Shattered Legacy (8 page)

Gettleman threw up his hands. “This is bullshit, Jack. You know I would have scrubbed the launch if I knew about this before.”

“That's why you didn't know. Listen; there is
no
risk to that orbiter. I would have scrubbed the mission myself if I had thought otherwise.” Kroft leaned forward and his voice dropped almost to a whisper. “How did you found out about this?”

“I’m the Senior Flight Director,” Gettleman replied flatly. He stood and walked around his desk. “I make it my business to know things. And I am coming to you - in private - with the hope that you will do the right thing.”

“Noah, you’ll just have to trust that we know how to take care of our spacecraft.” With that, the Agency Director rose from his seat.

Gettleman met Kroft at the door, blocking the path out of the office. He stared at the agency director for a long moment, narrowing his eyes and gathering emotional strength. “You’d better be right,” he told Kroft in a low, steady voice, “because we both know what could happen if you’re wrong.”

“You’re getting worked up over nothing.”

Gettleman glanced away, blew air between his teeth. “Jack, you remember
STS 51-L
?”

Kroft stared at the flight director with a mix of shock and disgust. “That’s not funny, Noah.”

STS 51-L had been NASA’s twenty-fifth shuttle mission, the
Challenger
Shuttle Disaster.

And Noah Gettleman was not joking at all.

CHAPTER NINE

“The memo I sent outlines what's happened as of this morning,” Samson Tyler explained, pacing around his office. “It’s light on analysis, as we don’t know yet the full extent of our situation.”

Three law licenses and two graduate diplomas decorated the paneled walls of Tyler’s office. On the cherry wood desk sat a flat-screen monitor and an antique brass desk lamp with a hand-painted stained glass shade. Tyler had paid for his office furniture out of pocket, as he had been unhappy with the quality of Templar’s furnishings. The room was methodically organized, from the alphabetized books on the shelves down to the organized stacks of the
New York Law Journal
near the door.

Seated on his couch beside the glass-encased bookshelf, Ramona Vargas, Templar’s Director of Operations, watched as Tyler paced the room. Like many who worked in Templar’s upper management, she was younger than forty, though only by a year. She was also single, and rumors abounded of a secret relationship between her and Samson Tyler.

When Tyler joined the company, Ramona was already heading up the advanced prototype team. Soon after, she caught Sinclair Dorian's attention, and quickly ascended the corporate hierarchy after the first orbiter prototype was constructed. She was promoted to Division Head, and later convinced Dorian to create a “Director of Operations” position for her. In time, as Dorian relinquished day-to-day oversight of the company, Ramona assumed more and more responsibility. Although Dorian was still Templar's Chairman and CEO, Ramona Vargas was by all measures running the company.

Professionally, Tyler and Ramona were cordial, but Tyler did not trust her; he preferred to deal directly with Sinclair Dorian. That was why he had visited Dorian the night before.

Ramona shifted her crossed legs and leaned forward. Her black pleated slacks and a gray, billowy blouse were casual but sharp. She had olive skin, dark hair and full lips, combined with animated good looks. She raised an eyebrow. “So where should we go from here, Samson?” Her Brooklyn accent provided a bit of roughness to her voice. “What do we know so far?”

Tyler stopped pacing. “The feds, for once, are airtight on the case. All we know is that they are very interested in our surplus material purchases.”

“Surplus material?”

“We obtain parts, equipment and material from buyers who make purchases through government auctions,” Tyler explained, realizing that she had not bothered to read his memo. He wasn't surprised. Ramona preferred to be briefed on important matters in person.

He walked over to the window. “Over the last six months, we’ve bought about seven and a half-million dollars’ worth of scrap material. We’re still digging through records - the same records that were seized by the FBI yesterday. To be honest, I’m not sure exactly what they’re looking for.”

“I hope you plan to find out.”

Tyler let the sarcasm pass without comment.

“I’m speaking with the Board of Directors this afternoon. I’m going to need more detail on this situation.”

“What time are you meeting with them?” Tyler asked.

“You’re not going.”

