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The Luddite Conspiracy Ch. 01

By: SirThopas



I was tempted to place this in the Loving Wives category...in fact it was initially conceived as one of my Tribute Tales....but I decided otherwise for two reasons. First, lengthy LW stories generally follow the principal of starting with adultery and then moving into some combination of revenge, reprisal, recovery, and/or name clearing. Since the components that may or may not qualify this story as an LW story do not occur in the first 10,000 words, instead requiring a slow build and backstory, I worried that readers of that variety might feel like their time was being wasted.

The second reason is that my Tribute Tales are meant to be standalone works, and I have plans for some of these characters...

The Luddite Conspiracy

ACT ONE: Transmission

Wednesday

"You know, Neil, you need to be careful."

Even though the two men were less than a year apart in age, and they'd started with the company together, Charles Lofgrin's tone was chiding and parental. He had a tendency to lecture when he was worried, and he had reason to be worried now. Leaning forward and unhooking one finger from his coffee cup to point with, he eyed his contemporary. "Tracy Bunkley's just dying for a reason to put this whole fucking mess on your shoulders, my man. And if the big guys upstairs decide they need a scapegoat...I don't think they'd hesitate to let her do it. Not even you are so highly valued that they'd let the ship sink just to say they treated you fair." He sipped his coffee. "You're a step above rat in the order of things, when there's smoke billowing out the sides."

"That's the truth," Paul Keegan took a pull from his omnipresent cigarette, wincing. He looked almost as if the act were physically painful. Even though smoking was officially prohibited inside the building, it had been a long time since anybody had complained about Paul. Most of the men and women who worked in these offices were friends, or friends of friends, and the cigarettes were just a part of who he was. If people didn't always appreciate it, they accepted it anyway. In fact, seeing him without one was like running into a friend who had worn a thick beard for ten years only to find them suddenly clean shaven. It was incongruous.

He blew out the smoke. "Tracy has wanted to hang your balls from her rearviewmirror for years. Maybe since day one. She's absolutely wet for it, and I'm sure the little cunt is sharpening her knives. Just be careful in there. Don't goad her."

"I don't intend to," Neil's smile didn't reach his eyes. "That sounds more like your thing, anyway."

Cecile, the youngest member of the team, frowned. "Why does Tracy hate Neil? Did he do something? You know, to piss her off?" He leaned on the wall, crossing his arms. In addition to his young age, he stood out from his contemporaries in that he still had the athlete's physique that he'd earned in college, and in that his face was perhaps a bit more aesthetically pleasing. The main floor secretaries seemed to think so, anyway. Some of that was probably just the effects of youth, and most of the rest could be attributed to his lean, muscled build. He was also the most careful to be professional in his language and appearance, which didn't help him as much as it tended to bring to mind the image of a small child wearing Daddy's shoes.

Neil bit his thumb nail and scrunched up his forehead. "I wish I knew. But I don't think it was anything specific, really. Somehow or another I just always seem to rub her the wrong way. The harder I try to stay out of Tracy's way, to just put my head down and do my job, the worse it gets."

Paul snorted. "Come on," he coughed. "It's not that complicated." He pointed his cigarette at Neil. "You doing your job is exactly what upsets her. It reminds her that you're more qualified than she is. That's all it comes down to. That's all it ever came down to. Fear. You know the field, the people, the ins and outs of the business, the fast track alternatives and all of their perils. You know the history. You make informed and logical decisions. You have the respect of all of the people around you, and you respect them in turn. You never half-ass anything, and you always see everything through to the end. None of these are claims that Tracy Bunkley can make. Not one. Hell, I don't think anybody here can say that they've never heard rumors claiming that the bitch slept her way into management. Can't figure how...personally, I wouldn't touch her with Cecile's dick." The shared a laugh. "The bottom line is that Tracy hates you because she's scared of you, Neil, and you can't fix that so long as both of you are here."

"I dunno," Neil shrugged. "But I do know that all this talk of scapegoats is nothing more than paranoia. Nobody is getting fired today. Nobody's getting fired, period. The company's in a bad spot, sure, but moments like these are a reality of industry. They have an inevitability to them. They are unavoidable. And, they are something the higher ups expect to have to deal with from time to time. On top of all that, the error in question wasn't ours."

"You're sure about that?" Charles asked.

He nodded. "I don't buy for a minute that we fucked this thing up. We don't do that. Ever. So whatever happened didn't start with the people in this room."

They all exchanged glances. Cecile looked especially nervous, but it was Charles who asked, "You don't think they're recalling a half million cars on operator error, do you?"

"Maybe," Neil bit his nail again, staring down at the floor. "More likely there's a problem with the assembly line. Or some small figure got mistransfered when they went to plant. I could accept either of those as possibilities. But we've never been anything if we haven't been careful. Every test we ran turned up clean, and we ran them all again anyway. My team does not make mistakes, Charles."

Nobody said anything, but Paul nodded his head and pulled from his cigarette.

Charles tilted his head and changed his approach. "You know, guys, the thing that would drive me crazy were I you is that everything else about this car...and every other car you've ever built, for that matter...works perfectly. This is one small malfunction out of a hundred thousand major decisions and figures you've produced. For fuck's sake, what other job in this world has to have better than a 99.99% success rate?" he threw up his arms. "What other profession punishes you for anything that isn't absolute perfection?"

"Aviation," Neil said flatly. "Heart surgery. Marriage." the other guys laughed. "Well, some marriages. Anybody you want to put absolute trust in...anybody you want to trust with your life...you have to count on 100%."

"And that," Paul grinned, "is why I'm still single. I'm neither trustworthy nor trusting."

David Kearns took that moment to pop his head into the room. "We're on, guys," he said. "They just called for us."

"Yeah, hooray," Paul took one last drag from his cigarette and tossed it into the waste bin. "And twenty minutes late."

"Good luck," Charles waved as they headed out. Although friends with everyone on the team, he was not a member.

The four men walked into the board room looking confident and relaxed in spite of the severity. Inside, a middle aged woman with short hair and a suit coat sat eyeing them passively. Her jaw was tightly locked, and her too-plucked eyebrows arched angrily. A thin, irritated line across her face barely passed for lips. None of this was really an indication of how she felt, however. Tracy Bunkley just always kind of looked pissed off.

"Good morning, Tracy," Dave said, getting no response. Even though the group all worked closely together on a regular basis, and were in fact used to first name casualness, the woman in charge desired the effects of her seniority today. She wanted to distance herself from these people in the face of failure. And she wanted to remind them, and everyone else, that she was above being a member of any one team.

So instead, without glancing at Dave, she turned to look at the only other person seated on her side of the table.

"Mr. Vaughan," she said, "this is the team who built the Technica. You know their names. Team, this is Greg Vaughan." She flashed a smile like a handgun. "He's here to talk with you."

Greg Vaughan was a small man with a drab brown suit, a purple striped tie, and a passing resemblance to Paul Simon. Whatever Tracy was hoping for, he certainly didn't look threatening, especially when he held his hands up apologetically.

"I am really only here," he corrected, "to provide updates, and to get a little information if I can. I want to stress that nobody is getting fired or reprimanded today...and no one is currently in danger of being so. This meeting is all about opening up communication."

Tracy made a face like she'd just heard a tasteless joke. "Still," she said, "I feel it would be inappropriate for us to gloss over the severity of this situation for the sake of niceties."

"Nobody is questioning severity," Mr. Vaughan said in the slow phrasing of weary patience. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "And your feelings on the matter are well-documented, Ms. Bunkley." He turned to look at each of the men seated across from him. "Obviously," he noted drily, "the mere fact that we are having this meeting communicates a degree of concern from the top offices."

"If it's all the same to you," Neil responded, "we'd like it if you could start us off with your update. We've been kept pretty well in the dark up until now," he glanced at Tracy, "so half of what we've heard or think we know might turn out to be heresy."

Vaughan nodded, shuffling through papers with an unreadable expression. "Essentially, gentlemen, the problem is as follows," he placed his glasses on his face and read from a sheet he'd drawn from the pile. "First, we have an error of sorts in the recent update of our most popular family sedan, the Technica. This much you know. You may also know that the error has been referenced in seventy-three separate collisions...almost all of them minor or injury free. It appears to have a tendency to occur when the vehicle has come to a full stop and then resumes acceleration, so all the accidents have been low velocity events. That, at least, is a blessing. Now, we received word yesterday that three major insurance agencies are filing a joint claim against this company claiming an additional fifty-seven accidents on record that they say can be attributed to the design flaw in question. They're seeking six point eight million dollars-"

"This design flaw," Neil said flatly, "IS in question, by the way."

"Hum." Vaughan adjusted his glasses with indifference and continued. "As I said, the lawsuit seeks six point eight million in damages. While not insignificant, neither is this number horrific. The real expense of our little automotive hiccup will be far greater. Our most popular vehicle has now become something of an albatross. Our name is this month's automotive punchline for late night talk shows. And all of this occurs at a time when we are only just in the act of recovering from a near-crippling financial low point due to a weakened economy and foreign competition. I need not remind anybody here that, if this issue is not effectively and quickly resolved, it could potentially be a killing blow event for this company."

"If that's the case," Paul leaned forward on his elbows, "then we should be out there examining the recalled units and trying to ascertain what went wrong. Not sitting in a board room."

Tracy waved dismissively. "An FMEA has already been initiated. We simply didn't think it was appropriate," she leaned on the word like a lectern, "to include the individuals responsible for the recall."

"Responsible?" Neil turned a calm face on her. "Nothing was wrong with our design as submitted, and I think you know that. How many cars have we built for this company? How many remodels have we overseen? This was just a standard update, nothing flashy. It wasn't even a fresh build. No way could we have messed it up. Operator safety is our strong point. It's our driving emphasis. It's our bread and butter."

"And why is that, Mr. Fenner?" Tracy smiled at him.

Neil flinched ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly. "Don't," he said. "Just don't."

She shrugged.

Glancing between them, uncertain what was happening, Vaughan continued. "What we'd like to get today is any information you have that might guide us in determining just where issue lies." He picked up his notebook, and started writing. "Firstly, can you take me through the process of producing the car, starting with just after the initial design was written."

"The yearly update, or the original model?"

"The update is where our focus lies, obviously."

Neil shrugged. "There's not much to say. Once we had our design roughs approved, and our prints run through, we built the mule car. It's exactly how we start every upd-"

"I'm sorry," Vaughan smiled, "I go months at a time without hearing the backroom terms. A mule car is?"

"A mule car," David answered, "is one of the previous year's builds, from the factory floor. It's taken and modified based on our new designs, so that we can test new changes. It allows us to do a sort of preemptive check to see that our figures are all in line. Sometimes we take two of them and use them to test different aspects of the update before putting it all together. It's a cost-effective and very successful way to try things out before pumping out hundreds of cars. In this particular case we opted to run three distinct mule cars in succession, because we were updating the DBW and Neil wanted to be absolutely sure it was safe."

"The drive-by-wire?" Tracy leaned forward. "I'd forgotten about that. Could the problem be housed in the wire system somewhere?"

Paul shook his head. "No way. This appears to be an acceleration issue, I'll grant you, and usually that would make the DBW a suspect, but it should actually be a fail safe against the kind of acceleration you described. It hands over total control of the engine's torque to the ECW, where it's coded in for the brake to override the accelerator, so even if something went wrong there the software would still allow the operator to brake to a stop."

"Not if the software never got the signal," Tracy argued.

"If this were a case of a faulty by-wire," Cecile observed, "you would have a lot more accidents on your hands." Tracy threw him an irritated look before tilting her head in acquiescence.

"It is a place for us to look, though," Vaughan noted, scribbling on his pad. "Who knows? Maybe something is wrong with the software."

"I know. And I'm telling you, that's not it." Neil frowned across the table at them. "We mule tested three times, rough and ready. And then we did a pilot build and tested again."

"You'll find that the paperwork on that is in order," David noted.

"With Tracy's signature on every page," Paul added drily.

Tracy flashed annoyance at him. "My requests are in order as well, okayed by accounting as well as R&D."

"If you don't mind," Vaughan looked up over the paper in his hands, "this is hardly a paperwork issue." He glanced through his set of questions. "Is there any place in particular you might recommend we look for problems? Anything that stands out as a possible cause?"

"What I would recommend," Neil said, "is that you let us work with the FMEA team. Directly."

"It's been...requested...that you not be involved with that process. There is a concern that it might look bad, in light of some increased media attention, that we failed to involve a third and impartial party in evaluating the problem. We don't want Dateline suggesting that we give engineers who screw up a chance to hide their mistakes."

From the smug look on Tracy's face, they all knew who had proposed that particular issue.

"Fine," Neil resisted the urge to bite his thumbnail. "Have you tested the effects of going WOT on it?"

"WOT?"

"Wide open throttle. Producing high manifold pressures. I don't know that it will lead anywhere, but if this is truly an acceleration problem then I don't know why it wouldn't be worth seeing if the vehicle behaves normally under extreme acceleration conditions."

"And how does one, uh, produce WOT?" Vaughan asked.

Even Tracy grinned at that one.

"The common term for WOT," Cecile said drily, "is flooring it."

"Oh," Vaughan blinked at him, his face blank. Then, "Oh!" He blushed, and scribbled something on his notepad. "Anything else?"

Neil thought about it. "I would look at the pedal linkage, personally," he said. "I think that, these being low speed collisions, the issue might not be with acceleration so much as with the brake pedals themselves. That doesn't make sense, because we didn't update them or make adjustments to anything around them. But there it is."

"I don't think that's worth looking at," Cecile blurted out. "Like you said, we didn't change it. In fact, we didn't make any changes anywhere near the linkage."

Neil nodded. "I know. But the nature of the accidents-"

He was interrupted by Vaughan's cell phone ringing. "One minute please," the lawyer said, holding up one hand as he answered it. "Hello? Yes.....I'm with them now.......Oh. Oh, I see.............should I discuss this with the team, or......Okay......I understand."

He hung up, putting the phone away and looking stricken. "I'm afraid I have some bad news, gentlemen. The situation is in the process of becoming a great deal more serious. This morning, Newsweek magazine contacted us to request access to our personnel and facilities as they research for a new article. We couldn't exactly turn them down, of course. They'll be sending a reporter out on Monday...Moira Adams, actually."

Neil raised his eyebrows and shared a look with Paul. Their expressions were hard to read.

Cecile leaned forward. "Isn't that the woman who did all those reports on the Chicago mafia wars? Went underground and wrote about that guy they call the Mad Dog?"

"It is. She's about the biggest name in news right now, and until her fifteen minutes is up she will be a very dangerous person to have around. The impetus for her investigation is an incident we were, until last night, unaware of. An incident we had hoped to contain."

"What exactly was this 'incident?'" Paul asked.

Vaughan's shoulders lifted and fell as he took a deep breath. "Six weeks ago, a family of three was involved in an accident that has been...attributed...to our design malfunction. The man who was driving suffered minimal injury. His wife, however, is in a coma with severe head trauma. Their four year old daughter, sitting in the back seat, was killed."

Paul cursed, and Cecile suddenly looked very sick. He stared across the table at Tracy, who did not return his stare. Neil became very still, suddenly, not even breathing.

"How did this happen?" David asked.

"They were stopped at a four way, from what I understand, when they began to drift into oncoming traffic. The car was struck from the side by a speeding pickup truck full of teenagers. One of the teenagers also died in the crash." He looked around the table, focusing on Neil. "I am sorry. Please know that nobody blames you, and you should not blame yourselves. Instead, we should-"

But Neil interrupted him. "I quit."

Paul leaned forward. "Neil. Don't-"

"I'm sorry, Paul. But I mean it. I quit."

Vaughan and Cecile were staring wide-eyed at him. Paul and Kearns frowned and glanced at each other. Tracy looked smug.

"Excuse me?" Vaughan tilted his head. "I must be misunderstanding. Why wou-

"You got it right. I said I quit." Neil pushed his chair back, almost stumbling over it as he turned to go. "I'm done. It's over." He turned and fled from the room. The other members of his team jumped up to follow him, making apologies as they left. None of them caught the hungry grin that spread across Tracy Bunkley's face.


The Luddite Conspiracy Ch. 01



Spilling out of the room, they saw Neil rushing down the carpeted hallway. "Neil!" David shouted, but before they could hope to catch up he was around the corner and gone. David and Cecile started to follow, but Paul caught them by the arms.

"What the fuck is going on?" Cecile asked, bewildered. "What's he so upset about?"

"Christi," he said. "He's upset about Christi. Just...just let him go."

Cecile turned and stared at Paul blankly. "Who the hell is Christi?"

-=-=-

Neil Fenner sat in his car in the parking ramp, his key jutting outward from his hand like a knife. Like a promise. He gazed blankly at the wall in front of him, hearing his daughter's voice, small and free, ring out in his head.

"Daddy, Look!" she cried gleefully. "It's snowing!"

Then the car folded in, as the drunk who had sped through the red light smashed into them. And even though Neil never allowed himself to think of the events that followed, they were always there. Every minute of every day they crouched just below the surface, hungry scavengers posing as memories. Wanting only to get out. Wanting it with a drive and fire that only a rabid, starving animal could know.

He felt his hand shake, saw the key vibrating in the air, and wondered what the four year old girl who died six weeks ago in a vehicle he'd designed had said to his father, as the car rolled uncontrollably into oncoming traffic. He wondered what innocent words would be ringing in that father's ears for the rest of his life. And, for the first time, he wondered if it were possible that his designs really were faulty.

He wondered if it really could be his fault. Just like Christi was his fault.

He'd never even looked as they hit the intersection. His own light was green, and that was all there was. He'd rolled into the open space with the confident senility that a lifetime of following the traffic laws provided. A simple twist of his head to the left would have told him everything he needed to know. Would have shown the speeding vehicle as it sailed well past the point of being able to stop in time.

But he'd had too much faith in the rule of laws, and in the rule of right.

Had he done that again? Had he grown so complacent in his understanding of the rules that he'd forgotten that some things operate outside them? Had he missed some small piece of minutiae that had ruined everything? He looked over his shoulder at the back seat of the car.

"I'm so sorry, honey," he said to no one, and no one responded.

Then he stabbed the key into its place, started the car, and drove away.

-=-=-

"Jesus. I never knew," Cecile shook his head. He looked almost ill.

"It's not generally a topic of conversation," Paul observed. He pulled on his cigarette and winced.

"That's why he's so focused on safety with our designs, isn't it?" the younger man asked.

A nod. "This company's safety rating has gone through the roof thanks to Neil Fenner. That's why this whole thing seems so ridiculous."

"How long ago was all this?" Cecile asked.

"Little over two years," David answered, scratching his hairless cranium. "He never really talked about it. At least not around here."

"Well, he's a quiet guy."

"Didn't used to be," Paul said softly. "Not. At. All. Neil used to be about as cheerful and funny as anyone you've ever met."

A weary expression passed over Cecile's face, sunk his features low, then disappearing completely. "I'm surprised he came back," he said.

"I'm not sure he ever really did. But he seems to find some kind of solace in the work, and especially in making our vehicles especially safe. He's not pushing safety for the awards, kid."

Cecile looked down at his feet for a minute, and then he looked back up at his coworkers. "What's going to happen to us now?"

Paul opened his mouth to reprimand the youth for even asking that question, but was interrupted.

"I wouldn't worry about that," Tracy's voice fluttered towards them like a wobbly butterfly. She strode down the hallway, smiling as though nothing concerning had occurred, with the lawyer scurrying behind her. "Whether or not Mr. Fenner decides to pursue his decision, and regardless of recent events, I think that we can all agree that this team has a history of being effective. Whatever else, it should remain intact. This event is going to be traumatic enough for the company without us going around reorganizing staff and splitting people up. Somebody will just have to take his place." She let her eyes drift over them each appraisingly, and Cecile blushed.

"Yeah, well, it's a little early for us to start packing up the man's desk." Paul noted. "He may calm down. Hell, he may even come back fighting. Besides, Neil's shoes would be damned hard to fill."

"Oh," Tracy gave him a knowing look, "I'm sure we'll be able to fill them one way or the other. It would be a promotional step for any man in this room to take Fenner's job. Isn't that right? And if none of you are interested, then this building is full of talent. Surely someone, somewhere, will be prepared to say yes." She licked her lips. "Don't you think, Paul?"

Paul raised an eyebrow in her direction, and took a pull from his cigarette.

-=-=-

"You're home early," Gina smiled as she peaked her head around the corner. "I was just getting ready to go..." the pleasant surprise slipped from her face as she saw the pensive darkness her husband wore."Is something wrong?"

Neil blinked and looked at her, his thoughtfulness turning achingly sad for a minute. Then he looked away. "No. No, nothing's...well, I quit my job today."

"What?!" She rushed forward, reaching out for him. "What happened?"

He looked down at her, at the concern evident in her eyes.

I think I let it happen again, Gina. She had somebody else's face and somebody else's name, but that didn't matter at all. I didn't save her again. I'm sorry.

"Nothing happened," he said reflexively, knowing that neither of them bought it.

Gina's lips narrowed, which on her small face produced an effect not totally dissimilar to a child's attempts to be bossy. "Honey, don't do this. Don't close me out again. Not like before."

What am I supposed to say? Please tell me that.

"I...I just don't want to work there anymore. We'll be okay. I'll find something else, and...We've got a pretty good nest egg."

"It's not the money I'm worried about."

"Okay. Good. Then you don't have to worry at all." He stepped back, taking her hands away from his arms. "Everything's fine. I'm going to go for a walk. I just need to get some air."

