The Project: A Kat Beckman Thriller, page 11
From Bobby’s emails and Logan’s copy of the contract with the Navy, she’d discovered it was called MARS, the Military Arms Realignment Strategy. Maybe she could write off Logan as being paranoid. But when she added Bobby to the mix and George, who was still missing, that changed things. Significantly.
Kat frowned, looking at the title for the first article in the stack, “High-Powered Pulse Laser Telemetry and Focusing Issues: An Overview.” She flipped past the first page and started thumbing through the sheets. It was tedious work. There were thousands of pages in the box of papers she’d brought back from Bobby’s house, not to mention the more than two hundred documents Logan had sent her just in the last batch. That didn’t account for the first batch he’d sent her with laser specifications and the contract earlier that day. Kat frowned. How had Logan gotten access to the information he’d sent? She felt like a lawyer on some sort of television drama where the opposing legal team buries the person in discovery files. She’d seen a show like that one time, where the bad lawyers had shipped dozens and dozens of boxes of papers to the good guys, leaving them to try to find the needle in a haystack they needed to prove their case.
That was exactly how she was feeling. To find the needle in the haystack, she’d have to get there one page at a time.
Kat began flipping pages in the articles. Bobby had highlighted and circled and made notes all over the pages. Kat was checking through the fourth article in the stack when she caught something. There was writing on the back of one of the pages. She furrowed her eyebrows, tilting her head to the side.
Each of the articles had only been printed on one side of the sheet. Up until that moment, there’d been nothing to look at other than Bobby’s underlines, scribbled formulas, and questions in the margins of the articles. Kat stared at the paper in front of her. Bobby’s handwriting was scrawled in looping scrolls of blue ink across the paper. Kat stared at it, trying to make out what he wrote. At the top, he had written: “Staff meeting: MARS laser experimental project.” Kat read down further. It seemed that he was making notes on a meeting he’d been at on the back of one of the pages of the articles, as if he’d forgotten to bring a pad of paper with him to the meeting. Kat licked her lips as she read it. It seemed a strange place to put notes from a staff meeting, but then again, nothing about this case was normal.
After reading a few comments about project requirement dates and staffing issues, a note written in the middle of the page caught Kat’s eye – “Funding an issue?” was all it read.
Kat looked up, staring at the ceiling, frowning. How could funding be an issue if they had a guaranteed contract with the Navy?
Kat reached for her laptop and opened it. Earlier that day, in the first batch of paperwork Logan had sent her, was the contract from the Navy for the MARS program. She’d wondered why Logan had sent it. On its own, Bobby’s comment on his staff meeting notes didn’t make any sense, but maybe since Logan had flagged it, there was something there.
After being an embedded journalist with the military, Kat knew the primary reason companies went after Defense Department contracts was for their high monetary value and the guaranteed money behind them. Unlike private enterprises, the American government didn’t default. Never. Sure, there were times that contractors had ended up on the wrong end of public sentiment, like when someone had decided to overcharge the government ten thousand dollars apiece for toilet seats and a thousand dollars each for hammers needed on a project. That had been quite the scandal during the 1980s. Since then, the Office of Budget Management, or OMB, kept a tight rein on spending and cost controls. It was government watchdogging at its best.
The OMB wasn’t the only dog on the block though. Companies like Alphacon also had to deal with the DCAA on a regular basis, the Defense Contract Audit Agency, to prevent budget overreaches, graft, and other fiscal issues. Even with the watchdogs keeping an eye on the pennies, government contracts were still some of the best deals for independent companies. The reality was no matter what was said in the press, the American government had more money than it knew what to do with and was more than happy to spend to stay on top of the world’s superpower pile. The squawking from any particular government administration who happened to be in power at that time didn’t matter. Behind the scenes, the Defense Department machine ran without fail, through administration after administration, making sure the military was strong and ready to do what they needed to do at any time.
Which made Bobby’s comment about the budget being a problem even more perplexing.
