Читать книгу Delirious - Daniel James Palmer - Страница 16

Monte pressed his cold nose against the stubble of Charlie’s cheek and licked at his face. The affection was enough to wake Charlie from a night of disjoined dreams and fitful sleep. Sun splashed through the large bay windows in Charlie’s bedroom. The warm light, normally welcomed, was a painful reminder that on any other Thursday he’d be at work at this hour. Charlie ran his fingers through his short hair and then gave Monte some requested attention. The dog walkers would be here around noon. Charlie wasn’t certain if it was close to that hour or not.

The calluses on his fingertips were raw and peeling from his marathon practice session, which had lasted well past midnight. He rarely played his prized Gibson ES-175, preferring to treat it more like a showpiece than an instrument. It had been outdoors only for transport from the music store to his apartment in California and briefly again for the move to Boston. It would be the guitar he’d use if he could ever get loose enough to feel inspired to play a live gig. Last night he’d uncorked the Gibson, expecting from it some magic, but ultimately he’d been disappointed at his perpetual inability to improvise. At least for now, the Gibson would stay indoors.

Dressed in a white T-shirt and a pair of green hospital scrubs, Charlie made his way to the kitchen, and Monte followed. There he made coffee from his French press and, once brewed, took his cup into the living room, again followed by Monte, and gazed out the window at the traffic bustling below. It was earlier than he thought, 8:30 a.m., but still much later than he and Monte were accustomed to starting their day.

Charlie’s apartment in Boston’s Beacon Hill was the entire third floor of a brownstone on the south side of a steeply sloping hill. The apartment was barely furnished, but the cost of what little he owned could buy enough furniture to fill homes three times the size. Monte rubbed against his legs and gave a soft bark, fair warning that he needed to be walked soon, or else. Charlie didn’t react; his mind, already racing, even with what little caffeine he’d had, was replaying his meeting with Rachel. She hadn’t administered any mock tests or tried to delve deeper into his unexplained experiences. Instead she had suggested a medical MRI. Perhaps a brain lesion or even a tumor—uncommon, but known to cause hallucinations similar to schizophrenia—was to blame. Rachel hadn’t ruled out work pressures as being a cause, but she hadn’t jumped on the theory, either. There were other possibilities she’d suggested, infection being one, though she’d thought that unlikely given his lack of other symptoms. A comprehensive psychological evaluation and further medical testing, she’d insisted, were the only legitimate path to a diagnosis.

She had also provided the names of several doctors at Walderman who were accepting new patients. That had stung. He had crumpled the paper with the phone numbers on it and thrown it in the trash as he left. He was desperate to find any reason to discredit her professional assessment that he should seek psychiatric help. The MRI was at least medical—hopeful, so long as the cause was curable.

The stress of the last several days had left Charlie with dark circles under his eyes and an ashen complexion. The idea that his mind was a ticking bomb, perhaps ready to detonate, perhaps destined to send him to the same fate as his father and brother before him, went far beyond any corporate stress he’d ever faced. He knew he needed to find the real Anne Pedersen, but he had no idea where to start. He jotted himself a note to call Corner Ticket and get the Sox tickets he’d promised Lawrence. Right now Lawrence was his only hope of tracking her down.

Crossing his sparsely furnished living room, Charlie went to his computer, which stood on a drafting table he’d bought at a Scandinavian design center. Monte continued to shadow him and barked louder this time to get his attention. Charlie bent down and petted him gently on the head.

“I hear you, Monte. Just need to check one thing and we’ll go for a long walk today. Sound good?”

As if Monte understood, he barked again, turned, and trotted off into the kitchen. Charlie heard him lapping at his water bowl. His computer powered on, Charlie inwardly breathed a sigh of relief that he could still access the SoluCent corporate network, through the secure VPN connection. Not that he had expected otherwise, just that with the Anne Pedersen situation escalating the way that it was, he could no longer take anything for granted. He opened Outlook and scanned his in-box. Charlie prided himself on never having taken a sick day in his more than two years at SoluCent—the Cal Ripken of software engineering, someone once had dubbed him. Charlie was about to break that streak with a quick e-mail to his boss, Mac.

Unfortunately, Mac had contacted him first. Even worse, it was his first day back from vacation. His message was characteristically short, but from the scathing tone it was evident that both Leon Yardley and Jerry Schmidt had given Mac earfuls.