"I'll come with you."

He turned away. "I need to be alone." And then he was gone.

Gina stared at the closed door and put her hand over the tightness in her stomach. Her husband withdrew when he was upset. It could be a frustrating trait in the worst of times, making her feel isolated and unable to help. Sometimes a storm would rage and pass in a day, and she'd never even know what had caused it. Or if there was anything she might have done to help him. It was also something they'd worked on improving in their counseling sessions after Christi's death. Their counselor had assured Gina that Neil was aware and even desirous of sharing his feelings with her...it was normal after a traumatic event for some men to retreat from their feelings, and to have great difficulty expressing themselves. It was just as normal for them to try and contain their emotions about the trauma, to try and refuse them, leading to a cycle of reserved, isolating, misery. Neil was something of a textbook case. Men had a greater tendency to self-blame, to hold themselves accountable unrealistically in the face of tragedy. They were supposed to protect the people around them, especially women and children, and when they did not the guilt could eat away at them like an incurable cancer. This was Neil all over.

But he'd come to accept that he had to try and verbalize his pain, for the sake of their marriage and his own life. And, for the last year and a half, he had made that effort. Things had improved slowly, ultimately getting so much better that Gina had hoped the dark times were behind them.

What had happened at work today that could undo all that? What could be that big? What had caused her husband to close himself off to her again? What could possibly make him quit his job?

She cursed quietly and sat down at the table, facing the door.

"If you think I'm going to make this easy for you, Neil Fenner, you've got another thing coming," she muttered under her breath.

-=-=-

Tracy Bunkley tapped her fingers absently on her mahogany desk and rocked softly in her leather office chair. It was a comfortably cushioned seat, and something of a rarity in the office. Tracy had bought it herself when she'd first been promoted to project manager. High backed and regal, it looked delightfully intimidating behind her dark maroon desk. And the fact that she always kept it raised up only heightened the effect. It allowed her to tower over her project members whenever she summoned them, as they sat in the comparatively short low-back guest chairs.

Any other woman might have been made to look child-like, sitting in Daddy's oversized office chair and playing with the items on his desk, by these decisions. But at one inch short of six foot, Tracy was no ordinary woman. And the heeled pumps she always wore gave her more than that needed extra inch.

Tracy knew she had to use every advantage she could, working in an industry that remained very much a boys' club. Especially since her gift was for manipulating people, not schematics. She struggled with most of the concepts related to the work, but she'd always been able to influence the boys around her, and that had made her climb to management easy. Project manager was a job she did well, and one she enjoyed.

Until Neil Fenner started to become the fair-haired golden child, in the eyes of the top brass, and became a very real threat. Between his newly shining star and the growing grumbles from Human Resources about her "lack of rapport" with the engineers, Tracy could read the writing on the wall. Undoubtedly, there were people in the board room already contemplating just how low a severance they could get away with offering the unpleasant woman with the adequate record and no friends. A severance, of course, that would end her career in the auto industry. But Tracy would not go quietly into the night. She knew she was good at her job. Neil Fenner couldn't do what she did. He was just an engineer. A good one, sure, but too reserved to be a leader of men. Too much of a thinker, too slow to act. And she would never allow him to take her place. She had already taken careful steps to eliminate him as a problem forever, and they were rapidly coming to fruition.

The door opened unceremoniously, and Cecile Schaeffer stormed in. He slammed it roughly behind him, turning a red face and puppy dog eyes toward his boss. The look on his boyish face was that of one whose faith has been deeply and unexpectedly shaken. He was twenty-five, but Tracy sometimes felt like he behaved even younger than that.

"You didn't tell me about his daughter," he said quietly. "You didn't tell me that she died in a car accident."

"It didn't seem important at the time," Tracy waved dismissively. "We didn't expect any major accidents or fatalities to occur, remember? Nobody was supposed to get hurt, so the man's history was irrelevant. Think about it for a minute, Cecile. Would it really have made any difference, if I'd told you? Would it have changed your mind? I doubt it. If you'd thought at all that people might actually die, you would never have signed on for this. Neither would I. We knew we were taking a calculated risk, yes, but the danger was infinitesimal. We never dreamed something this ugly might happen. We tried to be careful enough not to let it happen."

"And we failed." He looked so tragically forlorn as he said it that she sympathized a little. He was so young, still, and so naive. He had no idea how little these people cared for each other. And now he had this weight on his shoulders that he was too idealistic to shake off.

But she also knew how dangerous to both of them his conscience could be, if left unchecked, so she chose her words carefully.

"You can't go blaming yourself for events beyond your control," she said in her best soothing Mommy voice. "There's no way to predict people. They are the worst sort of equation. Anyway, the teens that killed that poor child were speeding. People who die in speeding accidents die because they were speeding, not because of the man who built the accelerator."

He didn't say anything. Tracy could almost hear him willing it to be true. Finally, he shook his head. "What happens now?"

"Now we make sure that Neil Fenner's exodus is as painless for all involved as possible. In a way, this will work out better for him than we planned. Instead of the FMEA team concluding that his work was shoddy and costing him his job, he can quit with recommendations and severance. Neil will be a man with a clean resume and the world at his fingertips. He's hurting now, but I promise you that this is all going to work out in the end."

"I hope so," Cecile looked out the window.

Tracy fought the urge to roll her eyes, and almost lost. "He'll be fine. I'll call and arrange for a gentle, timely exit, and then I'll offer Paul Keegan the job." The boy's eyes flashed annoyance, and she held up her hands. "He'll never take it. It's been offered before. He refused it then, and he'll refuse it now. He doesn't want to have to be in charge of other people, you see. But I have to offer it. He's the logical choice. I can't very well start out by offering the head job to the team's junior member, can I?"

He thought about that. "Then what about Kearns? He's above me. Do we have to offer it to him, too? I think he'd say yes." In his expression, he gave her his fear.

"He probably would, if we offered it. But we won't be, so it doesn't matter. You see, up until a few years back David Kearns was a very uneven employee. Drank too much, made some bad choices, and ended up in AA. There are some ugly marks on his record. I can use that to justify passing him by."

"David's an alcoholic?" He looked shocked.

"Yup. An especially destructive one, at that."

"What made him give it up?"

Tracy licked her lips. Neil Fenner had made him give it up, from what little she'd managed to overhear. But nobody ever told her shit...they all clam up when a powerful woman enters the room. Fucking cowards, men. "I think it was work related," she smiled. "I don't know any more than that."

"Oh." Cecile went back to looking out the window. "It wasn't supposed to happen like this. It wasn't worth people dying."

She bit back a sharp response. "That kid died because of some stupid teenagers. Teenagers who were speeding and acting like idiots. Not because of you. The lawsuits were inevitable and will settle well below what they've asked. They're inconsequential. Fenner quit because of his own personal demons. He was going to end up fired anyway. So tell me," she leaned back, "why are you seeing only misery? You're going to get what you want. You're going to be a development engineer by the age of 26. That's something."

He shook his head, not turning around. "I never thought about it. I just...even the recalls were too much. I didn't think the changes I made were that big." He turned to look at her. "Just enough not to be noticed at first, you know? Just enough to seem wrong, or cause a few minor problems. Not this."

Tracy knew she needed to kill the snowballing guilt before he let it affect his decisions. "Let me call Neil and discuss his decision to leave. Then I'll contact HR and make sure he gets the maximum severance they can justify. OK? He'll end up walking with a clean record and he'll probably get an offer from a bigger company that makes his salary here look like a child's allowance. He's a legend out there, and he's been stagnating in this dump. You've done him a favor, Cecile...even if he doesn't know it yet. Even if he never knows it. You're the best thing that could have happened to him."

"What should I do?"

"Go back to work, and come by my place around seven tonight. We'll talk then. And Cecile?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't ever come barging in here like this again. If anybody suspects favoritism it will ruin your chances."

After he'd left, she picked up the phone and pulled up her records on the computer.

-=-=-

Gina was still sitting, waiting for her husband to come home, when the phone's electronic cry jerked her into awareness. She hopped up, glancing at the time and wondering if there was some way it might be Neil on the phone.

"Hello?" she said.

"Hi. This is Tracy Bunkley. I'm calling for Neil Fenner."

Tracy Bunkley...Gina recognized the name. Neil's boss. She also remembered that Neil had a vague dislike for the woman, though he'd never said much about her. He didn't enjoy talking people down, and anyway she didn't get the impression that they worked together much. "This is his wife," she said, "Gina. Neil's not here right now, I'm afraid."

"I see," the woman sounded bored. "Can you have him call me when he gets back?"

"May I ask what about?" she asked, hoping the answer might give her some insight.

"Neil hasn't...said anything to you? About what happened today?" the voice suddenly sounded much more interested.

"I'm afraid not. My husband is a quiet man when he's upset. Whatever happened, it clearly bothered him. He won't share any details with me. He told me that he quit?"

A scoff. "Is that what he called it?"

"I don't understand. Is that wrong? Surely he wasn't fired."

There was a very pregnant pause. Then the woman responded using slow, carefully phrased words. "I'm not really allowed to share those kinds of details..."

"Please," she pleaded. "I'm begging you, one woman to another. I won't tell anyone."

"You'll tell your husband, I'd think. And he would not appreciate me saying."

"I won't. Just give me an idea so I know how to help him. He'll never know. I swear."

Another pause, and then the lady sighed. "I will tell you, Mrs. Fenner, that your husband will probably not be working for us anymore. There was a closed door meeting today regarding a gravely serious issue. Neil was...involved...and after it concluded he immediately vacated the building."

"On his own, or because he had to?"

"Mr. Fenner was highly emotional, but he did not require an escort."

"So Neil really was fired?" she gasped.

"Things are complicated right now. There are still decisions being made, but I'm not sure what the final result will be. Neil has a lot of friends, and they are worried about him. But I'd like to point out that firings do occur, and sometimes they happen for very strange reasons."

"Is it about the recalls? The Technica? Is he being fired for that?"

"Neil Fenner was not fired regarding the recall issue." the woman was still speaking slowly, as if choosing her words very carefully. It was obvious to Gina that a great deal was being said between the lines.

She blinked, trying to think of what it could mean. "But he didn't quit?"

"Neil always seemed happy here. Do you know of a reason he might suddenly get so upset that he would just quit?"

"I don't. Do...do you?"

"I honestly can't think of anything that allows me to imagine Neil reasonably wanting to leave this company. Like I said, he always seemed to like it here."

"But why would he be fired? Especially if not for the recall?"

"Nobody is saying that he's been fired, or that he will be fired," the woman said. "It's one of the big truths, though, that companies do decide to part ways with employees for all sorts of reasons...many of them not performance related. In fact, just yesterday we had to let one of the assistants in Neil's department go. We found out that this particular woman was sleeping with one of the development engineers...a married man, if you can believe that." that last sentence was particularly drawn out, and Gina felt a chill. "Apparently, the affair had gone on for more than a year."




The Luddite Conspiracy Ch. 01



"That's terrible!"

"More than you know."

"It wasn't Neil, though," she insisted.

The woman was silent for a moment. "I'm not really comfortable with this conversation, Mrs Fenner. I'm sorry. I feel like I've crossed a line here."

"Can't you tell me anything else?"

"I'm sorry."

"Okay. I understand. Thanks for your help."

"Of course. And have Neil call me. We'll see if we can't do something to help him out."

"I will. Thanks again."

She hung up.

-=-=-

Tracy snickered as she placed the phone on the cradle. She had been prepared to try and gently discourage Neil Fenner from changing his mind and coming back. What she'd gotten instead, while probably nothing special, had delightful potential. Neil's internal demeanor could very well become his greatest weakness, if his stupid little wife had even the tiniest amount of paranoia or insecurity. More than likely nothing would come of it, but life is often lived in the realm of possibility. And, really, even playing the game was entertainment enough.

None of what she had said was untrue or slanderous. She had simply encouraged the idea that Neil had been fired, maybe for fraternization, without ever saying so or even downplaying the alternatives. Her phrasing was....let's call it mostly true. A woman had been let go the day before for an incident related to an affair with a married engineer, although it was a little bit of a stretch to say she worked in Fenner's department. Tracy doubted if Neil had ever even spoken with the bitch. Also, the stupid whore wasn't fired for fucking the guy. She was fired for trying to hit him in the face with a coffee mug after she left her husband and he got cold feet about leaving his wife. Still, a stretch is not a lie. Weak women disgusted Tracy, sure, but even they had their uses.

She laughed to herself, reclined in her oversized chair, and tried to imagine what was going on in the mind of Mrs. Neil Fenner right at that moment.

-=-=-

Gina was still staring at the phone, trying to sort out what she'd heard.

She couldn't imagine any realistic scenario that would include Neil having an affair. It just wasn't in the man. He couldn't hurt anyone that much, least of all her. But she also couldn't think of any other plausible message in the words she'd just heard. How could both her instincts and the events at hand be true? It didn't make any sense.

Of course, Neil had a clear dislike for that woman. Maybe it was mutual, and the carefully phrased words were not to be trusted. She bit her lip and thought on that. She needed to take what she knew was true, match it to what she understood of Neil, and only use Ms. Bunkley's words to fill in gaps as needed. She couldn't go starting with that woman's subtle accusations first, because-

The phone rang again. She grabbed it immediately.

"Hello?" she said again.

"Hi, Gina?" a familiar, phlegmy voice asked.

"Paul. Hi. It's been a long time."

"It has."

"I'm glad you called. Neil's not home, but I need your help. He's closing up again."

"Has he said anything so far?"

Gina thought about it for a second. She knew why Paul was asking. He had always respected Neil's quiet privacy. Gina had, too, until it overtook him and excluded her after Christi's death. Paul would not share information that he thought Neil had not already shared, out of loyalty. "He told me most of it, I think," she lied. "All about the meeting, and what was said, anyway. I just need an observer's insights. He won't tell me what happens next, you know?"

"He's not there now?"

"He went for a walk."

Paul clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and the sound carried through the phone. "Well, this morning-" his voice cut out for a second. When it came back, it was interrupted rhythmically by his own call waiting announcement. "I'm sorry, Gina. I have a call coming in. All I can say is---- not his fault. Don't let him tell you otherwise. It's all that bitch's ---- don't know how, but s---- right. And now she's trying to seduce me---- happening. I'm sorry, I have to go. Bye."

"Bye," Gina said absently, placing the phone on the cradle.

That bitches fault? Now she's trying to seduce Paul into something? It's not Neil's fault?

Goddamn it! What's not Neil's fault?

Just yesterday, we had to let one of the assistants go. She was sleeping with a married man. A development engineer.

No. No, that wasn't Neil. He was too good a man for that.

Gina sat down again, uncertainty splashing rhythmically in like an ocean tide, and waited for her husband.

-=-=-

Paul clicked over, expecting to hear the voice of his brother in South Dakota. Instead, he got a tired sounding greeting from Neil.

"Hey," he said. "I was just trying to reach you."

"Yeah, well...I'm out for a walk. Listen, I know I rushed out of there today. I'm not really going to quit. That was just...it was stupid, but I needed to get away. I called HR and took two weeks leave."

"Tracy will be disappointed. She's already tried seducing me into taking your job."

"Somehow, I doubt you told her yes."

"And somehow, you're right. But I don't like the way this is playing out. You should have seen the look on her face when she came out of that meeting. It was like Christmas. I think she's got an agenda of some kind."

"She usually does. I've been thinking about that, too. I'm going to give you a name and a number to call. Do it today. Scratch that. I'll give you his e-mail address instead. I want all our communications documented, where possible." He took a deep breath. "Something's very wrong here, and I think this guy can help us."

"Then why don't you contact him?"

"If Tracy's working towards an end, you can bet it's mine. I'll be on two weeks leave, and I've asked David to very quietly take all my personal stuff from out of my office. I doubt it could be done so quietly that Tracy Bunkley won't know it happened, but I want her to think I'm sneaking away."

"That you're getting ready to quit."

"Yup. Her guard may come down, if she thinks she's already won."

"You don't think she's responsible for the design flaw, do you?"

"No. Tracy's not capable enough an engineer to do that. And, to be honest, I don't want to believe that she's that heartless. People died, Paul."

"I know. Are you okay?"

"Honestly? Maybe that little girl's death really was my fault. I can't live that way."

"What will you do?"

Neil hesitated. "I'm going to take a little trip. By myself."

"Where?"

"Never mind. I'll be alright."

Paul frowned. "Neil? Have you told Gina any of this?"

There was a long pause. "I...can't."

"You need to say something. She's prying, and she's probably very scared for you."

"After my trip. I think....I need to do something first. To bring this back down to earth. Right now I have this pressure on my chest, and it's killing me. It's like I'm hearing her die all over again. How can I look my wife in the eye and say those words, Paul? How can I tell her that?"

"Just don't wait too long," Paul warned.

"I'll write her a note, okay? I can do that much. Now, are you ready for that address?"

"Hit me."

-=-=-

Gina watched as Neil passed through the door and into the kitchen. He gave her an apologetic look, and she realized that she was glaring. She made a point of softening her features. Keep your body language accepting and open. That was what the counselor had told her.

"I'm really sorry for doing that to you," he said. "I just needed some time to sort through my feelings."

Gina felt her expression soften further. "Are you going to talk to me about it, now?"

He studied her for a long moment, and then sighed. "In some ways, talking to you about it is all that I want to do."

"In some ways?"

He swallowed, and his jaw clenched. "I can't. Not yet, anyway. I'm sorry." Gina felt anger course through her again, and it must have shown because Neil put his hands up. "That's not exactly right. I can tell you some of it, and I'm going to...to try....but there's...." he shook his head and gestured towards the table. "Let's sit down, and I'll try."

Gina forced herself not to fold her arms across her chest as she sat. It was a natural position for her, a comfortable and casual pose, but the psychiatrist had pointed out that it was not a physically welcoming one. If Neil was going to try to communicate something difficult, it would be easier for him if her body language was one of acceptance.

He scratched his nose as he mulled over his words. "You know...you know that there have been some recalls on a model that I recently updated. The Technica." He was looking at the table, but he looked up to confirm her assent. "Well, this is sort of about that. It's not...uh, I'm not...in trouble. I'm not getting fired. It's nothing like that. But it's been stressful, and then today..." he winced, and Gina gave into the urge to reach out and put her hand over his. He smiled at her, and then his features sank, morphing into horrific sadness. "I've let you down so much," he said sadly, and his eyes misted over.

Gina held her breath. Let her down? Paul Keegan's words ran through her head.

"All I can say is---- not his fault. Don't let him tell you otherwise. It's all that bitch's do---- n't know how, but s---- right. And now she's trying to seduce me---- "

She forced herself to start breathing again, but the effect was jagged and shallow.

"There was a closed door meeting today regarding a gravely serious issue, Neil was...involved...and after it concluded he immediately vacated the building. Mr. Fenner was highly emotional, but he did not require an escort."

"Just yesterday, we had to let one of the assistants go. She was sleeping with a married man. A development engineer."

"Neil," she said slowly, her voice hushed, "I need you to tell me what's going on, right now."

He leaned back, eyes growing wide, and she realized too late that her stare and tone were both impatient and accusatory. Goddamn it, Neil. Don't clam up now. Tell me what you've done.

"I can't," he said, almost as if he'd heard her thoughts. His face was now one of guilty terror.

Frustrated to the point of agitation, she snapped at him. "Goddamn it, Neil Fenner, you are going to tell me what the hell is going on, whether you want to or not."

"I'm trying so hard," he whispered, and she knew that he meant it, but her patience had run out. Somehow, the eternal well of calm that had helped her to weather his previous emotional retreat was unreachable.

"So what does that mean?" she asked. "Am I just going to go through another six months of waiting so you can be comfortable talking? Is that it? Gina has to get left in the dark, because Neil isn't 'ready' yet?" She stood up, knocking her chair over. "That's not fair to me, Neil. I don't deserve that, and you don't have the right to treat me that way. You have to talk to me!" Her voice was rising, and she wasn't entirely sure where the overwhelming anger that swelled up came from until she leaned forward and yelled, "It's not fair, goddamn it! She was my daughter too!"

They both stared at one another in horrified silence. For a moment nobody said a word. Then, a rush of tears half blinding her, she fled from the room.

-=-=-

Gina never came back downstairs that night. Neil, after a time, decided to follow through on his promise to Paul. It was the only course he thought might be successful. He took a pen, and paper, and wrote.

In their sessions directly following the accident, they had learned that Neil had less trouble communicating his feelings on paper than he did face-to-face. It was still a very slow process, but it allowed him to labor over his words ahead of time and then share them once he was happy with the message. The only problem was that, at least at first, he insisted on leaving the room while Gina and the doctor read his letters. He couldn't read them aloud, that was too much. And the long drawn-out silence as they made their way through the pages and pages of his soul was almost as bad.

As time had gone by, he'd gotten to the point where remaining in the room was tolerable, and then to where he could read his script to the two of them. Finally, the day had come when the paper was no longer needed. He could speak directly about his sorrow, and do it fluidly and calmly.

Tonight, he needed the paper again.

He wrote his letter, doing his best to explain everything. The problems with the recalls, the accident involving the little girl and her family, the feelings of guilt, and what he planned to do next. He apologized for the difficult time he was giving her, and for running off the way he was. He really believed that, the sooner he took this trip, the sooner he'd be able to regain some control of his emotional state. He wanted to make this right, and he wanted to be able to rediscover the peace he'd once attained regarding the death of their child. If by some strange chance this didn't work, he promised, he would go back and see the counselor again. But it would work. He believed that.

