Chapter 4: Every Worm Must Turn

Paul caught a taxi to the airport with Jim Spencer and Ted Wilson. Few words were spoken on the way, and nothing was mentioned about the explosion in Wilton's office, or the meeting in general. Paul had gone off like a rocket, and the others could see that he hadn't quite landed on the ground. They decided to let him cool, rather than risk re-ignition. It was a side of Paul rarely seen. The younger man, Spencer, had never seen it.

As the plane began its climb out over Lake Michigan Paul turned to Ted Wilson.

"Ted, were you able to hear what went on inside the office between Wilton and me?" he asked.

"Yes," he answered, "most of it. Don't worry; the only other people that were there were Jim, here, and Wilton's secretary."

"Good!" Paul sighed. "I'm glad that it wasn't in front of anyone else. It was a mistake for me to lose my temper, but I couldn't help it."

"We may be able to turn it to our advantage," said Ted. "You may have been mistaken in your tactics, but not in your thinking. Wilton surely knows the truth. If you offer him a chance to save face, he'll grab it."

"That's why you get paid the big money, Ted," he laughed. He turned to Spencer. "Jim, you should have gone to law school instead of engineering. The pay is better, there's less math and you don't need a pocket protector!"

The three men had a good laugh and they were glad that things were back to normal.

Paul turned serious again.

"Let's meet at the office before we go home. I'll fill you two in on my meeting with Miss Wright and some other things. I don't want to talk about it on the plane."

The two men nodded their agreement.

"Jim," he said, "as soon you can after we land, get on your cell and call Bert Loehman at the office. Tell him I want him waiting in my office when we get back. We need to meet with him today."

The three men sat without speaking for a minute. It signaled that business details were over for the time being.

"Hey, Paul," Ted called out over the sound of the jet engines, "how's that lady-friend of yours in Chicago?"

Paul let out a big sigh and shook his head.

"That's probably part of why I exploded this morning," he said. "It looks like that's all over."

He narrated the sad story of Glenda, Hopkins, Judson and the lawsuit.

"I'm sorry, Paul," Spencer said. "She was very nice. I liked her."

"What a shame!" Ted exclaimed. "There's no way that she had to take that. There are scores of lawyers filing lawsuits over that kind of thing every day. I could have found someone to help her. Did you talk about that with her?"

"I never got the chance," Paul answered. "I got the feeling that they really scared her, or somehow got control over her. I think she saw everything that she worked for going up in smoke and her instincts took over. At any rate, she won't answer my calls or letters. I wish that she would."

"What goes around comes around," Ted mused. "Keep your eyes and ears open. You never know what can happen. That paper that she signed might be her way out. If it's in her personnel file then it would back up her story. It wouldn't be her word against theirs. If your hear anything, keep me posted."

"Whatever happens, we cannot cave on this lawsuit just to make personal troubles go away," Paul declared. "There's a lot at stake!"

Paul clenched his jaw, which was what he did whenever he knew that he could never be moved off the spot he was standing on. He hadn't grown used to the pain. After Audrey Wright left his hotel room the night before Paul had done a lot of that thinking that he was famous for. It had been a long, sleepless night but the result was a simple one. If innocent people were suffering, and brave people like Audrey were risking all they had, then something good would come of this plant, this lawsuit and all the sacrifices. Neither Hopkins, nor Morehead, nor Grafton, nor Wilton—and especially not Paul Crane would stand in the way.

At the same time that Paul's plane was landing Larry Wilton called Ed Grafton in his office at Montgomery Chemical.

Wilton: Ed, Larry Wilton speaking. I want you to tell me why Paul Crane thinks that you were sitting on his project at Peoria.

Grafton: What's this Larry? No pleasantries? We haven't spoken since I left. Don't you miss me? You must be worried about something.

Wilton: I need to know if I should be worried, Ed.

Grafton: Well, don't be! There's nothing to be worried about.

Wilton: Crane is hinting at irregularities with the drawings. We can't even locate our set. He's going to keep at it until he finds something.

Grafton: I don't know where those drawings are, Larry, and that's the truth!

Wilton: It's going to be a problem until they turn up. It won't be the last time you hear about them.

Grafton: I have nothing more to tell you, Larry.

They hung up. Wilton pulled on his moustache, which is what he always did when he was nervous about something. On the conference table, in a cardboard tube sat the reprinted drawings from the Agency CAD. He called his secretary into his office.

