Off The Grid (16 page)

Chapter 32

Arionesti, Moldova

Rachel’s wheeled suitcase thumped on the train car’s stairs as she stepped down onto the station’s wooden platform. She quickly admired the history of the tiny World War II relic of a station, and then damned the place for not having an airport within a reasonable distance. After a week out in the bush of the Sudan, she had high expectations that the poorest country in Europe would still have a higher standard of living than the African nation. Her first glance of Moldova wasn’t promising. She did notice the commercial-size
StuTech stub attached to the train station’s roof, telling her that the towers were catching on in this small town. It remained to be seen if the rest of the region was on board for anything other than industrial use.

The stubs were cheap, even though they were practically giving them away to residents of
Arionesti. The average family in the region brought home just enough money to feed the family – on a good week. Luxuries like power, even free power, were still out of reach for many in the town. That was one of the problems her father asked her to check into. Why weren’t the people willing to pay?

The people she visited in Bolivia and Sudan didn’t have the resources to pay at all. They got stubs free of charge, but Moldova was different. These people could taste normalcy and were comfortable with what they knew, not the promise of what could be. The people of Moldova knew of the “outside world,” whereas the other
StuTech project areas, simply didn’t.  

Moldova suffered from a small, immovable economy and little natural resources. Some of its citizens weren’t too keen on following the law unless it suited them. Needless to say, kidnappings were a constant threat to foreigners.

She was to meet a man named Reynolds at the station who was assigned as her security and translator during her visit. She knew nothing of him, other than he was a local. There was only one car waiting on the street. A man was leaning against the hood. This must be the guy, she thought.

Reynolds flicked his cigarette to the ground. He wore a black leather jacket and dark sunglasses. His holstered weapon bulged under his arm. He didn’t hold a sign bearing her name. Calling attention to who she was could be dangerous. He recognized her picture from the detailed security packet that Lunsford’s team had sent ahead.

“Ms. Evans, welcome to Arionesti,” he said with a French accent. “Would you like to check into your hotel and rest, or see the sights first?”

Rachel glanced around the station and saw nothing but rolling fields of weeds and tall grass. Snaking away from the station was a narrow road, presumably leading to the town.

“I slept a little on the train,” she said. “So by all means, show me the sights.”

Reynolds’ black Audi screamed down the small road at a breakneck pace, but both of his hands left the wheel momentarily while he lit another cigarette.

“Would you mind terribly, not smoking?” Rachel asked.

He glanced at her, then back on the road. He took a long drag, rolled down his window and dropped the lit cigarette to the ground. He rolled up the window and released the gray puff of smoke, filling the car.

“Certainly,” he said.

They passed several cross streets that led to a smattering of abandoned homes in open fields. Windows were boarded up. The porches and walkways were empty. No children were playing in the banks of the river. It was a ghost town until they crossed the bridge.

Arionesti had a distinct Bavarian look to it. Short, peaked buildings with decorative awnings. The city was laid out in a grid pattern that ran along a river. To Rachel’s astonishment, the streets were teeming with people who elbowed each other as they walked by busy storefronts. The business district faced the river and several street vendors called out to the Audi as they passed. Reynolds had to finally slow down to avoid hitting the mass of people who were walking in the streets. There were few cars. He honked the horn dozens of times to part the way.

“Why are all these people here?” Rachel asked. “Is there an event being held nearby?”

“The real question you should be asking is why these people are crammed into this small town when hundreds of nearby homes sit empty,” he said.

He pushed his sunglasses down to the tip of his nose to look her in the eye.

“And why do they sleep in shifts, ten to a room?” he said.

“I certainly don’t know,” she said.

“Then you need to see the sights.”

He pulled the car down a cobblestone alley and parked behind a two-story stone building. He knocked on a heavy wooden door and they were let into a large storefront filled with eight tables, each staffed by individuals wearing tan polo shirts, with an embroidered
StuTech logo on the left breast pocket. One or two townspeople were in chairs at each table. A line formed out the door and into the street.