“The board is going to ask you legal questions, Ramona. I can’t prepare you for everything they might ask.”

“Then send someone with me. Send Dusty.”

“Fine. Bring him along.”

Ramona had kept Tyler from executive-level meetings before. He saw this as her way of keeping him out of the spotlight and eliminating the possibility that he would upstage her. Not that he would ever intentionally do that, of course.

Ramona eased back in her seat. “So, basically after twenty-four hours, the best you can tell me is that the FBI took some purchasing records, and because we don’t know what they might be looking for, we’re not even sure how big a problem we’re facing.” She spread her hands. “You’re not impressing me, Samson.”

“Hey, cut the guy some slack.”

They both turned to see Jacob Jackson at the doorway. Templar’s Chief Financial Officer was a large man with the bearing of an athlete. His suit was casual and loose, and true to his unconventional style, he clenched the stub of an unlit cigar in his teeth.

“We buy a ton of government surplus material,” Jackson said, quietly closing the door behind him. He nodded a greeting to the others and pulled the cigar stub from his mouth. His face was rugged, more suited for the outback than the boardroom, with thin gray hair combed straight from one side of his head to the other. “We use most of the material for testing purposes, particularly at the New Mexico site. We've been doing it for a while now. It saves us money.”

For Jacob Jackson, it was always about the bottom line. Jackson had been appointed Templar's CFO soon after Dorian bought up the company. Years before, Jackson had been a successful partner at the investment firm of Goldman Sachs. On the day they met, Tyler had suspected Jackson had once been an investment banker. Even at fifty-nine, the man still plastered his hair down with gel.

“And these purchases are all through normal channels?” Tyler asked with a twinge of concern.

Jackson gave a cryptic smile and snapped the cigar stub back in his mouth. Then he walked over and fell onto the couch beside Ramona. He looked over at the younger woman, grinned, and then chewed thoughtfully on his cigar.

“Yeah,” he finally answered, looking back at Tyler. “We follow standard purchasing procedures. Of course we do.”

Tyler moved away from the window and sat down behind his desk. “Do we buy scrapped weapons systems? We’re tracing back the purchases and -”

Before Tyler could continue, Jackson interrupted him. This habit often annoyed his colleagues. “Listen, folks. In the last few years, we’ve bought everything from desks to computers to scrapped Tomahawk cruise missile casings.” He held up his hand. “The missiles were used for rocket experiments. Nothing sinister, I assure you. Look, I personally oversee our procurement accounts. We deal with reputable intermediaries. If we didn’t, somebody would have already been out of a job.”

Tyler studied Jackson's craggy face and sharp eyes, trying to determine just how serious the older man took the situation. Jackson’s statements were reassuring. No one - not even Sinclair Dorian - knew the inner workings of the company better than Jacob Jackson.

Jackson was shaking his head. “This is such bullshit. It never ends. I get so tired of defending what we do.”

“This could get ugly,” Ramona said, drumming her fingernails on the couch arm. “We could have our public relations department just announce the investigation before the details are leaked.”

“That might not be a great idea,” Tyler said. “We should let the other side make the first move. Then I could have us -”

“Before you do
anything
,” Ramona broke in, “you're going to run it past me. I want to know everything that happens, as it happens, Samson.”

“Of course,” Tyler replied, biting back his annoyance. “And while you’re both here, I’ll tell you now that I've decided to conduct an internal investigation on our procurement practices, before we’re slapped with more subpoenas.”

Ramona frowned. “What’s there to investigate?”

“Yeah,” Jackson added. “I’ll give you everything you want.”

“I know,” Tyler said, moving behind his desk. “For now, though, I have three reasons for conducting an official internal investigation. The first reason is to minimize interference with the normal operations of the business. The second reason is to minimize cash expenditures on outside counsel. The third reason is to get to the bottom of all this before anyone else does.”

Ramona considered that for a moment. “All right. Start whenever you’re ready.”

“It’s already begun.” Tyler opened his desk drawer and removed two envelopes. He walked over and handed one to Ramona and the other to Jackson.