"Put the Agency seal on this tube and deposit it in the vault. No one is to break that seal but me!" he told her.

Later that day, at six in the evening, and almost everyone in the Agency had left at five. Audrey Wright stayed behind. She often did when she was working on a project. With only her apartment to go home to, it didn't matter if she was late from time to time. Extra hours helped her to stay on top of things.

It was a different kind of project that kept her after hours this time. She was looking for Craig Morehead. She had been to his cubicle in the department. He wasn't there, but the disarray on his desk made her sure that he was still about. Audrey knew where to find him. She made her way to the employee cafeteria in the basement of the building.

The service in the cafeteria was closed. Audrey spotted Craig sitting alone at a table in the far corner. Only the two of them were in the large room. He was eating one of those meals that a person buys from a vending machine and cooks in a microwave oven. Morehead ate a lot of his meals in this fashion. Audrey thought that he spied her as she walked into the large room, but didn't acknowledge her. Still, she felt his eyes on her.

Audrey knew a little bit about Craig Morehead. He was a lonely man. He always insisted that he wasn't divorced, but he lived like he was. The marriage was preserved in legal form so that his 'ex' who was not an 'ex' could continue to share the lush benefits enjoyed by State employees. It lowered his child support payments. His estranged wife, in fact, shared an apartment with another man.

There were many single women on the lookout at the Agency and on the larger State Campus wherein the Agency was located, but he always mentioned his complicated marital-status-in-suspense and that confused any of them who might have been interested. At the same time, Craig had the reputation of being an 'ogler'. He was often caught staring from afar, or looking up skirts and down blouses. He never acted on what he found with his roving eye, or shared his findings with anyone. For him, it was a private hobby.

Morehead didn't have looks that would make women swoon. He was stocky, built like a fire hydrant. He had been an athlete, a wrestler and football lineman, in his younger years, but over time the broad shoulders and muscular limbs had been joined by layers of excess weight and a broader stomach. Whenever he stayed late at the office he could be seen in the cafeteria diving into the fattening vending machine entrees. On his way home he would stop at a sports bar for a few rounds. His routine, more times than not, was his reason for staying late. His watering holes were on the way home, but the usual quitting hour was too early for the bars. He would kill time in the office, and see who else was working late. It helped him stay on top of things.

At the age of thirty eight Craig's job title was Senior Project Evaluation Engineer. It was the third of five professional gradations in his area of the Agency. His just-departed mentor, Ed Grafton, had been at the fifth level. Grafton's premature retirement had Morehead disgruntled. It was impossible for him to jump two levels to replace the departed Grafton, so he would soon be reporting to a new section chief.

Audrey came alongside the table where Morehead was sitting. He looked up at her, but said nothing, swallowing a mouthful of lasagna.

"What happened at the 'Peoria' meeting today, Craig?" Audrey asked, skipping the pleasantries.

"Not much," he mumbled between mouthfuls.

"Well, I should have been invited," Audrey insisted, "I thought that I was part of the team."

"I paged you—you didn't answer," said Craig.

Audrey knew what he said was true, but she had ignored the page in deference to Paul's advice to her the night before.

"I just sat there like a bump on a log, listening to lawyers strategize—so don't feel bad," Morehead continued in a frustrated tone.

Audrey pulled up a chair and sat leaning forward on her elbows, grabbing Morehead's attention.

"Well, I saw Jim Spencer before the meeting," Audrey declared in a low voice, even though they were alone in the large room. "He told me that the people at Dunn think that something is going on with the missing drawings. They think that Grafton did something to them to hold their project up, and they're good and burned up. Spencer said that if Crane got his hands on the drawings it would be the final piece of the puzzle, and that heads would roll."

"Good luck to them. Nobody's been able to find the drawings. I don't know where they are," shrugged Morehead, adopting an innocent tone. Audrey noticed that that his face was reddening.

"For your information, Mr. Morehead, Spencer told me that the Dunn people think that YOU have them, and their lawyers are getting ready for something big. I think that they plan to search your house, and everywhere else. I heard that Wilton had our lawyers meeting with them," Audrey pressed on.

"And what makes you think that Jim Spencer knows anything; and why would he be blabbing anything to you?" retorted the skeptical Morehead.

"You men are so easy to loosen up. Spencer is just like every other man." Audrey said with a smirk. "I hiked up my skirt a little. I gave him a reason to look forward to something more. He would have told me his social security number if I had asked for it. And, I hear that he and Crane are like this," she said, crossing her fingers and thrusting them forward to drive home the point.

