Shattered Legacy (15 page)

“Neither does anyone else, sir. That’s why we’re here.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Somehow, overnight, the reports on his desk had managed to breed and multiply.

Noah Gettleman lifted his head from the paperwork spread across his desk when he heard a knock at his open door. Tony Kanavos was leaning against the doorjamb. The technician was dressed in a red T-shirt and faded jeans. Beard stubble shadowed his face. Appearing slightly nervous, he glanced up and down the corridor before stepping inside the office.

The senior flight director was clearly surprised to see the technician up in the executive level. He removed his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes with both hands. “Good morning, Tony. You’re here early.”

“I worked some overtime,” Kanavos replied. He closed the door behind him and looked around the room. “I wanted to drop something off before I went home.”

Gettleman gestured to the chair before his desk. “Please, sit. You look like you're about to fall over.”

Kanavos handed over papers to Gettleman and slumped into the nearest chair. “These are old work orders,” he explained. “I dug them up from our maintenance database. Zero level access - anyone can get them. Those records go back a few months, before the
Naiad's
first test flight.”

Gettleman perched his glasses back on his nose and opened the file. His frown deepened as he flipped through the pages. The phone buzzed. Kanavos glanced at it expectantly, but Gettleman continued to read. After three rings, the phone fell silent.

“You asked for information on repairs to the engine cowls and the ancillary systems,” Kanavos finally said, shifting in his seat and breaking the silence. “After I pulled those records from our regular network, I decided to compare them to the digital archives. It turns out there are more repairs listed in the data archives than exist in the company computer network.”

Gettleman finally glanced up over the rim of his glasses, his frown still fixed in place.

“If you want all the records - the archived records - you'll find them in the Record Retention Room. It looks like several overhaul reports on the thruster systems were never processed properly.”

This confirmed Gettleman’s worst suspicions. “Has someone tampered with the computer network?” he thought aloud.

Kanavos shrugged. “Seems like it.”

“Everything is computerized here. Every time someone touches that ship, they have to record it.” Gettleman glanced through a work order on the port thruster cowl. It was a standard engineering report, detailing the schedule, personnel, and part list for the job. None of the records referred to microscopic stress fractures on the thruster cowls. That information should have been recorded. At some point, Gettleman had actually seen the reports detailing the fractures. They were gone now - except, apparently, for the offline digital archived copies. Those had not been touched.

Yet.

One final printout caught his eye. According to the report, engineering had noted a second fracture spot in the port thruster cowl and had authorized a repair. Not a replacement, but a repair - or more specifically, a weld.

“Son of a bitch,” Gettleman blurted out. “They
patched
the thing?”

“Yep.”

Gettleman noted the repair date, and his jaw dropped a fraction. “That repair was done two months ago. The
Naiad
was launched two days later on a final test flight.” He flipped to the bottom of the stack. “And the patch wasn’t examined after the test?”

“According to the computer network, no. But in the archives, it looked like they did further testing. I couldn’t make copies, though. I wasn’t allowed.”

“And how did that weld repair hold up?”

“Fine, I guess. Again, the only way to tell what was really done is to search the archived records. That seems to be the only valid source of information around here.”

Gettleman nodded appreciatively as he opened a drawer and deposited the file.

Kanavos frowned as Gettleman slid the drawer shut. “So, uh, what are you going to do now?”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“And my transfer?”

Gettleman stared down at his desk and slowly shook his head. Part of him wished he had never suspected a problem with the orbiter. Why would Templar Enterprises spend over two billion dollars on a space plane only to keep secret an easily-repairable design flaw? There had been dozens of glitches corrected in the previous shakedowns. This engine cowl problem was nothing special - aside from the cost.

“Doctor Gettleman?”

He lifted his head and blinked. “I’ll take care of your transfer,” he said. “It might take a few days, though.”

Kanavos glanced over at a large schematic of the orbiter hanging on the wall. “I’ve lasted this long. A few more days won’t kill me.”