“They want jobs at the factory,” Reynolds said. “Even though it’s not even up and running yet. There is nothing else here. The promise of a job and a livable wage was an unachievable dream for most of these people. Then
StuTech started building that factory and powered the central part of town for free.”

“What promises have they been given?”

“None, just that StuTech will hire only citizens of the country. Men from across the region have flocked here to live and wait until the factory opens.”

“What about their families?”

“Some of them are here too, but certain women have come alone too. The construction work at the factory is employing about 50 men right now, who have never had a dime to spend in their lives. They are living it up in the bars, tossing around their money. They don’t have to look far for companionship each night.”

“That’s obscene.”

“That’s reality.”

The
StuTech main office was located upstairs. The staff provided Rachel a desk by a window overlooking the street. She looked out the window while her laptop was booting up. The street looked like old movies that depicted the American industrial revolution, hazy and gray. Able-bodied men crowded the streets. They stood in bunches on corners, hollering to women who passed by. Several women were working the crowd, but didn’t seem to find any takers.

“The employed men are working at the factory,” Reynolds said, joining her at the window. “These fools are just waiting for a chance.”

“We’ve only been on the ground here for six months. Are we already that big a piece of the economy?”

“Without
StuTech, there is no economy.”

“Amazing how fast that happened.”

“Not really,” Reynolds said. “You are providing jobs and power where before there were neither. People want to work and have moved here to find jobs. Your biggest concern now should be crime against your workers. Last week two men were beaten to death on their way home from the bar.”

“Do the police know why?”

“Police? No, they don’t know, but you don’t have to be Scotland Yard to know that two new positions opened up at the construction site pretty quick.”

Rachel considered it. Could jobs be worth killing over? It didn’t seem possible, even under the
most dire circumstances.

“I’ve got a few things I want to review here before going to the hotel for the night. Will you wait for me?”

“I’ve been assigned to you exclusively.”

“All day?”

“Twenty-four hours a day while you’re here.”

“I’d also like to go up to the factory tomorrow first thing.“

“I’ll call ahead and have everything ready.”

“Give me an hour and we’ll go to the hotel so I can get some sleep.”

***

Rachel took her cell phone off the nightstand and looked at the time. It was nearly 3 a.m. and she hadn’t slept at all. She liked visiting new places, but it was draining and took her out of her comfort zone. She glanced around her room at the small inn where she was staying. It sounded crazy, but it was a little too nice. It was nothing special, but her tastes had become accustom to cots and sleeping bags, not bed ruffles and running water. She didn’t expect to fall asleep.

She slipped on a pair of black jogging pants and a T-Shirt and headed down the creaky stairs to the main living area. The rest of the house was quiet. She was surprised to find the front door locked tight. She flipped the latch and took a seat on a wicker chair facing the town to the east and the river to the west. Despite the early hour, the air was warm and inviting.

She marveled at the tiny town. Less than six months ago it was as dark and desolate as any nearby town, but with one simple decision by
StuTech, the place was suddenly a boomtown. Wielding that much authority was a frightening thing. She wished that she knew for certain that the right people were making those decisions. Her father had once told her that he never wanted to be bogged down with the responsibility of running a huge company, but his creation required it. Only he knew “the secret sauce,” he’d say. Over the years he slowly stepped away, giving more and more authority to his subordinates, while still retaining central management.

She suspected that part of the reason he asked her to travel to these outreach project locations is to gain an insight that he wasn’t getting from his managers. She might be estranged from her father, but they were still blood.

She’d found that reviewing the accounting logs of the personnel on the ground was an enlightening way to gain an understanding of the projects. She could have seen the same numbers back in Seattle, but being able to see the new water well, x-ray machine, thousands of mosquito nets or even a factory in use was preferable to a desk in a high-rise. She was proud of the work they were doing. Giving this little country a chance to be respected by its European neighbors while giving its people a better life.