“Ramona, this memorandum directs me to conduct a confidential investigation on behalf of the corporation. It stresses the need for confidentiality and directs my department to use any other departments or personnel that we feel are necessary.”

“Understood,” she said, scanning her copy of the memo.

“And that's where you come in, Jacob. During this investigation, you are to report to me directly.”

“And myself,” Ramona added, looking up.

“Actually, no,” Tyler corrected her as he sat down. “Everything goes through me. The reason we don't go through the regular chain of command is so there will be no doubt about whether the attorney-client privilege was intended during any communication. I also want any of the documents generated during the investigation to be clearly labeled as 'privileged and confidential'. That will also help maintain our work-product privileges.”

“Do they teach you all this stuff in law school?” Jackson asked with a tight grin.

Tyler smiled back. “You'd be surprised how little real-world law they teach you in law school.” Then he became serious again. “I’ll get you written instructions outlining exactly what we will require from your department.”

Jackson nodded slowly. “Just like the old days, eh, Samson?”

It was almost three years ago that the Securities and Exchange Commission launched a massive investigation into the financing of Templar's initial public offering. Samson Tyler had just been hired on as counsel. He had done some litigation work for a small firm after graduating law school, but he had never been involved in a major government lawsuit.

Tyler helped the company throw up legal roadblocks to fight the SEC to a standstill. After half a year of legal wrangling, Templar managed to get the agency to drop its investigation for lack of evidence. Many people at the time credited his performance for saving the company.

Tyler didn't appreciate the reference to the time when the SEC was at the company's throat. It was a rough time for everyone, and he hadn't yet reached that 'one day you'll laugh about it' point. He doubted that he ever would.

“We’ll begin our interviews with the employees over the next few days,” he told the others. “From here on in, consider the investigation to be active.”

Jackson pushed himself from the couch and stood.

“There's one last thing I want to mention,” Tyler added as Jackson headed for the door. “You'll be hearing this a lot, but I want to tell you now that any employee, including the two of you, has the right to consult with an attorney prior to and during every interview. I want to remind you that my department and I work for the
company
. Any information you provide may or may not be disclosed to other management or government authorities. Are we clear on that?”

Jackson turned around, clutching his cigar stub between his thumb and index finger. “Are you saying I should crank up the shredder sooner rather than later?”

“Was that a joke, Jacob?”

“Yes, Samson, it was a joke. Relax, kid. Please.” Jackson winked at Ramona and headed for the door. “I'll start pulling records. Let me know if you need anything else.”

“I will.”

Jackson paused, his hand resting on the doorknob, chewing thoughtfully on his cigar stump. “Good luck,” he said without turning. “But I think we’re just wasting our time.”

Then he left, leaving the door open behind him.

Ramona rose from the couch. “I don’t like this. Seriously, what’s your plan if this investigation of yours actually turns up something?”

Tyler had swiveled his chair to look out the window. “If something comes up, then we’ll look into our options.”

Ramona marched over to the desk and leveled the back of Tyler’s head with an icy gaze. “Don’t give me weasel words, Samson.”

Tyler felt his back stiffen. “You’re not the only person I have to answer to. You're not top of pyramid, Ramona.”

“Not yet.”

“When there's more to tell, then you'll be the first to know. This is a serious situation. I understand that.”

“No, you don’t,” Ramona corrected him sharply. “If we don’t get the
Naiad
running commercial passenger flights by the end of the year, we’ll never be able to, because we’ll be out of business. So whatever you have to do to bury this shit, do it.”

Tyler swiveled his seat back around. He shot a glance behind Ramona, to the doorway where Dustin O’Dell was waiting with his arms crossed, trying to look inconspicuous.

Tyler looked back at Ramona and clenched his jaw. “Until I know what's going on here, Ramona, I’m going to do everything I can to minimize potential damage to the company. But I'm not burying
anything
.”

“Fine, but we're going to keep this mess from Sinclair. The man does
not
need surprises.”

“Too late.”

“Shit. You told him already? What did he say?”