The technician left. Gettleman sighed and slumped back in his seat, rubbing his face with his hands. Someone was trying to bury an orbiter design flaw, even to the point of covering up repair work. This was more than just keeping a minor problem concealed. This was outright fraud, a problem that reflected badly on the flight program. The more he thought about the situation, the angrier he became.

Minutes later, he found himself stomping across the complex, headed straight for Jack Kroft’s office.

***

“Where on earth did you get this?”

The words hung in the air for several moments before Noah Gettleman found the words to reply. “That doesn’t matter,” he said, clenching his jaw and clasping his hands tightly behind his back. “As you can see, the archived records and our network maintenance logs show major discrepancies.”

From behind his large oak desk, Jack Kroft did not attempt to disguise his annoyance. He sat ramrod-straight, his hands clenched tightly on the arms of his ergonomically-designed executive chair. The information that Kanavos had provided to Gettleman was lying in a neat stack on the green desk blotter. Kroft had not given the files so much as a glance after Gettleman explained what they were.

“What are you trying to do to me?” Kroft asked abruptly.

“I'm
trying
to open your eyes.” Gettleman shot back. He nodded toward the papers. “Do you have any idea what we're sitting on here?”

“We've been over this, Noah.”

“You never told me that we’ve been doing patch jobs and
burying
information.”

“I didn't need to. And to tell you the truth, this isn’t a concern to me. Right now,
you
are my number one headache.”

Gettleman grunted derisively. “You have bigger problems than me, Jack.”

“I don't think this is funny,” Kroft growled. “I've got an orbiter floating out in space, and you're dredging up shit about archived reports. Now listen to me, Noah. There are no problems with that orbiter.”

Gettleman leaned forward, slapping his palms on the desk. “Then why was the patch job buried?”

“Noah, you know that's not -”

“You buried work orders! You had maintenance files altered!”

“Of course I did!”

The conversation died away, with neither man daring to break the grim silence that followed. Kroft's blunt admission had stunned them both. Finally, after a long moment, Kroft wheeled back in his chair and stared into the distance, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

“You knew.” Gettleman ground his jaw as he spoke, trying to digest this new information. “The patch worked for the last two launches, but how do we know it will work for another? Does the orbiter have to
blow up
before -?”

“
Enough
, Noah. That's enough.”

Gettleman balled his fists at his sides. “We are not going to
pretend
everything works fine for the sake of appearances. I'm going to ground the program.”

“No, you're not.” Kroft pushed his chair back, stood, and leaned forward, his knuckles pressed against the top of the desk. For a moment, the two faced each other, nose to nose. “We've already ordered the fabrication of new parts,” Kroft said. “They'll arrive in three months. Then the whole component system will be overhauled, and the problem with the engine cowls will be a non-issue.”

Gettleman cocked his head. “But before that happens, the
Naiad
is scheduled for at least three more missions. Are we going to risk more launches?”

“It's not that easy. We're in an awkward position.” Kroft's face suddenly softened. He backed away and walked around his desk toward the bookshelf. He idly ran a finger along the spine of a spiral-bound flight manual, and then looked down at the floor. “It all comes down to our Safety Oversight Committee. You see, they’re an independent body, and they’ve been riding us hard since the program started. With them mouthing off to the press about every little problem and snag, we … we just started hiding things from them.”

Gettleman closed his eyes. “Oh, Lord…”

“How did you even find out about this? How did you even get this information?”

Gettleman was waiting for that question. He stood up. “I know how we deal with potential troublemakers around here. Passwords that used to work suddenly become invalid. Files get flagged. Phone calls are monitored. It starts at the edges, but eventually you start being shut out of the system. I’m not stupid, Jack.”

With a shrug and a refusal to meet his gaze, Kroft confirmed Gettleman’s suspicions.

