Chapter 6
General Hynes drummed his fingers impatiently. He looked over at Major Dobb. “Well? Is he coming or not?”
Dobb glanced at his computer screen. “Security logs say Frank Vellore cleared checkpoint Beta ten minutes ago. He should be here shortly.”
Hynes went back to his drumming. He hated having to even talk to the CEO of Wastend, but the President’s instructions were clear. The ultra-stealth TACAIR prototype had to be dismantled and destroyed. But Hynes would be hanged if he allowed any of the technology to fall into the wrong hands. He would see it destroyed completely or heads would roll. He had no illusion as to what would happen if certain other governments got their hands on the technology, and too often decommissioned technology lying around in a warehouse somewhere just disappeared, only to turn up in the hands of those who should have never even known of its existence. No, it would be destroyed…permanently.
A knock on the door was followed by a plain looking woman sporting silver lieutenant bars on her shoulders. “Sir, Frank Vellore is here to see you.”
“Thank you, lieutenant,” Dobbs said politely, his voice shifting to a softer pitch. “Please show him in.”
Hynes frowned. He absently wondered if a budding romance was developing between the major and the lieutenant. Shrugging the thought away, he focused on the task at hand.
Vellore walked in dressed in an expensive Kiton business suit that Hynes felt sure had set the man back at least $5,000. Great. There were fewer ways to say, ‘I’m better than you,’ than by wearing an expensive business suit into a meeting where the other participants wore $100 uniforms cut for the air force.
“Mr. Vellore,” Hynes greeted the man, reaching a hand out. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”
Frank shook the General’s hand and took a seat without being asked to. “Well, your message spoke of something important…and mentioned profit as well.”
Right to the point, I see. Hynes seated himself across from the Wastend CEO and clasped his hands together in front of him. “Did you, by chance, see the President’s news conference last week?”
Vellore pursed his lips together. “I saw it, but to be honest, I didn’t pay much attention. As you no doubt know, I am having some issues of my own.”
“Yes…well, that is part of the reason why I asked you to come here. The President’s new appeasement agenda—excuse me, peace agenda—requires us to dispose of some rather sensitive technology.”
“How sensitive,” the CEO asked, leaning forward eagerly.
“The item in question requires level 4 disposal protocols.”
“Level 4,” Frank breathed, excitement showing on his face. “Level four requires dismantling and melting in various locations. Very expensive.”
“I understand the complications,” Hynes retorted sternly. “Since you have an exclusive contract with the military in matters such as this, we are forced to deal with you.” Now it was Hynes who leaned forward. “But to be honest with you, I don’t think your company is up to the task. Your strike is causing quite an uproar in New York I hear.”
Vellore waved the comment aside. “It is nothing. The workers will grow tired of not being paid and return to work shortly.” His eyes shifted, a sure sign that the man’s greed was rising to the forefront of his thoughts. “What sort of commission are we talking about with this job?”
Stifling an angry retort, Hynes motioned for Dobb to take up the conversation. The major nodded. “We can give you a 100% bonus on top of your normal commission of 7% of the value of the item to be disposed of.”
“7% eh? Not bad. What is the item?”
Dobb looked at the general for permission, and got it with a slight nod of the head. “It is a prototype for a new full stealth TACAIR fighter.”
Vellore’s eyes widened. “Production costs for the current TACAIR model run upward of $125 million!”
“$143 million to be exact,” Dobbs confirmed. “This prototype is special and cost us $200 million.”
Vellore sat back. “That’s $14 million you’re willing to pay for disposal.”
“Yes.”
“It’s a deal!”
Hynes frowned. “Can you do it though? That’s the question we all have. With your company in turmoil, what guarantees do we have that you can do this correctly? Parts must be dispersed to no fewer than three separate sites, and the parts at each site cannot, in any fashion, be able to be reconstituted into anything that would tip someone off as to their purpose and origin. Each metal and plastic part must be completely melted down. Every serial number, ID mark, or wording must be totally obliterated without any trace. I did mention that this disposal must follow level 4 protocols, right?”
“Not a problem. I will require the money in advance, of course, but with it I can get this job completed easy enough. I have five secure sites around the nation that can handle this. All of them have been independently vetted by the military and other government agencies. The strike as you know is focused mainly in New York.” Frank shrugged. “I’ll just not use the facility we have there. See? No problem.”
Hynes didn’t feel or look convinced. But he had no choice. This had become a presidential priority, and he had been personally tasked with the burden of getting this done quickly. The President wanted movement within a week of his announcement, something to feed the press and bolster positive political opinion.
Politics.
He hated every bit of it.
“Okay. Dobb, run through the details,” he said at last. “Let’s get the ball rolling.”
Later, in his limousine, Frank pulled on his chin in thought. $14 million dollars was just what he needed. He could circumvent the union altogether with money like that and hire new workers. The Union would have to sue, of course, but by the time the dust settled he would be too far ahead of the ball for any litigation settlement to really hurt him.
The only real problem was that the disposal protocols that needed to be followed were expensive. It would cost him $4 million, minimum. That still netted him a hefty profit, but even a single million would be vital to keep his company afloat in the coming months.
No, he needed another way…a cheaper way.
He pulled harder on his chin, trying to think. An idea invaded his mind, but it was too risky. He tossed it out. A bit later, the idea snuck back in and he paused to look at it in his mind’s eye before tossing it out again as merely improbable. Before the limousine reached his offices, the idea had slithered in once more, and this time, he took a hard look at it. Could it work?
He pulled out his cell phone and made a few calls. Eventually, he reached an old acquaintance from his youth.
“Steve, it’s Frank.”
“Frank!” Steve’s rough voice replied. “It’s been a long time, you son-of-a-gun. I hear the trash business has you down in the dumps.”
“Ha-ha,” Frank muttered. “You always were the class clown.”
Steve chuckled. “I know. But hey, no offense man, but you should have gone into the shipping business. I don’t have a union to deal with.”
“Well, that’s kinda the reason I’m calling, Steve.”
“What? You want to get into the shipping business now?”
“In a way. Steve, how would you like to make a quick $ 2 million?”
There was a long pause. “Are we talking something illegal, Frank? You know that I won’t have any part—”
“Hardly illegal,” Frank lied smoothly. “Look, the government has contracted me to dispose of some sensitive equipment. They want it discretely disposed of at sea. And, well, I have a proprietary contract with the military for all sensitive waste disposal, so they naturally came to me. I thought of you.”
Another pause followed. “You did, eh? What’s the cargo and how much?”
“I can’t really tell you the details about the tech itself, you understand.” Frank had to make this mysterious enough to make it look legitimate and if actually following some of the leve
l 4 protocols gave him that edge, he would do it. “But the dismantled tech should weigh no more than 50,000 pounds.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“That’s a lot of money for a small cargo.”
“Yes, but it is sensitive, and you need to be discrete. That is what I would be paying you for. The cargo will come in crates from a variety of sources. All you have to do is sink it where no one would ever find it.”
“Well, that’s the trick. Many of these waters are scrutinized. I would probably have to go to the Indian Ocean to do it right.”
“Honestly, I don’t care where it gets done, just as long as it does and that it never comes to the light of day again—ever!”
“Okay, Frank. I’m intrigued. Send me the details over a secure line and we’ll get things set up.”
“Thanks, Steve.”
“Hey man, $ 2 million is nothing to sneeze at.”
“Make it three!”
“Two and half, ok?”
“Amen to that.”