2 Executive Retention

by Maria E. Schneider

  "You know about his stock and spending extra resources on the cases?"

  He shrugged. "If anyone can get Kronology to shape up, it is Jacques. You told me yourself he took on challenges."

  I had been backed into a corner by Arnold at the time. "If not illegal, wouldn't you say it was unethical? At best?"

  Pete was nothing if not a politician; he held the umbrella, but pretended it wasn't raining. "That stock is not a big deal. Don't let little things like that side-track you--if you haven't found anything more concrete, move on." He waved his arm again. "Every one of us has to diversify holdings. It hardly makes Jacques a criminal. He is one of our best customer advocates."

  Customer advocate? What about the customers left holding Kronology equipment? I looked at Radar. He was still eating and his mouth was so full, he couldn't have offered an opinion if he even had one. "Yeah, sure." Brenda was right. No point in telling your boss's boss what was going on. Pete was going to back Jacques even if Jacques sold the last donut right in front of him and walked off with the profits.

  If I had had the evidence, I'd have happily dumped it on him, but Pete was right about Jacques not being the guilty party on the embezzlement. Jacques had been on the way to the hospital when Radar's pager went off indicating evidence was being destroyed. So long as I had Pete's ear, I asked, "Did the financial guy--Ben--handle the layoff analysis for Denton?"

  Pete didn't look up from staring at the plate of goodies. For a minute I thought he was counting the pastries and standing stock-still in amazement. I know I was pretty shocked. Radar had eaten five of them already and had a sixth in his hand.

  "Ben?" he echoed. "No. He's strictly expense reports and equipment for the Denton office. Arnold handles the project analysis and overhead for the Denton office. He's the brightest of the bunch, a real numbers man."

  "Arnold?"

  Pete looked at me. He smiled. "The guy is a genius. I wouldn't want to lose him, not for any reason. Don't let the fact that he's dating that lawyer who works for our biggest customer side-track you into worrying about his ethics."

  Now there was a piece of information we didn't have. "Of...course not."

  "He's good, but he's in too much of a hurry to move up. I've told him, it's all a matter of paying the dues. I walk a fine line, feeding ambition and yet not choosing one manager over another. Arnold is the best though. He handled the entire layoff for us, down to the last detail."

  My mouth made a round little 'oh.' Before I could verify exactly what Pete meant by that, a voice from the hallway interrupted.

  "It has finally occurred to you that she really is getting close to the truth, hasn't it?"

  I almost jumped into Radar's lap. As I spun around, I forgot about the little round table. I fell over the thing and splatted onto the floor.

  A lone donut bounced off the plate onto the carpet. It slowly toppled over, leaving a trail of flaked icing. The cat took umbrage with the disturbance and darted out from under the desk to a more secure location beneath the couch.

  Arnold, not looking quite so smudged as previous occasions, stood in the doorway. Maybe he didn't often wash his hair, but with a gun in his hand, he still looked pretty impressive for a geek. "You had to throw my name in there, didn't you?" Arnold's eyes weren't unfocused, nor were they lost in numbers. "Little too concerned they are on your trail and not mine?"

  Pete's face turned into a bag of flour with gray splotches over the white. "I have no idea what you're talking about. I demand an explanation. As a board member--"

  "That's right, isn't it? A nobody engineer isn't allowed a seat on the board. No matter how many contracts he gets the company or how many problems he solves. Only the pretty boys make it to the top. They sit and play with numbers as if they understand them. Then, when the going gets tough, they throw the crap down to the engineer, just like you were about to do." Arnold advanced into the room. "I'm not taking the fall for this, Pete."

  Pete held very still, but his eyes darted to the desk. Arnold noticed. "Move away from the drawers, Pete."

  Pete just looked at him.

  Arnold aimed the gun and fired.

  Before the sound even reached my ears, Pete moved towards me.

  I scrambled away. No way was he using me as a barrier. Scooting backwards and sideways put me right up against Radar's legs. It didn't put Radar in a very mobile position, but it was the only open space.

  Radar solved his mobility problem by hopping over the side of the couch away from Pete. He made a strangled noise when he landed.

