Arthur Hailey - Overload

"Calm down, Harry," Nim said. "And I don't need to read the file. I'll take your word about the kind of case it is, and how messy."

A short time ago, remembering his promise to Karen the previous evening, Nim had telephoned Harry London to see if he knew of a theft of service case involving a Luther Sloan.

"You bet I do," had been the answer.

When Nim disclosed his personal interest London had stated, "I'll come up."

Now Harry London insisted, "You're damn right it's a messy case. Your friend Sloan has been bypassing meters-lots of them-for better than a year."

Nim said irritably, "He isn't my friend. His daughter is."

"One of your many women friends, no doubt."

'Knock it off, Harry!" Nim, too, was becoming angry. "Karen Sloan is a quadriplegic."

He went on to describe the Sloan family, how both parents helped Karen financially, and how Luther Sloan had gone into debt to buy a special van for Karen's use. "One thing I'm certain of. Whatever Karen's father did with any money be made, he didn't spend it on himself. "

London said contemptuously. "So does that make thievery any better? Of course it doesn't, and you know it."

"Yes, I know it. But surely, if we also know of extenuating circumstances, we could be less tough."

"Just what did you have in mind?"

Nim ignored the caustic tone. "Well, maybe we could insist on restitution, let Luther Sloan pay back whatever was stolen, giving him some time to do it, but not launch criminal proceedings."

Harry London said coldly, "So that's your suggestion?"

”Yes, it is."

“Nim," London said, "I never thought the day would come when I'd stand here and hear you say what you just did."

"Oh, for Chrissakes, Harry! Who knows what they'll say and do in certain situations?"

"I do. And I know what I'm saying now: the Sloan case will take its course, which means a criminal charge is going to be laid within the next few days. Unless, of course, you decide to fire me and do it your way."

Nim said wearily, "Harry, stop talking bilge."

There was a silence, then London said, "Nim, you're thinking of Yale, aren't you?"

“Yes."

"You're thinking that old man Yale got away with power theft, or at least intervenement in it, so why shouldn't Luther Sloan? You're figuring there was one law for the big cheese, now another law for the little guy -your friend's father. Right?"

Nim nodded. "Yes, I was thinking pretty much along those lines."

"Well, you're right. That's the way it is, and I've seen it happen at other times, in other places. The privileged, the powerful, those with money, can bend the law or get themselves a better deal. Oh, not always, but often enough to make justice unequal. But that's the way 3the system works, and while I may not like it, I didn't make it. However, I'll also tell you this: If I'd had the solid evidence against Mr. Justice Yale that I have against Luther Sloan, I'd never have backed down the way I did."

“Then there is strong evidence?"

London gave a twisted grin. "I thought you'd never ask."

"Okay, so tell me."

"Nim, in the Quayle setup, Luther Sloan was the gas man. They gave him most of the illegal gas work which came their way, probably because he was damn good at it. I've seen some of the jobs he did, and there were plenty; we have details from the Quayle records and the goods on him. Something else: You talked just now about Sloan making restitution. Well, as far as we can estimate, the illicit work he did has cost GSP & L, in gas revenue losses, about two hundred and thirty thousand dollars. And from what you tell me, Sloan might not have that kind of dough."

Nim threw up his hands. "Okay, Harry. You win."

London shook his head slowly. "No, I don't. Nobody wins. Not me, not you, not GSP & L, and certainly not Luther Sloan. I'm simply doing my job, the way I'm supposed to."

"And doing it honestly," Nim said. "Maybe more so than the rest of US."

Nim found himself regretting what had just passed between himself and Harry London. He wondered if their friendship would ever be quite the same again. He rather doubted it.

"Be seeing you, I guess," London said. He picked up the file he had brought with him, and left.

Nim supposed he would have to call Karen and deliver the bad news. He dreaded doing it. However, before he could pick up the telephone, his office door flew open and Ray Paulsen strode in.

The executive vice president of power supply asked brusquely, "Where's the chairman?"

"He had a dental appointment," Nim said. "Anything I can do for you?"

Paulsen ignored Nim's question. "When will be be back?"

Nim checked his watch. "I'd say in an hour."

Paulsen looked weary and haggard, Nim thought, his shoulders more stooped than usual, his hair and beetling eyebrows grayer than a month ago. It was not surprising. They had all been under strain-Ray Paulsen, because of his large responsibilities, as much as anyone.

"Ray," Nim said, "if you'll excuse me for saying so, you look like bell. Why not take it easy for a few minutes? Sit down, switch off, and I'll send for coffee."

Paulsen glared and appeared on the point of answering angrily. Then, abruptly, his expression changed. Dropping heavily into a soft leather chair, he said, "Do that."

Nim buzzed Vicki on the intercom and ordered coffee for them both, Afterward he went around the desk and took a chair near Paulsen.

"You might as well know what I came to tell the chairman," Paulsen growled. "We've lost Big Lil."

Nim's calm deserted him. "We've what?"

Paulsen snapped, "You heard me the first time."

"We've lost Big Lil!” Nim repeated. "For how long?"

"At least four months. More likely six."

There was a knock and Vicki came in with two mugs of coffee. While she set them on a table, Nim stood up and began pacing restlessly. Now he could understand Paulsen's distress, and share it. Big Lil, La Mission No. 5, the largest single generator in the system, supplied a massive million and a quarter kilowatts, equal to six percent of GSP & L's maximum load. At any time the sudden loss of Big Lil would create major problems, as was demonstrated after the bombing last July. In the present circumstances it was calamitous.

"People!" Paulsen exploded. "Son-of-a-bitcbing, stupid people! You think you have it all figured, spell out every procedure clearly, then some incompetent clown lets you down." He reached for a coffee mug and drank.

Nim asked, "What happened?"

"We've had Big Lil off the line for a week for routine maintenance," Paulsen said. "You knew that."

"Yes. It was due back on line today."

"So it would have been. Except for a darn fool operator." Paulsen slammed a fist into his palm. "I could skin the bastard alive."

Angrily, gloomily, he spelled out the sorry details.

When a huge, steam-powered, oil-fueled generator like Big Lil was started up, procedures were elaborate and precise. An operator, working in a control room with a multitude of instruments to guide him, was trained to follow instructions carefully, step by step. A printed checklist was provided, undue haste forbidden. Normally, the entire process took several hours.

With Big Lil, as with any similar type generator, the boiler which provided steam was activated first. Projecting into the boiler, at various heights, were rings of oil guns-burners which sprayed atomized fuel. These were ignited remotely by the control room operator, level by level, starting at the bottom, For safety reasons, before a higher level was ignited, the level below it had to be burning.

Today, the operator-failing to check his instruments-thought the lowest level of oil guns was alight. It wasn't.

As succeeding levels of burners came on, the lowest level continued to pour out unburned oil which pooled at the bottom of the boiler.