Mac had meetings until 11:00 a.m. and expected Charlie to contact his assistant Jean for an appointment with him in the afternoon. Typical Mac, not a “manage by walking around” guy. You had to make an appointment if you wanted to see him. Seldom did anyone want to.

His promised long walk with Monte finished and shortened considerably, Charlie dressed in gray slacks, a blue oxford, and a gray sports jacket. He studied his sunken face in the mirror and decided against shaving. There was no reason to pretend this was just another day at the office.

“Be good, boy, okay?” Charlie said, hand-feeding Monte his favorite beef-flavored treat. “Brenda will be here in a few hours. I’ll see if she can take you for another walk before I get home. Okay?”

Monte gulped down the treat in one bite and looked longingly up at Charlie.

Guilt washed through him. Monte was accustomed to spending his days with Charlie. This home-alone trend wasn’t sitting well with him in the least, Charlie could tell.

“How about I give you a new shoe?” Charlie suggested.

At that Monte perked up. Charlie went into the bedroom closet and there fished out a brown shoe from a pair he had bought months ago but had never worn.

“Will this do?” Charlie asked, bending down to hold the shoe up to Monte’s nose.

Monte let out a delighted little yip and trotted over to his bed, shoe in mouth. Sun pouring in from the living-room bay windows washed over his tiny body and warmed his fur. He seemed so at peace, and Charlie felt foolish for feeling jealous.

The traffic along Storrow Drive to Route 2 and eventually 128 was stop-and-go, reminding Charlie why he normally left for work before seven. On the radio, Dennis and Callahan prattled on about the upcoming Sox series in New York and the blessed arrival of the Patriots season. Every part of the commute offered signs of normalcy, including the SoluCent parking lot, with nearly every space taken by workers already well into their workday.

Climbing out of his BMW, Charlie spotted Harry Wessner coming down the stairs of the terraced parking lot. It looked as though he was coming from the Omni Way building, where Charlie and Anne Pedersen had supposedly had lunch just days before. Charlie had hoped to avoid the Magellan Team altogether, at least today, until after this mess could be sorted out. But Harry saw Charlie and waved hello, then quickened his pace to catch up with him. Harry’s heavy frame was not built for bursts of speed, and he was breathless by the time he reached Charlie.

“Hi there,” he said, still working to catch his breath.

“Hi, Harry,” Charlie said.

They walked together in silence toward the front entrance. Harry seemed distracted, his gaze averted. Charlie could feel his awkwardness and hated the uncomfortable tension. Harry was senior manager, quality assurance, for the InVision division within SoluCent, and his governance extended well beyond software, into manufacturing production as well. It was unlikely that Harry’s apprehension was due to the Albuquerque production problems that had been a hot button topic of late. Charlie figured the rumor mill about his flameout at the steering committee meeting had been running overtime for the better part of a day.

“I spoke with Arthur Bean,” Harry said. “He decided not to even bother trying to change departments. He’s leaving SoluCent. But he did want to thank you for putting him in touch with your financial advisor.”

“That’s good news,” Charlie said.

The look in Harry’s eyes suggested that Bean still harbored a good deal of resentment over his dismissal. Charlie caught something else in Harry’s eyes, too, a look implying a link between his current crisis and karma.

“Also, I got a good report out of our Albuquerque production plant. The plant manager promises that defect counts are down and within projections. Assembly issues seem to be slowing down, too. I also made an impassioned plea on all our behalves to our silicone provider for them to rush that shipment, with which they complied.”

Charlie nodded. “Great job, Harry. I’m glad you’re on top of it.”

Charlie tried to muster some of his characteristic passion for anyone who found solutions to complex problems, but it felt forced. Everything seemed unimportant and permanently tarnished. The idea of punishing Arthur Bean for ineptitude seemed almost comical now.

“I don’t think you’ll need to go on-site and personally bail out the plant manager anymore. Although I told him that you were planning a trip,” Charlie said, with a slight sadness in his voice that he hadn’t intended.

“Well…right… I…”

Harry paused, and the two stopped outside the glass double doors to the office building entrance.

“What is it, Harry?” Charlie asked.

“Nothing. Just… Is everything all right, Charlie? We heard things. About yesterday. Mac called us into a meeting.”