She had only gotten the chance to give the
Arionesti books a cursory review earlier in the day. The business here was more complex than the others, with multiple locations, wages, and contractors.

They were spending a great deal of cash - nearly $50,000 American every single day. She hadn’t seen the return on investment yet. She was eager to visit the
factory building site that was at the heart of the company’s spending.

Before she knew it, her head was leaned up against the back of the chair and the warm night air helped her doze off into a deep slumber. She was still out two hours later when a string of SUVs rolled past the inn, headed toward the
StuTech factory, long before the sun was up and any construction could possibly start.

Chapter 33

Reynolds arrived at Rachel’s door at 7:15 with a large cup of hot coffee for her. He was again wearing the black leather jacket, his sunglasses dangled from the front pocket.

“How did you sleep?” he asked.

“Well enough,” she said. “Are we ready to go?”

“I thought we’d grab breakfast with the innkeeper downstairs first, then head out.”

“That’s fine.”

The innkeeper was an elderly man who didn’t get many guests. There wasn’t really anything to visit in the area, but he kept the rooms open in the off chance that someone might stop overnight. His grandson, a 16-year-old boy named Mikhail cooked eggs and toast. Mikhail had a slight build and mousy brown hair. They all sat down at the kitchen table together.

“You are from America?” the teenager asked.

“Yes, Seattle. It’s on-“

“The Pacific Ocean below Canada. I know,” he said obviously excited to share his knowledge. “I studied America in school. Do you think I could go there someday?”

“I think we’d be lucky to have you.”

“How about a job with your company? I’ll work very hard. I won’t cause any trouble. Promise.”

Reynolds spoke to Mikhail harshly in Romanian.
Mikhail, turned his back on the table and fiddled with the stove.

“He doesn’t know his place,” Reynolds said.

“It’s quite all right, really,” Rachel said. “I think having dreams is a valuable character trait. What sort of job would you like to have Mikhail?”

“I don’t want to work for my grandfather. I’m small, but strong. I can do anything the others do. They won’t give me a chance because I’m too young, they say.”

“You applied for a construction job?”

“I tried, but they won’t have me. They need special skills. More than just builders.”

“I’ll tell you what, maybe I can put in a good word for you. Would that be OK?”

“Very much so, thank you.”

He heaped another serving of eggs on her plate with a huge grin on his face.

***

“Why did you tell the innkeeper’s grandson that you could get him a job?” Reynolds asked as they drove to the factory. “Boys like that don’t know enough about the world to take a job here.”

“How do you mean?” Rachel asked. “And I didn’t promise him a job. I said I’d look into it.”

“He doesn’t know the difference. There are very few jobs in this country and even less in this region. You have your pick of workers. Why pick one who is so young and small?”

“Experience and girth aren’t the only things that qualify people for employment. How would it have sounded if I told him that he had no chance whatsoever to get a good job someday? That he shouldn’t dream of coming to the U.S.?”

“You are filling his head with false hopes,” Reynolds said. “It’s not safe for him to want these things.”

“I disagree. It’s not safe for him to have his fate determined by someone else or tradition for tradition’s sake alone.”

They rode the rest of the way in silence.

The massive factory came into view from a mile away. The white eight-story structure was enormous, jutting out of the ground like a cinder block. A checker box of large windows filled half of the building. The other half was barren, no windows at all. From the outside it looked completely finished. You could park the space shuttle in that thing, she thought.

Reynolds rolled down his window and showed the security guard his ID before they were allowed to proceed past the locked gate. Bulldozers and other large industrial construction equipment littered the dirt lots around the building. They had to traverse huge puddles of water as they twisted and turned toward the entrance.

“The building could hold three full football fields if it wasn’t broken up into manufacturing areas. The inside of the building is still months away from completion, but you’ll be able to look at the areas that are finished. It’s really quite impressive. Nothing like it has ever been built here. The locals call it The Block.”

