* * *
SOME CEOS HAD BAD DAYS.
Some got stuck with entire weeks that went so far south a map and compass were required to avoid the dreaded Sea of Red Ink.
He was now officially in that unfortunate latter group of corporate mariners, Jack concluded. He could even read the small printed warning at the edge of the map. Beyond these shores there be dragons.
It was enough to make a man superstitious. Apparently disasters really did occur in threes.
“We’ll need damage control,” Jack said. “Lots of it.”
He surveyed the chaotic wreckage of what was left of Lab Two B. Broken glass and smashed equipment littered the workbenches. Sensitive instruments lay in pieces on the floor. One of the vandals had used a can of bloodred spray paint to scrawl the words “Vanguard of Tomorrow” on the east wall.
“This is too much,” Milo moaned. “It’s just too much on top of everything else. Excalibur will be ruined.”
The monotonous litany was starting to get on Jack’s nerves. But then, his store of patience had already been badly frayed.
The vandalism of Lab Two B was only the latest in a series of ominous incidents that had struck tiny Excalibur Advanced Materials Research in the past few hours. In the grand scheme of things, it was not even the worst incident that had occurred. The murdered lab tech topped the list.
“We’ll deal with it, Milo,” Jack said. He was paid to say things like that, he reminded himself. Today he was going to earn every cent of his salary.
“Deal with it?” Milo snapped around to face Jack, his thin face working furiously. There was a feverish light in his eyes. “How do you deal with the end of everything we’ve worked for for so long? How do you deal with a disaster? We’re not going to get a second chance. The Veltran presentation can’t be canceled. You know that.”
“I said we can handle it.”
“How are we supposed to do that?” Milo bounced wildly. “Getting Grady Veltran’s attention in the first place was an incredible stroke of luck. You know his reputation. If we start making excuses and try to postpone the presentation even a day, he’ll cross us off his list.”
Jack suppressed a groan. He did not need this. He had enough problems on his hands. But Milo Ingersoll was his client. Clients needed to be handled with kid gloves at times like this. It was part of the job.
Milo was barely twenty-five, but as the only member of the eccentric Ingersoll clan who displayed any potential for leadership and management, he had assumed a heavy burden. Following the death of his great-aunt, Patricia Ingersoll, the founder of Excalibur, he had left engineering graduate school and taken the helm of the small, family-held company. Within days he had realized that he was in over his head. Patricia had been bedridden during the last year of her life. Without her guidance, the company had floundered. When Milo took charge he realized at once that the firm was on the brink of bankruptcy. He also understood that he lacked the management skills and experience to pull it back from the brink.
He’d known that he needed help, and he’d known that he needed it fast.
Displaying the foresight, determination, and raw passion that Jack figured would one day make Milo a formidable executive, he had sought out a turnaround specialist, a consultant who might be able to save the faltering little high-tech company.
Jack would never forget the day the intense young man had burst into his office and alternately demanded and pleaded for assistance. Milo had been passionate, frenzied, willing to do anything, promise anything, sign anything, to save the family firm.
The Excalibur situation presented just the kind of problem that intrigued Jack. Saving small, closely held companies in dire straits was his specialty. Training his replacement, in this case Milo, was part of the package deal. He had long ago understood that teaching and mentoring the next generation of leadership was crucial to real long-term success. There wasn’t much point salvaging a small company if it went under the day after the turnaround specialist walked out the door because no one left behind could manage it.
Milo had all the qualities needed for his future job. He was enthusiastic, intelligent, hardworking, and, most important, wholly devoted to Excalibur. During the past six months he had begun to imitate Jack in a variety of ways, not the least of which was his choice of attire. He now routinely eschewed the casual look that was endemic throughout the high-tech industry in favor of a classic suit and tie. Unfortunately, his taste still tended toward green and brown. Jack had made a mental note to take Milo to a good tailor before he finished the Excalibur project.