Charlie’s pulse quickened and his face flushed.

“What did Mac tell you?” Charlie couldn’t hide a quivering undertone of rage. The situation was bad enough, but Magellan was Charlie’s team. They were his leadership council, a select group he trusted with every aspect of the InVision business. Mac had no right interjecting anything into Charlie’s organization without speaking directly to Charlie first. No matter how much trouble Charlie was in, Magellan was still his team to run.

“Well,” Harry said, “he said there was a bit of a mix-up. Between you and Jerry Schmidt, and that he was going to speak with you about it today.”

“That’s true,” Charlie said, feeling somewhat relieved. A mix-up was playing the situation down to the point of nonexistence.

“But he made it sound like we might be working for someone else.”

Charlie’s hands clenched into fists. He felt his muscles tightening and breathed deep to regain his composure. “He did? What made you think that?”

Harry looked down at his feet. Charlie appreciated his loyalty and chided himself for the times he’d treated Harry unfairly. It was more times than he cared to remember.

“He said you might not be well enough to lead the team. He made it sound like you might be really sick, Charlie. We’re all pretty concerned— Nancy, Tom, all of us. What’s going on? Is what Mac said true? Are you sick, Charlie?”

“I don’t know, Harry,” Charlie said after a moment’s pause. “I guess I just don’t know.”

Charlie opened the door for Harry and was about to follow him inside when his BlackBerry whistled from within his jacket pocket. Charlie extracted the device and saw an urgent message from Mac. It was a simple line, but it sent a shiver down Charlie’s spine.

CANCELED MY 10. COME TO MY OFFICE IMMEDIATELY.

Charlie read the line several times and wondered what had caused the change in plans. In Mac’s previous message, he had said to schedule a meeting through his assistant for sometime after lunch.

“I need to go see Mac now,” Charlie said to Harry. “Would you do me a favor and tell the others that I’m fine? We’ll work this out. Okay?”

“Sure, Charlie. Whatever you need,” Harry said.

Charlie turned and headed across the parking lot toward Mac’s office, located in the same executive building as the Falcon conference room.

In some respects Mac’s urgent request was a blessing. The last thing Charlie wanted was to be confronted by other Magellan teammates. But it was odd that Mac would cancel a meeting to address the Jerry Schmidt debacle. That damage had already been done. A meeting hours earlier wasn’t about to fix anything. To access the executive floor, Charlie needed to use his security badge. For the first time since becoming a SoluCent employee, he appreciated that access, as though it somehow assured him, for the moment at least, that he still had the life of a privileged corporate executive.

He exited the elevator on the fourth floor of the four-story building and turned right down a corridor that was home to most of the executive marketing team, including Jerry Schmidt. Thankfully, Jerry wasn’t in his office when Charlie passed. He had enough on his plate without adding another confrontation with Jerry into the mix.

As in most companies SoluCent’s size, the office buildings were under constant renovation and repair—new carpeting in the Jensen building, air-duct work outside Charlie’s office. It had become so constant that maintenance costs were factored into the company’s 10-Q SEC filings. It was not surprising, then, for Charlie to see much of the corridor leading to Mac’s office draped in green painting drop cloths from the floor almost to the ceiling. The painter, working on his hands and knees, was dabbing his white-tipped paint-brush at a spot near the baseboard and did not look up as Charlie passed. Charlie followed the drop cloths right into Mac’s office, where the same green cloths covered most of the walls.

“Love what you’ve done to the place,” Charlie said as he crossed the threshold. He took a few steps forward and then went numb. Seated inside Mac’s spacious corner office, around a conference table in the center of the room, were Rudy Gomes, the senior security officer; Leon Yardley; and Mac.

Charlie knew Gomes from a company user conference he’d attended in Phoenix a year back. An ex-rugby player, sizable but not outwardly intimidating, Gomes had a shock of red hair and a boyish face that often put his targets at ill-advised ease. He had his PI license and was essentially an investigator. He was tasked with rooting out internal corruption, such as expense-account violations, corporate spying, or the more benign but equally career-ending hobby of surfing the Web for adult content on company time.

Seeing Yardley and Mac together was bad enough. Having Gomes involved escalated the situation way outside Charlie’s comfort zone. Each wore a grave expression.

“Take a seat, Charlie,” Mac said.