  I was having trouble swallowing myself, and I wasn't trying to choke down the last of a donut.

  "Stop!" Arnold shifted the weapon towards Radar and myself. We both froze. "You aren't going anywhere."

  "Wouldn't...wouldn't think of it." My heart hurt from beating so fast.

  "Tell me, Sedona. If you're such a good investigator, why did you have to involve Radar? Or is investigating just like engineering? You get the big bucks, while Radar does the real work?"

  My mouth fell open. Gee, when you put it like that, it sounded as if I had been using Radar. "I'm not as good as Radar." And I had no idea what Huntington might be paying him, either.

  "Just like Pete here. He couldn't complete the plan on his own. But it was his idea, wasn't it, Pete? You told me yourself the idea was eighty percent of the profits, right?" Arnold laughed, a high-pitched squeal.

  "You get paid for what you do," Pete said.

  "You bet I do, but not because you were generous. As you pointed out many, many times, you still sign the paychecks--whether they go to real people or not. All the prestige and board seats, those go to you. There isn't room for me, is there? And where is my retention bonus?" Arnold's hand was shaking, he was so angry.

  "You got yours, just like the others did!" Pete snapped.

  "Not half the size of yours!"

  "You got the same as the other managers at your rank."

  "And you control that rank, asshole!" He leveled the gun at Pete's chest.

  "I didn't get one at all," I mentioned helpfully, hoping he wouldn't shoot Pete right in front of us.

  Arnold didn't notice the interruption. "And now, when it falls apart, you were more than willing to nudge them to look at me. What made you think I wouldn't tell anyone it was your idea to start with? Are you that stupid?"

  Apparently Pete was that stupid. "Who would believe you, fool? I have no reason to pull such stunts." He waved his arms. "You need to impress your girlfriend or she'll dump you for someone that matters."

  "You voted yourself a bigger salary, but that wasn't enough, was it? No, you needed more bogus employees. Then Ben started asking questions. You decide on the brilliant plan of a layoff to clean up all the evidence. Even that wasn't enough. You voted yourself a retention bonus. Great stuff, these ideas." He waved the gun in my direction and for the first time in my life, I longed for a nice harmless laser pointer. "What in the hell was I thinking?"

  "I don't know, man. What were you thinking?" Radar, now that he had managed to swallow the bite that had been stuck in his throat, was relatively calm. "You're a good hacker. Why'd you bother with him anyway?"

  "I wasn't involved, I tell you!" Pete shrieked. "I was only trying to lure him in! I wouldn't stoop so low."

  Arnold trained the gun on Pete again, and I thought he was going to shoot. He held the gun there for a several seconds before he changed his mind. "Basement, Pete. Now."

  Pete strode forward as though he were walking away from an unpleasant meal at a restaurant. Even now, when he wasn't in the obvious position of power, he seemed to think the whole problem a minor detail that would go away if he ordered it so.

  Arnold moved in a wide circle until Pete was past him. Then, before Radar or I could move, he got behind him, the gun in Pete's back. "You two--move into the hallway. If you don't, I shoot him first and then turn to get you."

  I probably could have let Pete get shot without too much heartburn, but I had no guarantee that Radar
wouldn't get killed if I ran, so I dutifully trudged into the hallway. Arnold positioned himself near the doorway, keeping all of us in sight. As soon as we were lined up, he said, "Pete knows where the basement is. If I were you, I'd make sure my aim is clear to shoot him. Don't think he cares either. He's been trying to kill you for almost three weeks."

  It seemed to me that we probably weren't going into the basement for tea, but I didn't think it was a good idea to suggest he go ahead and shoot us in the hallway.

  Arnold followed closely behind us, muttering about his own stupidity. "I should have run my own paycheck collection scheme. He would never have known. But no, I take up with mister idea man. He had a five-minute stinking idea, and what did he do with it?" Arnold snarled, "No, Pete, not the stairs. Take the elevator."

  Stairs might have allowed us to go single file. At least one of us could have run. Of course if there wasn't another way out of the basement, what difference would it make?

