The CleanSweep Conspiracy (5 page)

CHAPTER 6

Tanner’s Story

T
anner picked different locations for future meetings, luckily nothing as dreary or grim as that abandoned parking garage on Cherry Street. Once it was even a subway platform where Tanner used the noise from passing trains to mask his words, whispering new chapters of his story to Matt. On other occasions, the two of them strolled on nearly deserted sidewalks, always on the alert for anyone following. At their final meeting, they walked along the lakefront as the wind snarled at them like some enraged creature.

Matt felt his distress grow as Tanner filled him in on the last of the details he had learned about CleanSweep. During the night of that last meeting, Tanner said, “Now you have the rudiments of CleanSweep. You can see how dangerous it is
…
” Tanner’s voice faded into the dark.

They sat on a bench on the boardwalk, by the beach, halfway between two lampposts, in the half
-
light. Matt strained to read the latest batch of papers but gave up. The pale light made it impossible for him to make out the tiny print. “I can read these later,” he’d said as he folded the papers together and stuffed them in a leather case. Turning to look at Tanner, he saw only his most prominent features
—
those that were visible in the shadows.

Tanner was crying, and he didn’t seem ashamed. “I don’t know if I’m relieved, depressed, or both,” he finally said. “I wasn’t sure whether it was the right thing to do when I made the decision to talk
…
to tell you.”

Matt waited for him to finish, but Tanner fell quiet, staring out at the lake. Matt wondered what he saw in that darkness.

“We both know how important this is,” Matt said, knowing the words, though intended to be comforting, sounded rather lame. “How did it happen? CleanSweep, I mean? How did it get to this point without
…
I’m searching for the right word. I guess
scrutiny
comes close
—
”

“I can’t talk about it anymore now,” Tanner said, the words bitter. He was seething with emotion. “I think I have just signed my own death warrant by disclosing this to you. I thought about contacting the government, telling the president, a real reporter.”

The “real reporter” reference hurt Matt more than he cared to admit.

“CleanSweep’s reach is so pervasive, as soon as I made contacts like that
…
Well, I don’t need to explain, do I? It’s in your hands now.”

Recalling that night later, Matt wrote to Cyberia, “I knew the story was dangerous. An alarm needed to be sounded, the way sirens sound the warning of an approaching tornado. Storms draw near, and you see flashes of lightning and feel the first whispers of the wind. You see it coming while there is still time to seek shelter.”

While he sat with Tanner, however, he felt at a loss for words. He wondered if they were already too late to sound the alarm about CleanSweep.

Thinking about all their conversations and the information in the documents, Matt finally was able to see the form, the context of the story. He was starting to see how the individual parts were woven into a whole.

It’s going to take nerve, courage I may not have,
he’d thought.
No, I do have what it takes. I learned to go toe
-
to
-
toe with those bullies in school. I won’t back down now.

Matt didn’t realize he was already in the eye of the hurricane. That night, after they finished their conversation on that bench, they stood, and Tanner stunned him by stepping forward and embracing him. Matt felt self
-
conscious, ill at ease with the physical contact and the intimacy with a man he realized he really didn’t know. He’d tried not to show his awkwardness. Looking back, he realized the embrace for the gift it was.

Tanner knew I would need reassurance and courage in the time ahead.

“I believe in you, Tanner. I can’t let fear stop me from telling the truth about Claussen and CleanSweep.”

As they embraced, Tanner whispered, “This won’t end well for me. I won’t be around to celebrate another anniversary with my wife.” He’d choked off the words, unable to continue.

“That’s nonsense
—
”

Tanner clutched him tighter, preventing Matt from finishing the thought.

“Cali and McHale are young; they will soon forget what their father looks like. If you thought I was doing this for myself, you were wrong,” he said, his words boiling with rage. “You believe that this is all for me? I’m doing this for my wife and two precious children. I want them to live in a world where CleanSweep is eliminated and its cancer is cured before it can grow and spread.”

Matt realized then that he would never again know anyone as brave as Tanner.