Simon Mackenzie was a ruggedly handsome man in his early fifties. The worry lines etched in Mac’s face had grown deeper since Charlie had seen him last; the gray in his hair more pronounced. Even seated, Mac’s six-two frame seemed smaller, sunken by whatever burden he carried. Mac had been one of Charlie’s strongest advocates since the acquisition. He believed in Charlie’s business acumen and had said on several occasions that he was starting to put the full-court press on Yardley to get Charlie promoted to a more senior role at SoluCent. The success of InVision would play a major part in any future advancement decisions.

“What’s this about, Mac? I thought we were meeting sometime after lunch,” Charlie said.

“Sit down, son,” Yardley said. As in the steering committee meeting, the softness of his voice suggested a father on the verge of sharing terrible news with a child.

Charlie took the only available seat at the round table. Mac reached underneath and pulled out a large manila folder, which he dropped on the table with a resounding thud.

“We have a serious situation, Charlie,” Mac began.

“Mac, I know that. This whole Anne Pedersen thing is totally out of hand. I promise you, I am trying to figure out what’s going on. I even contacted Lawrence in IT to see about a possible security breach.” Charlie paused. “Was there a security breach?” he asked. “Is that why Rudy is here?” Charlie gestured to Rudy Gomes, who stayed stoic and unresponsive.

“Charlie, this is very awkward for me,” Mac said. He was choosing his words carefully. “You’ve been a shining star at SoluCent, and we truly value your abilities and what you’ve brought to the company.”

“Cut the bull, Mac, and tell me what’s going on.” Charlie’s voice was quivering. He despised his own lack of self-control. Whatever pills Gomes was taking to keep so dispassionate, Charlie wanted some for himself.

Yardley took over.

“Your involvement in yesterday’s executive meeting was most unprofessional,” Yardley began. “I respect your passion, but not necessarily your methods.”

“I understand. I was doing what I thought was right,” said Charlie.

“Yes, well, after your judgment…shall we say…came into question,” Yardley continued, “we felt it was in our best interest to evaluate you, Charlie. In the only way we could.”

Charlie shook his head in disbelief. “You audited me?” He turned and faced Mac, who looked away.

Yardley went on. “We are a publicly traded company, Charlie, with strict guidelines and operating principles. We expect our employees to follow them, and our senior directors, like yourself, to abide by even higher standards.”

“I don’t care,” Charlie muttered. “I have nothing to hide.”

“According to this, you do,” Gomes said at last, tapping his hand on the manila folder stuffed with papers.

“What’s in there?” Charlie asked.

“We were hoping you could tell us that,” Gomes said.

“The hell if I know. Stop toying with me and get to the point,” replied Charlie.

“The point, Charlie,” Mac said, “is that according to this Internet audit, you’ve been spending your time looking at things you shouldn’t have been looking at.”

“You even stayed late to surf porn, Charlie,” Gomes said with a widening smirk. “What’s wrong? Home ain’t good enough for you? No time for girlfriends?”

“What are you talking about?” Charlie stammered. “Mac, you know me! You know I’m not into that crap. I just work.”

“We double-checked the logs, Charlie,” said Mac. “These http requests clearly originated from your computer. The time stamps match your badge usage and your network access time. We have e-mail records sent from your computer to adult sites.”

“Mywhore.com, hotsex.com, bigjuggs.com—real classy stuff, Giles.” Rudy Gomes was almost laughing.

It took everything Charlie had, including clutching the side of the table, to keep from leaping up and pummeling Gomes with his fists.

“That’s insane! Are you kidding me? I never visited those sites!” Charlie stood and paced about the room. His arms were raised in the air in defiance.

“Sit down, Charlie,” Yardley said.

“No! No! I won’t sit down. This is crazy!” Charlie exclaimed. “Did you check my PC for spyware? A rogue engine installed on my PC could auto-send http requests without my knowledge.”

“We did, and it’s as clean as a whistle,” Gomes said. “But if porn were your only problem, Giles—”

“What? What are you insinuating?” Charlie sputtered.

“Sit down, Charlie,” Yardley said again.

Charlie obliged, his hands still shaking with rage and fear.

“We checked your e-mail, Charlie,” Mac began. “It was a precaution, given your erratic behavior of late. We saw some exchanges that we’re not at all comfortable with.”