Kat chewed her lip as she opened the contract Logan had sent. As it loaded on her computer, Kat realized it was hundreds of pages long, with provisions for everything from natural disasters to government coups. She shook her head. Whoever was doling out the money in the government has spent quite a bit on their legal services. The language for the contract would have taken hundreds of thousands of dollars to develop, if not more. Kat shook her head. That was another story for another time.
After a few minutes of searching, Kat was able to find the compensation section for the contract. She whistled under her breath. The MARS program was worth a cool two hundred fifty million per year for three years, which was drawing to a close. Nearly three-quarters of a billion dollars. Kat narrowed her eyes, reading on, finding a few pages later with a slate of dates that were required in the contract. With only a few months left, there was a required test of the MARS products coming up. She licked her lips. There was a test scheduled for that week, although the exact date, time, and location weren’t specified. That was exactly what Logan had said. Kat’s heart started to pound in her chest. The contract was ending. There was money on the line. A lot of it. Her gut told her she found the first thread in the story. Now she just had to see where it led.
Kat went back to Bobby’s papers, setting the staff meeting notes off to the side but not before checking the date. It had been a year and a half before. As much as Kat immediately wanted to grab the pile of staff meeting notes and start going through them, she decided to stick with the articles. If Bobby was half as unorganized as he appeared to be, there was no telling where the next piece of information would come from.
A few pages later, she found it. Questions were scrawled on the back of another one of the printed-off articles Bobby Jenkins had been hoarding. “Cost overruns are nearing fifty percent. Not sure project is viable. Even if it is, Jeff has concerns about making the numbers work unless we can land production.”
“Making the numbers work?” Kat scratched the side of her face. She stared at the ceiling for a second. If the MARS program was running into financial trouble, it wasn’t the government that was going to bail out Alphacon. Unfortunately, that would be on the company. Once they ran out of government money, the Congressional Budget Office would clamp down on the cash they’d been given tighter than Fort Knox. If Alphacon was in trouble with the MARS program, then what Logan said made sense. If they had billions of dollars to lose in research or were worried about landing the production contract, there was a lot on the line.
But was it enough to leak classified information?
Kat’s stomach tied itself into a perfectly formed knot. Worse yet, what if it wasn’t simply a leak? What if it was a sale?
Kat grabbed her computer, opened up the files Logan had sent her, stood up, and moved to the kitchen table. Dillon scurried out from underneath, retreating to his dog bed. Kat paid no attention. She was focused, looking carefully at the information in front of her. Kat pushed aside the government contract that was on her screen and started scanning the other documents Logan had sent her. A minute later, Kat sucked in a breath. She stared at a single sentence in an email between the CEO Jeff Morrow and Zeke Estes, the head of security. “Someone has to be willing to pay for this technology.”
Someone? According to the contract Kat had just skimmed, the only buyer for the laser weapons was the United States Navy. Who exactly was someone?
A shiver ran down her spine. It looked like there was a larger plot, maybe even some form of coordination. At best, it was an effort to keep Alphacon financially afloat after a significant investment in developing new technology. At worst, it was a conspiracy. And why was the email between Jeff and Zeke? Where was Sam Rutgers, Logan’s boss, in the mix?
Kat remembered the emails Logan had sent her a few hours ago. She’d been so caught up in the paperwork she’d gotten from Bobby’s house she’d forgotten to take a look at them more closely. Thumbing through them on her screen, she loaded them five at a time. After reading several about requesting schedule adjustments from the American government because they needed additional time, which came in emails from Sam Rutgers, the head of development to Jeff Morrow, Kat stumbled upon a different series of emails. They were written by a man named Roy Robertson to Sam Rutgers. “Sam,” the email started, “Initial installation of the Supernova laser is complete on the USS Protea. The team followed the installation instructions provided by your group. We’ve run through the calibration procedures. I have questions that need to be addressed before the test. Please get back to me.”
