Dangerous Encounter, page 18
I said, "You weren't supposed to hear that, George. Don't say anything, will you, until Harry announces I've been appointed the editor?"
George stood up. He said in a hollow sort of voice to come on, we'd have a coffee break, and when I protested it was too early in the morning he repeated more forcefully, "Come on, will you?" very urgently.
So we signed out. Downstairs we found a nook to ourselves. Coffee cups in our hands, George said severely, "You're not falling for old Harry's guff, I hope, after all these years? Weren't you in one of his classes? You haven't a chance at being editor of the new publication."
"What makes you say that?"
"You've been too long in the hospital. Everyone knows Sid Horrabin's going to get the job."
"Don't kid yourself, George. I'm in the running."
George stuffed the empty coffee cups into the container ALL REFUSE HERE KEEP OUR CORRIDORS CLEAN and filled his meerschaum pipe. "Al," he said, lighting his pipe, "you haven't a prayer. The quarterly's already been announced, with a. publication date provisionally set for the end of June, at the beginning of the third quarter."
"Good."
George looked at me as if he thought I was out of my mind. 'Good?" he said. "Don't you know Horrabin's a retired naval captain? He's got Washington connections. Damn it to hell, there are more than two thousand retired army and navy officers up here in the Park, all ready to lobby and pull their strings at the Pentagon. I don't know what's gotten into you since you got out of the hospital. You begin to worry me. I'm giving it to you straight: Horrabin's grabbed off the editorship..."
There wasn't too much for me to do that morning so I began reading an accumulation of scientific magazines in my In basket. In Pacific Journal of Sciences I read a piece by a Dr. William Whitmore, Deputy Chief Scientist at one of the big aerospace establishments, that questioned the increasing use of technical writers, too often failed engineers with no competence as writers or ex-newspapermen with little or no scientific understanding, to bolster up the papers and reports issued by second-and third-rate commercial scientists. When I finished the piece I then happened to notice an advertisement for a Japanese-made miniaturized pocket-sized tape recorder. The recorder came equipped with a button-size mercury battery, a two-hour tape, was less than three inches in diameter, and cost $250. It looked like a buy; I wrote to the San Francisco supply house for it.
It was not too far before the lunch break so I checked myself out and went down to the mail room on the first floor to get the letter out in a hurry. Returning along the lower corridor, I happened to run into Marcia. We both stopped. Marcia's crescent eyes were enormous m a face that looked very pale to me as she said, "Hi-" and I had a feeling of my heart being about close to bursting. I explained I'd phoned her house half a dozen times to ask her to have dinner with me at L'Omelette but her housekeeper each time said she was still in New York.
Marcia hastily explained, "I got back only this morning. I had accrued vacation tune and I flew East to get away from you and Paul and Old Horror and think a few things out." She then gave me one of her quick darting looks and said in a breath, "Sorry, but I've got to run, I'm meeting Paul in the parking area to drive to the city with him for the weekend- but I’ll be home Sunday afternoon, late, around five or six-" and away she bolted.
= 3 =
Saturday, in accord with a resolution I'd made at the hospital, I enrolled in a course of elementary electronics at the adult night school in Palo Alto High, picked up a month's supply of lessons, and in the afternoon went over to the Palo Alto public library, pulled down more books on electronics, tried to read some of them, and started asking myself just what I thought I was doing. Walt Abbot and his wife eased me through Sunday. When Monday came around, there wasn't any work for me on my desk and I still waited for Harry's phone call.
At coffee break that morning, I caught sight of Marcia in the lower corridor about the same instant she saw me. She waited until I came up to her and said, "Oh, hi" very coldly-and then asked, "You still working here?"
"You know I am. That's a hell of a question, Marcia."
"I wondered because I got back early from the city yesterday, by three in the afternoon, and waited for you to phone me."
"I wanted to phone you but I decided it was only fair to you if I waited until after I saw Weymouth-"
"Oh, my God, Al!"
"I meant every word I said in the hospital."
