smokers going in and out for their breaks. Dunwood had mentioned that her card would open almost all doors in the facility, with the exception of the static-free lab. It did.

  She didn't have a specific plan in mind; she hoped she could find a lead in the areas touched by Janet, some clue about what caused her death, an idea of who might have killed her. Alex was 100 percent positive that Janet's death had been no accident, although she couldn't think how something like that could have been pulled off. Tampering with her car? That would have worked, for sure. No doubt, her killer had access to technology of all kinds, which could easily be rigged to cause a car to become unresponsive after, for instance, reaching the speed of 60 miles per hour.

  She spent a few minutes puffing at her e-cig, next to the few smokers scattered on the lawn, mostly plant workers. No one acknowledged her, or responded to her tentative greetings and smiles. No one was going to talk to her; that was clear. She put her e-cig in her pocket and went inside.

  Her first stop was Janet's office. There was a framed picture of an older Rottweiler on her desk. She took the picture in her hand. Alma had been a beautiful dog. The office seemed quiet enough, no one passing through the hallway for several minutes in a row. Encouraged by the silence around her, Alex started going through Janet's files. The unlocked filing cabinet was packed with suspended folders, neatly arranged by category, with separating tabs. The majority of the folders held results of quality testing, by date, by product, by types of failure, and if specific testing had been done for particular failure modes.

  One label caught her eye. Ad Hoc Self-Guidance. This folder contained the results of a series of on-demand tests completed for the self-guidance software, assessing drones on the testing field. The folder had a cover page, neatly summarizing the less-than-stellar results. The software had failed in more than 23 percent of test cases, that percentage breaking down somewhat evenly between target identification accuracy and navigational issues. Nothing new, just confirmation of what Alex had already heard in meetings.

  Alex flipped through more folders; none of them held any significant information, just confirmed the facts she already had. The self-guidance software was unreliable for many reasons. The newly designed drones were failing at a much higher rate than older models. The quality standards suffered due to numerous cost-cutting programs. Alex found a chart mapping the quality rate over time, spanning a period of two years. It was declining, but not o
n a linear path. It came down in steps, and Janet had correlated those steps with significant events in the history of the plant.

  The budget cuts at the beginning of the previous year had caused the quality to drop 2.3 percent within 60 days. A reduction in workforce that had taken place more than a year earlier was correlated with another 3.5 percent loss in quality score. Obviously, Janet was documenting her point of view, which would have been expected, considering she was being held accountable for the overall quality of the product. Alex was convinced that Janet had been vocal about these findings, not willing to be blamed for declining quality rates she didn't ultimately control. Being vocal hadn't helped her much. Alex folded the chart and put it in her pocket.

  There was nothing else left to do in Janet's office. Alex sneaked out, unseen, and proceeded to the testing end of the CX series assembly line. Janet touched that area on a daily basis. The long assembly line passed through two different quality-testing points. One was the final inspection point, at the end of the assembly line, where a quality technician carefully inspected each drone. He then proceeded to escort the drone, on its own wheels, to a small taxiway that connected to the storage hangars. Once on that taxiway, the technician would then fire up the drone and test the engine on a test bank. If everything scored in the green, the quality technician would proceed to do a short test flight, having the UAV take off, zigzag above the testing field, acquire a target, simulate a missile launch, then return for landing, and move into the finished product storage hangar. At this stage, the quality technician tested the drone's functionality, as per set parameters, and the comlink with ground control.

  The other testing point on the assembly line took place a little earlier in the process, while the drone's housing wasn't fully assembled. As soon as the drones had all their components installed, before attaching the upper half of the body, they were connected to an electronic test bank, which would power up all components inside the UAV. This allowed active testing of all the installed parts, with the drone safely on the ground. From Janet's notes, this particular testing point had caused repeated concerns, revealing high failure rates for a variety of modules and circuit boards. This is where Alex wanted to look around, challenged by the fact that these modules failed the tests after being installed although they had passed the pre-installation test. Faulty installation? For sure, Janet would have thought of that, so it must have been something else.