But this morning Milo was not a model of the conservative business style. He had still been in bed when Jack had phoned him to tell him about the vandalism. Milo had apparently been so shaken by the news that he had not bothered to finish dressing before he left the house. He had managed to pull on a pair of jeans, but he was still wearing the top half of what looked like very old, very faded, striped pajamas. His bony bare feet were encased in worn, scuffed slippers. His red hair stood up in jagged little tufts. Behind the thick lenses of his heavy, black-framed glasses, his sharp hazel eyes glittered with a combination of outrage and frantic despair.
Jack took pity on him.
“This isn’t a disaster, Milo,” he said quietly. “It’s a setback, but it’s not a disaster.”
“I don’t see how you can tell the difference.”
“Trust me, I can tell.” Jack glanced at the thick-bellied man hovering uneasily in the doorway. “All right, Ron, let’s get this lab cleaned up.”
“Yes, sir.” Ron Attwell, the head of what passed for Excalibur’s small security department, was sweating. There were dark stains under the arms of his khaki uniform shirt. Perspiration beaded his forehead.
Jack didn’t blame him. He wasn’t feeling real cool himself, in spite of the fact that, like everything else in Lab Two B, the HVAC system was state-of-the-art. The air-conditioning was the only thing that was still working in the trashed research wing.
Milo was right, the ruined lab definitely qualified as a disaster, but damned if he was going to admit it out loud, Jack thought. He was the guy in charge. It was his job to pretend that there were no problems that could not be dealt with here at Excalibur.
“I want full security maintained,” Jack continued quietly. “Use only janitorial staff who have been authorized to work in this building and make certain no one throws anything away, not even a broken bottle, until someone on the Soft Focus team has looked at it first. Got that?”
“Yes, sir.”
Milo twisted his long-fingered hands in a gesture that would have done credit to a character in the last act of Carmen. “What’s the point of employing full security measures now? Talk about closing the barn door after the horse has gone.”
“Milo,” Jack said very softly.
Milo jerked at the tone of voice. He blinked quickly and broke off abruptly.
Jack held Ron’s gaze. “Box up all the debris and leave it here in the lab. Make sure nothing gets hauled away.”
“Yes, sir.” Ron wiped his forehead on the back of his khaki sleeve. “I’ll get right on it, Mr. Fairfax.”
“Make sure everyone involved in the cleanup keeps his or her mouth shut. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Anyone who discusses the situation outside the company will receive an automatic pink slip.”
“Yes, sir.” Ron dug a notepad out of his left pocket and fumbled for a pen. “I’ll do my best, sir, but you know what rumors are like in this business.”
“I know,” Jack said. “But our official stance is that no serious damage was done.”
Milo scowled. “Is that why we’re not calling the cops?”
“Yes.”
“But why bother trying to keep this a secret? We’re not the only place that’s been hit by those damned Vanguard of Tomorrow crazies. They ransacked one of the labs at the UW last month. It was in the papers.”
“And there was that software-des
ign firm they tore up a few weeks ago,” Ron volunteered. “Tried to torch the place.”
Jack gave each man a level look. “We don’t need this kind of publicity. The last thing we want to do is call attention to Excalibur’s security problems.”
Ron blanched. “Yes, sir.”
Milo scowled. “It’s not as if—”
Jack quirked a brow in Ron’s direction. Preoccupied with making notes on his pad, Attwell did not notice the small gesture. Milo, however, finally seemed to get the point. He shut his mouth, tightened his lips into a thin, disgruntled line, and reluctantly subsided.
“Any kind of publicity which implies a weakness in our internal security measures is bad for the company,” Jack said with a patience he was far from feeling. “That type of news tends to make potential clients and customers very, very nervous. I doubt if we’ll be able to keep a complete lid on this, because the Vanguard of Tomorrow crowd will probably go straight to the media to take the credit. But we’re going to try to minimize the story on our end. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.” Ron snapped his notepad closed.