Kat frowned, biting her lip. Questions? What was that about?
Kat opened a new tab on her computer, pulling up that Alphacon directory. There was no name of Roy Robertson on the website. She shook her head. If she ever hoped to get a clear picture of what was going on, she needed help.
26
The documents Logan had sent weren’t enough. That was clear. Kat needed more. She picked up the phone, dialing the number Logan had used to call her earlier that day.
“Kat, is that you?” His voice sounded thin and wavering.
“Yeah, Logan, it’s me. Listen, we need to talk,” Kat said, holding the notes Bobby Jenkins had written in her hand.
“Did you find something?”
“Yeah, Bobby Jenkins, at least for a minute.”
“You did? Is he okay?” Logan stuttered.
“He seems rattled, but he’s alive. I found him at his farm. He was going through piles of boxes in his garage. Left with what he termed a ‘life insurance policy.’”
“If you want to know what I think that is, I have no idea. I’ve got bigger problems of my own.” Logan went on to tell Kat about the leak in his brake line.
Kat pressed her lips together. “Are you sure it was done on purpose?”
“A perfectly round hole in a brand-new set of stainless-steel brake lines? Yeah. I’m sure. I’m lucky I found it.”
Kat nodded, “Okay, I want to hear more about that. But first, let me ask you about some emails between a guy named Roy Robertson going to Sam Rutgers. That mean anything to you?”
There was a pause for a moment before Logan answered, “Yeah, Roy is one of our technicians. He’s the guy we send out with the stuff we’ve built after it’s been tested at our lab. He does field operations. Tests the product, documents stuff for the contract, and then writes a report.”
Kat started to pace. “That last batch of emails you sent me, there’s one in there from Roy back to Sam. He seems concerned. He doesn’t spell it out exactly, but he says he’s got concerns about the laser that’s mounted on the USS Protea. Know anything about that?”
“No. I can’t say that I do. But I know his wife. We could go see her. She might know something.”
Logan sounded optimistic. That was enough for Kat. “I’ll pick you up. Text me your address.”
* * *
A half-hour later, Kat pulled in front of the Sunset Motel on the other side of the Sauk Valley. It was a seedy neighborhood, more buildings closed and boarded up than were open, with a distinct absence of road traffic and pedestrians, except for a solitary man who was walking down the street pulling his shirt up and then dropping it as if he was playing peek-a-boo with his belly button.
As Kat pulled into the parking lot, she wondered how long the neighborhood had been in disrepair. Like every other sprawling urban area, many places in California had succumbed to failed economics at the local, state, and federal level. It looked like the Sunset Motel was one of the few businesses still in operation there.
As soon as she pulled up outside of the motel, she saw the sedan Logan had described, the one with the now punctured brake line. A minute later, she saw the door to the room in front of the bumper of his car crack open. A moment later, Logan came out, striding toward the car, looking in both directions as if he was expecting a semi-truck to come blazing out of nowhere to mow him down.
“Thanks for coming to get me,” Logan said, sounding out of breath.
“No problem. Did you get your car fixed?”
Logan nodded. “Yeah. There’s a car parts store down the street. After you called, I ran over there, paid cash for more brake fluid and got some sealing tape. It’s fixed, at least for the time being until someone else decides to do something to it.”
As Kat pulled out of the driveway for the motel, she looked over at Logan. Part of her was surprised he’d ventured out of the motel room. Desperate men did desperate things, she reminded herself. Logan certainly fit the profile. He looked pale, ashen. “Have you eaten? Slept?” she asked.
“A little of both.” Logan sighed, cocking his head to the side. “Don’t have much of an appetite if you know what I mean.”
Kat understood. Stress did funny things to the body. “You said you knew where Roy Robertson’s family lives?”
“Yeah, turn here,” Logan pointed.
The directions Logan gave Kat took them out into the suburbs, away from the decrepit area the Sunset Motel inhabited. Logan pointed to a small ranch house on a winding street that was part of a development. “There!” he said. “That’s Roy’s house.”