He wrote that he loved her, and then he set the letter on the table where she'd see it and went to pack his bags.

-=-=-

Cecile glanced down at the lonely, neatly-written note that rested on the table. He was waiting for Neil to run upstairs and grab the few things that he'd forgotten to pack. He'd been examining the domesticity of the kitchen, trying to match it to the expressionless engineer he knew and experiencing something close to curiosity, when his eyes fell on the parchment. He scanned the first few lines, blinked, and then flipped the page over to read the last paragraph. He quickly returned the letter to its place as a creaking board announced Neil's return to the kitchen.

"Thanks again for giving me a lift," the older man said.

"Yeah. Sure. I've been...well, we've all been...worried."

Neil smiled at him. "I was too, but I think I've seen the way forward." He glanced down at the suitcase in his hands. "I guess I've got it all," he said.

Cecile shrugged. "Listen, like I said, I'm more than happy to help, but why not just drive yourself to the airport?"

"Gina's car is in the shop. Something's wrong with the computer system. And, no, before you say anything, it's not one of ours."

"Sacrilege."

"I know."

"So why did you call me? Why not Paul or David?"

"It's late, it's a work night, and you're young."

Cecile faked a smile he didn't feel. "That's all?"

Neil raised his eyebrows at him and tilted his head. "Cecile," he said, "I called you because I consider you a friend, and I was counting on the idea that you felt the same way. Now let's get moving, or we'll be late."

As the two men turned out the lights and made their way into the garage, Cecile had a quick impulse. It flickered across his thoughts like a butane flame in a soft breeze, and he reacted. "Hey," he said, "can I go in and grab a soda out of the fridge?"

"Of course. But I'm warning you, Sprite's all we have."

"Ugh. I'll live with it."

Quietly moving back into the darkened room, he grabbed the letter and quietly slipped it into his pants pocket. Then he grabbed a Sprite and went back out.

His heart started pounding as they climbed into the car. He didn't know why he'd done that...although he was sure that Tracy would be pleased. Anything remotely resembling a wrench thrown into Neil Fenner's internal works would tickle her. He really felt no ill will toward Neil, though. He even respected the guy. So what was he doing?

Worse, he hadn't considered the repercussions. What would happen when Neil found out that his letter had conveniently disappeared while his young 'friend' was in his home? Even if the man did leave his job, or get fired, he could still turn the others against Cecile. How do you run a team that hates your guts?

Relax, he told himself. He probably won't even consider you a suspect. He'll probably think he misplaced it.

Maybe. But why was he risking so much?

Cecile looked over at the man in the passenger seat. Neil seemed so...old. He must be in his late thirties, at least. And where was he? Making eighty thousand dollars a year in a job barely a step and a half above recent graduates? Cecile imagined himself losing fifteen years of his life making that small, single step, and knew that he couldn't do it.

Life was too precious to waste that way.

Taking the note had been foolish, though. It was a mistake. It didn't help his chances at getting the job, and it created the risk of exposure, so it didn't serve any purpose. He would stop by, ostensibly to check on Neil's wife, tomorrow. While he was there, he would try to arrange an opportunity to "find" the note. Simple as that. It fell into the crack between the refrigerator and the cabinets. Maybe one of them brushed by it on their way out the door. All believable stories. Gina Fenner would get her letter, and nobody would be any the wiser. Neil would take his trip, find a new job, and Cecile would get promoted. From there, he could start looking at ways to reach higher positions. Maybe even Tracy's.

The world moves with impossible speed, but Cecile Schaefer intended to outpace it.

-=-=-

Thursday

Gina stood at the top of the stairway, wearing only her panties, listening intently. Nothing. Just the hum of the fridge.

She'd been surprised to find that Neil had never come to bed last night, but that surprise hadn't become nervous fear until she discovered that the guest bed was equally untouched. Now, from her vantage point, she could see that the couch was also unused. Coming down the stairs, she glanced into the kitchen and found nothing there. Her focus fell on the table, the location of their confrontation. The place where she'd exploded at him. Its empty surface bothered her for some reason, like something was missing.

Something besides Neil, that is. Where was that man?

"Honey?" she called, and received no answer. It wasn't yet seven, so even if he intended to go back into work today he shouldn't have left.

Going back into the bedroom, Gina grabbed a robe from her side of the closet. As she pulled it over her nudity, she noticed that Neil's side was partially open as well. Glancing in, she put her hand over her mouth and gasped. A half dozen of his clean shirts were missing, as were at least three pair of pants. Underneath that, his business trip suitcase was missing.

Rushing to the dresser, she pulled out his sock and underwear drawer. Mostly empty. In the bathroom, his razor and toothbrush were gone.

Gina blinked tears away. What was going on? Neil had left? Why would he do that?

"Just yesterday, we had to let one of the assistants go. She was sleeping with a married man. An engineer."

It was impossible. That just wasn't Neil. He wouldn't do that to anyone, she reminded herself again. Let alone to her. Would he?

The doorbell rang. She ignored it, running her hand through her hair and trying to calm herself down. There had to be some rational reason for what was happening. Some perfectly rational explanation for everything. Neil would not-

The chimes rang out again. Tip-toeing over to the window, Gina peaked out and saw a handsome young man standing at the front stoop looking nervous. Something about the dress slacks and button-up...not their existence but the awkwardly self-conscious way they were worn...brought to mind that one of Neil's coworkers was a kid not much out of college. His name was...oh, shoot. What was it? Started with an 's,' if she remembered right. Neil thought the kid was nice enough, and that he had a lot of potential.

Pulling her robe tight, she opened the door just a few inches and said, "Hello?"

The young man squinted at her through the available space. "Hi. Uh, Mrs. Fenner?"




The Luddite Conspiracy Ch. 02



ACT TWO: OUR WILLS AND FATES 

Friday



Gina giggled wildly. It was a frantic, almost manic sound, like a tornado siren carving through heavy winds. Her hand flew up to her chest, which shook, and pressed against her breastbone. Tears huddled in the corners of her eyes. 

"Stop!" she cried, voice raised high. "Stop it!"

Cecile ignored her plea. Screwing up his face again into a twisted, mocking version of how someone might look after exiting an especially pungent public restroom, he rubbed his hands with comic discomfort. In his best clipped impression of Neil Fenner, he repeated the line with thickly mocking seriousness. "Let me tell you, Cecile. I'm not ashamed that I did it....I'm just sorry it didn't smell better!"

Gina's laughter exploded, and she shook her head in defeat. Doubling over, arms to her stomach and hair over her face, she tried to regain some control. Finally, as the muscles began to fatigue and her lungs struggled for air, the gales melted into breathy "Ahh" sounds and then ceased altogether. When she'd calmed down enough to talk, she wiped at the tears on her cheeks and asked, "Did he really say that? Did my Neil really talk that way? Ever?"

Cecile almost lost his smile. No. I made it up. I lied to you because I want you to like me. And now I'll lie a little bit more because I want you to hate him.

He nodded, slowly, and affected a look of reflective thought. "He's pretty quiet most of the time. But he would always get a lot funnier whenever..." he looked down at his hands, and shrugged. "I...uh..."

Her face fell. "Oh." She focused on the glass in her hands, all humor lost. Whenever SHE was around, he meant. His whore. His mystery woman. So her Neil, HER Neil, had discovered a way that he could get back to himself. He had found it by giving himself to someone new. He could be someone he used to be, so long as he was away from her. He couldn't let his wife see, for some unexplained reason, that he could still remember how to be funny and relaxed. Oh, no. Not the woman who had weathered the darkness with him, who had suffered as much as he had. Not the woman who lost her child right as he lost his. He had to find someone new to share his pleasure and joy with. So that's what he did.

God damn it, Neil.

"Sorry," Cecile mumbled. "I didn't think."

"It's okay." She smiled sadly across the table at him. "I appreciate you stopping by to check on me. I'd probably just be sitting here alone, sulking and wondering, otherwise. And I'm glad that somebody had the courage to tell me the truth." She looked around the room. "To be brutally honest, I'm just relieved to have someone to talk to. I never realized it before, but all of my friends...all of the people I would otherwise turn to....well, they were OUR friends. I don't think they would take sides, but...I just can't deal with that, yet. I can't even bring myself to call my sister, and tell her what he's done." She sighed, and for a moment she was silent. "Do you think he'll ever come back?"

Cecile swallowed, biting back annoyance. Even after everything, she was still hoping he'd come back to her. She was faced with the idea of absolute betrayal, and here before her was a handsome younger man working hard for her approval. But it wasn't enough. What did he have to do to get the ghost of Neil Fenner out of this room...even if just for a day or two?

"I don't know," he said slowly. "I suppose he'll have to come back for his things. But I don't think..."

She nodded, clearly sliding back onto the verge of tears. "How could he do this to me?"

"Like you said earlier, people can change dramatically after a traumatic event. You never know what might happen to them, or how long afterward the symptoms will start to appear. And Neil has definitely changed, probably more than any of us realize. It's hard for me to judge...I mean, I never even met him until well after the acci..." he winced, cursing himself. Smooth move, idiot. Great time to go bringing the dead kid up. Jesus Christ. "Sorry," he muttered. "There I am not thinking again."

"It's okay," she said again. "I understand." This time, she reached across and put her hand over his. He looked up at her, blushed, and smiled.

-=-=-

"How's your eye?"

"You tell me." Neil looked over at the man, but got no information by watching his reaction. Tim Leise was a closed off individual, something Neil could appreciate. Instead of reacting to whatever he saw, the bulky man just hung immobile for a moment. 

"You're alright," he said at last. "Probably won't even be able to tell it was there in another couple of days."

He grunted. "You think so?"

"The swelling isn't as bad today," he said it with finality, like a diagnosis. Like it was settled. "You're fine."

Neil didn't feel fine. He felt like shit. But then, it had been a long time since he'd been in a fight. Almost twenty years, actually, since he'd drunkenly battled a boy fifty pounds heavier than himself over a girl they both liked. He'd won that one, though it hadn't turned out to be worth the effort. She was flighty, more than a little spoiled, and totally uninterested in anything resembling commitment. In short, she was a girl. He'd worn some wounds home from that brawl, too. This one was something worse. It hadn't been so much a brawl as an ass kicking. 

He'd come down here with the understanding that he might not be welcome. He'd embraced the idea that it would be okay if Leise needed to attack him physically, had even wanted it to happen. He'd thought it might help to compensate for the poor man's pain. Or for his own. 

But the reality of it all had been something else. The grieving father was incredibly strong, if slowed a little by his bulk, and placed a pure anguish behind each punch that was almost primal. Neil supposed he ought to be glad that the man stopped as swiftly as he had. Barely a minute into the beating Leise had jerked away, frowning, and looked down expressionlessly at his willing victim. As Neil struggled to his knees, hoping to regain his feet but still refusing to fight back, Leise had shaken his head. "You want me to hit you," he'd muttered. Something bred from equal parts disappointment and admiration caught in his voice. "Jesus Christ. That's what you came here for. So I would hurt you."

How he'd caught it so quickly, so easily, Neil couldn't say.

But now here they were, a full thirteen hours later, sitting in the tiny kitchen and talking. After halting his beating fists, Leise had brought Neil into the house and given him a bag of frozen mixed vegetables to put on his eye and cheek. Neil was actually more concerned for his right shoulder and side, but he accepted the help gingerly. Leise had big feet and even bigger boots. He touched his side and winced. He had bruises that would take a long time to fade, and he would be stiff for a long time after that. 

The two men had talked a bit then, mostly Neil trying to explain what he thought the problem might be with the Technica. They'd even shared a beer. But Leise had begged off a longer talk, claiming lateness for work, and Neil had begged for the chance to come back today. The acceptance had not exactly been enthusiastic, or warm. 

"So," Leise said now, leaning back in his chair, "you come down here because you felt bad, eh? You lost your little girl, you knew how it hurt, and so you worried about me. Is that about it?"

"Not really. I came down for selfish reasons. I think I was looking out for me more than anything. But I hoped that those reasons could end up serving us both."

"What were they?"

Neil shrugged. "Just reasons."

"You don't really like to share much, do you, Neil Fenner?" the man grinned a little, but his eyes were piercingly focused.

"I find it...difficult, when Christi's memory is involved. I don't think or talk well about that..." he trailed off and closed his eyes. "I try, though."

"I understand," the larger man nodded. "You make sense to me. You don't leave any questions behind you. Well, 'cept for when you talk about cars. I really thought that I knew a little bit about that stuff...engines and whatever...even helped my brother fix up a Mustang back in high school. It was a cool machine. But you, sir, do a lotta yapping that I don't get at all." He glanced over at the fridge. "Want a soda?"

"No. Thanks, though."

"Sure." The two men sat and looked at each other for a moment. "Well," Leise sighed, "that's enough of that. I'm past due to see my wife. You wanna come with, or are we done?"

Neil swallowed. "Your wife, is she..."

Leise shook his head. "Doctors are tellin' me there's not much chance of her ever waking up. The damage to her brain is pretty bad. Even if she were to come about she'd be a vegetable. The fuckers bring it up almost every time I visit. It gets to feeling like they've got an agenda in mind, you know? I mean what the fuck do they expect me to do? Just...let her go?" His voice cracked on the last word, and he clenched his jaw. Neil looked away and pretended to study the room around him, so that the man could have a minute to compose himself. "So you gonna come with or what?" he said at last.

"Yeah. Yeah, I think I should."

"Alright. You should bring your jacket, too. I, uh, I've got to make one other stop, afterwards, and it's a place where the winds all come to stay."

"Where's that?"

"Every Tuesday and Friday, now, I make it a point to go and see Brittney. Just to say hello, catch her up on things. Talk for a while and she how she is."

"Who is Brittney?"

Tim Leise stood up, turning away and walking towards the front door. "My daughter," he said over his shoulder.

Neil swallowed hard. "Oh."

-=-=-

The ringing went on and on and on. Nobody answered.

Finally, Tracy Bunkley slammed the phone down on its cradle and spat out a curse. As she chewed on her lip and climbed halfway out of her chair, it occurred to her that she was fidgeting, and she sunk back into the leather. This left her directionless, however, and she reached for the phone again. No. That wasn't going to help anything. Snorting air through her nose, she slammed a fist down on the armrest and cursed again. 

Cecile Schaefer was a little twit, but he had developed the obnoxious habit of making her feel extremely nervous. 

She couldn't tell if he was playing games, having a breakdown, or simply backing out. She only knew that something was up.

Ever since the confrontation in the board room his behavior had become increasingly erratic. First he freaked out about the fatal accident down in Murfreesboro, something he should have realized from the very beginning was possible, probably...or even inevitable. The man was an automotive engineer for fuck's sake. How did he miss that?! What did he think was going to happen, if he took a working model and fucked with the breaks? People were idiots. They managed to get in horrific wrecks even under the very best of circumstances. Why would it be any different when a minor defect was intentionally placed in their automobile?

Then, in an even sorrier display of stupidity, Cecile had felt guilt and regret after learning about Fenner's personal history. Sure, he seemed calmer Wednesday night when he came over to her place. He got drunk and fucked like a champion. He talked enthusiastically about his perceived future, going on and on about his dreams and fantasies, and nothing seemed problematic at all. But now, the last two days, he had called in sick. He didn't contact her. He wouldn't answer his phone, or return messages. Tracy didn't like feeling that lack of control, like she didn't have a handle on things. She hated feeling uncertainty. Both sensations made her feel stupid, weak. They were the enemy. Right now, the enemy was at her gate. It hammered at her calm with a raging storm's worth of power.

One thing was certain: wherever the fuck Cecile was, he was in deep shit. His disappearing act was endangering them both. If he didn't end up killing himself, or find some other way to end up dead, she just might just take care of it for him.

Continuing to chew absently on her lower lip, Tracy considered lifting the receiver and dialing the number again. No. It was a nervous tick disguised as a solution. It was wasting her time. 

She needed to regain control. That was what it came down to...what any situation came down to: who was in control? Find the answer to that, and you'll know for certain who is going to come out on top. She pushed the telephone away. She wouldn't let Cecile break her focus. Tracy Bunkley was going to come out on top. 

Instead, she evaluated what she knew. All of the mystery surrounding Cecile's disappearance, all of the unanswered questions, really only boiled down to three possibilities. First, that he was genuinely sick and was simply sleeping it off. She felt comfortable crossing that one off the list. He'd looked and acted just as healthy as the horse that he was, when she'd ridden him for pleasure Wednesday night. He took care of himself, ate well, and it showed. And he was more paranoid than she was about the little game they were playing, so even if he were ill he would definitely have called her by now. Hell, hadn't he stormed into her office just a few days ago like a hurt puppy looking for its master? The idiot even thought she cared about him. Yeah. He would have called.

So that left two remaining scenarios. Either he was buckling under the stress, which made him a rogue and unpredictable variable, or he was feeling resentment. It was ridiculous, but possible, that he might be blaming her for his current panic. Cecile wasn't the type to accept any blame himself. 

If the latter were true, if he was just being cranky, then she needn't worry. Resentment was almost a rational emotion, which meant it could safely be harbored inside a rational brain. As long as Cecile was able to think logically, he had only one option available to him: do nothing. He was as guilty as she was, some might say more, and there was no way to cover that up. He could be angry, if that's what he wanted. Angry people don't want to go to prison.

But if it were the former, if he were in fact deteriorating beneath a mountain of guilt and fear, then he was extremely dangerous to them both. A self-loathing and panicky man was an especially stupid creature. He had no intellect. He couldn't be controlled. It would only be a matter of time before Cecile absolved his conscience by confessing to the wrong person, or people. And then what? Tracy wasn't even sure how bad the consequences might be. The best case scenario was a loss of career and a lifetime as a public pariah. Lawsuits, jail time, and retribution all struck her has sickeningly plausible. Everything she'd worked for would be lost, and everything she'd taken for granted taken away. 

What could she do about it? She clenched and unclenched her fists. What was her life worth? Was it worth murder? True, honest murder? Sure, she and Cecile had been responsible in an offhand way for a few untimely deaths. But that was inadvertent, unplanned. And she might fantasize about what life would be like if he were suddenly removed as a variable, or about the power involved in ending another person's existence. But that was exactly that: fantasy. If Cecile was cracking up, then the only way to protect herself might be to make him disappear. 

Jesus. That was an ugly scenario. It made her sick to consider it. Curious, almost excited, but sick.

And she knew that she would have to do it herself, if it came to that. Murder. There was nobody to turn to, or bribe. There wouldn't be any other Ceciles around, waiting to be manipulated into doing the deed. And she wasn't like those people in Chicago. She didn't know the kind of individuals that could just be called on to...

A knock on the door caused her to jump. Quickly, she smoothed herself over and rose up, regaining an authoritative posture just as it opened.

In stepped Paul Keegan. He looked strangely calm and pleasant considering recent events. Flashing a smile, he practically sauntered up to the desk, and Tracy immediately suspected that something was up. She gave him her best "I hold all the cards" grin in response, and then acted distracted by something she'd seen on her computer.

"Can I help you, Mr. Keegan?" she asked with measured indifference.

"Tracy," he nodded. "I was just popping in to see if there were any updates with the Technica FMEA."

"You'll know more when I know more," Tracy's smile widened. The pedal linkage problem had been discovered, and its suspiciously calculated nature noted. The growing consensus was that the tampering was too blatant to hide from the media, and that it provided the opportunity to concentrate the public rage on an individual or small group rather than having the entire company suffer. Fenner's team, good as they were, would have to take the fall. It could only have been them. And no matter how unlikely it seemed, it was decided by both logic and the need for expediency. Tracy wasn't about to share that detail with Paul. As the Product Engineer on the project, he would probably be the only member besides Neil to face legal ramifications. Well, David Kearns might get pulled down a little too, but if he was smart he would strike a deal. Tracy didn't think that he was tight enough with his peers to ruin his life for them. Let Paul find that out the hard way. Let him learn how it ends, how it all ends, when they showed up suddenly to take him away. She would enjoy watching.

"Uh-huh," his face maintained its strangely amused look, incongruous now with her answer, and it made her nervous. What was he up to? "So you hadn't heard anything about the pedal linkage being the problem?" he asked rather casually.

Tracy stared at him. For a brief moment, she wasn't sure how to respond. "Wh....I beg your pardon? I, uh, hadn't heard anything about that." What the fuck was going on? How could he know that already? Was it possible that Fenner's team, innocent and professional as they were, had informants in the building? Why? And if Paul had that much information, what else might he know? What else might he suspect? She studied his eyes, and learned nothing. "Is there a reason that you're asking?"

He shrugged. "It's just that Neil seemed so certain about that. I guess I just assumed that it would turn out to be the problem. You know how...insightful...Neil can be."

Tracy studied his face. "Mr. Fenner has a talent for automotive work, yes. I don't know that I've seen him be particularly insightful otherwise."

"Oh," Paul said dismissively as he turned to leave. "Then I guess you'll just have to keep watching."

"Keep watching?" 

He hesitated. "For information, Tracy. We'd all like to know what the FMEA turns out, when it turns out." He smiled over his shoulder at her, and left.

Tracy stared at the closed door. What the fuck was that? Paul Keegan is suddenly playing games with her? Hinting at things he shouldn't know? 

Keep watching? He obviously hadn't really been referring to the FMEA. Tracy had noticed that Neil Fenner's small corner office was almost totally stripped bare. Had that been a ploy? Why? To put her off her guard? Fenner didn't seem like the type to play those types of games. If he was...if they were...then she had sorely underestimated them.

Tracy became aware that her hands were sweating. The phone rang.