“It’s your job to limit the in-house leaks, Ron,” Jack said. “Langley in PR will handle the press.”
“Right.” Attwell shoved his fingers through his thinning gray hair. He drew himself up with a visible effort and straightened his slumped shoulders. “I’m sorry, sir. This shouldn’t have happened. Those thugs never should have gotten in like that.” He made a disgusted sound. “We’ve never had any kind of trouble like this before. Who’d have figured?”
“Yes,” Jack said. “Who’d have figured?” Obviously no one in Excalibur’s creaky, painfully old-fashioned security department, he thought. But he refrained from pointing that out.
Updating security at Excalibur had been on the list of priorities he had made six months ago when he had agreed to take the CEO position. But retooling a low-tech group of night watchmen, most of whom were nearing retirement, into a modern, streamlined, security team required time and money. There had been so many other priorities, he reflected, none of them cheap. Excalibur’s financial resources were limited. It had been his decision to pour everything into the Soft Focus project.
But sometime during the past twenty-four hours, Tyler Page, the researcher scientist who had finally made Soft Focus work, had disappeared together with the only existing specimen of the newly developed, high-tech crystal. It was enough to give even a sane, logical, reasonable executive a case of paranoia.
He turned on his heel and walked toward the swinging doors. “I’m going back to my office. Keep the area clear of unauthorized personnel during cleanup, Ron. Report to me when you’re finished.”
“Yes, sir.” Ron cleared his throat. “Sir, I’d like to tell you again how damned sorry I am about all this.”
“If you apologize one more time,” Jack warned, “I’ll fire you.”
Ron flinched. “Yes, sir.”
Jack planted a hand against one of the heavy doors, shoved it open, and went out into the hall.
“Wait,” Milo called. “Hold up there a minute, Jack. I want to talk to you.”
“Later, Milo. Right now I’ve got to get hold of Langley. I want to brief him before the press starts calling.”
“I know, I know.” Milo trotted into the hall behind Jack. “But we’ve got to talk about the other situation.”
“Later.” Jack kept moving toward the elevators.
“No. Now.” Milo bustled along beside him. “What if this business with the murder and the trashed lab brings that . . . that woman here? She’ll start asking questions.”
“Don’t worry, if Elizabeth Cabot shows up, I’ll handle her.” Talk about wild, outrageous promises. If his recent track record was any indicator, he’d be lucky not to get impaled on the heel of one of her expensive, made-in-Italy, leather pumps.
Milo snorted. “But you know what she’s like at the monthly board meetings. Always wanting details and demanding information. If she gets wind of the fact that Page and the specimen are missing, there’s no telling what will happen.”
“You’re wrong.”
Hope flared in Milo’s eyes. “I am?”
“Sure.” Jack smiled grimly. “I know exactly what she’ll do. She’ll cut off our funding before we can finish sweeping up Lab Two B.”
He was pretty sure Elizabeth had been looking for an excuse to rip up their contract for the past six months. The destruction of the lab and the disappearance of Soft Focus would give the Aurora Fund lawyers grounds to claim that the company was no longer financially viable. As the major creditor, the Fund could force Excalibur into bankruptcy.
“I knew it,” Milo whispered. “We haven’t got a prayer.”
“Get a grip. If Elizabeth Cabot calls about the vandalism, I’ll deal with her. There’s no reason for her to suspect that we’ve got a problem with the Soft Focus project.”
“But what if she does suspect something?” Milo quivered in agitation. “What if she starts nosing around? Asking questions? You know how pushy she can get.”
“If she asks any questions, I’ll answer them.”
“But how?”
“Dunno. Maybe I’ll try a nice, bald-faced lie.”
Milo stared at him. “How can you make jokes at a time like this?”
“I wasn’t joking. Like I said, I’ll deal with Elizabeth Cabot. You concentrate on handling your family. We don’t want any of them to get word of this, either.”