Charlie could only look down at the floor. It was all spinning out of control too fast. Everything was going so terribly wrong.

“What are you talking about?” Charlie said.

“You e-mailed InVision product plans to a product development manager at Sony,” Gomes said. “Unbelievable.”

“I…didn’t… I didn’t do anything like that.” Charlie’s voice sounded weak and defeated, even to himself.

“Our lawyers contacted Sony. Best we could get was a promise that the e-mail was destroyed and that the document was not printed. We are not going to press them any harder,” Mac added. “We really don’t have a legal case to audit their records for proof.”

“You’re not going to be so lucky, Giles,” Gomes said.

Charlie looked over at Yardley, his eyes making a plea for mercy.

“It doesn’t look good, Charlie,” Yardley said. “None of this looks good for you.”

“Anne Pedersen, the PowerPoint file, your browsing habits—and now this Sony e-mail incident. What are we supposed to do, Charlie?” Mac asked.

Charlie walked to the wall and pounded his fist against the green painter’s drop cloth until his knuckles turned red. “Are you guys setting me up?” Charlie turned around and shouted, his fingers pointing at Yardley and Mac. “Is that what this is all about? You don’t want me to have a big payday for InVision, so you’re setting me up to cut me out of what’s mine! Is it a money thing with you, Leon?”

Rudy Gomes was on his feet in seconds, putting his body between Charlie and the others. Charlie took one step toward Yardley, and Gomes lunged, connecting with Charlie’s sternum with a lowered shoulder, expelling all the air from Charlie’s lungs in a violent burst. The force of the blow was enough to send Charlie crashing into the wall. Stunned, he slumped to the floor and tried to catch his breath.

“Security! Security!” Gomes called into his radio. “Situation urgent. Send two teams. I repeat, send two teams.”

Charlie stood as Gomes was putting the radio back. He took a wild swing with a right hook, which Gomes easily dodged. Stepping behind Charlie with a quick feint to the left, Gomes grabbed his elbow and wrist and forced him to the floor. Gomes put his knees on Charlie’s back, while continuing to hold on to his wrist. He kept applying pressure to keep him motionless on the floor.

“Mac! Mac! This is crazy. Why are you doing this to me? Why! Whatever you get from InVision is mine! To cut me out like this is stealing, Mac! Do you hear me? Stealing!” Charlie cried out in pain as Gomes pressed his knees deeper into Charlie’s spine and gave a slight twist to his wrist.

“Shut your trap!” Gomes said.

Leon Yardley was out of his seat and standing in the corner farthest from Charlie.

“You’re out, Charlie. We’re letting you go, effective immediately,” Mac said.

“Fuck you, Mac,” Charlie spit.

“You’re lucky it isn’t worse, Charlie,” Yardley said as the two security teams arrived, four stern-looking men in total. They weren’t armed, but Charlie knew they had permits to carry Mace.

Gomes let Charlie up.

Charlie stood, shaky on his feet. The security teams surrounded him and began to escort him out of the office. Charlie swung around, the security teams now pushing him backward out the door.

“I’m not going to let this go, Mac. You, too, Leon,” Charlie stormed. “I’m not going to quit. I’m going to figure out why you’re setting me up. I’m going to figure it out! Do you hear me?”

Moments later Charlie was outside. A police cruiser was parked out front, lights flashing, presumably to escort Charlie out of SoluCent forever. The police officer and Gomes talked a moment.

The officer approached Charlie. They exchanged a few words. Charlie showed his ID, and after several embarrassing moments crowds began to gather. Eventually, the officer let Charlie go. Charlie felt the stares burning into his back as he walked away. He walked to his BMW and climbed inside. The police car stayed a good distance away. Gomes could have pressed assault charges if he wanted. He still might, Charlie thought.

The sun was low in the midmorning sky, making it difficult to see as Charlie drove out of the parking lot. Instead of grabbing for his sunglasses, which were in his bag in the backseat, he pulled down the sun visor. When he did, a shiver of fear shot through him. A yellow sticky note was taped to the inside flap. As with the other note, the one line was written in his handwriting. He had no memory of writing it, but there it was in black ballpoint pen. The sentence was a part of one of his favorites. It was from a Kurt Vonnegut novel, Mother Night, a book he’d discovered in college while putting off studying for a chemistry test.

It read: We are what we pretend to be!