"You're not going to be appointed as editor of even a roll of toilet paper here at SMC. Weymouth won't do anything for you. Old Horror's going to edit SMC's new quarterly. I've had a row with Paul because he claims it's Weymouth's prerogative to select the editor, not his, and Paul refuses to interfere in your behalf."
"Paul doesn't have to interfere in my behalf. Please don't worry. I'll put Weymouth in my pocket, once I have the chance to talk to him."
Marcia's gray-green eyes pierced me with a hard bright look that now seemed to say, "Oh, won't you wake up? I've done all I can." And she gave her head a toss, said, "You make me sick!" and walked away.
In the Monday afternoon mail delivery my pocket tape recorder was delivered to my basket. Later that afternoon, I tried it out on one of the physicists while he was attempting to explain the simple principles to me of a cesium ion engine.
I hurriedly typed him a rough draft of his explanation; he read it. From Ned, just before quitting time, I heard he went to Ned and threatened to resign, either that, or I'd have to be fired if ever again as a tech writer I offered him such garbage and pretended it was a verbatim report of what he'd said.
On Tuesday morning I again phoned Mrs. Cunningham to ask if Mr. Weymouth had possibly forgotten me. It was over a week now since I'd returned to work. Was he leaving me up here, high and dry, in Pubs Sec? Oh, no, Mr. Durango, she assured me; she would not be surprised if Mr. Weymouth might have time to see me later this morning.
He didn't see me that morning, but immediately after lunch Ned called me to his office and informed me Mr. Weymouth had only a moment ago personally spoken to him on the intercom, asking to see me whenever it was convenient.
"Right now, Ned, is convenient."
Ned got to his feet to peer uncomfortably at me through his thick glasses as might a large and surprisingly distressed toad:
"Al-I'd better tell you before you see Mr. Weymouth. I have to make out my regular fitness reports to the top brass on all my people in here. I don't like telling you, but I did not give you a good one, Al. I couldn't. I'm sorry. I know you tried hard. I know how hard you tried."
I told Ned not to worry about it. We shook hands. Ned said I could take the rest of the day off, if I wished, after seeing Mr. Weymouth. After thanking him, I returned to the bullpen where George silently watched me replace tonight's electronic lesson in its folder, and take that and some equipment with me as I prepared to leave.
George said, "You're seeing Weymouth?"
"Wish me luck."
"Al, I like working here. They've got good people working here. Paul's turning into one of those rare scientists with executive capabilities that fire up hundreds of other scientists. Don't do anything to upset the applecart here at SMC, if Weymouth won't give you what you want. Take a bonus. You'll get a bonus-"
I said screw a bonus to George, feeling a heat beginning to glare inside myself, like a small furnace, at the thought of Harry or Paul or anyone else getting ahead of me on a rough track; and left George standing there, still wanting to argue. Downstairs, by the escalator. While I was at it, before I saw Harry, I changed into my street clothes in the Security locker room and went around by visitors entrance, with a messenger kid once more conducting me through the labyrinth of corridors into Mrs. Cunningham's office and then into Harry's office where he rose up, greeting me good-naturedly.
"Al, sit down, won't you? Take a pew. I meant to see you much sooner but I've been loaded to the eyebrows this last month or so. How are you feeling? How's your health these days?"
Chapter 12
= 1 =
"Sit down," Harry repeated, very cordially, and nodded his iron-gray thatch toward one of the big green leather chairs drawn up at the right-hand side of his kidney-shaped desk.
Although outside it was at least 90° on this April afternoon, in here he had a fire burning in the big brick fireplace behind him. As I sat down, Harry swung his own chair around so he could face me. He rubbed his big muscular hands briskly together, asking, "It's not too coolish in here, is it? I like a fire burning. So I've got the cold-air system turned on full force to keep my office cool enough to let me have a comfortable fire going."
I said no, it wasn't too cool. I could hear the fire crackling in the oak logs at one side of me, and the cold air whistling softly through the overhead vents somewhere in the ceiling. After offering me an open box of cigars, they were English Jamaicans, said Harry, myself saying, "I'm not a cigar man, thanks," he lit one, long, thin, and of a greenish-brown shade; and then leaned back in his chair, his hands clasped behind his head. He began talking. I guess he must have spoken to me for nearly fifteen minutes.
