Disclosure: A Novel (35 page)

"We go back to your office."

“We?”

"Yes," Fernandez said. "This isn't the end. More is going to happen today, and I want to be there when it does."

Driving back, Blackburn talked on the car phone with Garvin. V "The mediation's over.

We called it off."

"And?"

"We're pushing Sanders hard to go back to work. But he's not responding so far. He's hanging tough. Now he's threatening punitive damages of sixty million dollars."

"Christ," Garvin said. "Punitive damages on what basis?"

"Defamation from corporate negligence dealing with the fact that we supposedly knew that Johnson had a history of harassment."

"I never knew of any history," Garvin said. "Did you know of any history, Phil?"

"No," Blackburn said.

"Is there any documentary evidence of such a history?"

"No," Blackburn said. "I'm sure there isn't."

"Good. Then let him threaten. Where did you leave it with Sanders?"

"We gave him until tomorrow morning to rejoin the company at his old job or get out."

"All right," Garvin said. "Now let's get serious. What have we got on him?"

"We're working on that felony charge," Blackburn said. "It's early, but I think it's promising."

"What about women?"

"There isn't any record on women. I know Sanders was screwing one of his assistants a couple of years back. But we can't find the records in the computer. I think he went in and erased them."

"How could he? We blocked his access."

"He must have done it some time ago. He's a cagey guy."

"Why the hell would he do it some time ago, Phil? He had no reason to expect any of this."

"I know, but we can't find the records now." Blackburn paused. "Bob, I think we should move up the press conference."

"To when?"

"Late tomorrow."

"Good idea," Garvin said. "I'll arrange it. We could even do it noon tomorrow. John Marden is flying in in the morning," he said, referring to Conley-White's CEO. "That'll work out fine."

"Sanders is planning to string this out until Friday," Blackburn said. "Let's just beat him to the punch. We've got him blocked as it is. He can't get into the company files. He can't get access to Conrad or anything else. He's isolated. He can't possibly come up with anything damaging between now and tomorrow."

"Fine," Garvin said. "What about the reporter?"

"I think she'll break the story on Friday," Blackburn said. "She already has it, I don't know where from. But she won't be able to resist trashing Sanders. It's too good a story; she'll go with it. And he'll be dead meat when she does."

"That's fine," Garvin said.

Meredith Johnson came off the fifth-floor elevator at DigiCom and ran into Ed Nichols.

"We missed you at the morning meetings," Nichols said.

"Yeah, I had some things to take care of," she said.

"Anything I should know?"

"No," she said. "It's boring. Just some technical matters about tax exemptions in Ireland.

The Irish government wants to expand local content at the Cork plant and we're not sure we can. This has been going on for more than a year."

"You look a little tired," Nichols said, with concern. "A little pale."

"I'm okay. I'll be happy when this is all over."

"We all will," Nichols said. "You have time for dinner?"

"Maybe Friday night, if you're still in town," she said. She smiled. "But really, Ed. It's just tax stuff."

"Okay, I believe you."

He waved and went down the hallway. Johnson went into her office.

She found Stephanie Kaplan there, working at the computer terminal on Johnson's desk.

Kaplan looked embarrassed. "Sorry to use your computer. I was just running over some accounts while I waited for you.

Johnson threw her purse on the couch. "Listen, Stephanie," she said. "Let's get something straight right now. I'm running this division, and nobody's going to change that. And as far as I'm concerned, this is the time when a new vice president decides who's on their side, and who isn't. Somebody supports me, I'll remember. Somebody doesn't, I'll deal with that, too. Do we understand each other?"

Kaplan came around the desk. "Yes, sure, Meredith."

"Don't fuck with me."

"Never entered my mind, Meredith."

"Good. Thank you, Stephanie." "No problem, Meredith." Kaplan left the office. Johnson closed the door behind her and went directly to her computer terminal and stared intently at the screen.

Sanders walked through the corridors of DigiCom with a sense of unreality. He felt like a stranger. The people who passed him in the halls looked away and brushed past him, saying nothing.

"I don't exist," he said to Fernandez.

"Never mind," she said.

They passed the main part of the floor, where people worked in chest-high cubicles.

Several pig grunts were heard. One person sang softly, "Because I used to fuck her, but it's all over now . . ."

Sanders stopped and turned toward the singing. Fernandez grabbed his arm.

"Never mind," she said.

"But Christ . . ."

"Don't make it worse than it is."

They passed the coffee machine. Beside it, someone had taped up a picture of Sanders.

They had used it for a dartboard.

`Jesus."

"Keep going."