"Let them search. They won't find anything. After that, maybe they'll go away," Morehead answered. "I think that Grafton has them."

"Grafton went crazy when he couldn't find them. I think that you do have them Craiggy-boy. You're holding the bag!" Audrey said in defiance of Morehead's denial.

"Think what you want!" Morehead retorted.

"Look, Craig, I'm on your side. I don't want to turn you in—or Grafton either. I just want my share. Cut me in on the action. Nobody suspects me. I'll hold the drawings in my apartment. They'll search yours and find nothing. After that, they would never get another warrant!"

"Oh my!" exclaimed Morehead. "Little Audrey isn't quite so prim and proper as everyone thought! When did you get a taste for greenbacks, Audrey?"

"Have you seen my car; my hovel of an apartment? Never mind that, anyway!" Audrey snorted. "Is it a deal or not? You know that they'll get you!"

"There's no money," Morehead admitted. "Grafton's got it all. He promised me a taste when Montgomery pulled the plug on Hopkins. I threatened to run to Wilton. He promised, but bugged out of town without paying a dime. I can only cut you in if I get something from him. I lifted the drawings for leverage against Grafton. I'm going to try him one more time, then burn the drawings and pretend that I don't know anything."

"If you give me the drawings, you won't have to burn them," Audrey said.

"Well, if the drawings were safe, I could try Hopkins, if Grafton doesn't cave; or maybe there's an angle of Hopkins pressuring Grafton if he's scared enough."

"If you burn those drawings, you'll have nothing; if you keep them they'll find you out," reminded Audrey.

"I'll cut you in for ten percent of anything I collect; but it may be nothing," said Morehead.

"A maybe is better than a nothing; and that will be fifty percent," said Audrey.

Morehead sighed heavily.

"Alright!" he said. "But if you want in for half there's something else."

"What is it?" she asked, eyebrows raised.

"I want some of what you promised Spencer."

Audrey nodded with a smirk. She was wondering when he would get to that part.

"Nothing for nothing, Craiggy-boy!" she replied.

Audrey leaned close to Morehead. Her lips were an inch from his ear. She blew out some air so that he could feel her breath against the side of his face.

"Start sending some serious money my way," Audrey cooed, "and we'll have a lot to talk about in that regard, Craig."

It was three-thirty when Paul, Jim Spencer and Ted Wilson marched into the office. Marge was at her desk.

"Bert Loehman is waiting for you in your office," Marge called to them as they three passed by her desk.

Bert Loehman was an engineer who worked under Paul. His title was Drawing and Print Room Manager. It was a misleading title that had its roots in days gone by. Bert's fiefdom was not really a room. It was his responsibility to log, archive and keep track of all the official company engineering plans and technical drawings. It was a big job. Drawings and blueprints originated from the corporate engineering staff, and from contractors and suppliers. They included everything from designs for equipment to overall plant layouts, and everything in-between. There were always numerous iterations and the files had to be kept current. There were old drawings and new ones, paper trails to be documented. Some were on paper, others on microfilm and most had been loaded into the CAD server. Bert had the responsibility to control who received official Dunn drawings and how they received them.

Bert Loehman was a man pushing sixty-five years old. He had been with the Company for nearly his entire career. When Paul arrived Bert was already a twelve year veteran. Bert taught Paul the ropes in those early days. His current position that he had held for six years, was his last stop before retirement, scheduled for eight months in the future. It had been a good, not spectacular career.

The three men sat at a conference table in Paul's office. Paul peered at the elder man sitting across the table from him. Bert's expression was half of concern and half confused. It was clear that he knew the meeting was important, but not the reason.

"Bert," Paul began, "this meeting is extremely confidential. Everything has to stay in this room."

Bert nodded that he understood. Spencer and Wilson remained silent.

"We've just been at a meeting at the Illinois Environmental Agency in Springfield," Paul continued. "It was about the Peoria project and the lawsuit that's related to it."

Bert nodded, still appeared confused.

"There's a problem with the drawings," Paul explained. "The Agency has them on their CAD server and someone, somehow, broke through the encryption."

Dunn would often send drawings to interested parties over the internet. It was faster and cheaper than the traditional mode of sending paper copies by messenger. The CAD files were encrypted so that the official drawings could be viewed, and even printed, but not altered.