The sum and substance of all of it was that Harry had decided he wasn't being fair to me to ask me to keep my promise to help him out by taking over as the editor of SMC's new aerospace and electronics quarterly. He said how intensely grateful he was to me for offering to accept such a burdensome task at a time when he hadn't known which way to turn for help; but he now wanted me to know he was in a position to assure me he could relieve me of my promise. I didn't need to feel obligated to go on with it, he explained. Fortunately, Sid Horrabin at last had shoved his nose to the grindstone. Sid had finally organized his Public Relations department to allow some of the very brilliant younger people to handle most of the routine tasks. Sid himself was now going to find the time to grasp the editorial tiller and guide the new ship, so to speak.
"I see," I said.
"I know you've been unhappy in this sort of work. I blame myself entirely for not sooner realizing it's been only your loyalty-your friendship to me-that's held you here.
"Thank you."
"I've talked it over with Ned. I don't advise you to leave us precipitately. No," Harry said in a deep voice, "no, stay on. Take two or three more weeks while you look around for an opening more suitable to your own unique talents. Take a month. Yes, take a month, why don't you? That's what you must do. I've told Ned if you wish to make an early-morning job interview, you're to feel free to do so. Come in late. Don't worry, about keeping a regular schedule. Or take a whole day off, any day at all, if you like, to go into the city. You could see some of your old newspaper friends, for example. They might know of newspaper openings for you.
"And remember, boy," Harry said, even more cordially, "we'll back you up. You bet. If anyone asks you for a job reference, have them phone me-or if I'm not in my office ask them to leave word with Mrs. Cunningham. I'll give you the damndest finest job reference anyone could have. We owe you a lot, boy! We owe you a great deal-"
He got to his feet. Reaching a hand into his top desk drawer he brought out a strip of paper. He offered it to me; it was a check, I saw. I took it and discovered it was made out to me and for $500. He watched me fold it and stow it away in my wallet.
"It's not a bonus, Al. We can't call it a bonus. We're not quite yet in a position to give bonuses to our employees until this summer, after NASA comes through with the first payments on the Skyjack contract. But we'll call it an honorarium-a token of our esteem for your loyalty and your efforts to help build up this research center as a top research center."
Then Harry put his left arm tinder my right elbow. He shook my right hand vigorously with his right hand. At the same time he began very gradually to walk me in the direction of the door as again he urged me to take all the time I needed to find a job that was more in line with what I was trained for than technical writing. No hurry, he repeated.
I had to stiffen up and balk, to prevent being edged out through the door before I knew it.
Weymouth's about-face in regard to the editorship of the quarterly hadn't surprised me. As I say, I'd known I could count on him. I'd counted upon him proceeding exactly as he had done with me at present, for Harry had always been a most affable man, full of promises, and ambitious, and ever willing to advance you as long only as you were useful to his purposes.
I wasn't giving up hope, either. Nothing like that. But months ago in the hospital I foresaw if I wanted the editorship I'd better follow two courses of action.
First, I'd show confidence in my future at SMC with Marcia, George, and everyone else in order that my eventual transmogrification from a $400-a-month tech writer upwards to the higher level of editorship might cause less gossip and appear as a step fully anticipated by both Weymouth and myself. Secondly, months ago, I'd also realized I'd have to convince him I could be of far more use to him as an editor of the new quarterly than any retired navy captain.
"Before I go," I asked hastily, "I'd like your advice on something, if you can spare the time?"
"Yes, of course-" Harry hesitated, glanced down at his wrist on which was strapped a Longines chronometer. "I can easily spare another five minutes." He walked behind his desk and dropped into his own chair. "Well, now?"
I returned to the chair by the desk. "It's a little awkward to say-"
"We're old friends, Al. Say it out."
"During the latter part of last year, were you convinced that the San Jose parent corporation meant to close down SMC Electronics the first of this year?"