Tanner stepped back. “There’s no further need for secrecy. Total secrecy was necessary until I could give you the whole story. I also wasn’t sure I could trust you at first.”

That bit stung Matt.

“Now you have to go public with it and sound the alarm, spread the word. They’ll soon figure out it was me who started this, that I was your source for all this information about CleanSweep. They’ll come after me
—
hard.” Then he added, “And then they will come for you as well. Be ready.”

The two decided a commemoration of some sort was in order, though certainly not a celebration. Matt mentioned that he had a bottle of single
-
malt whiskey back at his apartment. Tanner nodded silent acceptance. By the time they’d walked to the nearby apartment building, Tanner had wrapped his motives in a shroud, any misgivings invisible to further scrutiny. When Matt opened the door to his flat, Tanner sounded almost cheerful.

“Nice place.”

Matt laughed. He knew Tanner said it because it was expected. The “nice place” was, in reality, just a small flat. The front door opened to a large room, a small bedroom was off to the right, and a kitchenette lay straight ahead. The kitchen area had a window that faced a brick wall six feet away. Matt had moved in over twelve years ago, and had never once opened that window. The apartment was only a place to sleep and eat. Housekeeping wasn’t Matt’s strong point
—
nor was it a priority.

With a sheepish shrug, he rushed to push magazines, newspapers, and an assortment of junk mail to the end of the sofa so he could offer Tanner a place to sit.

He was pleased, in some way, that Tanner felt relaxed enough to kick off his loafers and put his feet up on the coffee table. As his guest leaned back, Matt wondered if he was falling asleep
—
until Tanner’s head jerked up suddenly. An eager light had returned to his eyes. “You said you have some scotch. I’m ready to talk about some other stuff around the edge of the story.”

Matt walked to the kitchenette. Opening a cupboard, he pulled out a bottle of Glen Garioch. It was nearly “chockablock,” as his father might say. Somehow, he found two glasses that passed a cleanliness inspection and turned the bottle up, filling them precisely. It seemed perfect for a night like this.

“Cheers,” Tanner said after Matt handed him the glass. Like saying “nice place,” it was something said out of habit. There was little to cheer about in that room.

“Cheers,” Matt replied, not wanting to be impolite.

Tanner started talking, fast, as though he didn’t have much time.

“Claussen is a genius. I give him that. He saw a need and had the vision to come up with an answer. Can we have some music, please? Jazz, if you’ve got it.”

His unexpected request caught Matt off guard, but he nodded, got up, and walked to his desk. He didn’t ask what kind of jazz Tanner liked, he just chose Miles Davis from his playlist. Miles Davis was Matt’s favorite, especially Miles’s groundbreaking album,
Birth of the Cool.
He set the system to play the tracks at random, and the first song that came from the speakers was “Deception.” Matt savored the irony.

They’d sat, neither looking at the other, yet recognizing something important in the intimacy of the moment.

Tanner spoke first. “As I said, Claussen’s a genius, but I really should have added
evil
genius. He’s the worst kind of evil. He appears normal. So normal, in fact, that if he were knocking on your door, you would open it wide and offer a grand welcome.”

He looked at the glass in his hand and drew it up to take a long, slow swallow. “I have some interesting notes about his background
—
especially his grandfather.” He reached into his pocket and tossed a flash drive to Matt, who caught it in midair. Then Tanner continued, “It’s all there. You can read about it later, when you’ve got the time.”

Matt held the flash drive in one hand and his glass in the other, his eyes fixed on the man sitting on his couch. He had been tempted to take a sip from his own glass but pushed the urge aside, waiting instead for Tanner to continue the story.

The quiet exploded when the glass slipped from Tanner’s hand. Shards of glass splintered on the floor and a pool of scotch began spreading in an irregular pattern. It reminded Matt of a TV show’s version of a blood pool at a murder scene. Matt stared at it, fascinated and immobile, as he heard Tanner utter a mournful cry, a howling heartbreak full of anguish, despair. It was a sound he never wanted to hear again.