Grabbing it up, she forced herself to sound calm. "Hello?"

"Hi, Tracy," a familiar male voice said. "I got your messages. Sorry I didn't get back to you sooner."

"Cecile!" she snapped. "Where the fuck are you?!" She sighed, and made an effort to speak softer. "I don't appreciate you disappearing on me like this, Cecile. It scares me. Why aren't you at work?"

"I just took a few days off. Why do you sound so strange?"




The Luddite Conspiracy Ch. 02



"Paul Keegan was just in my office, and he..." it occurred to Tracy that it wasn't helpful for Cecile to know that Keegan was aware of the linkage problem. It would only stress him out. She saw no reason to add to whatever desperation or anxiety he might currently have. But transferring a little of her own paranoia onto him could be very beneficial indeed, if it were focused in the right manner. "...he was telling me how upset the team is that you opted to miss work at such a transitional and impactful time. He was very unimpressed, you know. Almost angry. I think you need to be careful. Things like this are going to affect my ability to promote you later on." She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "Paul Keegan's got a lot of support around her. His opposition could really fuck things up for you, Cecile."

"Oh." He didn't sound concerned, which pissed her off. "Okay. I'll be in on Monday."

"Goddamn it, Cecile!" she barked, "Do you hear what I'm saying? Do you get what it means? What were you even thinking, calling in sick now of all times?"

"I need to talk to you about that."

"Please do!"

Cecile hesitated. "I'm...I've sort of...met someone. Someone special."

Tracy had to catch herself from emitting a manic laugh. Met someone? He'd fucking MET SOMEONE?! All of this, and it's just because he met a girl? "Are you fucking kidding me?" she asked. "You skipped work because you 'met someone'? What does that have to do anything? What does that have to do with me?" 

"Well, it's...ah.....It's Gina Fenner."

"I don't care if it's...wait." Tracy sat up straight. "What did you say?"

"Neil's wife. I've been...well, sort of seeing her."

She took the phone from her ear and stared at it incredulously for a second, before putting it back. "Are you telling me that you're fucking Neil Fenner's wife?"

"Don't say it that way. And no. I'm not sleeping with her. Not...not yet. I think it might happen."

"Explain."

"Well, Neil disappeared on her. He took a plane south. He didn't tell me where..."

"Murfreesboro," Tracy whispered with sudden realization. "He went to Murfreesboro." But what was he doing there? Why would Neil Fenner suddenly go to Tennessee? What could he learn down there that would do him any good? 

"Maybe. He seemed to think it was going to help him...like...emotionally. You know?"

"I see." So that was it. Neil had run off to commiserate with the grieving father. Brilliant. What a glorious waste of time. But then why the empty office? Tracy considered that Neil might have lied to Cecile about his plans, but she felt confident that the man still trusted his young contemporary. Murfreesboro. The fool was cracking up. His little trip would look like guilt, when he was accused later on.

"And he wrote this note to...to Gina...explaining everything. He didn't really tell her before he left. He just wrote it all out...like, everything. And I...I stole the note." He sounded embarrassed.

"When did you do that?"

"When I took him to the airport. He called me, and asked for a lift. I don't know why I took the note. I was going to give it back...I was! That's why I called in Thursday. But when I got to their house, she was so beautiful and so...sad. I've never felt this way about anybody. I almost couldn't breathe. When she hugged me, I felt...I just couldn't do it, Tracy. I couldn't let her see the note." He was starting to sound like a whining child, and Tracy felt the temptation to tell him to grow up. But then he said, "Do you know, she thinks he's having an affair?"

"Really?" She grinned to herself. "How terrible." She thought about her phone call to the clueless housewife, realized that her seeds had taken root, and suppressed a giggle.

"Yeah. Well, I...I guess I encouraged her to believe it. I told some lies, made up some stories. And I've been with her as often as she'll let me be. I know it's awful. I know what it makes me. But she's such an amazing woman..." 

His need to defend his actions irritated her. "I'm sure," she rolled her eyes.

"And... I guess, maybe, it's like the job. You know? I can't afford to let opportunity pass me by. I have to fight for what I want, or the world will give me nothing." He took on a stubborn sounding tone. "I think I'm falling in love with her."

"Oh. Okay." She licked her teeth. "What about Neil? When is he due back?"

"His plane back lands in five days. I...I'm sure he'll call, but I'm trying to convince her to get away from the house before that happens."

"Good luck with that. I'm sure he'll call her sooner than you think. And, even if she doesn't get that call, he'll be back eventually. He will find her, and he will talk to her. Then what will you do?"

"I don't know. I'm not really...thinking clearly." Cecile breathed into the phone. "I want your help. And...and if you want to still...see each other...I can do that, too. I don't mind. Just, please, help me."

What else is new, Tracy wondered. Poor little Cecile. Even now, in this, he was calling her for her help. For her advice. "What am I supposed to do about it?" And, no, kid, I don't need any of your pity fucks.

"Tracy, please. I love her."

Jesus. What a child. But if Neil and Paul were involved in this chess game, it might be her winning move. If Neil came home to an empty house and a wife who was having an affair, his focus would drift from work long enough to seal his fate. She could push it a little...build on the subtle hints she'd dropped and on the lies Cecile had told. It was dangerous, but it was also preferable to what she'd been considering just a few moments ago. "Don't worry, I'll help. I want you to be happy, after all. Here's what we're going to do, Cecile," she said. "Listen carefully, and do exactly as I say..."

-=-=-

Saturday

Saturday morning was a bitter pill, all side-effect with no cure. Gina sat on the edge of the bed motionless and barely aware. Motion was unnecessary. The weekend, newly birthed, was already lost. There was no Neil. There was no hope.

An unknown amount of time had passed. She couldn't evaluate it and didn't care to. She only knew that when she first opened her eyes the sun was just a kiss, placed someplace below the horizon, and through determination it had come to be suspended in air. It waved another day without her husband in front of her like a clenched fist. 

Still, something about the sun appealed to her. Hidden in plain sight, witness to humanity, its faith was never shaken. It believed in the power of heat and light, and it would never be less than that. At least, not in her lifetime. Even the clouds could not dampen its dreams. They were tired tricksters, touring on the same soft scam that they'd played out millenia ago, coughing along and dying young. If Gina could create a world for her own, she thought, it would be a place made of sun. And Neil would join her there. 

God, Neil. She still couldn't make herself believe what he'd done.

If he'd done it.

More and more, she found that she couldn't think of a real alternative explanation for his behavior. Certainly not since his disappearance. And what she'd been given...a story of abandonment and affair...seemed more and more realistic with every passing day. He wasn't here. He slipped away without a word, taking his essentials and vanishing. She was really starting to accept and believe that it could have happened. Even with Neil.

So where did that leave her? No way to get real answers, unless he were to magically appear. She had to rely on the carefully worded hints of a woman she'd never met, the half-heard (yet, admittedly alarming) admission of Neil's closest friend, and Cecile's very damning confession. That last one was the worst...the other things she could create excuses for, if she tried hard enough, but Cecile was someone who admired and liked her husband. Someone who had looked up to him. For him to acknowledge the other woman's existence was...

Besides, Neil was gone. Why in god's name would he be gone, if it weren't all true?

Gina wasn't sure what she was supposed to do. Call a lawyer? Neil hadn't taken anything out of their joint account. He had a personal one, and she assumed he was drawing from that, but it was of little consequence. He was usually so meticulous, so careful. Maybe he had been squandering money away for months. It was also possible that this was a rare rash decision. Maybe that was what he'd needed, in order to finally live with Christi's loss: maybe he'd had to become someone else.

In spite of everything, Gina hoped her husband would finally find some sort of peace there.

In her entire life she'd never felt more directionless. In some ways, of course, the loss hadn't become real yet. There'd been no fights, no confrontation where he told her he was leaving her, no clues whatsoever. It almost seemed like any minute now he might return and reveal that it was all a big misunderstanding. 

And she wanted to believe him. Without question, or doubt. Without suspicion of any kind. As bad as it was starting to seem, she still held on to that glimmer of hope that her husband was not lost. Gina loved Neil with a survivor's intensity, and she would cling to the last and smallest fantasy of recovery.

Gina was finally brought into motion by the ringing of the telephone. Reaching over to the nightstand and picking it up, she felt the familiar yet fading hope that it might be Neil.

"Hello?" she asked.

"I'm sorry, I must have the wrong number," said a nasally female voice. "I was looking for Neil Fenner."

So am I, Gina thought. "This is his house. I'm his wife, Gina."

"Wife? Neil's married?" the woman sounded shocked. "But he said..." she trailed off and breathed heavy for a minute. "That son of a bitch! That goddamn fucking shithead!" Then there was a click, and she was gone.

Gina set the phone down, looked at it for a long while as the sun continued to climb, continued to shine, and then she sighed and stood up. She supposed there was nothing left to it. It was time to start being an active participant in her own life again. 

Sitting around waiting for Neil wasn't getting her anything but sad.

She showered and dressed, thinking about forward motion but not actually planning anything. Once dressed, she looked at herself in the mirror. Her image looked back at her, and thought it saw the past. It was a strange feeling to have. 

The phone rang again as she ate breakfast and she almost ignored it, but then she steeled herself and refused to be trained by the sorrow. 

"Hello?" she said, answering it. 

"Gina?" the tentative, rounded male voice responded. "I just wanted to call and see how you're doing."

Gina fought a sigh. "Hi, Cecile. I'm...I'm okay. I just..." without warning, Gina found herself crying. Not just crying, but sobbing. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she wept into the phone. It took more than a minute to regain control of herself. "I'm sorry," she said as contained her emotional outburst. "I guess I'm not so okay after all."

"Do you want me to come over?" 

"No," she insisted. Cecile's appearance at her doorstep Thursday morning, and subsequent admission about Neil, had done a lot to unhinge her fantasies of her husband's return. She had spent half the morning asking him questions, trying to find a reason not to believe it. Then he'd come by Friday to check on her, and she'd reached out to him in her need for emotional support. He was kind, and sensitive, and clearly worried about her. But he was also young, and fit, and handsome, and that was something that she was becoming more and more conscious of. Gina felt inappropriate having such thoughts about another man. It still felt like cheating on her husband. It felt shaming, as ridiculous as that might look to outsiders.

"Are you sure? I have nothing going on today, and I guess I could use a friend right now, too."

"You?" she scoffed. "I'm sure you have plenty of other people you could be spending your time with."

"I do," he admitted. "But nobody that I'd rather be with."

Gina realized she was blushing. "Cecile..."

"I mean it. Listen, we'll compromise. It's September, and it's cold out, so you might as well go ahead and spend half the day at home crying alone. If that's what you want to have, then I won't stop you from having it. But you have to promise to let me get you out of the there for a little bit this evening. We'll get some supper, maybe go for a walk, and you'll even laugh a little."

"I'm not sure it's a good idea."

"I am."

She was aware of the urge to say yes. "It would be inappropriate for me to go out on a date. Especially with one of my husband's friends."

"He's not my friend anymore, and he's not your husband."

She felt the tears try to well up again. "Cecile, please. Don't push like that."

"Sometimes you have to push, when you see something you know you want. Come out with me, and nothing inappropriate will happen. Just come for dinner. Just come for a little conversation."

"Cecile..."

"Just come for me."

"Okay." She jerked a little, surprised at herself. Had she really said that? 

"I promise not to disappoint," he said, and they said their goodbyes.

Gina shook her head in wonder. She was so overwhelmed by the extremity of her emotions that she could barely think straight. They strangled her heart and fluttered in her belly. Was she depressed? In agony? Jealous and hurt? 

Or was part of her excited? 

She knew that some of the appeal Cecile had right now had to do with her loneliness and fear of future loneliness. Was it possible to want something and at the same time hate yourself for wanting it? Gina put her hand to her forehead, sniffled, and tried to think. 

-=-=-

"This is a hard place to find," Neil said by way of apology. Sitting down, he surveyed the room. He was almost a half an hour late.

"I don't mind a wait," Tim Leise waved his hand. "Service is usually slow anyway."

Neil examined the menu, a plastic sleeved set of papers that all looked like they'd been put together in Microsoft Word. "Interesting," he said. 

"Gentleman Jim's is a college bar, but that don't matter. The food's still good, and the kids don't come around 'til later in the day."

Neil glanced over his menu at the larger man. "Did you find it when you were in college?"

Tim raised one eyebrow and studied the other man. "Didn't go to college. You could just ask direct, by the way. No need for all this side-to-side you keep putting on every question."

Neil laughed. "Yeah. You're a real open book, Tim. The more direct the question, the more withdrawn you become. In fact, I've spent two days with you and I don't know a damn thing about you."

"You know how my family died," Tim said flatly. "You know how my wife looks laying in a white bed, surrounded by machines and kept alive by tubes. You know how my daughter's tombstone looks with the sun overhead. That's quite a lot to know."

Neil sagged a little. "Yeah. Yeah, I do know that." He pretended to be fascinated by the menu some more. "What should I order for lunch?"

"I recommend the food," the other man smiled.

"Funny."

"You know, Neil, you ain't exactly a sharer yourself. What are you doing here?"

"I told you. I came to see you."

"For what? To get punched? To get all buddy buddy?"

Neil frowned. "I...I had a hard time dealing with my daughter's passing. And then I felt responsible for...for your loss, as well. I thought that maybe it would help both of us if we could talk. I thought maybe I knew some of what you were going through."

"Bullshit. You came down here to get yourself hurt, and that's all. Everything since then is just a bonus."

"Yeah, I'm a big fan of getting my ass kicked."

Leise grunted. "You a Catholic, Neil?"

Neil folded his arms. "What's it matter?"

"Just trying to find the source of all this goddamn guilt," Tim smiled. 

"I'm an atheist, actually. Never was much of a believer to begin with. It used to drive my parents crazy. So, no, my religion isn't the source."

The smile drifted and died. "Oh." The larger man tapped his fingers on the table. Then he lifted his hand and made a fist, turning it over and looking at it. "Did it make you feel better?"

"When you hit me? Yeah. Yeah, I guess it did."

"Did it make you feel like you could face your wife?"

Neil blinked in surprise. "What?"

"Does she blame you for what happened? Does she blame you for her daughter's death?"

"Of course not."

"You think that she should?"

He clenched his jaw, and didn't respond. Both possible answers felt inaccurate, or at least disingenuous. 

Tim shook his head. "You know something, Neil? I think you're a good guy. You care about people, and about how you affect them. You're obviously smart, but you're also down-to-earth enough to be good company. But here's the kicker: I don't blame you for my accident. If it was your mistake, it was a mistake. Just two days together has shown me enough to know that you weren't sloppy, or lazy in your work. And if it wasn't your mistake, then end of story. Here's something else: I don't blame me either. I hurt, more than I'd ever imagined I could hurt. But I don't feel like it was my fault. So here you are, and I guess I could call you a friend, but what the fuck are you sticking around for?"

Neil stared for a minute, then smiled. "You're a hell of a therapist, Tim. What do you do for a living, really?"

"I work down at the children's museum, managing the day camps." He grinned at Neil's incredulous stare. "No shit," he said.

Neil burst into laughter. "Son of a bitch," he said. "I didn't see that coming."

Later, when they'd finished eating, the two men stood in the parking lot and shook hands.

"Am I gonna see you again?" Tim asked. "I just wanna know so I can have some brass knuckles ready."

Neil shrugged. "Actually, I hope that you will. I've got your e-mail address, so we'll keep in touch. I'm...glad we met."

"Likewise. You take care." Tim turned to go, and Neil watched him walk to his car.

"You too," he said.

Climbing into his vehicle, he felt better than he had in almost a week. Good enough to feel ready to call his wife. He imagined Gina would snap at him for leaving the way he had, but he also knew that she understood. As upsetting as their conversation had been, just reading the note would have put her at ease. They'd done so much communicating that way, during the final days of counseling, that he had no doubt of how it would all play out. She would let him know honestly and fully just how irritated she was with his actions, and then it would e over. They could talk about everything. He was ready for that now. Neil Fenner glanced up at the cloudless sky, at the singing sun, and thanked the mystery of it for granting him such a perfect woman.

Taking out his cell phone, he dialed the house.

-=-=-

The phone rang, but Gina didn't have the heart to answer it. She lay on the floor in the center of the living room, listening to the perfectly timed electronic pitches. A long breath left her mouth. 

It was probably just that crazy woman again, anyway. She'd called an hour ago, the same one who'd called for Neil and hung up on her earlier. This time, she'd left a string of furious profanities on the answering machine so nonsensical in their combinations that Gina couldn't tell if they were meant for her husband or for her. The crazy bitch had gone on for nearly a full minute, sometimes reaching such volume and pitch that it distorted the message beyond understanding and left Gina with pain in her stomach.

This time, though, it either wasn't the woman or she had decided that her speeches were wasted on the lifeless machine, because the machine only recorded dial tone. No message was left. 

The phone started ringing again immediately, and Gina took another breath. She refused to answer it. She wouldn't be a part of this anymore, in any way. It was a small empowerment, but it was enough. She would not come when they called. She was tired of it. This time, it didn't matter who was calling. Even if it was Cecile, she wasn't going to answer.




The Luddite Conspiracy Ch. 02



Not even if it was Neil himself.

-=-=-

Neil frowned as the answering machine picked up a second time. He opened his mouth to leave a message, and then thought better of it and hung up. He was eager to make amends, but he didn't want to do it to a machine. He wanted to hear his wife's voice. He wanted her to hear him apologize, hear that he was ready to live again, in real time. Starting that process with a machine seemed almost like bad mojo. It was incorrect.

He would try again in an hour, he decided. By then, he would be at the airport waiting for his flight. Even if he couldn't exchange his ticket, he didn't mind buying a new one. He just wanted to be home, with the woman he loved. 

But there was work to be done, too. By now the FMEA would be over, and the problem with the Technica almost certainly identified. If his source had kept in touch with Paul, then Neil would know the truth within a matter of hours. He was still confident that, given the nature of the issue, the pedal linkage was the answer. And now, as he finally focused his thoughts and attention, that concerned him greatly.

Neil hadn't even begun to roll over the question in his mind until late last night, as he sat in his hotel room with a cold pack on his eye. And he hadn't started drawing answers until this morning. Now, they virtually slammed into his brain as he stared out the windshield at the passing world.

Why would the pedal linkage be malfunctioning, he wondered. What would cause it to err? Surely it had to have been changed. It was the only answer he could find that made any sense. And it had alarming implications. 

After all, if the linkage had been changed, then it stood to reason that someone had changed it.

Should it turn out that the linkage was in fact the problem, then Neil Fenner knew who had changed it. He knew who had sabotaged his design. And he thought he knew why. The only question was how to prove it. 

He did pray that he was wrong, but the more he thought about it the less he doubted his knew understanding.

Add it to the list of reasons he needed to get home.

-=-=-

"Hey, Paul," David Kearns said, sliding into the booth opposite his friend. "What's going on? It's not often I hear from you outside of work, so I assume it's something big."

Paul nodded, toying with his pen and legal pad. Neither was much of a substitute for a cigarette. "Need your help," he said. "It's about the Technica."

David tilted his head inquisitively. "I'll help you if I can, but you know just as much as I do. Anyway, isn't the FMEA report due out soon?"

"Soon. But I know what it says, and it's a problem."

David raised an eyebrow. "Neil?"

"Sort of. Neil's friends, called in to repay Neil's favors."

"That makes sense. Lot of us owe that guy, and some more than others. I hope he's doing okay. You heard from him?"

Paul shook his head. "Not for a few days now. About the car..."

"What's the report say?"

"Pedal linkage."

David nodded. "Just like he said. He'll be pleased."

"Maybe, but the problem is we didn't change the pedals. We didn't change anything around the pedals. You know that."

David nodded again. "So we're in the clear." 

"Not exactly." 

He squinted in confusion. "I don't understand. Why aren't we? They can't think we did it on purpose, can they?"

Paul nodded. "And it'll be up to us to prove otherwise."

"Shit," David looked ill. He glanced at the pen and paper resting in front of his coworker. "Shit!"

"Pretty much that. So I assume you'll be eager to help."

"Any way that I can."

Paul got into position to write. "I need you to tell me everything you remember about the Technica redesign, starting right after the first mule build was tested."

"Everything?"

"Every last detail," Paul nodded, his face stoney serious. "Every decision, every movement, every time you looked over a copy of the plans. But especially any memories that pertain to Cecile Schaefer."

-=-=-

Gina sat looking through a photo album, drinking from a glass of wine, when Cecile arrived. She was wearing a too-large "around the house" kind of t-shirt and gray sweatpants. She hadn't showered yet. It didn't matter to Cecile. She was still beautiful.

"What's up?" he asked, sitting down beside her and silently taking note of the half-empty bottle of red. "You not feeling up to going out?"

"I was just saying goodbye to my family." Gina reached out and delicately turned the page of the photo album. The pictures were of Neil and her in the earlier days of their marriage. The page she was on now showed the two of them posing in front of redwoods and landmarks in California. Her belly was swollen, her hand resting atop it in many of the photographs. Putting one hand now to her chest, she reached out with the other and traced the edge of the last photo on the page. In it, Neil was down on one knee with his head pressed against her tummy. A big, stupid grin was plastered on his face. She pressed her finger to the reproduction of his face. And then, she started crying. 

Fuck, Cecile thought. More tears. So much for moving on. He put his arm around her, and she fell against his chest. Wrapping his arms around her, he let her cry against him for several minutes. Then, when it seemed to subside, he lifted her chin with his finger. It seemed like a good move. Like the kind of thing a movie star does just before he gets the girl. 