"Someone there changed our drawings to suit his own purposes, and then faked the signature and seal on them. One of the people at the Agency, a young woman, clued us in. We have got to find out how that encryption code got broken. Someone must have hacked into it, or got their hands on the key from the software developer. We have drawings on servers all over the world."

Bert leaned forward and buried his face in hands.

"Oh, no!" he murmured.

"What is it, Bert? We have to know," Paul said.

"I was tricked!" Bert said, still supporting his head in his hands. He refused to look at the others. "I sent them without encryption. I only did it once. It was over a year ago. I never imagined this would happen."

Spencer and Wilson looked at each other in shock. Loehman had a reputation for reliability.

"Give us the whole story, Bert. I want everything," Paul demanded.

"A man from the Illinois Agency called me during the time that all those Peoria meetings were going on," Bert sighed. "He told me that their server couldn't handle the encrypted files ... gave me a story about how the appropriation to update their software didn't go through. He said that the next meeting for 'Peoria' would be called off if they couldn't see the drawings that day. He asked me to send them in the 'clear'. He called it professional courtesy. I sent them. He called me a week later and said that they had fixed their problem with a software patch. Everything else went encrypted. It's as simple as that."

"Why, Bert? How could you do such a thing?" Paul pleaded.

"I knew how bad the meetings on that project were going. I wanted to help. I didn't want to be responsible for the breakdown," Bert explained. "I thought that I could trust the guy."

"What's 'the guy's' name?" demanded Paul.

"I don't remember now. It happened over a year ago." Bert answered. Tears were welling in his eyes, but he held them back.

"If it was just the one time, how could they have a full set of bogus prints when we were making changes all the time?" asked Wilson.

"They probably just updated their 'clear' copy with the changes they read from our encrypted files as time went on," answered Spencer.

"We've got to know the name, Bert!" Paul insisted.

Bert shook his head apologetically.

"Was it 'Hopkins'?" Paul asked, testing. "What about 'Wright'; 'Wilton'?"

Bert shook his head each time.

"What about 'Morehead', 'Grafton'?"

"That's it—Grafton!" yelled Bert.

Paul, Jim Spencer and Ted Wilson looked at one another.

"It all fits together," Ted spoke for them all.

Paul turned to Bert.

"This is so humiliating!" the older man mumbled.

"You and I go back a long way, Bert," Paul said. "You broke me in nearly thirty years ago. I would never have expected to be having this conversation with you, of all people."

Bert hung his head.

"I should fire you; I'm supposed to fire you," Paul told him.

"I know it, Paul," Bert answered, his head held low. "I wouldn't blame you if you did."

Paul looked away, staring out his office window. He didn't look at Spencer or Wilson. It was his decision to make, and he had to do it alone.

He turned back to Loehman.

"I have to do something, Bert. If I let this go, every standard around here would be shattered. I'm not going to fire you, but there will be some punishment."

"You will be on probation, starting now until your retirement. Your salary will be frozen. That means no raise at your review next month, and that will mean a lower ending salary in your retirement calculation."

Paul paused, looking for a reaction from Bert, but he was stoic.

"There's more!" Paul continued, in a stern voice. "You have to serve a suspension of one month without pay. That means no money. That doesn't mean using vacation or sick days. It means what I said; 'no money'! I can't function with your position vacant for a whole month, so you'll have to serve it out in one week blocks over four months."

Bert nodded agreement.

"There's one more thing." Paul said. "You can't tell anyone the reason. This has to be kept strictly confidential. Only the four of us and Jane Hansen in Personnel will know the details. She'll call you tomorrow to work out the details."

"Paul, it's better than I deserve," said Bert in a subdued voice.

"I'm going to rely on you not to let us down again, Bert. Now, you better go home before I have a chance to change my mind," Paul answered.

Bert walked slowly out of the room.

"You took it pretty easy on him," Ted said to Paul.

"I've fired people for less," Paul said.

"Getting soft?" asked Ted.

"Probably. He's closing out forty years with the Company, you know. Except for this, his record is as clean as yours or mine."

Ted nodded.

"There's more," Paul said. "We might need him to testify, so we have to keep him on board. If I canned him, there's a big risk that Grafton would find out what we know. It wasn't an easy call, but it was the right way to go."

Paul turned to Jim Spencer. "One day, you'll be sitting where I am. Always think things through before letting the ax hit the block. Then, do it or not when you're sure that you're right."

"What you did is against Company Policy. It could be a lot of trouble, and you're on the limb by yourself," Ted reminded Paul what he already knew.