  The elevator wasn't terribly fancy, and once we got to the basement, I understood why. The area was little more than a large storage room. A summer grill and propane tank had been shoved into a corner by the stairs; rakes, gardening equipment and rolled up hoses were neatly stacked on shelves. Up another set of stairs across the room, there was a heavy door that looked like it led directly outside.

  In the center of the room, two workbenches were filled with state-of-the-art computer equipment, and I wasn't talking Kronology junk either.

  Radar was very interested in the equipment. Arnold noticed his fascination. "Nice isn't it? Probably the only real perk of this mess." He didn't seem to mind Radar moving around as long as Radar was focused on the equipment. Acting just as smitten, I followed Radar to the workbenches. Unfortunately the benches didn't run all the way across the room near the outside stairwell.

  "Pete, for all his pointing the finger at me, doesn't seem to know that once these machines are traced, it will be quite clear that this equipment was used. The idiot used his own equipment from San Jose too. You see," he explained to Pete, "it won't matter if you try to lay all the blame on me. You left an evidence trail."

  "You broke in here!" Pete said wildly. "I'm hardly ever here. You knew about this retreat and the equipment. You used it!"

  "Of course you're not here often. But I never added employees without the big boss running the show," Arnold said with a tight smile.

  "You waited until he was here in town," I guessed, remembering the strange pattern of hiring.

  The cat meandered down the stairs into the basement. It waved its tail slowly, and then sauntered to its litter box. It must be used to fits and yelling because it completely ignored Pete and Arnold and went about its business.

  Arnold positioned himself close to Radar, but he had to turn slightly in order to see Pete, because Pete was still near the elevator. "Pete could barely remember the simplest name and password combinations that I set up specifically for him to use. Fool."

  Radar must have been thinking about the stairs behind us. He edged back at the same time I did. One of us had our aim off. "Oof." When we bumped shoulders, I accidentally stepped on his foot. He yanked away. I over-corrected, bouncing into the computer workbench. The keyboard skidded into a flat screen monitor, ricocheted off the side and crashed to the floor.

  "Smooth," Radar grunted.

  I gave him a look usually reserved for Huntington, which is why I didn't notice Arnold until after he took the shot.

  Bam! The twenty-some-inch expensive monitor shattered like so much cheap plastic.

  "Aaaah!" I dove for the side of the workbench furthest from the enemy. Radar went in the opposite direction, throwing himself under the stairs that led outside. He scooted quickly behind the water heater.

  Arnold stared at the gun as if he hadn't meant for it to go off.

  Leave it to our esteemed executive to keep his cool and do something incredibly stupid. Pete grabbed the propane tank and opened the nozzle. He held up a lighter, the type used when the grill sparker no longer worked. "Put the gun down, Arnold."

  Radar didn't wait to see who won the game of chicken. He shot out from under the stairs and jumped them halfway up. I was right there with him. I'd rather have Arnold take pot shots at me than wait around to see what Pete would do with anything ignitable.

  "You let me handle this, Arnold, and it will all work out," Pete said. "This is all a mistake. When I explain it, everyone will understand."

  Arnold was no dummy. He had seen Pete in action more than we had. He shoved me from behind and despite my desperation, he pushed me under the stair railing, back onto the basement floor. "Oof."

  Radar must have gotten to the door, but the door opened into the basement. He was forced back down a step or two in order to open the door. Arnold clubbed Radar over the head with the butt of the pistol. Like a cannon, it went off again.

  Radar crashed down the stairs like so much discarded luggage.

  "Turn it off, Pete," I yelled.

  But the man was entranced, either with the tableau or his own sudden power or...maybe gas fumes.

  Propane leaked steadily into the room. If he hit that little trigger button on the lighter, we were going to blow sky high. I leaned over to help Radar up, but he was woozy from the hit on the head or the subsequent ones he took on his tumble down the stairs. Unfortunately he had also fallen victim to the Donut and Cake Diet Law. All women know that a donut weighing scant ounces converts instantly to ten thigh and butt pounds after consumption. Radar had eaten six of the suckers, and carting him back up the steps was almost impossible. "Pete, you gotta turn that off and…" I swallowed at the fanatic gleam on his face.

  "I'm not guilty, you know."