"You know," he said softly, "as hard as it is to accept, Neil really isn't coming back. His office is all cleaned out at work. He must have had Paul or somebody do it for him. And eventually you are going to have to stop looking at what you're leaving behind and start seeing at what's standing right in front of you."

Her eyes searched his, and he knew it was a good line. Then, she lifted up and kissed him. It was a soft kiss, a little salty from the fallen tears, but it was a kiss nonetheless. Her hand touched his cheek. Then she pulled back. "I guess you're right," she admitted. "I'm sorry I didn't get ready. Would you mind waiting for just a few minutes? I can shower quickly, I promise."

"I would wait all night," he admitted.

Cecile spent the time that Gina was away in the master bedroom flipping through the photo album alone. Neil looked so young and happy in those pictures. Cecile had never seen him offer up a smile like the one that showed up on page after page. Until now, he hadn't fully understood how painful it could be to lose a child. And, for a moment, it occurred to him that he was working hard to take away the only person Neil had left to lose. But he brushed that off. If the old man didn't realize what he had...if he couldn't learn to live with the hand he was dealt...then that wasn't Cecile's problem. And it shouldn't be Gina's, either.

And when she came into the room, dressed for dinner and looking closer to perfect than any human being had a right to, Cecile stopped thinking about his absent coworker altogether. 

Which he might not have done if he'd known that Neil Fenner's plane was set to land in just twenty minutes time.



The Luddite Conspiracy Ch. 03



ACT THREE: THREE LEAN HOUNDS CROUCH LOW

Sunday

Neil Fenner awoke with a start. His left arm jerked outward, hand open, coming down on his wife's side of the bed. It found nothing. Just cool, undisturbed cotton.

He sat upright in a panic. She hadn't come home. 

Last night he'd arrived to an empty house. Nothing was out of place or unexpected, aside from an old photo album being out and a bottle of wine resting in the trash, so he wasn't overly concerned. Gina technically shouldn't expect him back for several more days, so he understood that she might feel the need to get out of the house. He'd figured that she was probably meeting a friend for dinner, or gone to visit her sister in Angola. Anyway, he was exhausted. So without much deliberation, he had trudged up the stairs to their bedroom and collapsed on top of the covers. He would wait for her there. 

But as he lay staring at the ceiling, yawning, he had to admit that something felt wrong. It wasn't anything that he could really define, just a general sense of displacement. In fact once he'd identified it, he'd found that he couldn't think of much else, so he'd bitten the bullet and called her cell phone. 

It rang and rang, then went to voice mail. He tried again, with the same result. Thirty minutes later it was the same. Giving up on that approach, he'd dialed each of Gina's family and friends in turn. Nobody had seen or heard from her while he was away. That seemed a little odd. Gina was a social person; she wouldn't have wanted to spend three full days all by herself. He couldn't imagine her going that long without some kind of outlet. 

As the night grew late, and the bed began to feel lonely, the mystery caused her absence to grow worrisome. Still, he must have been exhausted enough to drift off, because it was now almost nine in the morning. And Gina still wasn't home. 

Neil felt his stomach go into knots, and tried to come up with an explanation that wasn't cause to panic. Maybe she'd decided to go down to Tennessee after him, as a surprise? No. That wasn't remotely plausible, or even very much like his wife. She knew he needed time, and she would have made it a point to give him that. Anyway, finding him would have been a little bit difficult. 

So where was she? Was she in trouble? Had something happened? 

Was she with someone?

He almost laughed. That was so ridiculous a question, he didn't even know where it had come from. The stress of things must be getting to him. That was by far the most unrealistic explanation available. 

But the only options that weren't getting crossed off here were also the ones that scared him the most. Things that involved injury, or worse. He contemplated calling around to the hospitals or police, but decided that he was being paranoid. He ought to try her cell phone again instead.

Sitting up and grabbing his cell, he clicked his contacts list and found her name.

-=-=-

The first thing she was aware of was the smooth warmth of a muscled, masculine form. It rose and fell under her cheek, warming her face, causing her head to roll along with its gentle rhythm. She was nestled into that cozy place where shoulder meets chest, tucked into his strength like a bird in a nest. It felt wonderful.

Opening her eyes and blinking against the morning's light, she saw hairless, tanned skin. It seemed wrong, somehow, but that was just an abstraction. Studying it with uncomprehending, almost numb distance, she moved her legs and felt her thighs rub against him. Her body was curled against a lean, mysterious torso. She breathed in through her nose. It smelled delightful.

The second thing she became aware of was that her stomach was gurgling angrily. Oh, it was awful. The indignance groaned out at her, moody like a child, insisting sickly irritation. Her head began to join in, throbbing in celebration of every heartbeat. 

What on earth was going on? Oh. A hangover. She had a hangover. 

She tried to remember the night before. What had compelled her to get so drunk? What had she been thinking? Groaning and stretching, she pushed her face against the thick, firm pec.

And that's when she became aware of the third thing. 

This wasn't Neil.

Gina shot upright, her thoughts suddenly sharper than a hunted bunny, and turned in horror. In fact, the young, fit body she had been laying against was nothing at all like her husband's. It looked fifteen years younger, with all the graces of youth and a clear dedication to fitness. She recognized the face that accompanied it immediately. And, even before she became aware of her own total nudity, she was very aware of his. 

The blanket, a light and silky thing, had pulled away as she sat up, revealing a body that looked like it belonged in a Hollywood movie. If it had been in that movie, she would have admired it unapologetically. But it wasn't in a movie. It was here, in bed with her. She had slept all night pressed up against it. And she had done more than that, even. She recoiled at the thought. 

Oh, god. What was she doing in bed with Cecile?

Concentrating, she remembered him making her promise to let him get her out of the house for a while. She recalled the long and sad day alone, and how it ended with a bottle of wine and a photo album. She could see herself cleaning up, talking to herself in the mirror about how this was a good thing. About how she was moving forward. 

They went out to a restaurant. And she probably hadn't been much company at first, but Cecile had a way of bringing her out of her funk. He was so funny and lighthearted. Almost clownish, at times. She remembered dwelling on that as she studied him across the table. She wanted more of that in her life. Lightheartedness. Carefree. Free of any burden. 

She recalled noticing how handsome he was, too, and reflecting on how she was probably seven years older than he.

After that, there was drinking and laughing and drinking and dancing. By the time they'd gotten into the car, she was so drunk and giddy with her lack of sadness that she hadn't even complained (or hesitated) when he drove them both to his apartment and then invited her in. She'd felt a fuzzy, distorting anticipation heating her middle as she climbed the stairs. And as they crossed over into his entryway it was she, not Cecile, who pushed forward and initiated the first kiss. 

She had forgotten her husband, forgotten her cows. And she had slept with Cecile.

Gina put her hands over her face and tried not to scream. She was ashamed, furious. Humiliation latched onto her, sinking long teeth and holding on like a hungry dog. 

She didn't even know why, exactly. What fidelity did she owe Neil now? What right did he have, to remain in her heart like this? To make her feel guilty about happiness? To make her feel guilty about her pleasure? 

Why did she feel like she was the one in the wrong, all of the sudden? Like she was her own story's villain? Was it because she'd required this kind of...reassurance? Because she'd felt so thrown away, discarded by the man she loved, and had reacted to that sensation in such a foolish way?

Was it because the body she was looking at now was in many ways better than the one she'd lost? She'd felt an aching physical desperation for it last night, like her whole body was asking for it. She'd never reacted to any male attention that way before.

Was it because the sex had been incredible? That was true, but it seemed like such a simple and unimportant kind of truth. Why would that matter so much? Was she afraid that it might have diminished her opinion of her husband? Was he going to be relegated to a smaller place, a lesser meaning, now? She didn't think so...

Or was this moving on?

She wasn't even sure how she felt about the man lying next to her. Every step of the way, his presence had been wrapped up in other emotions, other issues. It would be easy to dismiss his appeal as such. But last night was harder to wave away. She understood, of course. It was bound to be different with somebody else. After so many years together, she and Neil had the kind of gently-simmering attraction of comfort that most married couples have. A younger, fitter, brand new body, by comparison, was bound to have a sort of lightning affect on her nervous system. The sense of being attractive to a younger member of the opposite sex would have an intoxicating effect on just about anybody.

That sort of "new relationship" effect would fade, though. Gina remembered reading in a women's magazine about how hormones influenced a woman's responses to her relationships, especially at the start. Powerful endorphins rewarded a new match-up, almost addictively. And the same bonding hormones that helped nursing mothers latch so tightly onto their clinging infants were produced through orgasm. It was a big part of why women often got so much more emotionally caught up in a relationship, early on, where men found it easier to maintain a distance. Surely some of her distorting feelings now were due to that biological, temporary effect.

But, she had to admit, there was more to it than that. Cecile really was a kind, funny person. He was gently sure of himself, needing neither bluster nor support. And he had been a genuinely skillful lover. He seemed to instinctively match his motions, his rhythm, to her body's growing arousal. Her climaxes came easily, and often. She'd never experienced anything like that. At one point when she'd looked up at him, he'd worn a focused and intense look, as though he was concentrating on reading every subtle hint her body threw off. As though all that mattered was to find the best motion for the moment. 

And he'd found it.

Gina sighed and shook her head.

What did any of that matter? This thing between them couldn't actually go anywhere. The most she could hope for was to play cougar to Cecile's cub for a few distracting months, and then be right back where she'd started from. It's not like they'd end up getting married. She wasn't her sister. 

Brianna had jumped straight from a messy and violent first marriage into a relationship that, against all odds, managed to become both stable and long-running. Todd, her current husband, was nine years her junior. The two of them didn't seem bothered by that at all. Really, nobody was bothered by it. They were a good couple, and very much in love. But Gina needed Neil's quiet maturity, his stoic wisdom...even if it meant that sometimes he was too quiet. She loved his brilliance, his patient resolve, his wealth of experience. His steely-eyed leadership, requiring neither volume nor chest-pounding to gain the respect of those around him. These were things to admire in a man. Cecile didn't have them. He hadn't had time to earn them yet. 

Oh, Neil...

No. There was time for that later. She had a lifetime ahead to miss that man, or hate him if it came to that. If last night had shown her anything, it was that she was still capable of experiencing joy. And since she might have precious little of it in her life in the near future, she wanted to revel in what she had.

Why shouldn't she? Why shouldn't she revel, just to feel good for awhile. Just to stop thinking of Neil for a few hours more.

Reaching out, she traced the lines of Cecile's powerful physique with her pointer finger. It was the finest body she'd ever shared a bed with. As her finger trailed lower, to his hip, his eyes fluttered open. He blinked, looked at her, and grinned sleepily. She leaned forward and softly kissed his nipple.

"Good morning," she said, looking up at him and planting another kiss just below his pec. 

"It certainly is," he said, his voice husky. "What are you doing?"

"Reveling." Moving lower, putting her lips to his abs and then to the tickling fuzz of his groomed pubic hair, she glanced up at him and kissed the head of his sex. He groaned.

A scratchy, digital sounding drum roll filled the room. It made her jump. The percussion stopped as suddenly as it had begun, then started up again.

Her cell phone. Gina suddenly remembered it ringing a number of times while they were in bed last night. She had ignored it then and, briefly, she considered doing so again now. But there was always the risk of emergency. Someone was obviously eager to talk to her, anyway. 

"I'll only be a moment," she said, and kissed his swelling member one last time before jumping up. Grabbing the phone, she turned around and winked at Cecile, flaunting her nudity. For some reason, she saw a look of fear cross his face as she hit the green button and held the phone up to her ear. "Hello?"

"Oh, Jesus, Gina. Thank God you're alright. I was beginning to think something had happened to you."

She froze, mouth open and playfulness gone. Neil.

"Gina?" he asked after a moment. "You are alright, aren't you?"

"Wh...why are you calling me? What do you want? Where are you?" She glanced at Cecile, and noticed that he wore an expression that looked like sadness.

"I'm at the house. Where are you? Why didn't you come home last night?"

At the house? Gina realized she was taking short, shallow breaths, and forced herself to concentrate. "Why are you at the house? Did you come back to get your things?"

"Get my things? What are you talking about? I finished my trip early, and I missed you. I know I told you it would take a week, but...I mean, I didn't really know. I couldn't, could I?"

Gina shook her head, trying to make sense of it. "What do you mean 'finished your trip early?' You aren't going to move in with her? Is that it?"

"Move in with who? Her who? Gina, what on earth are you talking about? Where are you?"

He sounded so earnestly confused and worried that she suddenly felt sick to her stomach. Oh God, Neil. I'm at another man's house. I'm standing in his bedroom, and I've got no clothes on.

"I don't understand. Explain to me what this trip was about, because what you're saying and what I've been told sound like very different things."

"What you've been told? Told by whom? Gina, didn't you read my letter?"

"I never saw a letter."

He hummed into the phone. "How can that be? I left it sitting on the table. I...it explained everything. I wrote...like I used to do when we were in counseling. It was right here, Gina!"

"Is it there now?"

"Of course it's not here now. Are you telling me that you never saw it? Then why did you think I left? Where did you think I went?"

Gina put her hand over her forehead. "Neil, stop answering everything with a question. Just tell me about the goddamn trip!"

There was a long pause. "Gina. I think I'd like to know where you are first."

She opened her mouth, but couldn't make herself say it. As it turned out, she didn't have to, because Cecile saw the nervous panic flash across her face and jumped out of bed. "Don't let him turn this around on you," he snapped. "Hang up the phone."

She looked up at him, frozen. He gave her a soft comforting smile. Her finger hovered over the button, but she couldn't make herself do it.

Cecile reached out, gently took the phone from her hands, and hung it up.

-=-=-

Neil stared at the receiver. 

He'd heard a masculine voice. It had spoken to his wife, had told her to hang up the phone, and she had done so. Where exactly she was, and who was she with, suddenly became very loaded and dangerous questions, because they were smaller parts of a newer and more destructive inquiry:

Was his wife cheating on him? 

Why would she do that? Jesus Christ, why would she do that?

He moved to set the phone down, and realized that his hand was shaking. It convulsed wildly, like a warning. He tried to make it stop, and found that he could not. It just kept moving and moving and moving... 

-=-=-

"Cecile, I need to go home. I need to go now!"

Cecile reached out to put his arms around her, but she pushed him away. "You don't want to do that," he said. "Either he's playing some game because he thinks it will help him in the divorce, or he ran off to be with her and it didn't work out. Either way, you can't just go running because he calls. Neil is the one who betrayed you, not the other way around. You have to remember that." He reached out again. "Stay here. With me."

She shook her head, rummaging around the floor for her clothes and using them to cover herself. "You didn't hear his voice. You didn't hear how he sounded. We have it wrong. I don't know how, but somehow, we have it wrong." Finding the last sock, she rushed into the bathroom and locked the door. "I have to go home!" she insisted frantically.

Cecile cursed under his breath. If she went home, it was over. He was desperate now, almost to the point of carelessness. He'd thought he'd have a week at least to try and put the wedge between absent husband and beautiful wife. Three days wasn't enough time, dammit! 

To be honest, he hadn't really considered at all about how it would play out long term. He hadn't really planned at all. As usual, he had simply seen something he wanted and rushed for it blindly, hoping against hope. There had been no analyzing, no hesitation. Just action. Now he was looking at being found out by both the woman he loved and the man who was his coworker. 

He had to try and keep them apart for a little while longer, somehow. He needed time to...to do something, dammit! "Gina, you're not thinking clearly! You're getting turned around by emotion. And that's probably what he's banking on...you being so mixed up that he can throw any little lie at you, and you'll believe it. Think, Gina! Think! What's he going to say? What's he going to ask? How will it look after he denies his affair and then you tell him where you spent last night?"

For a moment there was silence. Then he heard a sniffle. "He said there was a letter. He said he wrote me a letter before he left."

"Does saying it make it true? Jesus Christ, Gina! What about the phone calls? What about everything I saw at work? So now he produces the letter, and says that it proves his case, and what? That's the end of it? Does it even occur to you that he could be writing the damn thing right now while he waits for you to come home?"

"That's not Neil. That's not something he would do."

"You didn't think having an affair was something he would do, either, until it was thrown in your face."

"What if we were wrong? What if he's not having an affair?"

"Good question, Gina. If you run back now, playing the oh-so-sorry wife, you'll never find out for sure. He'll be able to gloss over that, and set it aside as a non-issue. Think about this. You're a forgiving person, I know that. And you want to believe the best about him. But in the back of your mind, you know his story doesn't add up. You know there are questions he's not answering. And if you don't get them answered you'll always wonder what really happened. Gina, you'll always wonder. Please," he sighed, his resolve faltering, and leaned against the door frame, "don't do this. Stay with me. We'll figure out a way to...to make him tell the truth."

The door opened, and she came out dressed. She smiled sadly at him and touched his face with her hand. "Cecile, I have to go back. I have to see if there's something worth saving in my marriage. Whatever he's done, whatever mistakes have come and gone, I love him. And if I can hang on to that, then there's a chance." Her eyes darted south, toward his nudity, and she blushed. "But I did...enjoy...our time together. And if it turns out that you're right...if he can't account for every last bit of doubt...then Neil and I are through, and I'd be very interested in seeing you again."

He turned away, gathering up his own clothing and starting to dress. "Just promise me that you won't take his story on face value. After everything, you can't just let him brush over it with a few well-chosen words. Insist on detail. Insist on proof. If he can't give you both..."




The Luddite Conspiracy Ch. 03



She shook her head defiantly. "I promise to play the skeptic, Cecile, but I don't promise to give up on him. Whatever happens, please know that I will remember our time together fondly."

Cecile almost laughed. Will that still be true if you find out how much I lied to get you? If you find out that I tricked you into wanting me?

He had to hope that that wouldn't happen. Instead, he said, "Gina, have you considered what Neil might do when he finds out about the two of us?"

She nodded gravely. "I have," she said, her voice flat and lifeless. "It scares me. And if, by some miracle, he's telling the truth and there really was no affair, then that will almost be worse. Then, I'm the one who fell. I'm the one who betrayed my love."

"He...doesn't have to find out. Maybe you could lie to him." And, he thought, maybe we could continue to see each other.

Gina thought about the phone call. "I imagine," she said, "that he already knows. He will eventually, regardless. Whatever else I've done, I won't lie to him. Still," she shrugged, "while I do need you to take me home, maybe you should drop me off a block away. For now."

-=-=-

Neil sat at the kitchen table, in the same round wooden seat he'd occupied just a handful of nights before, looking older and tired. He listened to the front door as it opened and closed, and to the footsteps that echoed through the house. He might have raised his voice to call out to her, to say a greeting or anything at all, but then she might have done the same. So he just waited.

When Gina finally reached the kitchen, she gasped and rushed towards him. Whatever Neil expected, after that phone call, it wasn't to have his wife wrap her arms around him and immediately start sobbing. Instinctively, he hugged her back. 

He opened his mouth to say "It's okay," but it probably wasn't, so he just whispered, "I'm here, now. And I'm not going anywhere."

"I thought you'd left me," she said into his shoulder. "Promise me you won't. Promise me you won't ever leave me."

"Of course not," he instinctively replied. "Why would you think such a thing?"

She just cried harder. He waited, letting her have her release, and then gently pushed her away and motioned for her to sit down. "We need to talk about this," he said. "And we need to do it now."

She raised her eyebrows, widening red-rimmed eyes. "That's a funny thing for you to say."

"Is it? Yes. I suppose it is. But I do mean it, so please sit down."

She nodded and fell into the chair. "Tell me where you were," she said, wiping her cheeks. "Please. Tell me where you disappeared to."

He studied her a moment. "I think I'd like you to go first, please."

Gina's eyes flared. "No, dammit! You! You first!" She ran her hand through her hair. "Do you know what kind of week I've had? Women calling here, leaving angry messages on the machine for you. People telling me that you've been having an affair..."

His eyes widened incredulously. "What the fuck are you talking about?" he snapped. "Who's telling you this garbage? Do you really believe it? You have to know it's bullshit, Gina."

She met his stare. "Some..." she almost said lady, but worried that he would be able to tell who it was just from that, "...people from your office contacted me first. Then Paul called. He tried to tell me that it wasn't your fault, that she'd seduced you. And afterward, Cecile...well, Cecile said some things, too." She blushed a little at that, and dropped her gaze.

"Paul and Cecile? That doesn't make any sense. I just talked to both of them the night I left. They knew where I was. Why would they lie to you?" Neil frowned. "No. No, I know why one of them would lie. Or at least I know now that he's capable of it. But the other I would trust with my life."

Gina waved her hands in irritation. "But it's not just them, Neil! Dammit, don't you hear me? Other people called, too-"

"Who?"

She folded her arms across her chest. "I promised I wouldn't say."

"You're kidding me. What are, we eight years old? They made you promise not to tell me they were sharing information with you, and that seemed reasonable? Why would someone who was telling the truth have to swear you to secrecy?"

"How should I know?" But her eyes darted a little. Neil could tell that she saw the logic in that question. "And then there were the messages on the machine. Two of them, both from some angry woman, shouting about you leaving her for someone else."

He gave her a skeptical look. "Those can't be real. Let me hear them."

She blushed. "I...deleted them. I didn't want to have to listen to them ever again. They hurt me, Neil. And...and the last thing I expected was to have to prove your own indiscretion to you. I really thought you were done with me."

"God, Gina. I can't believe you thought I was...There was no indiscretion. I wouldn't do that to you for anything. How can you really think these things about me?"