An empty cubical farm was just inside the building’s main entrance. A series of hallways and offices were unfinished and dark. No one was working in those areas. A large auditorium-style classroom was finished. The chairs had fold out desks and power outlets for computers. Rachel could hear the distinct sounds of construction work happening through the auditorium walls. When Reynolds led her to the main floor she could see why. Dozens of men were working on the factory’s polished concrete floor. Some were setting up machinery. Others were welding together steel beams that rose to the full height of the ceiling.

“The Block is divided in half,” he pointed to their left. “We’re only working to develop this half now.”

“What’s in the other half?”

“Storage. They didn’t even put in the floor, but they needed the structural support from the full space so they decided to build it larger than they needed it the first time, rather than going back later. There’s no question that the space will be needed once production begins.”  

A crane attached to a rail and pulley system dropped down in front of them. A worker secured a collection of beams on both ends and gave the signal for the operator to hoist up the load. It swung back and forth over the heads of the workers. The crane moved down the rail to the opposite end of the warehouse near six garage doors that were large enough to drive a semi truck through.

“Once they get all the foundation equipment set up this will be the first European manufacturing facility for the towers and stubs.”

“I expected something large, based on our financial spend, but I didn’t know that we were already building a manufacturing plant here. It’s listed in the accounting records as an unoccupied warehouse.”

“Accounting records are notoriously bad around here,” he said dryly.

“Good to know.”

Rachel had never seen the inside of a
StuTech manufacturing plant before. All of the towers and stubs were currently being made in Pueblo Bluff, Colorado. It made sense from a diversification standpoint to globalize their operations, but the choice of Moldova was still puzzling. No major highway. No airport. The train station was antiquated. There wasn’t even a port of entry on the river and besides – the river didn’t lead to a shipping lane on the ocean. How were they supposed to get their products to market?

These questions filled her head when, with no warning the ground underneath Rachel’s feet shook violently, tossing her and Reynolds to the ground. An earthquake, she thought. A loud hydraulic whine filled The Block, even as the workers lost grip on their equipment and fell silent. Rachel estimated that it only lasted three or four seconds, but it was enough to take her breath away. Then, as quickly as it started, it stopped. The workers went back to their various jobs with no conversation about what they just experienced.

“What the hell was that?” Rachel asked, standing up, but bracing herself against a wall.

“Oh, that’s nothing. The ground is still settling from the pilings the workers had to build to support the frame of the building. It gives a little tussle now and then. No worries.”

“That’s normal settling?”

“I don’t know about normal, but its not uncommon. All the men know what to do when they feel a jolt coming on.”

“So you call that a
jolt
?”

“It usually only happens once a day, so chin up. It probably won’t happen again.”

“How comforting.”

Rachel toured the plant floor for the next hour or so, taking special care to note the devices being installed on the floor so she could audit the “notoriously bad” accounting records. The workers kept their distance, allowing her to move around freely. She knew they didn’t speak English, so she refrained from asking questions about what they were building.

Reynolds stayed on the perimeter of the building, smoking his cigarettes and chatting with the workers. She’d never asked him what exactly his job duties were, but he seemed to know everyone at The Block.

When she finished her inspection of the factory, she tried to get into the unfinished half of the massive structure, but the doors were locked. She stepped outside and didn’t see another entrance there either. She walked the perimeter and saw that there were more massive garage doors on the other side of the building. Reynolds had said they hadn’t even installed a floor on the storage side, but there were well-worn ruts in the dirt where trucks had driven through the doors into the building.

She went in search of Reynolds to get a key for the storage area. He wasn’t on the floor, so she wandered though the empty hallways and offices. The maze of space looked like a traditional office setting, minus the workers. Desks, computers and phones were all brand new and ready for use. When she reached the second floor she saw there was a light coming from the end of the hallway. She could hear voices. She knocked on the door before opening it.

It was an executive office. Inside were two leather sofas. On one was Reynolds, a cloud of smoke floating around his face. Sitting on the other sofa was Steve Lunsford.

“Rachel my dear, just the person I was hoping to see.”