Harry's black eyebrows lifted in surprise at my question.
"At the time, yes, but what's the point of your question?"
"When I came here, even as a tech writer I had to sign an agreement to give up all rights to SMC in any inventions or discoveries made while employed."
"That's a routine agreement. What's all this about, Al?"
"Paul signed one?"
"Every employee signs one." Harry got on his feet with another glance at his chronometer. "Look here, I'm sorry. I've got an appointment-"
"My point is," I said, also getting to my feet, "if San Jose closed this plant, what would become of Paul's ion propulsion system? He'd lose it, wouldn't he? Yet it's the heart and key to the Skyjack sixty-million-dollar government contract."
"What the hell are you getting at?"
"You've tied your career to Paul's coattails, Harry. Sometime last fall didn't you decide to protect yourself and get Paul's discoveries in the application of ion mechanics, one way or another, away from here before San Jose took over?”
I watched Harry's long, wrinkled face at first drain out to a color about the color of his thick iron-gray hair and then a tide of red flamed into his cheeks. He said with an effort and thickly, "I've always known you were an unprincipled blackguard, Durango, and it serves me right for bringing you from Mexico-"
"Didn't you bring me here because you thought I was unprincipled enough to jump into a scheme with Hodges, your cousin, to steal a big-money proposal?"
"Who told you Hodges was my cousin?"
"You did."
He growled and I saw him glance sideways at the big cut-glass inkwell on his desk. Then he cast a threatening look at me as if the thought had crossed his mind of slamming the inkwell over my head. I went at him as hard as I could by saying, "Harry, you had an almost insoluble problem. You'd designed a security setup that would stop anyone-even yourself as general manager-from stealing any new specifications or developments, made by your scientists, and passing them out to another research center. At the same time, you had a second problem. How could you prevent the parent corporation in San Jose from selling the rights to Paul's ion prototype engine to General Dynamics or Aerojet, let's say, ...if SMC Electronics was shut down? When I wrote you that letter from Mexico for a job, my guess is, suddenly I became your best bet as cat's-paw-"
"Hogwash."
"You had your cousin, Hodges, to help you. Hodges needed money and it wouldn't surprise me if you hadn't bought a controlling interest in Wendy and Phillips, through Hodges or dummies, after their shares dropped almost to nothing."
Harry gave a start. Immediately controlling himself, he stated flatly, "You're out of your head. Poor Yvor always said you were unbalanced."
"No, I doubt if Yvor ever said anything like that. If he did, why were you eo quick to offer me a job?"
“I offered you a job because I was sorry for you."
"You offered me a job because I could be useful to you as someone who'd been operated upon once by Hodges and who'd go back, like a sheep to the slaughter, for more surgical work by Hodges without questioning him!"
I remained by the desk as Harry with a sudden and abrupt movement went to the fire. He poked at it with the poker, sparks flying, flames making a roaring noise, his face crimson in the burning light; and then, still with the poker in his hand, he swung around at me, a tall glowering figure, ten or fifteen feet from me. After a moment of irresolution he then put the poker into the brass coal scuttle, banging it.
"Look here," he said, coining forward in a rush and again stopping, "I'll admit you might make a nuisance of yourself if you went to newspapers with that cock-and-bull story. But you'd never have a chance of linking me with Hodges. Never. He's dead, don't forget-"
"Laurel isn't."
"Even if the FBI manage to catch up with her, they'll get nothing out of her. Nothing. She'll never talk."
"I believe you."
"You'd better."
"Hodges was busted. You gave her the getaway money-"
"The hell I gave her any money."
"Laurel did everything you told her to do except for one thing-she fell for Paul. That wasn't in your plans, was it? You didn't want Paul in any way involved. He was to be kept out of it until you moved over to Wently and Phillips, wasn't that it? But Laurel had an affair with Paul and it left me wondering about Paul until I gave myself a kick. I realized that while Paul might sleep with Laurel, he wouldn't besmirch his whole professional career by stealing. You had more to gain and less to lose-"