She sighed. "I'm not sure that I do, now. But see it from my point of view. You come home early all emotional about some...problem...at work. You won't talk to me about it, but you're near crying. And you tell me that you've let me down. Then, suddenly, you disappear without a word-"

"I left you a-"

"A note. So you said. I still don't see it, Neil. Where did it go?" She waved her arms around the room. "Did it just get up and walk out the door?"

"I don't know. But it was here."

"It doesn't matter. We're talking about my perspective. I never saw the note. I never knew it existed, if it exists. So you left without a single word. And then I get cryptic phone calls out of the blue from coworkers...friends of yours included...all of them referencing an affair."

"That still seems impossible to me."

"But it happened. Finally, two phone calls are placed to this house. Some goddamn woman, calling my house, screeching at my husband! What am I supposed to think?"

Neil studied her face. "Well, I guess it is obvious what you're supposed to think. You're supposed to think that I'm leaving you for another woman. The question is, who wanted for you to think that? And why? Who's been pulling your strings, leading you down that path, and what did they gain by it?"

She rolled her eyes. "So now it's a conspiracy?"

He nodded slowly. "Listen to me very carefully, Gina. I am convinced that the problem with the Technica is related to the brake pedal linkage."

"Neil," she groaned. Her eyes conveyed exasperation.

"Just listen! This is important: we did not touch the brake pedal design. We didn't touch anything around it. Nothing. When we submitted our final work, no related changes had been made. Okay? So that means that somebody adjusted our work after it had been submitted and approved." He stood up, abruptly, and began pacing. He chewed on his thumbnail as he spoke. "Of the people who had access to the submitted plans, only one has the kind of cold blooded hatred needed to even be considered as a suspect. And that's Tracy Bunkley." Glancing at his wife, he saw her eyes widen a little, and it occurred to him that Tracy must be the unnamed "others" who helped confirmed the affair. "She's wanted to be rid of me for a long time, now. I don't pretend to understand why, but she doesn't exactly make a secret of it either. The more I try to stay below the radar and just do my job, the more she hates me for it. For me to get fired, vilified, or even arrested would make that woman's year," He waved a finger as he paced. "The problem is, Tracy doesn't have the know-how to do it. She simply doesn't have the ability. She would have to have an accomplice. Someone who knows a lot about pedal linkage designs...someone who she can manipulate and control. They'd have to be weak-willed, or ambitious in some way, or maybe have a secret they desperately need kept. Cecile Schaefer may not have any secrets, but he is an incredibly ambitious young man. To a fault. He wants my job as badly as Tracy wants me gone. When he talks in the break room, it's never about his past. He only thinks about the future, and he talks about it all the time. Cecile is a dreamer. He wants to be important. And he strikes me as very, very impatient." He stopped walking and stared across the room at her. "He's also unaccounted for at a critical time while the plans were being processed." This time the widening was more obvious, and a question occurred to him. "Gina, you said Cecile helped confirm my supposed affair. When did he do this?"

"I..." she looked away. "He came by..."

"Came by the house? When was this? It sure seems strange that he would suddenly show up here, now of all times. How long did he stay here? Did he comfort you? Did he look after you, as you grieved for your marriage?" She put her hand over her mouth and refused to look at him. "Gina," he said softly, "whose bed did you sleep in last night?"

For a second he thought she might break into tears again, but instead she drew herself up. "No!" she shouted. "Listen to yourself, Neil! You're accusing Cecile and this, this Tracy woman, of a crime! And of framing you for it! You're telling me that Paul Keegan, a man you've been friends with for years, lied to me in order to help them! Am I supposed to take all of that as fact? And you still haven't told me where you went for three days, or why!"

Neil sighed. "You're right. I haven't. I went to Murfreesboro, Gina."

"Murfreesboro? In Tennessee? Neil, what the hell is in Tennessee?"

"Someone I had to see. A man."

"And what was so special about this man, that you had to run off right away without so much as a goodbye to your wife?"

"The car I designed malfunctioned, and he was in an accident. His daughter died," he said slowly. "His four year old daughter."

Her hand flew up to her mouth. "What?" Then, "Oh, God, Neil."

"That night when you and I talked, I wasn't seeing the situation clearly. I really thought it was my fault. I hadn't realized yet what was happening, or what it meant. And I thought...I thought that I..." he looked away, staring at the wall, "So I went to see him, and to tell him what I'd done." His jaw clenched. "I wanted him to hurt me for it."

She swallowed. "Did he?"

A soft, humorless smile. "Only a little."

They sat silently for a few moments. "I don't know if I believe you," Gina said quietly. "I'd hate to think that Cecile...that anybody...is capable of hurting or killing for the sake of a promotion at work. And what about Paul? Why would he say those things about you if they weren't true? He's your friend."

"You're right. I'm not sure what happened there. But I intend to find out," he took his cell phone and car keys out of his pockets and moved toward the door. "In the meantime, maybe you should call your new lover and ask him why he was so willing to lie to you. Find out why it was so important to him to fuck my wife that he would ruin me for the chance." She gasped, but he ignored it. Halfway through the door another thought hit him, and he paused. "Oh, and Gina? You should know this: the flight I booked to Tennessee was a late one. Most of the people we know are already asleep by that time, but I wanted to leave the car here for you to use, so I needed a lift. I called the only young man I knew, figuring he might still be up. He came right over. I thought that was nice of him, to do that for me. Just before we drove away, though, he decided that he wanted to go back in and get a soda. I waited for him in the car." He glared at her look of confusion. "Do you understand what I'm saying? The last person to be in this room, with the note that I left on that table, was Cecile Schaefer. So when you call him, see if you can get him to stop lying long enough to tell you what he did with it." He slammed the door behind him.

Gina put her hand to her mouth, and cried. 

-=-=-

Paul Keegan turned left, off the arterial main road and into a nondescript suburban setting. After passing a handful of intersections, a number of houses, and very few trees, he at last found what he was looking for. The figure walking up the road toward him was lean and lonely. It was moving swiftly, having covered nearly a half mile more road than Paul would have predicted it might have in the time since his phone rang. Taking a hit from his cigarette and pulling over, he watched Neil climb into the car but said nothing. 

When he'd heard the tense, clipped-tone greeting thirty minutes earlier, he had immediately been informed that something was very wrong. Speeding slightly, he'd rushed to meet his old friend. Now, stubbing out the last of his cancer stick, he waited patiently for direction.

"I don't care where you go," Neil said, studying the road in front of them. "Just drive."

Paul nodded, used someone's driveway to turn around, and headed back toward the interstate. He continued his silence, knowing that Neil would initiate the conversation when he was ready.

Finally, the other man sighed. "You called Gina," he said. "I want to know when."

Paul frowned. "Gina? Wednesday, I suppose. I called the house looking for you. It was right before you called me on your cell, actually. You remember?"

Neil nodded, squinting out at the road and chewing on his thumbnail. "That's right. I do remember that." He raised his eyebrows. "That's all? You didn't call any other time?"

"Yeah, that's it. Why?" Paul couldn't make any sense of the line of questioning.

"What did you say to her?"

He frowned. "Exact words?"

"Exact words."

"Something about giving you a chance to talk. I told her that it wasn't your fault, that Tracy had manipulated the situation to give you maximum-"

"Exact wording, Paul."

"Sorry. I guess, the way I put it was, 'It's all that bitch's fault.' I figured you would do all the elaborating from there." He offered a wry apologetic smile, but Neil just nodded again.

"What else did you say?"

"What I ended up telling you. That Tracy was trying to seduce me into taking your job."

Neil frowned. "Somehow, my wife thinks you were telling her that I'd had an affair. She took your words and misconstrued them, but I don't quite get how."

Paul swore. "You were calling me, Neil. The phone was cutting out with the ringing."

"Shit. There it is, then." Neil seemed to relax. "I knew I could trust you. I just couldn't find the way forward."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing. Talk to me about the Technica."

Paul glanced at his friend. "Now? What about Gina? Shouldn't we go back to the house, or something? I can tell her-"

"There'll be time for that, and soon. There are other reasons for her fears, and they'll all be addressed before this is over. For now it's enough that she suspects the truth. She wouldn't knowingly betray me any more than you would."

"Betray you?"

"The Technica, Paul. Talk to me."

He shook his head, concentrating on his driving. "You were right. It was the brake pedal linkage."

Neil nodded. "It was modified, after the pilot build."

Paul frowned. "Yeah. But what bothers me is, who could have done that? I talked to Tracy, dropped some hints that I knew more than I should, and she got to sweating. There's no way she's not hip-deep in this. But she wouldn't know how to do such a thing. There must be at least one accomplice."

"Sounds like you followed the same logic I did. It's too bad the company won't do the same." Neil rubbed his fingers over his forehead. "They're scared to death, and they'll just look for the quickest way out."

"There's something else, Neil," Paul rubbed his fingers, missing his cigarette. "Cecile is unaccounted for right after we signed off on it."

"I know. He was in Tracy's office, getting yelled at, is what we were lead to believe. He came out upset, almost in tears, and wouldn't talk to us for a while." Neil shook his head. "The stupid fucking kid wasn't crying because she'd flexed muscle on him. He was crying because he'd just ruined us."

Paul nodded. "We can't prove this."

"Maybe not. There's more." Neil bit his thumbnail again. "The reason Gina thought I was having an affair is that Tracy called and told her I was."

"What!"

"Either right before or right after you called. Your misheard words didn't sell it, they just added fuel to the fire."

"Fuck. I'm so sorry-"


"It wasn't you. And it gets worse. That night, I wrote her a note explaining everything and then called Cecile for a lift. He came over, we loaded up, and then he went back into the house for a drink before we left. Conveniently, while he was in there, my note disappeared. Sometime the next day, Cecile came over and 'confessed' to knowing all about my affair."

"Why would he do all this?" Paul asked, horrified.

Neil shrugged. "The logical answer is that he and Tracy were hoping I would be so distracted by my crumbling marriage that I would be a non issue...at least long enough for the report to go through and bury me. With my wife on the verge of throwing me out and minimal evidence to defend myself with, I would be forced to choose how I spent my energies carefully. But I have two problems with that theory. First, Cecile's not a logical guy. It's not how he plays. Second, they had no reason to put themselves that much further out on the line. The benefit just isn't there to outweigh the danger. So I think that Cecile got it in his head, somehow or other, that he's in love with my wife. Tracy went along for no reason other than that he knew all her secrets, and she could no longer afford to be in conflict with him." He smiled sadly. "She never was enough of a team player to really get to know the new guys. Now, she's latched herself onto an impulsive and chaotic force if ever there was one. I really thought Cecile would calm down and grow up, eventually. I thought he'd even be a pretty good guy. But I guess we can see the direction of his path now. It goes right through my lawn."

Paul nodded. "How did Gina react to all of this?"

Neil clenched his jaw, closed his eyes, and then said, "Later."

"Okay. Later. So now what do we do? Will it help our case if she tells the board about what Tracy and Cecile did?"

"We'd be dead in the water if that was our whole case, and you know it. In fact, even bringing Gina with would be a bad idea. Having to drag my wife along...hardly an impartial witness...makes us look desperate and ridiculous."

"Do we have alternatives?"

He nodded. "Tomorrow's a big day."

Paul snorted. "That reporter is showing up in the morning to start interviewing..."

"That's right. Moira Adams. I'd forgotten."

"...so I imagine they'll want to cook us sometime in the morning."

Neil frowned. "Source says the meeting's at nine."

Paul tried to ignore the anxiety that rippled through his belly. "So what do we do?"

-=-=-

Cecile swung violently around, pacing manically as he dialed, and smashed his toe against the leg of the kitchen table. A sickening crack accompanied the hit, and bracing pain shot up his leg. Releasing a stream of curses, he stumbled and almost dropped the phone. Hopping one-legged across the kitchen, still cussing, he jumped up onto the counter and clutched at the wounded digit. Just as he was finishing his stream of swear words, Tracy answered.

"Cecile? Is that you?" She sounded annoyed.

"Sorry," he moaned. "I think I just broke my toe."

A 'tsk' sound carried down the phone. "Well, I hope you didn't call me to report that."

"No. I...Tracy, Neil's home. He came home last night."

"Fuck. Already? Why? What did you tell him?"

"Me? I didn't tell him anything! Why would I...Tracy, Gina was with me when he got home. She was...here all night."

"Really?" She sounded substantially more amused. "And Neil knows about it?"

"Yeah. I mean I don't know for sure, but Gina said she was gonna tell him."




The Luddite Conspiracy Ch. 03



A pause, and he could almost hear her analyzing the situation. "So you bedded the little housewife with lies, and now she's run off to confess to her husband? I assume that means that she knows he's innocent...and you're not."

"I think so, yeah. She suspects it, anyway. Tracy, what am I gonna do? I need her..."

"Oh, grow up, Cecile. You've already lost. If Neil's come back early, it probably means he's talked to Paul. If he has, then we'll be lucky to get out of this without going to jail."

"Jail? Why would we go to jail?"

"Are you kidding me?"

Cecile rubbed at his injured toe, and it didn't hurt so much. Bracing himself, he risked climbing down and standing. It throbbed a little, but that was all. "No, I understand what we'd be charged with, but is that really a danger right now? I mean, what can he possibly do? The report comes out tomorrow, and the board is going to stand behind it. Neil is not allowed into the meeting. He will not have a chance to argue the findings. The police will be contacted as soon as it's over, because the company is desperate and scared. Once the rubber hits the road they'll push hard, and not care who they're pushing. They have to. They're in real danger, right?"

"The thing is, Cecile," she drew his name out in a condescending, teacher-like tone, "Neil Fenner can do simple math. He can put two and two together. He knows that something went wrong with the Technica, he knows that it was fine when he submitted it, and he knows that you and possibly I lied to his wife in order to break up his marriage. It won't take him until tomorrow to catch on that I had access to the submitted prints and you had the know-how to change them."

"Who would believe him?"

"Are you kidding me? The golden child of automotive excellence? That's how they see him, you know. How do you think they see me? Or you? Christ, anybody who knows us would believe it." 

"So what do we do?"

"We go one step at a time. The road ahead just got a lot uglier, but we can make it if we focus. First of all, you have to forget about Gina Fenner. Put her out of your mind for the time being. Second, we need to keep Neil away from that meeting. That shouldn't be too hard, since he's technically not allowed in anyway. Once they've committed to our story, and the results are made public, the company will stick to its guns no matter what. The organization can't afford to have a botched investigation in the news on top of everything else. And it will have the support of the parent company. If we keep Neil and his people away from that boardroom tomorrow, then he will be arrested and we will have a multinational corporation at our backs. That still leaves a lengthy, public trial, and he will try to shift the blame on us as best he can. But we will have plenty of time to look for ways to support our innocence. You will have to go public about your affair, but that will hurt Gina's credibility as a witness more than yours. She'll be the adultering spouse, while you're the good looking up-and-comer." She hummed, and her tone softened. "Actually, we might be able to use that. It could be...suggested...that Neil altered the Technica in order to frame you. That he and his friends were lashing out as retribution for a lengthy affair you were having with his misses. She'll deny it was long-term, but admit sleeping with you, and after that nobody will take her word for anything." She laughed, slow and husky. "Yes. I think we might just pull this off yet, Cecile."

"And my promotion?"

A sigh. "It will have to wait. But I promise you, it is inevitable. I just can't promote you while people are watching us for signs of collusion."

He didn't respond, but sulked quietly.

"I meant what I said, Cecile," she warned. "If we don't do this exactly right, we will go to prison. We will be publicly vilified. We will never, ever recover from the consequences. I know you want that promotion. I know you want Gina Fenner. For now we need to put our heads down and worry about the ground in front of us. I promise that you will get that position in the end. And maybe, somehow, when it's all over, we'll even get you Gina Fenner. She might be angry with you at first, but she's going to be very lonely for a very long time." She clicked her tongue. "I can guess from experience that you probably impressed her last night..."

Cecile knew it was bullshit. But he wanted to believe.

"Tell me what I have to do," he said.

"First of all, you do not under any circumstances contact that woman. In fact, you need to keep away from the Fenners altogether. Shit, Cecile, just keep away from everybody. The report is presented at nine tomorrow morning. Any decisions will be made by ten. You come in late...say eleven o'clock...and I'll make sure that Neil goes nowhere near that board room. Understood?"

He thought about Gina, and he ached. "Understood," he said. And it wasn't really a lie, because he hadn't actually agreed to anything. 

-=-=-

Tracy hung up the phone and cursed. She wasn't sure who was worse: Neil Fenner or Cecile Schaefer. Between them, they were hell bent on ruining her life.

Fortunately, Cecile was less and less of a threat the longer this went on. And now he had found a new toy, one he wanted so badly that he barely remembered what it was he wanted before. Even if he didn't get the promotion, he wouldn't care for very long. His fixation was on Gina, for now. 

That left Neil. What was he going to do next? Surely he had to realize that tomorrow was the day that would decide everything. What might he be thinking? What did he know, and what did he only suspect?

Did it matter?

Paul definitely knew about the FMEA report, and if he knew it then Neil would too. But Tracy didn't think there was a chance in hell the two men could get into that meeting. If they tried, they'd be forcibly removed. And while, on the one hand, their rush to defend themselves might create some small amount of doubt regarding their guilt, the fact that they knew about the report ahead of time would in turn make them look paranoid and willing to break with proper procedure. The harm would outweigh the healing.

More importantly than any of that, Tracy Bunkley had a storyline explaining their motives that would sell to board members, press, and the unthinking public with such ease and volume that they'd want it to be true. All she had to do was get the ball rolling. Cecile's chances of promotion would be gone, but at the end of it all Neil Fenner would still be eliminated as a threat. Tracy would come out looking like she'd helped save the company, in front of reporter-of-the-moment Moira Adams no less. Her position would be safe. She may even be able to springboard into something bigger.

Still, she refused to assume victory. Neil was a smart man. He would have a plan. If only she could determine what it was.

-=-=-

Gina hugged her legs to her chest and tried not to cry.

It had taken a lot to shake her faith in her husband. The arrows had had to come from every direction before she really began to consider the possibility that he would betray her. The bond between them was strong, the trust natural. So it wasn't taking much to repair that faith now. A single conversation, without evidence or corroboration. Just like that, she began to believe it.

Now he was out there somewhere, with Paul, talking about who knows what. About her? Perhaps. About what she'd done? Probably not. 

About whether or not it was worth coming back to her? No. He wouldn't involve his friends in this mess. Not if he could avoid it.

She shook her head. Cecile had told her to be careful. What he'd said was true: it was easy to accept Neil's story without question, because she wanted it to be true. More than anything, she wanted to believe that this could all go away and she could have her marriage back. Any path that lead in that direction had appeal.

But he'd also been right when he'd pointed out that Neil, too, now had a betrayal that he would have to forgive. She knew her husband could forgive. What she wasn't sure about was whether or not forgiveness meant continuing on together.

Still, she wished she had more answers. Where was this letter? Why didn't Neil have Paul come and explain his phone call to her? And could she possibly believe that Cecile was capable of putting people's lives at risk for the sake of a job? Capable of lying to her about her husband, a man who was his friend and coworker, out of some naïve notion of conquest? Even if the rest of it were true, that was so far removed from what she'd seen that it seemed impossible. The young man she'd spent the last few days getting to know wasn't like that. There wasn't anything there that struck her as matching Neil's description.

Cecile was so gentle, so patient and caring. Ambitious? Impatient? Gina saw neither of those things. He came across to her as a sensitive, loving individual with a strong sense of humor. And if he was perhaps a little immature in his approach to his emotions, he was also very honest regarding them. Where was this supposed liar hiding? There hadn't been any deception to his attention, to his courting. Just bald desire. It had been nice to have a young man-

No. No, she wasn't going to do that. Whatever happened now, she couldn't go turning her mistake into a daydream, or a fond memory. A mistake is a mistake is a mistake.

So if she believed Neil, but didn't believe Neil, then where did that leave her? If she pushed to save their marriage but doubted his sincerity, and if he refused to push at all because of what she'd done, did they have any chance at all?

The phone rang. Gina rushed over and picked it up. "Hello?" she asked.

"Gina. Hi. I know I shouldn't be calling you right now, but I..."

She sighed. "Cecile. You're right. You shouldn't call, ever again. I'm sorry for the mistake we made, and I'm sorry to brush you off like this. But right now I have to try and save my marriage." 

"Wait! Please! Let me say something before you hang up."

"Goodbye, Cecile."

"Gina! Please! It's important!"

She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Make it quick. And then we're done."

There was a pause, and she could almost hear his anxiety translated over the phone. "I wasn't supposed to call you, Gina. I promised I wouldn't. But I had to. Don't you see? I'm in love you. With everything that I am, I love you. We're meant for each other. I felt it the moment you opened the door, that first day. I know it's sudden. I know it's crazy. But isn't that what love is supposed to be? Isn't that the best case scenario? I know you have feelings for me, too. And I understand that you're mixed up right now. But we're good together. You can't deny it. You can't ignore it."

Gina bit her lip. "Cecile," she said quietly, "what do you mean you weren't supposed to call me?"

A pause. "What?"

"You heard me. You said you weren't supposed to call me. Who told you not to call me?"

"I...a friend. A friend told me that I needed to give you space. She said-"

"She? She who?"

"Just a friend! You don't need to be jealous, Gina-"

"Cecile," she blurted out, not even really realizing what she had discovered until the words poured out, "what else did Tracy tell you today?"

The silence went on for an eternity, a total admission of guilt. She waited, listening to his heavy breathing, as the seconds threatened to become minutes. 