Milo blinked several times and then grunted. “Aunt Dolores would have hysterics. Uncle Ivo would probably collapse. God only knows what my cousins would do. Especially Angela.”
“You know damn well what Angela would do. She’d start demanding that Excalibur be sold or merged. She’s been pushing for that since your aunt died.”
Milo’s hand closed into a fist. His head came up. “Never. This is my company. Aunt Patricia left it to me because she knew I would take care of it for the family.”
Jack smiled slightly in spite of his foul mood. “That’s the spirit, Milo. Don’t worry, we’ll recover Soft Focus.”
“But how are we going to do that?”
“Leave it to me.” Jack stopped in front of the elevators and punched the call button. “I’ll get it back. But it will take some time. I’m going to have to turn everything else over to you for the next ten days or so.”
“Ten days? But the Veltran demonstration is scheduled for two weeks from today. We have to have the crystal back in the lab by then or everything goes right down the toilet.”
“As you just pointed out, we’ve got two weeks,” Jack said quietly. “You haven’t had as much experience as I’d like yet, but we don’t have any choice. You’re going to have to handle your family and the press and day-to-day operations here at Excalibur all by yourself while I’m gone. Think you can do it?”
“Of course I can do it. That’s not the issue. The issue is the crystal.”
“I’m aware of that.”
The elevator doors finally opened. Mercifully, something was working right today. Jack got into the car and stabbed the button that would take him to the third floor. He looked out at Milo’s haunted face and dredged up another dose of reassurance. “I’ll find it, Milo.”
“How the hell are you going to do that?” Milo wailed.
Jack smiled humorlessly. “Thought I’d start by taking a vacation.”
The elevator doors finally closed, cutting off Milo’s keening cry in mid-shriek.
Alone in the cab, Jack propped one shoulder against the paneled wall and gazed unseeingly at the lights on the control panel. The bottom line was that Milo was right. The loss of Soft Focus was a major catastrophe for Excalibur.
With its unique optical properties the hybrid colloidal crystal had the potential to play a critical role in the development of the next wave of computer development, a generation of systems founded on light-based technology. Optical computers worked by encoding information into light pulses. Soft Focus was designed to
control and transmit light in highly specific ways on a microscopic level.
Patricia Ingersoll, a brilliant researcher with a host of patents, had developed the concept, but she had become ill and died before she could make it a reality in her labs. Tyler Page, an equally brilliant, but extremely eccentric member of Excalibur’s R & D team, had worked closely with her for years. Page had been certain that he could complete the work on the crystal.
When Jack had taken on the task of saving Excalibur, he had made the decision to base the entire future of the company on the development of Soft Focus. In retrospect, it was possible that he had made a monumental mistake, he thought as he got off the elevator. But it was not as if there had been anything else to go with. Without the crystal, there was no way to salvage Excalibur.
He had sought funding from all the usual sources and had been rejected by all of them, in spite of his personal track record. The bottom line was that no one was willing to back Excalibur now that Patricia Ingersoll was gone.
Late one night, while going through a pile of the company’s old financial records with the assistance of a medicinal glass of scotch, Jack had made the discovery that once, several years ago, the Aurora Fund had backed an Excalibur project. From what he could discern, it looked as if the deal had been some kind of personal arrangement between Patricia Ingersoll and the Fund’s previous manager, Sybil Cabot. The contract had been nothing more than a paragraph-long agreement. It would have meant little in court.
He had soon learned that Sybil had died two years before. She had left the Fund in the hands of her niece.
Without a lot of hope but seriously short of alternatives, he had contacted the Fund’s new manager, Elizabeth Cabot, and proposed a renewed financial commitment. To his amazement, she had agreed to discuss it.
The morning he walked into her office, located on the first floor of the old mansion, he had known he was in very serious trouble. After an hour in Elizabeth’s company, he had finally acknowledged to himself that he was going to consign all his ironclad rules against mixing business and pleasure to hell.
She had gone for the Excalibur pitch. She had also accepted his invitation to dinner.