As he came to the corridor leading to his office, he saw Don Cherry coming the other way.

"Hi, Don."

"You screwed up bad on this one, Tom." He shook his head and walked on.

Even Don Cherry.

Sanders sighed.

"You knew this was going to happen," Fernandez said.

"Maybe."

"You did. This is the way it works."

Outside his office, Cindy stood up when she saw him. She said, "Tom, Mary Anne asked you to call her as soon as you got in."

"Okay."

"And Stephanie said to say never mind, she found out whatever she needed to know. She said, uh, not to call her."

"Okay."

He went in the office and closed the door. He sat down behind his desk and Fernandez sat opposite him. She took her cellular phone out of her briefcase, and dialed. "Let's get one thing squared away-Ms. Vries's office please . . . Louise Fernandez calling."

She cupped her hand over the phone. "This shouldn't take- Oh, Eleanor? Hi, Louise Fernandez. I'm calling you about Connie Walsh. Uh-huh . . . I'm sure you've been going over it with her. Yes, I know she feels strongly. Eleanor, I just wanted to confirm to you that there is a tape of the event, and it substantiates Mr. Sanders's version rather than Ms.

Johnson's. Actually, yes, I could do that. Entirely off the record? Yes, I could. Well, the problem with Walsh's source is that the company now has huge liability and if you print a story that's wrong-even if you got it from a source I think they have an action against you.

Oh yes, I think absolutely Mr. Blackburn would sue. He wouldn't have any choice. Why don't you-I see. Uh-huh. Well, that could change, Eleanor. Uh-huh. And don't forget that Mr. Sanders is considering defamation right now, based on the Mr. Piggy piece. Yes, why don't you do that. Thank you."

She hung up and turned to Sanders. "We went to law school together. Eleanor is very competent and very conservative. She'd never have allowed the story in the first place, and would never have considered it now, if she didn't place a lot of reliance on Connie's source."

"Meaning?"

"I'm pretty sure I know who gave her the story," Fernandez said. She was dialing again.

"Who?" Sanders said.

"Right now, the important thing is Meredith Johnson. We've got to document the pattern, to demonstrate that she has harassed employees before. Somehow we've got to break this deadlock with Conrad Computer." She turned away. "Harry? Louise. Did you talk to Conrad? Uhhuh. And?" A pause. She shook her head irritably. "Did you explain to them about their liabilities? Uh-huh. Hell. So what's our next move? Because we've got a time problem here, Harry, that's what I'm concerned about."

While she was talking, Sanders turned to his monitor. The e-mail light was flashing. He clicked it.

YOU HAVE 17 MESSAGES WAITING.

Christ. He could only imagine. He clicked the READ button. They flashed up in order.

FROM: DON CHERRY, CORRIDOR PROGRAMMING TEAM TO: ALL SUBJECTS

WE HAVE DELIVERED THE VIE UNIT TO CONLEY-WHITE'S PEOPLE. THE

UNIT IS NOW ACTIVE INTO THEIR COMPANY DB SINCE THEY GAVE US THE

HOOKS TODAY. JOHN CONLEY ASKED THAT IT BE DELIVERED TO A SUITE

AT THE FOUR SEASONS HOTEL BECAUSE THEIR CEO IS ARRIVING

THURSDAY MORNING AND WILL SEE IT THEN. ANOTHER PROGRAMMING

TRIUMPH BROUGHT TO YOU BY THE SWELL FOLKS AT VIE.

DON THE MAGNIFICENT

Sanders flipped to the next one.

FROM: DIAGNOSTICS GROUP TO: APG TEAM

ANALYSIS OF TWINKLE DRIVES. THE PROBLEM WITH THE CONTROLLER

TIMING LOOP DOES NOT SEEM TO COME FROM THE CHIP ITSELF. WE

VERIFIED MICRO-FLUCTUATIONS IN CURRENT FROM THE POWER UNIT

WHICH WAS APPARENTLY ETCHED WITH SUBSTANDARD OR INADEQUATE

RESISTANCES ON THE BOARD BUT THIS IS MINOR AND DOES NOT EXPLAIN

OUR FAILURE TO MEET SPECS. ANALYSIS IS CONTINUING.

Sanders viewed the message with a sense of detachment. It didn't really tell him anything.

Just words that concealed the underlying truth: they still didn't know what the problem was. At another time, he'd be on his way down to the Diagnostics team, to ride them hard to get to the bottom of it. But now . . . He shrugged and went to the next message.