"Gina," he whispered at last. "I love you." He sounded petulant.

That was all it took. She knew, now. She knew what he'd done. "Where is the note, Cecile? The one my husband left for me when you picked him up?"

"I don't know what you-"

"Where is the note, Cecile?"

"Gina, please don't-"

"Can I tell you something, Cecile? You were right. I have been...developing feelings...for you during the last few days. And I would never lie to you, because of those feelings. It's the same reason that I had to tell Neil the truth about what we did. It's the same reason that it hurt me so much when you told me he'd been having an affair. The truth is important, Cecile. There is no room in love for lying. So don't lie to me, now. Tell me where the note is."

He didn't respond at first, and she wondered if she was wasting her time. Then, almost inaudibly, he said, "I did it for us, Gina. I did it because I knew we could be happy together."

She felt the tear's soft tickle as it ran down her cheek, but not the accompanying sadness. In fact she felt almost nothing at all. "Where is the note, Cecile?"

"Between the fridge and the cabinets. I....stuffed it in there when I came to visit you on Thursday." Then, in a desperate rush, he went on. "I didn't plan it, I swear! I took the note without thinking. I came over Thursday to return it, to make sure you got it, but then you opened the door and you were so beautiful. I just knew that...that we...." the words both slowed and faded in volume, until he wasn't saying anything at all.

"Cecile?" 

"Yes?" 

"Don't ever call here again. And, please, go to hell." Hanging up, Gina rushed over to the spot he'd indicated. Unable to make her fingers fit into the small gap, she grabbed a rubber stirring spoon and pushed it as far back as it would go. Pressing the tip to the ground, she skidded the spoon back towards her. Sure enough, in addition to some dust and lint it snagged a sheet of paper, dragging it into the light.

Her heart was a thunderstorm, but her pulse felt tired and weak. The world was a tunnel, blurry and unimportant, as she sat down heavily on the tile floor and unfolded the little, handwritten note.

-=-=-

The world was dark when Paul dropped Neil off in his driveway. 

"Do you want me to come in?" he asked, taking a pull from his cigarette. "Talk to her about it? Tell her what I was really saying when-"

"No," Neil said. "We both need our rest. And, to be honest, if I have to get your testimony to convince her of my innocence then that will say a lot about where we're at."

"It can't hurt anything, Neil."

"Let me say it another way: I won't need your testimony, because I am innocent and my wife is a smart woman."

"You sound pretty sure."

"I am pretty sure. Go home, get some rest, and don't bring your cigarettes to work tomorrow."

Paul smiled. "That'll make it hard to focus."

"Our balls are getting rubber banded as we speak. That should turn out to be quite the focuser, I think." He climbed out and said his goodnight, then headed inside.

Gina was sitting at the kitchen table when he entered, a red-eyed and puffy smear of a woman. His note lay in front of her, almost exactly where he'd left it. She stared at him, a deep well of sorrow with nothing to offer. He stared at the note a long time, thinking.

"Cecile called. Or, you called him," he said. 

She nodded. "He called."

He bit his thumbnail. "He didn't call with the intention of admitting to anything, I'd guess. So you must have confronted him. And you were persistent, because you got him to admit to something that he would desperately want not to admit to." She nodded again. He smiled sadly. "I'm glad for that. I'll have to tell Paul you proved me right, when I see him tomorrow. So..." he tapped the note, "does it matter?"

She blinked. "Of course it matters! How could you think-"

He waved his hand dismissively, and she stopped talking. "I guess it's hard for me to understand where I stand with you right now," he shrugged. "Maybe it's hard to know where you stand with me, too."

"I can tell you where you stand with me-"

"Don't. I'm not interested in it tonight."

"Neil?"

"I said I'm not interested. Listen...I understand the weight of the evidence they threw at you. It's a lot. And I know that without that letter my actions probably looked dubious at best. But it took you three days of thinking the worst to climb into another man's bed. Three days. Not even a man's bed...a boy's, really. And, even if it had taken a week, or a month, the point is that that's where you ended up. This thing happened. Regardless of what I feel for you, or you for me, that's going to be a very sizable issue that we are going to have to face."

He could see her fight the urge to cry, but she shook her head. "We can beat it, Neil. I know we can. I-"

"Maybe you don't really understand what we're up against, Gina. What do you think is going to happen right now, tonight? I'll tell you. I'm going to go and sleep in the guest room. And here's why: it wasn't but just a few hours ago you still thought I'd been having an affair. Think about how that felt. Would you have felt comfortable getting undressed in front of me, thinking I'd been with another woman? Or would you have been self-conscious, nervous about how you look? Wondering how you measured up? Would something simple, like stumbling a bit as you pulled your socks off, still be something simple? Or would you feel clumsy, stupid? Would you be able to concentrate on anything at all, aside from how awkward and wrinkled and tired and normal you must look? Because I don't think I could."

She shook her head. "No. I do realize all of that. And I also realize that I had the good fortune of not having seen your mystery woman. I could at least tell myself little whispered reassurances. I could imagine that she might be our age, or less fit. I could pretend that her figure might not be as good as mine. And I could never actually picture you in bed with her, loving and touching each other, because I had no face or form to put you next to. Just an idea. You, on the other hand, know Cecile. You have a face to put in your nightmares. It must all seem that much more real to you because of that. It's not an abstract idea that you're dealing with...'Gina had an affair,'....it's a physical reality, full of visual and auditory input." She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "If you think I haven't thought about this, Neil Fenner, you're wrong. I am fully aware of what I'm up against. And It's a lot...maybe too much. I hope you understand that that doesn't mean I quit."

He nodded, then looked at the clock. "Okay. You're not quitting. I'm not quitting. That's something. But it still will have to wait until after tomorrow." He poured himself a glass of water and headed towards the guest room.

"Neil?" she called after him.

"Yeah?" He hesitated in the doorway. 

"Do you...can you prove what they did?"

"No. But I have a few tricks up my sleeve."

"Could I...help?"

"You're my wife, Gina. They'll take anything you say with a grain of salt, if they even take it at all. Leave the note out, though. I think I can use that."

"How?"

"Just leave it out. I'm tired, honey. I want to go to bed. It's...been a day."

"Neil?"

He sighed. "Yes, Gina?"

"You're really not quitting on me?"

He turned around. She looked so small, so certain of her doom. "I won't promise you anything, Gina, because it's a bad time to be making promises. But I did tell you already," he smiled, "that I'm through running."



The Luddite Conspiracy Ch. 04



 ACT FOUR: ACT FOUR: IN WHICH ENOCH'S HAMMER IS FINALLY BROKEN

Sunday

Charles Lofgrin sipped his black, unsweetened coffee and leaned casually on the corner of David Kearn's desk. Looking around the expansive third floor office area, purposefully ignoring the herd of people spilling out of the conference room at the far end, he enacted the posture of the unconcerned.

"Hey," he said. "Could you believe the chill out there this morning? I mean, it's not even October yet and my car's already having trouble starting. Winter's gonna be a bitch."

"Yeah." David kept his eyes on his computer screen, his voice low. "Sure." He looked positively nauseous. "Is that them?" he asked. "Is it over already?"

Charles shook his head. "Probably just a potty break. My guess is that the report's been presented and signed, and now they're ready to get down to the brass tacks of deciding what to do about it. Can't make those big decisions with a full bladder and an empty coffee cup, now, can you?" He clicked his tongue. "What time is it?"

"Almost ten." 

He nodded. "Must just be a break then. Last FMEA I was involved in lasted over an hour, and it was a pretty insignificant affair by comparison." He sipped his coffee. "They'll want to have it over with by noon, though. Isn't that when Adams is showing up?"

"Yeah. I think so."

"So by then for sure."

David rubbed his eyes. "How bad do you think it'll be?"

Charles leaned out and looked around. "Tracy Bunkley seems to be in a good mood," he sipped again, "so you're fucked."

The other man winced, and Charles waved dismissively. "It's a joke, David. Relax."

"Relax. Yeah, sure. It's just my whole life, right? I wish I knew where Neil and Paul were at. They should be here."

Charles pointed vaguely towards the entryway. "I saw them come in earlier. They didn't stop over to see you?"

David frowned. "No. When was this?"

"Almost an hour ago...just after the meeting started. They were talking to some custodian. I didn't recognize the guy, but they seemed real friendly with him. Neil shook his hand."

"A custodian?" He thought a moment. "Was it Earle? The guy who lends Paul all those stupid political conspiracy books?"

"Nah. It was some guy who works upstairs. I think he used to be down here, but I could be wrong."

"Huh." David shrugged. "Regardless, it kinda pisses me off that they didn't stop by to see me. I mean, my ass is on the line the same as theirs."

Charles finished his coffee. "Yeah, well, that means they're stressed the same as you are, too. Nobody's thinking about social kindness right now." He glanced down. "I mean nobody. We're all scared as hell. You do know that, right? That we're all rooting for you guys, crossing our fingers and praying to our gods? I mean everyone." His face turned grim. "This whole thing is pure bullshit. It's a witch hunt."

"Thanks."

He stood to go, "Yeah, well, everybody's thinking it. I just thought you'd want to hear it said out loud." He turned away, but before he could take a step he froze in place. "David. Stand up for a minute and look over at your team. I think you should see this."

David stood up quickly, and found Neil and Paul. They were huddled in a corner of the large room with a short, well-dressed man who looked a little like Paul Simon. It was Greg Vaughan, the attorney from corporate that had led the meeting on Wednesday. He was talking solemnly, looking apologetic, and Paul was shaking his head in response. Neil didn't seem concerned by whatever it was that he was saying. 

"That's fucking weird," David muttered. "I wonder what they're up to."

"That's not all," Charles grinned. "Look at Tracy."

Scanning the room, David found her standing with two of the board members near the coffee pots. She wasn't taking part in the conversation, however. She just stared at the three men in the corner, looking equal parts confused and nervous.

Charles snorted. "It gets more and more curious."

"I'm gonna go check it out," David said, and hurried over to Neil and Paul.

"Hey, good luck!" Charles's voice called after him.

He closed the distance fast, picking up the conversation as he approached.

"...terribly sorry," Greg Vaughan was saying. "I mean that. I pushed it as far as I could, but the decision was already made. Neil Fenner and Paul Keegan will under no circumstances step foot in that board room." He shook his head. "They just won't listen. But I tried. I really did."

"We know," Neil assured him. "And we appreciate it."

"The whole thing has me sick to my stomach," the attorney admitted. "You know what I mean? Even at the beginning, it felt...I don't know...it felt like something questionable was going on. Now..." he shook his head, "I'm not sure how I feel working for a place where this kind of thing happens. Maybe it's just not for me. When people like Tracy Bunkley can-"

"Don't throw it all on her," Neil interrupted. "If it happens today, then that means that it always could. It was always possible." He shook his head. "Yeah, it's a sad state of affairs, and Tracy is the primary instigator, but they should all be better than this. They're all letting us down."

Paul turned as David joined the group and waved to him, but didn't speak. Instead, he turned back to Neil. 

"What happens now?" he asked. "Vaughan can't get us in, and it's sounding a lot like game over. Are we just fucked?"

Neil bit his thumbnail. "Well, maybe. What time is it?"

"Why does that matter?"

"Because it matters. What time is it?"

Paul checked his watch. "Ten."

"Ten exactly?" 

He frowned. "Ok. four minutes until. Why?"

"Because board member meetings always break at ten until the hour, and they always get back together when the new hour starts. I'm hoping against hope that I've timed this right."

"Time what right?" Paul asked, but Neil just shrugged and looked around the room, as if searching for something.

David sighed. "Can somebody tell me what's going on? Why is a company attorney on our side all of the sudden? And who was this custodian Charles saw?"

Paul opened his mouth, but Vaughan interjected before he could speak. "Mr. Fenner called early this morning and asked if he could speak with me. I told him that I didn't feel it was appropriate, because I represented the company and there were more appropriate channels for him to go through. Still, he was...persistent...and a few of his phrases caught my ear. I relented, mostly to placate him. I offered to listen to what he had to say over the phone, and I didn't expect to pay much attention. But....well, when he told me what he thought Tracy Bunkley was up to..."

"Tracy?" David frowned. "What is she doing?"

Neil smiled. "It's a long story," he said. "If we can get through today, then you'll know it all."

Paul glanced sideways at his contemporary. "The simple version is she committed a crime, and now she wants to frame us for it."

David stared. "The Techinica? Really? You think Tracy's the one setting us up? Shouldn't we go to the police about that?"

Vaughan shook his head. "Not yet you shouldn't. You'd be wasting your time. Right now, almost no evidence exists that you can use. So you could talk to the police, but you wouldn't get a lot of reaction from them. Law enforcement generally likes to avoid getting wrapped up in the internal workings of the business world. It keeps them from getting used as a way for people to exercise or manipulate power. And that doesn't mean that they stay away, mind you. It just means that they like to walk a very thin line. The companies that get burned by law aren't burned because a crime occurred within their walls, but because their internal systems failed to catch, analyze, and report the crime in a timely fashion." He nodded at the suits. "They get punished for not recognizing and reporting. And that's what this morning's meeting is really about. That's why it's so crowded in there. The FMEA is the first real document showing evidence of a crime, and now the company is going to be obligated to report that. It's in their best interest to have as much of a game plan as they possibly can before hand, because they can't afford any further damage to the brand name." He scratched at his forehead. "They're looking for spin. For a way out. What we need to do, if we can, is to work within that reality."

David looked at him with doubt in his eyes. "You sound awfully convinced for someone who only just hopped the fence this morning...and who just pointed out that there's no evidence on our side. What's the deal?" 

"I listened to Neil's story, I added what I'd already observed to it, and then I went with my gut." He smiled. "Nothing more than that."

"That's it? And you believed him, just like that? Enough to put yourself on the line with us?"

Vaughan shrugged. "His version seemed a good deal more plausible to me than the one I was hearing passed around upstairs. And I already felt like that Tracy woman was more than a little..." he trailed off, winked, but didn't say any more. "Anyway, I'm not really on the line. The worst that could happen to me is that I'll be a little less popular with the old men upstairs. I won't lose any sleep over it."

David glanced at Neil, looking for more. Neil complied. "I noticed at the meeting on Wednesday that Vaughan didn't seem overly...receptive...to Tracy's interjections. There wasn't a lot of respect being passed between them, and I got the distinct impression that he resented her trying to use him as a means to intimidate us. And since he was so careful to err on the side of professionalism, to the point of being upset about her derailments, I thought he might be a bit more open-minded than some of his contemporaries when I brought her name up."

"And the custodian?"

"Went to college with me. Wanted to be an engineer...badly. I'd say he wanted it more than most, but he was way over his head. Halfway through our second year he had to drop out, and I didn't expect to ever see him again. I guess he bummed around different jobs for a while, but never really found a place that made him happy, so he ended up taking the custodial work here just to be around the field."

Paul nodded. "Neil used to bring him in to a lot of our discussions, even get his feedback on things, before they shipped him upstairs. That was the year you transferred in, I think."

David frowned. "Oh, yeah. I guess I remember you mentioning him, once or twice."

Paul glanced at Neil. "I think being included that way meant a lot to him. Being some part of the process, and being given that level of respect. He works the head offices, now, and he doesn't get any of that up there. What he does get is to overhear a lot of things that never filter down this far. Neil thought he would be able to keep us keyed in on what was going on. He was right."

Vaughan opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say a word Neil cursed. "They're heading back into the boardroom. Looks like the cavalry isn't coming in time, gentlemen."

"What cavalry?" David asked.

Just then, heads all around the office area started turning toward the entryway. Murmuring, low at first and then louder, spread like wildfire. Some of the people heading back towards the boardroom caught the racket and turned to look. More than one curse erupted, and some of them leaned into each other for frantic whispered conversations. 

"Ah," smiled Neil. "Thank God. She's here."

Moira Adams strode confidently toward the board room crowd, dressed in a gray power suit that made her seem almost at home in the office area. A cracked leather side bag hung from her shoulder and bounced rhythmically against her hip. A lone strand of her light brown hair hung down over her face. The rest was pulled back. She smiled a doctor's smile, equal parts disarming and foreboding, as she reached the cluster of suits and began talking animatedly with them.

"That's the reporter!" Vaughan exclaimed. "And she's early. This will not be received pleasantly at all."

David glanced sideways at Neil. "Are you trying to tell us that she's your cavalry?" he asked. "Fuck, Neil. Do you know everybody?"

"Don't know her at all," Neil admitted. "But it's a funny thing. It seems that someone contacted her office last night and made it known that an important meeting was scheduled for early this morning, with the fireworks starting at around ten o'clock. They may also have accidentally let it slip," he held up his hands innocently, "that an engineering team was being set up to take a false fall. That some very shady decisions were being made, and that the company was rushing to get them over with before Moira Adams could show up and ruin everything. Conspiracy, manipulation of the truth, and fraud. That's a big story to break. I suppose that any reporter out there would be eager to get their foot in the door."

Vaughan broke into a wide grin, watching the small but confident woman adjust her shoulder bag while she spoke with the red faced, anxiety-riddled old men. "They'll never let her into that meeting, you know," he observed. "But she creates a very big problem for them simply by being here. I suppose the board will now desperately want to avoid looking like a lynch mob." He turned to the three men. "Gentlemen," he said, "I think maybe it's a good time for me to reintroduce my suggestion that you be allowed to present your case."

"That," Neil agreed, "sounds like a fantastic idea." 

-=-=-

Cecile turned the gun over in his hand, running his thumb across the light's reflection. Cool metallic necessity brushed against his skin. It disappointed him. He shouldn't have to be in this position. It was their fault that he'd come to this point. It wasn't fair.

Neil Fenner had ruined his life. Neil, and Tracy Bunkley. He bared his teeth. Just thinking their names was becoming too much to bare. It drew righteously indignant heat, flushing his cheeks and drying his mouth. But it also made the gun feel right.

Then he thought of Gina, of her body soft and warm beneath his, and the gun felt wrong again. What was he doing? She would never understand this. She would never forgive him. It was a pathway to lonely, aching permanence. If he didn't put the weapon away, and do it soon, then one way or another he would lose her forever.

But that was a joke, wasn't it? Gina was lost already. Cecile wasn't stupid. It didn't matter what Tracy promised in order to placate him; he knew the truth. He had heard the desperation in Gina's voice when she insisted on rushing home to her husband. Tracy hadn't. He had heard the change when she'd demanded to know what he'd done with the letter, when she'd told him to go to hell. He'd understood the tone as clearly as the words themselves. Tracy hadn't heard any of it. She hadn't had to, and she wouldn't have cared if she had.

So no matter what she tried to tell him, Cecile did know that one all-important truth: he would never hold Gina Fenner again.

The idea of a lifetime without her, knowing every day that she was with Neil instead, was too much. He shouldn't have to live with that. Goddamn it, it wasn't fair!

And, yes, Neil might end up in prison, but that was irrelevant. Contrary to what Tracy believed, or wanted him to think, Gina would wait for her husband. She would wait forever if needs be. They could lock Neil up in a cell by himself and throw away the key, but Gina would still be with him every moment of every day.

The way she could have been with Cecile.

His grip tightened on the handle of the gun.

And goddamn Tracy. After all, it was her fault that he'd done what he had. It was her plan, her sick vision and her honeyed words. She'd known what would happen. She'd seen it with a gypsy's clarity. And yet still she'd pushed, manipulated, and controlled him. She had turned him into a murderer. He spat on the ground.

He'd bought this weapon, a T/C pistol, two years ago. He'd only ever fired it once. Today, that would change.

He would have to run afterward. That much was clear. In fact, he'd already packed up as much as he could fit into his car and filled the gas tank. There was six hundred dollars in cash in his wallet. He knew there ought to be more, that there were other things he should be doing, but he had no guide because he had no plan. Just want on top of want on top of want.

It was ten o'clock in the morning when he climbed into his car. 

You'll never know it, Gina, he thought, but I'm doing this for you.

He was late for work.

-=-=-

Neil and Paul stood anxiously at the front of the board room. Greg Vaughan took a seat in the corner closest to where they stood. His seat at the table, with the other attorneys, was therefore left ominously vacant. This caused a few tense glances between board members and some questioning looks from his peers, but no one seemed willing to acknowledge his decision verbally. Instead, they sat silently and waited. 

Altogether, nearly two dozen men and three women huddled around the enormous table. Their expressions ranged from angry to nervous to amused, but no one looked bored. Tracy Bunkley stood out, perhaps, because she was one of the few women in the room and because she was clearly working hard to mask her increasingly frayed nerves. Neil and Paul making it into the board room had not been part of her plan. 

While they waited for everyone to get settled, Paul leaned over to Neil and whispered, "Okay. Here we are. So what do we do now?"

"We don't really have much of a case to present," Neil whispered back. "Just a lot of hearsay." To his friend's horrified face, he smiled and winked. "That doesn't mean we're finished. I do have a suggestion."

"Which is?"

"That we do what we do best: piss Tracy Bunkley off."

Paul snorted. "And that'll help because?"

"Because we're right, and because she's the only other person in this room who knows it."

One of the older men, a bald and wiry fellow, waved his hands impatiently. "We have a lot of important decisions to make today, Mr. Fenner, and my belly is growling. So why don't we go ahead and get this...interruption...over with as quickly as possible." 

Neil shrugged, and said, "I realize that you're busy. I want to thank you all in advance for listening to our little presentation before you go about the mundane minutia of burying this company forever. Let me first say that-"

"Excuse me," a heavy, bearded man grunted, "but we're doing you a favor here, son. That kind of talk seems disrespectful and unnecessary. It's not going to win anybody over, if that's your intention." Tracy smirked, and Neil made a point of meeting her eyes as he continued.