Kat parked the Jeep on the street. There were two cars in the driveway, newer models. Nothing fancy, but definitely nicer than average. Field testing must pay well, she thought.
Sliding out of the car, she slammed the door closed and then walked with Logan to the front door. It opened before they could knock.
“Logan? I didn’t know you were coming over,” the woman at the door said.
“Sorry, Nancy. I didn’t have time to call. This is my friend Kat Beckman. Do you have a minute? Can we come in?”
“Of course.”
Kat stared at her. In another place and time, she and Nancy Robertson’s wife could have been sisters. They were built with the same petite athletic frame and nearly the same honey blonde hair color. Nancy Robertson’s hair was considerably longer, tied in a messy ponytail behind her head, a few wisps escaping from the side of it. She was wearing a pair of leggings and a tank top. Her feet were bare. She looked like she’d been home all day with nowhere to go.
Kat followed Logan into the house. The scent of garlic and ground beef hung in the air, as if Nancy was in the process of cooking dinner. Toy trucks were scattered haphazardly on the floor. From the other end of the house, Kat could hear the sound of a little boy’s voice making revving noises, “Vroom, vroom.” It made her think of Jack. Kat instantly wondered what he was up to. She’d send him a text later. Maybe he’d even have more time to talk later on tonight.
“What’s this about, Logan?”
Kat and Logan had followed Nancy into a small family room overflowing with toys. Before they could answer the question, Nancy looked around the room, as if her eyes had just become aware of the mess, “Sorry about the toys. When Roy is home, we make Grayson keep all of his toys in his bedroom. It’s his special treat to bring all his trucks out when Roy is traveling. It gets kind of hard being the only parent after a while.” Nancy stared at the ground for a second. “So, what’s this about? Is Roy okay?”
Logan held up his hands, “Yeah. Nothing to worry about. We just wanted to ask you a couple of questions. Have you heard from him recently?”
Nancy nodded, “Yeah, he called earlier today while I was picking up Grayson from preschool.”
Kat noticed the tension on Nancy’s face. “Is there something wrong, Nancy?”
Nancy’s face clouded over, as if whatever she was feeling had been pushed behind a thick fabric curtain. “I’m sorry, Logan said you are a friend. Who are you exactly?”
Kat understood Nancy’s concerns about speaking frankly in front of someone she didn’t know. The best way to handle it was always honesty. “My name is Kat Beckman. I’m a reporter for The Hot Sheet.” Kat glanced at Logan. She saw his expression tense and then relax. A journalist was who she was. There was no point in hiding it.
“The online paper?”
Kat nodded. “Logan reached out to me with some concerns about things that are going on at Alphacon. He thought you might be able to shed some light on a few pieces of communication we’ve gotten from Roy.” Kat pressed her lips together. The communications had more precisely been from Roy to Sam Rutgers. They needed context or some indication of Roy’s mindset. There was no point in alarming Nancy with the finer details of their discovery. At least not yet.
“Concerns? What kind of concerns?”
Logan stood up, starting to pace. Kat watched him, not saying anything. Logan cleared his voice, “I don’t know how much Roy has told you about the project we’ve been doing, but we’ve been working on the MARS program for the last several years. Everything is coming to a head this week.”
“The MARS program? What’s that?”
“Experimental laser weapons for the Navy.”
Nancy frowned, her ponytail swishing back and forth across her shoulders. “Are you supposed to be telling me this? Roy said most of his work is classified.”
“It is,” Logan said, nodding. “But we have questions.”
Nancy held her hands up. “I don’t know anything about laser weapons. Roy told me he works on machines. Honestly, I’ve been so busy with Grayson that I haven’t had much time to ask him anything about work other than how it was. What exactly is this MARS program anyway?”
“The Navy is having Alphacon develop a whole new class of handheld and ship-mounted laser weapons,” Kat said evenly.