FROM: BASEBALL CENTRAL TO: ALL PLAYERS RE: NEW SUMMER

SOFTBALL SCHEDULE

DOWNLOAD FILE BB.72 TO GET THE NEW REVISED SUMMER SCHEDULE.

SEE YOU ON THE FIELD!

He heard Fernandez say on the phone, "Harry, we've got to crack this one somehow.

What time do they close their offices in Sunnyvale?" Sanders went to the next message.

NO MORE GROUP MESSAGES. DO YOU WANT TO READ PERSONAL

MESSAGES?

He clicked the icon.

WHY DON'T YOU JUST ADMIT YOU ARE GAY?

(UNSIGNED)

He didn't bother to see where it had come from. They would probably have manually entered it as coming from Garvin's address, or something like that. He could check the real address inside the system, but not without the access privileges they had taken away.

He went to the next message.

SHE'S BETTER LOOKING THAN YOUR ASSISTANT, AND YOU DIDN'T SEEM

TO MIND SCREWING HER.

(UNSIGNED)

Sanders clicked to the next one.

YOU SLIMY WEASEL - GET OUT OF THIS COMPANY.

YOUR BEST ADVICE

Christ, he thought. The next one:

LITTLE TOMMY HAD A PECKER HE PLAYED WITH EVERY DAY

BUT WHEN A LADY TRIED TO TOUCH IT LITTLE TOMMY SAID GO AWAY.

The verses ran on, down to the bottom of the screen, but Sanders didn't read the rest. He clicked and went on.

IF YOU WEREN'T FUCKING YOUR DAUGHTER SO MUCH YOU MIGHT BE

ABLE TO

He clicked again. He was clicking faster and faster, going through the messages.

GUYS LIKE YOU GIVE MEN A BAD NAME YOU ASSHOLE.

BORIS

Click.

YOU FILTHY LYING MALE PIG

Click.

HIGH TIME SOMEBODY STUCK IT TO THE WHINING BITCHES. I'M TIRED OF

THE WAY THEY BLAME EVERYBODY BUT THEIRSELVES. TITS AND BLAME

ARE SEX-LINKED TRAITS. THEY'RE BOTH ON THE XCHROMOSOME.

KEEP ON TRUCKIN'

He went through them, no longer reading. Eventually he was going so fast he almost missed one of the later ones:

JUST RECEIVED WORD THAT MOHAMMED JAFAR IS DYING. HE'S STILL IN

THE HOSPITAL, AND NOT EXPECTED TO SURVIVE UNTIL MORNING. I

GUESS MAYBE THERE'S SOMETHING TO THIS SORCERY BUSINESS, AFTER

ALL.

ARTHUR KAHN

Sanders stared at the screen. A man dying of sorcery? He couldn't begin to imagine what had really happened. The very idea seemed to belong to another world, not his. He heard Fernandez say, "I don't care, Harry, but Conrad has information relevant to the pattern, and somehow we have to get it out of them."

Sanders clicked to the final message.

YOU'RE CHECKING THE WRONG COMPANY.

AFRIEND

Sanders twisted the monitor around so Fernandez could see it. She frowned as she talked on the phone. "Harry, I got to go. Do what you can." She hung up. "What does it mean, we're checking the wrong company? How does this friend even know what we're doing?

When did this come in?"

Sanders looked at the message headers. "One-twenty this afternoon."

Fernandez made a note on her legal pad. "That was about the time Alan was talking to Conrad. And Conrad called DigiCom, remember? So this message has to be coming from inside DigiCom."

"But it's on the Internet."

"Wherever it appears to be coming from, it's actually from somebody inside the company trying to help you."

His immediate thought, out of nowhere, was Max. But that didn't make any sense.

Dorfman was tricky, but not in this way. Besides, Max wasn't knowledgeable about the minute-to-minute workings of the company.

No, this was somebody who wanted to help Sanders but who didn't want the help to be traced back.

"You're checking the wrong company . . ." he repeated aloud.

Could it be someone at Conley-White? Hell, he thought, it could be anybody.

"What does it mean, we're checking the wrong company?" he said. "We're checking all her past employers, and we're having a very difficult-,,

He stopped.

You're checking the wrong company.

"I must be an idiot," he said. He started typing at his computer.

"What is it?" Fernandez said.

"They've restricted my access, but I still should be able to get this," he said, typing quickly.

"Get what?" she said, puzzled.

"You say harassers have a pattern, right?"

"Right."

"It shows up again and again, right?"

"Right."

"And we're checking her past employers, to get information about past episodes of harassment."

"Right. And failing."

"Yes. But the thing is," Sanders said, "she's worked here for the last four years, Louise.