Joseph Finder - Power Play

"I'm sure one of our stress analysts stamped the drawings, but it couldn't have been his decision," I said. "It would have had to be made at a higher level."

"By whom?"

"I don't know."

"Surely you do."

"I don't want to speculate," I said.

"Meaning that you know and won't tell me?"

"No. Meaning I'm not sure."

"Probably an old-line metal guy, as you put it. Right? A senior executive?"

I shrugged again.

"Because now it's clear, based on what happened in Paris, that the wings are going to have to be scrapped and rebuilt from scratch. A design change, partial-scale integrated testing, tooling and fabrication and touch-and-gos. Which will delay the launch of the SkyCruiser by six months, even a year."

"That would be a disaster. A delay like that, we could lose billions of dollars."

"And if we sell planes that we know to be defective, we're criminally negligent. So we don't have a choice, do we? Which is why I want to know who made that idiotic decision that's going to cost us so dearly."

My theory was right. She was determined to use the Eurospatiale crash to undermine Hank Bodine, then get rid of him. And I'd just gotten trapped in the maws of that battle.

I just nodded.

"Well, I intend to find out who it was," she said. "And when I do, I will cut him out like a cancer."

The waiters cleared away the bowls and the gold-rimmed service plates and began setting out a battalion of fresh silverware and steak knives with curved black handles and sharp carbon-steel blades.

Then the food came. And came. And came.

Raw oysters served with a pungent ponzu sauce. Tiny braised wild partridges seasoned with juniper berries on a bed of cabbage laced with tiny cubes of foie gras. Sautйed rapini and black-walnut-filled Seckel pear and cipollini coulis. Saffron-buckwheat crepes with a ragout of lobster and chanterelle mushrooms. Saddle of venison stuffed with quince. Ya de ya de ya.

Of course, I didn't know what half the stuff was, so I studied the menu like a lost tourist clutching a street map. I was full before the main course, and I didn't even know what the main course was.

At the foot of the table, Bo Lampack, the guy who looked like Mr. Clean, stood up and cleared his throat. The hubbub didn't subside until he clinked on his water glass for a good fifteen seconds.

"I don't know, think there's enough food here tonight?" he boomed. "Might have to go out to McDonald's for a Quarter-Pounder later on, huh?"

The laughter was boisterous.

"Oh, yeah, right. No restaurants around here for a hundred miles. So I guess you better eat up, folks. Hey, I'm Bo Lampack, from Corporate Teambuilders. Your team-building coordinator. As most of you remember, since I worked with most of you adventurers before." He paused. "Then again, alcohol does kill brain cells."

More raucous laughter.

He looked sternly around the table. "And after that banquet on the last night…" He paused again, and let the guffaws crescendo. "…I'm surprised you gentlemen have any brain cells left."

He surfed the waves of laughter like a pro. "Looks like we got some ladies with us this year, huh? Two beautiful ladies. You ladies think you can keep up with all these tough guys?"

I stole a glance at Cheryl. An enigmatic smile was frozen on her face like a mannequin's. Ali smiled bashfully, nodded.

"Actually," Bo said, "maybe the real question is, can you tough guys keep up with the ladies? See, in case you guys are thinking you're old hands and you got a head start on the ladies-sorry. Doesn't work that way. Because I always like to shake things up. Get you out of your comfort zone. So we're going to be doing some new things this year. Some fishing-only not the kind you're used to. Some kayaking. A great new GPS scavenger hunt. Even extreme tree climbing-and lemme tell you, it ain't like when you were a kid."

Kevin Bross grinned.

"Right, Kev? You've done recreational tree climbing, haven't you? Rope-secured, with harnesses and carabiners and all?"

"Got certified in Atlanta," Bross said.

"Why does that not surprise me?" said Lampack. "How about you, uh, Upton? It's wild, isn't it?"

Upton Barlow shook his head. "Haven't tried it yet, but I'm looking forward to it," he said. Obviously he wasn't happy that Bross knew a sport he didn't. "We doing the fire walk again this year?"

"Uh, we've stopped doing the fire walk," Lampack said. "Insurance problems."

Some nervous titters.

"Guy from Honeywell got hurt pretty bad, few months back."

"I guess he wasn't a positive thinker," Bross said. "It's all about mental concentration, you know."

"Tell that to the guy from Honeywell with third-degree burns on the soles of his feet," said Lampack. "Had to have skin grafts. See, this isn't all fun and games, kids. Now, this year's program is called Power Play, but it's not going to be like any play you've ever done before. You're all going to have to sign liability waivers as usual. There are dangers. We don't want any of you executives falling off tightropes in the ropes course and bashing your heads and delaying the launch of your new plane or anything."

There was a weird, hostile edge to Lampack, I was beginning to see. Like he secretly resented the corporate executives he worked with and took a kind of sadistic pleasure in taunting them.

"I won't lie to you," he said. "There's gonna be scary moments. But it's moments like that that tell you who you really are. When you're thirty feet off the ground you learn what you're really made of, okay? You learn to confront your fears. Because this is about personal growth and self-discovery. It's about breaking down inhibitions. Knocking down those office walls so we can build team spirit."

He reached down and picked up a large reel of rope. He pulled out a length: half-inch white rope, blue threads woven through it. "You know what this is? This is not just your lifeline. This is trust." He nodded solemnly, looked around. "When you're walking across a cable thirty feet off the ground and some-one's belaying you, you've got to trust him-or her-not to drop you, huh?"

He set the spool down. "You'll be challenged mentally and physically. And you're all going to fail at some point-our courses are designed to make you fail. Not our rope, though. Hopefully." He chuckled. "These tests are some of the most brutal trials you'll ever go through." He paused. "Except maybe one of Hank Bodine's PowerPoint presentations, huh?"

Bodine clicked a smile on and off. No one laughed.

"See, I'm going to get you all out of your comfort zone and into your learning zone."

A sudden explosion came from somewhere outside: the loud pop of a gunshot.

But it made no sense. This wasn't a hunting area. Everyone turned.

Lampack looked both ways, shrugged. "Guess a grizzly must've got into someone's garbage."

"Really?" Ali said.

"Happens all the time. Tons of grizzlies and black bears in the woods. Not supposed to shoot 'em, though people do. Get up early in the morning, and you might even see one washing himself down by the shore. Just leave 'em alone, and they'll leave you alone." He nodded sagely. "Now, we'll be evaluating the progress of your team development at the end of each day using the Drexler-Sibbet Team Performance Model-"

Another loud pop, then a door banged: the front door of the lodge, it sounded like.

A large man in a hunting outfit, camouflage shirt and matching pants, and a heavy green vest, traipsed into the room. He was well over six feet, wide, and heavyset: a giant. He was around forty, with a powerful build that had gone somewhat to fat. He had short jet-black hair that looked dyed, dark eyebrows, a neatly trimmed black goatee. Mephistopheles, I thought. There was something satanic about his short black goatee, his jutting brow.