  "Of course not." I didn't stop trying to crawl under Radar and get him in a fireman's hold. It was unnerving to watch Pete anyway. If he flicked that switch, I was pretty sure I didn't want to see it.

  "You heard what Arnold claimed. But you're the only ones. If you go away, then I can still convince them it's all a mistake. Just an accounting snafu. Arnold got carried away. A temporary problem."

  "I'm going away, right now, no problem." I finally got a shoulder placed under Radar's prone form. Standing was a problem. "Unngh--" I settled for a half crawl. Wasn't a fireman's carry supposed to be possible even for a lightweight?

  There was no noise of warning. I was almost out, crawling up one painful step at a time when fire shot across my leg, a burning from hell. Had I been standing I would have dropped Radar. I shrieked as the shooting pain moved up part of my back and onto my shoulders.

  Intense burning shot across the top of my head, wrapping its tiny black paws around my hair. I couldn't see Pete now if I tried. The cat added his scream to my own, although I was fairly certain no one had run up his back with claws out.

  I grabbed the next step and kept right on moving. "Pete! If you blow us up, you'll go too, you idiot!" I stumbled out into the bright light of day, staggering. I was still unable to see. The cat had one paw across my eyes and its lower two legs around my neck.

  "What the hell is that?" Mark's deep baritone yelped.

  "Help," I screeched.

  "It's Silvanus!" Huntington shouted. "And...Sedona? Get down!"

  Silvanus? Did they mean Arnold? Or had Pete come out behind me?

  The cat didn't like my stumbling. Out came the claws. As the little weapons raked across my nose, I crashed to the ground only a few yards from the house. Arnold, or for all I knew maybe it was Pete--took a shot from somewhere, but I was already down. Radar took another bad bump, but I would blame it on the stairs if I lived to talk about it.

  Of course, I wasn't counting on Huntington. "Into the trees," he yelled and there were more shots.

  Once on the relative safety of the ground, the cat shot away like his tail was on fire.

  I blinked blearily. Mark peered at me from behind a garden statue.

  I resumed dragging myself away from the door, but it was too late. I knew Arnold hadn't been shooting at me.
He was going for something in the basement, anything that would make it ignite. It's hard to say if he got lucky or if the water heater pilot finally got enough propane.

  There was a funny whooshing sound, almost like the backwards sucking of a vacuum. The door to the basement slammed shut, forced closed by the explosion and then burst back open, shattering outward.

  Mark ran from behind the statue and grabbed Radar's free arm. We dragged him around the corner of the house to the closest car. I could hear sirens. "Backup on the way," Mark shouted.

  "It better be fire engines!"

  He looked me up and down carefully. Gently, he touched my bleeding cheek. He stared at me hard as if he wanted to say something, but instead, he gave my shoulder a last squeeze, put his gun at his back and went for his bike. The lightning decorated sword on the motorcycle flashed by as he took off into the trees after Arnold.

  I propped my bleeding self up against the car. My eyes were closed, so I missed Huntington sneaking up on me.

  "Here," he said.

  My eyes flew opened, but it was too late to avoid the cat he dropped in my lap. "Me? I don't want it. It doesn't like me." That should have been obvious from the injuries I had suffered. My cheek felt like it was missing completely, blood trickled down my nose and I was pretty sure I was missing a significant chunk of hair.

  "He's evidence. We need to take him with us."

  "Evidence?"

  He grinned down at me and pointed at my lap. "Silvanus," he said.

  My mouth fell open. "The cat?"

  He nodded. "When we asked A.J. about the names this morning, A.J. happened to know the names of Pete's cats. He informed us that Silvanus here has a brother that looks just like him in San Jose in Pete's other house."

  "And his name is Thoth," I finished for him, holding tight to the still upset feline.

  Chapter 34

  My last plea for sanity had made its way through Pete's brain and struck a cord. The guy had barely enough sense to turn the propane off and take the other set of stairs out of the basement. He made good on his escape by less than a whisker. It helped that the basement was mostly concrete. The fire, with limited oxygen and combustibles, was contained to the basement and one upper room right over the water heater. Not that Pete was going to be around to repair the place; once Huntington and Mark were on the right trail, they pulled out all the stops.