Tanner gazed down at the shards and Matt’s cherished Glen Garioch, now seeping through the cracks of the hardwood floorboards. He seemed puzzled, like he didn’t know what to do next.

“I should
…
Do you have something to clean
—
”

Waving his hand, Matt signaled for him to stay seated and finally pulled himself up out of his own seat. He walked to a closet and came back with a broom and dustpan. He did his best to sweep up the remaining liquid and pieces of glass.

“Not a very clean sweep,” Tanner joked. “Pun intended!” If Tanner meant it as funny, it came out humorless.

Matt emptied the contents into a trash can and leaned the dustpan and broom against the wall. He didn’t bother to look for a cloth to wipe the floor. “I guess we need to keep our shoes on now, with all the broken glass,” he said, walking into the kitchenette.

He found another tumbler, not quite as clean as the first, and filled it anyway.

Tanner’s hand was shaking as he reached out and took it from Matt’s grasp. “I’m so sorry,” he apologized. He rubbed tears away with the sleeve of his shirt. “I don’t really know what got into me.”

There wasn’t much Matt could do or say. He felt unable to help or to provide compassion, so he remained quiet as they sat listening to the minor blues strains of “Israel” that played in the background. Matt told Tanner that he liked the John Carisi composition and was glad Miles had included it on the album.

In a disembodied voice, Tanner began the Claussen story again. “He thought he knew me, but I really pulled one over on him.” Tanner chuckled as he took a sip, his hand a bit steadier. “Claussen recruited me when I was still in school, working on my doctorate. I was almost ready to graduate. One of his talent scouts sidled up to me one day and said he was from Ensûrtech, one of Claussen’s companies.
Slithered
, I should say, rather than
sidled
. It seems a more appropriate word now. In truth, he was a snake.”

Tanner looked at his glass as if in sudden surprise. It was already drained. Matt leaned over and refilled it, generously, to the top.

“They told me I would be fast
-
tracked at Enseûrtech. Except the fast track turned out to be more like a fast treadmill. I was soon running so hard I never had much time to really examine what I was doing.

“I had already been pursued by all the big
-
league players. They lined up at my door: Google, Apple, Microsoft. But I turned them away and went with Enseûrtech. Poor choice, if you ask me now. But it was my destiny. No, not
mine
, just destiny
—
the future. It held what it held for me and my family. That’s what led me there.”

“How were you recruited?” Matt asked.

“What was the guy’s name? Oh yeah, Hammond, Don Hammond. No, it was Dan. Hell, it doesn’t matter, Don or Dan. He had a corporate jet waiting with engines purring, and whisked me off to Pittsburgh. We flew from there to Houston and then back to Enseûrtech headquarters. It was an impressive building, all glass, intended to overwhelm visitors. I was awed
—
maybe incredulous would be a more accurate description. I was ready to sign, hell I was salivating at the offer even as the wheels were touching down at some small airport on the outskirts of another city. Before we got off the plane, I was signing a contract, my head reeling from the effects of the champagne.”

“What was your field of study
…
you know, in school?” Matt had asked as if he were conducting an interview
—
in a way he was
—
but he was simply curious at that point. He wanted to fill in some of the “why” of Tanner’s story.

“It’s always been about computers. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve had a love affair with computer technology. I was finishing my doctorate in computer science when they targeted me.” Tanner took a few moments then, smiling and musing over some memory of a happier time.

“Where was I? Oh yeah, going to work for the devil. It was toward the end of my third month working for Enseûrtech, and an e
-
mail popped up on my monitor from Claussen’s PA, his personal assistant. The e
-
mail was a demand disguised as an invitation. I was expected to make my appearance to give a kneel
-
before
-
the
-
king performance before the almighty Charles Claussen on the following afternoon. I knew that declining such an invitation was not an option.” Tanner smiled, remembering the story.

“The subway wasn’t crowded that day. When I got to Claussen’s building, the guard at the security desk recognized me and called me by name as I walked through the door. I was flattered, I admit.”