“Look,” Kroft said with a sigh. “Engineering has been all over the engine cowl issue from the beginning. They feel the cowls are safe, and that they will be fine for at least another dozen launches. I back them up on that assessment. We’re going to replace the systems as soon as we can. Quietly, and within budget.” Seeing Gettleman’s reaction, he raised a finger. “This is
my
call, Noah, and I've made it.”

Gettleman shook his head; his jowls quivered. “It should have been my call. I don't allow unnecessary risk to my people. I didn't do it at NASA, and I'm sure as hell not doing it here.”

“And you have proof of this ‘unnecessary risk’?”

Gettleman blinked, caught off guard by Kroft's question. “Proof? Look at the repairs we covered up. That's all the proof I need.”

Kroft reached out to straighten a family photograph on the wall. “In case you haven't heard, we're under severe pressure here to perform. Regardless, safety is my top priority, and I would quit this job before I would expose our astronauts to unnecessary risk.” Satisfied that the picture was as straight as he could make it, he turned back and placed a hand on the senior launch director's shoulder.

Gettleman glanced down at the hand.

“Noah, if there was the slightest chance of an accident, I would have scrubbed the mission myself.”

“If everything is so fine, then what makes you so afraid of our Oversight Committee?”

Kroft cocked his head to one side and spread his hands in a gesture of supplication. “Tell you what. Lodge all the formal protests you want and cover your ass with enough memos to wallpaper the VAB. But don't do anything until
after
this mission.”

“I don't care about covering my ass, Jack. I care about my astronauts.”

Kroft looked up at Gettleman with a steady gaze. His expression was open, almost friendly, but his eyes revealed a steely resolve. Then the agency director leaned forward. Shoulders hunched, he spoke slowly and deliberately. “You're going to behave yourself, Noah. If you don't, I'll fire you. Then I'll make sure you never work in this industry again. You follow me?”

Gettleman stared at him for a moment, and then glanced away and clenched his jaw. “Yeah,” he muttered. “I understand perfectly.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Lynn Anholt’s security detail had little time to perform advance work in protecting Samson Tyler. Because of the rush, she decided to have her people perform logistics on the Strathenge Hotel after they settled their client into position. They would do an inspection of the building layout and its access points. They would also interview the staff and make sure that only employees who had been with the hotel for a long time would be able to come in contact with the client. Other arrangements would have to be made as they went along, since there was no way of knowing how long this assignment would last. So long as Samson Tyler was in danger, real or perceived, she would take all necessary precautions to keep him safe.

They arrived at the Strathenge by armored car. Three of Lynn's security staff rushed Tyler through the hotel's side entrance and up the stairs. Tyler was not given a penthouse suite. They used a regular room on the fourth floor - high enough from the ground to avoid a break-in, but low enough for a window escape in the event of a fire.

“And here we are,” Lynn said as she met the others at the room door. She swept her keycard through the lock, opened the door, and led Tyler inside.

“Nice,” Tyler said, looking the place over as he crossed the room, carrying his laptop bag. The room was spacious, with a king-size bed, a large armchair, and a desk. The air smelled like soap and fresh linens. He removed his jacket and tossed it over the arm of the desk chair. This would be his home for a while, at least until he could return to his apartment, or there were no more threats on his life.

 He felt like he was running away from his problems. He was used to confronting things head-on. The hotel room was fine, and he needed a place to stay, but the bodyguards were going to be a problem. He intended to go about his business on his terms, and he knew the hired guns would quickly become a nuisance.

Lynn seemed to read his grim expression. “Hopefully, you won't need to stay here long.” She wandered into the bathroom and casually checked the shower and around the sink and toilet. “I’ll have this place swept by the time you come back tonight,” she called out to him. “We want to make sure there are no surveillance devices hidden anywhere.”

Tyler set his computer bag on the desk. He walked over to the window, pulled back a curtain and looked outside. “Is all this really necessary? The full security measures, I mean.”

Lynn stepped back into the room. “A death threat was sent to your office. Your apartment caught fire the same morning. In light of that, yeah, I think you could use a little protection.”