"No disrespect intended. I just think the facts support that outcome. After all, what are you looking at right now? At least one hundred and thirty known automobile accidents...probably climbing and already including at least one fatality...all blamed on the Technica. A lawsuit jointly filed by multiple insurance companies...one that initially sought six-point-eight million dollars but will probably climb above ten when Mrs. Adams' article comes out. And, now, we have in our very own hands an FMEA report showing a pedal linkage flaw that is not in the approved plans....a report that, simply by stating the known facts, very clearly suggests tampering." He looked around the room. "But oh well, right? It can't all be roses. And, I mean, I can't be the only person here thinking that maybe tampering is a good thing." He laughed. "That sounds crazy, doesn't it? Sure it does. But we are nothing if not desperate for a way out. We, as a company, are just one tiny step away from the end. The death of an American brand. Maybe the only hope we have left is to find a scapegoat. Someone that we can put all the blame on. Someone that can be accused of purposefully and maliciously producing this error, and who can take that hard fall for the good of the company." He shrugged lazily. "Now, if we have to embrace a little stubborn deception to get this done...possibly even commit perjury...well, we'll have to take that risk. Lives are at stake and time is of the essence, you know?" He took a deep breath, locking eyes with each person in turn. "That's where we stand right now: on the brink of illegal and unethical desperation. Luckily for you, there's no need to debase yourselves. You can get what you want, which is to save your business, and see justice done at the same time. All you have to do, when you leave this room, is contact the authorities and have Tracy Bunkley and Cecile Schaefer arrested."




The Luddite Conspiracy Ch. 04



A moment of stunned silence occurred, followed by a spattering of whispers and mumbled irritation. It expanded rapidly. Eyes flickered toward Tracy, who was glaring red-faced, but nobody said a word to her.

Neil held up one hand and knocked on the table with the other, gaining their attention. "If I may, I'd like to explain my thinking."

"Wait a minute," Tracy interrupted, "are we really going to listen to this? It's slander! It's inappropriate, and it's unprofessional. I for one am not prepared to sit here and be accused in this way."

Paul grunted. "How would you prefer to be accused?" he snapped.

"Fuck you, you litt-" she flinched, glancing around the room, and fell silent.

"Enough of this," The skinny old man barked. "This is not a circus! Mr. Fenner, Mrs. Bunkley is right. This is entirely inappropriate. Behave yourself, sir."

"How about this, then?" Neil leaned on the table. "A copy of the designs that were proofed and signed was stored both digitally and physically before they were sent to plant. We all know that the copy delivered to manufacturing is measurably different than those stored copies. We all therefore know that somebody must have changed them after they were approved. Now, can anybody here tell me who had access to those plans once the proofing was over?"

One of the department heads, a heavyset man with red cheeks and bushy eyebrows, chuckled. "This ain't exactly the CIA, son. Lots of people have access...but not everyone has the know-how to change them."

"True. But who could have accessed them without getting noticed? Who could have retrieved the plans, held them long enough for changes to be made, and not leave a trail of paperwork or witnesses in the process?"

The man frowned. "Any of the department heads could do that. Project managers, too, I suppose." He looked up. "But I imagine that any engineer in this building could get at them, and keep it hidden, if they really wanted to."

Neil nodded. "Okay. Let's hang on to that for a minute. And please note the inclusion of project managers on that list," he bit his thumbnail, "because it's important. Now, I imagine that every person in this room noticed when Mr. Vaughan, an attorney employed by and for this company, opted not to return to his seat earlier. I doubt that it escaped you that he chose to sit up here next to Mr. Keegan and myself. He is with us not as a sign of allegiance or solidarity, but because I asked him to talk a little bit about his impression of the meeting involving my team and Tracy Bunkley on Wednesday. It's relevant, and I think it ought to be presented."

Greg Vaughan stood up and nodded. "Briefly, let me say that it is not my intention to do anything except offer information relevant to the decisions being made here today....information, by the way, that will be a factor in any media representation of our predicament. At the aforementioned meeting, and in my discussions with her prior to it, Tracy Bunkley struck me as a little odd." He ignored the scowl that she threw his way, and went on before she could interrupt. "She was exceptionally eager to encourage the impression that the Technica problem must be linked to Neil Fenner. She seemed hungry for anything that might help her to promote that perspective, and she seemed almost incurious about any information not pointing in that direction. She goaded and challenged the team whenever possible, and when Fenner left in what was clearly great emotional turmoil she immediately began talking about finding a replacement for him as development engineer. There was no concern, no sympathy, no expression of worry. If I were asked to interpret, I would say that she seemed giddy." He let that sink in a moment, and then added. "Now I know, because I was there, that Tracy was the one who argued so vehemently against allowing Neil's team to assist with the FMEA. And I don't have to point out to anybody here that, in spite of her closeness to this sensitive issue, she has been included in the very same meetings that Fenner's team was excluded from. Now, I agreed to his request that I speak to you because I, as an attorney for this company, am concerned by the degree to which these events appear to be influenced by one person. And I am concerned that they will look alarmingly contrived, or manipulated, from the outside looking in. And, rest assured, they will be looked at." With that, he nodded at Neil and walked over to his seat at the table. Slipping into it, he folded his hands and joined the audience. He ignored Tracy's silent glare, and the almost twitching way that her expression kept shifting.

The red-cheeked fat man shook his head. "Listen, I think I understand what you all are trying to do. And I imagine that this all sounds very convincing in your heads," he emphasized the last word. "But I'm not really hearing anything that sounds like it couldn't be dismissed as inter-office politics, inaccurate interpretation, or impolite behavior. As I recall, you mentioned two names at the start of this, yet so far you've ignored the other name entirely. Instead, you've chosen to repeatedly direct conjectural attacks and vicious personal insults at Ms. Bunkley. So I think I'd like to hear what you have to say about this other individual...Cecile, is it? And then we're done. I'm going to have to hope that you have more of a case to make there than you have against Ms. Bunkley, because I'd hate to think that my time was so lazily wasted."

Neil sighed. "Then I suppose I'll put it bluntly. Cecile was Tracy's accomplice. More like a lackey, really, but an active participant nonetheless."

"And she needed an accomplice why, exactly?" the thin man asked.

Neil looked at Paul, who smiled. "Once Tracy decided that she was going to try and frame us for a crime, she must have realized that she needed someone to make the changes to the Technica for her. You see, she's no more capable of adjusting pedal linkage on an automobile than you are of forcing your eyes to change color. She simply can't do it."

"It's an unfortunate truth," Neil continued, "your project manager is unqualified for her own job."

"Enough!" Tracy shouted. Her cheeks had turned blotchy, and she was sweating. "I've had enough. Maybe everyone else is willing to listen to these people insult me over and over and over again, just because that bitch of a reporter is out there, but-"

"You're right," Neil held up his hands. "You're right. I apologize. Really," he looked around the room, hands forward, "I am sorry, and I'm almost finished. Just let me just talk a little bit about Cecile Schaefer before I go, because by doing so I will also explain the motives behind the crime." He waved a finger. "It is my suspicion that Cecile was first drawn in when Tracy suggested to him that-"

"No!" Tracy snapped, jumping up. "I said enough, and I meant it! I'm tired of listening to this crap." She knocked her coffee cup over as she moved, and the remaining liquid trickled across the table. "I won't do it!"

"Tracy," someone muttered, "sit down."

She ignored the advice, turning to the room. "You want motive? I'll tell you about motive! Neil Fenner has all the motive in the world! You see, he recently learned that his wife has been cheating on him!" She looked around, seeing only horrified confusion. "It's true! And not cheating with just anybody, either!" she gestured wildly. "She's fucking Cecile Schaefer! A member of Neil's own team!" People were frowning, now, glancing between the two accusers. No one seemed sure of what to make of the display. She turned triumphantly toward the front. "Do you deny it, Neil? Can you honestly tell them that any of that is untrue?"

"My wife," Neil admitted slowly, eyes hard and cold, "did sleep with Cecile this weekend. Howev-"

"Not just this weekend!" Tracy interrupted. "Not hardly!" She sneered, triumphant. "Here's what this has all been about: Neil Fenner, still not entirely over the death of his daughter, learned that his wife was having an affair with a coworker. It was too much for him to stand. In his rage, he decided to take revenge. The plan was simple: with help from his friend Paul, a true lackey if ever there was one, he would frame his wife's lover. Yes! He would frame Cecile Schaefer for a terrible crime. And if he had to bring Tracy Bunkley down as collateral damage to make it happen, well...it's not like he liked her." She shook her head. "But it didn't go as planned. He didn't count on a little girl dying as a result of his work. That's why he ran off without a word! That's why he pitched such a fucking fit! That's why he disappeared and threatened to quit his job. He felt guilt! He didn't feel it for Cecile. He didn't feel it for me, or for this company. He felt it for some stupid little girl, because she died. Because he killed her."

She opened her mouth to say more, breathing heavily, but stopped when she saw the expressions on the faces around her. Some of the men looked embarrassed for her. Others shook their head, coming across almost like disappointed parents. One of the attorneys, looking decidedly uncomfortable, refused to look in her direction. 

"What?" she barked indignantly. "What is this? Do you really need more? Do I have to make it even clearer for you? Neil Fenner is guilty! He admitted the affair! He...he..." she tried to think, realized that there was spittle on her lower lip, and wiped it away. "For Christ's sake, SAY SOMETHING!"

"Tracy," Greg Vaughan's pinched voice carried across the silence. "Can you explain to us why you know so much about this supposed affair between Cecile Schaefer and Mrs. Fenner? Why you seem to know so much about Neil's guilt, and yet you did not immediately report it? Why, in fact, you would be so knowledgeable about what all these people have been up to that you even know their thoughts, their feelings, and their motives?"

"I..." she blinked, and shook her head. "Cecile came to me and told me th...He, he ..." she trailed off, breathing through her mouth. "Jesus. What does it matter? We know the truth, now. There isn't any reason for us to...to..." looking around the room, and finding no friendly faces, she swallowed hard and sat down. Her voice softened, quieting almost to a whisper. "Don't you see?" she asked.

"Mrs. Bunkley," the thin man said, "I think that we are beginning to."

Tracy shook her head, but couldn't think of anything to say. 

One of the other attorneys, the one who had looked so uncomfortable, tapped his pencil on the table. "I'd like to make a suggestion, if I could," he said. "We are all going to have to answer questions and sign statements regarding what we heard and saw here today." He glanced at Vaughan, who nodded his agreement. "I'm not sure it would be in our best interest to continue in this fashion. We have the report. We should start making the appropriate phone calls immediately."

Tracy put her elbows on the table, and held her head in her hands. They were going to bury her for this. She knew that. One goddamn adrenalized outburst, and it was all over. 

Silently, she wondered if she might still be able to shift most of the blame on Cecile. 

-=-=-

There were three cop cars in the parking lot. 

He didn't pull in. In fact he didn't even slow as he drove past the office, just sped along and turned left onto the next available side street.

The unmistakable vehicles were nestled up against the front entryway to the building. Neil Fenner was outside, talking to one of the cops, smiling and nodding his head. 

So there it was. 

Even though it was cold out, Cecile turned on his air conditioner as he ramped up onto the interstate. He wiped sweat off his brow. Leaning and reaching out, he opened the glove box and set the gun inside. Fenner had won, Tracy was finished, and that had to mean that he was a hunted fugitive. There would be no revenge. Just like there would be no Gina, no job, and no future. Even if he was prepared to die in a hail of gunfire, he knew he wasn't good enough a shot to actually hit Fenner before being taken down. Waiting until later wasn't an option, either. He had to leave town. Every fiber of his being pushed him to get as far away as possible, as quickly as possible. He didn't want to die, but he would not go to jail either.

He drove west, not thinking at all about destination. Only seeking escape. His whole life was over. There wasn't anything left.

An image flashed in his mind. It was himself, sitting next to Neil Fenner, driving him to the airport Wednesday night. In his mind's eye he saw himself glance over at the weary passenger, heard his own thoughts about how old the man looked. He heard his unspoken promise to himself not to waste his life the way Neil had. He heard it all, and it seemed incredibly funny.

Cecile laughed out loud. He laughed at himself, his failure and his love, and all of his pathetic little schoolboy dreams. And he was still laughing, like a humorless looped recording, when the city faded out behind him.

-=-=-

The sun was dropping low on the horizon, painting the evening sky in indigo and sapphire, when Paul found Neil sitting out on the front stoop of the building. Between officials, lawyers, and reporters, the last seven hours had been absolute chaos. Sweat stained the pits of his shirt, and the only thing he wanted in the whole world was a cigarette. His throat was already sore and hoarse from talking, telling his story over and over again. And now, with another day gone and a chilling breeze beginning to slither across the city, the world felt like a quiet and abandoned place. It seemed like a good home to have for a little while. 

Paul sat down next to his friend. "Rumor going around is that she confessed to everything," he said, lighting a cigarette. "You believe that?"

"No. I mean I'd like to," Neil's smile didn't reach his eyes. "But I have to doubt it. She's a game player, and a self-serving bitch if ever there was one. I imagine that she felt this wind coming, knew what it meant, and admitted to the smallest amount possible without actually lying. She'll put it all on Cecile. And if he doesn't turn up in the next few days, then I imagine she'll partially succeed. She's got a long, ugly road ahead of her, but nothing like he'll have."

Paul nodded, and didn't speak. 

"I'm glad it's over," Neil admitted. "More than I can put into words, I'm glad."

"I am, too," Paul said. "But is it over? I mean really? I can't help but notice that you haven't gone home yet. Do you know what you're gonna do?"

He shrugged. "She called earlier. I told her that we'd won, and that I'd be late. Said she might see me on the news." He scratched at his arms. "It's hard to know what will happen with Gina and I. Honestly, as tumultuous as the last few days have been, it's hard to even know how I feel. I mean I know that I'm angry. I know that I'm hurt. But I'm not sure what that means. I'm not sure how that plays out in the long run. There's a real sense of disappointment, like things are going to be different now. Like we've lost something that doesn't come back. But then love isn't something I can describe as weak-willed, either."

"I suppose not," Paul said. He pulled on his cigarette and was silent for a time. "You know," he said at last, "there are a lot of beautiful things in this world. And for a very short while there, I really thought we were going to get locked away from all of them."

"I did, too," Neil sighed.

"I think," Paul flicked his cigarette to the ground, "that I would have missed them, very much." Then he stood up, wiped his hands on his shirt, and patted his friend's shoulder. "I'll see you around, Neil."

"Yeah," Neil said, and didn't get up. "See you around."

-=-=-

The house ached, crying out like a moody child. Joints creaked against the rapidly growing winds, doors rattled in their frames, and the first wooden snaps of oncoming winter echoed up from the basement. Gina paced without hurry between the kitchen and living room, looking out the window on every pass in the off chance that she might spot Neil's car. She hugged herself tighter and tighter with each passing hour, but her expression remained one of determination.

She knew that the next few months would be hard. She knew that her marriage might turn out to be the last belated casualty of Tracy and Cecile's terrible scheme. But she also knew that she would fight for it, to the last. She would fight for it with everything that she had. And, although he was hurting now, she believed that her husband would fight, too. If their marriage died, then it would be the stubborn death of an exhausted warrior and not the squealing death of a fleeing coward. It would go down swinging.

But that was all for later, for when Neil came home, and the waiting was especially taxing. That anxious sense of inevitability combined with unyielding powerlessness drove her crazy. If only he would arrive, so the battle could start. She wanted it to happen. She ached for it.

Time passed. Gina refused to look at the clock, or to let herself worry about why he hadn't come to her yet. Those were unproductive actions. She would not indulge them.

The house spoke to her, speaking of bitter loneliness and stark winter. and she shushed it, and continued to pace.

Then, at last, twin headlights lit up the living room. The garage door opened. 

Home at last. She ran to him.

-=-=-

Tuesday

Cecile ate his McChicken with stoney indifference to the passage of time. He chewed methodically, not tasting the food but not forcing it down either. There wasn't anywhere he needed to be. 

Two days on the road had done a lot to calm his nerves. Something about being behind the wheel felt empowering, soothing in a way. He still didn't know where he was going. He didn't even know where he could go. Canada seemed like an impossibility, and Mexico sounded miserable. Even though he hadn't yet noticed any of the sideways glances that would tell him that his face had shown up in the news, that didn't mean it hadn't. It certainly didn't mean he wasn't a wanted man. It just meant that he'd entered into the wasteland, and nobody there knew anything at all.

That's what it was. A wasteland. He'd never ventured this far into the Plains States before. To say they were dull and vacant was, at the very least, a brutal understatement. Having grown up in the knotted human mass that was the East Coast, and played his frantic part in the smokesong chorus of the industrial belt, he had little interest in the vast empty spaces and big sky of this cow-eyed grassland. It was scenery, made for philosophers and artisans. Not for people of substance.

Was that what he was? A person of substance? There was no legitimate job or housing was in his future. No woman to couple or children to raise. He had four hundred and eighty dollars, a name like slow-acting poison, and a loaded gun.

What a joke.

He almost didn't notice the shadow that fell over him as he buried himself in desparing thoughts. When he did look up, he saw a man with compassionate eyes, a big grin, and a strange, snaking armband tattoo. 

His visitor smiled down at him. "Afternoon," he said, holding out his hand. "You look like someone who could use a friend." Cecile reached out to shake the offered hand without thinking, then wondered what he was doing. Paranoia made him pull away. He examined his mysterious visitor, looking for clues. Faded jeans, caked in dry dirt. A laborer's white shirt, showing all sorts of wear, and a relaxed easiness that bordered on amusement. Not exactly the uniform of law enforcement. He had a large soda in his hand, which he rested it on the table as he waited for Cecile to talk. 

"I guess that I could," Cecile admitted. Then he snorted a laugh. "A friend, a job, a place to stay. I could use a little of just about everything. Everything that matters."




The Luddite Conspiracy Ch. 04



The man glanced over Cecile's shoulder at a corner booth and waved. Cecile turned around and looked. Amazingly, two beautiful women were waving back at him. "Why don't we go sit with my friends," the man suggested, grabbing his drink and beckoning Cecile along. "We'll have a little talk, tell a few stories. I promise that you won't regret it. You see, I just happen to be someone who has an awful lot of just about everything, and I aim to share it."

Cecile glanced at the stranger, hesitating just long enough to study his twisting armband tattoo. Something about it struck him as odd. A lilting feminine hello sailed over to him from the other booth, and he went back to staring at the women. "What luck," he mumbled, and stood up. "My name's Cecile."

"Marius," the man responded. "Marius Jones."

-=-=-

ACT FIVE: IN WHICH I REVEAL MYSELF

This is not part of the story, so feel free to not read it. It's just me trying, in my long-winded way, to explain why this work ended the way it did....and hopefully explain a bit about Mad Dog and Hallelujah at the same time. 

I have been careful to avoid saying this directly up until now, but with the way I am concluding this submission I feel compelled to acknowledge the truth. Here goes: 

When I first stumbled on this site, more than a year and a half ago, I started writing a story. 

It's nice to finally have that off my chest. 

As it happened, I'd grown weary of one hobby and was looking for something new. And for whatever reason, the notion of amateur storytelling felt absolutely euphoric. Exciting, like springtime. Like a new puppy. 

Of course, being human, I fucked it up. See, I started my story in the middle, and eventually I hit the point where I had to address that. Back up, take a deep breath, and map everything out. 

So I did. And everything got a lot clearer. To the point that I ultimately started over from scratch. 

There were some things that I knew I wanted to try to have in my story. Characters that had history, imperfections, and experiences that affected who they were as people. A backdrop that felt, to the degree that I could manage, like a real and functioning world. Just enough moral ambiguity to be kind of upsetting. 

And there were other things that I knew I didn't want. Mostly, they were the same things that I find boring as a reader: clear-eyed champions, endings with a sense of permanence, and characters that don't grow or change. 

I also wanted some degree of immediate gratification. I figured, okay, I'm writing for a porn site. Not the ideal setting for attempting the "great American novel," and I'm not really the author for that kind of thing anyway. I figured that, if I were to slap some ninety chapter beast up here, then it would probably be shit. And I would have to live with the fact that chapter 34 was really only valuable to people who'd read chapters 1-33 and enjoyed them. Limiting. 

So I decided to put it together as a series of short stories, each one meant to stand on its own. And that's what I've been up to. 

You can probably see it in each of the stories I've posted so far. They do have conflict. They have an arc, and a conclusion with resolution. The conspiracy surrounding the Technica is exposed, for example, and Neil and Gina are prepared to face (if not necessarily survive) their marital issues. Jacob Currie wrestles with and ultimately reaches some understanding about what he wants in his life. And Ron and Andro...well.

But if it also feels like something is supposed to come after, that's because something is supposed to come after. Nobody's story is really over. Jacob, matured slightly by his experiences in Hallelujah, will show up in It Always Ends. A Place Made of Sun will pick up with Neil and Gina six months after the events that played out in The Luddite Conspiracy. Ron and Andro will have a backdrop part in a story called Chicago Nights. And Cecile is going to reappear sooner than any of them, along with Moira Adams, in The Lunatic. Each of those stories will be their own thing, and yet if I do it right they should feel like a continuation to those people who happened to have read the first batch. It's not a unique approach. I realize that. But I didn't want someone to finish this tale and be pissed off because they think I just abandoned the story before it was over.

Again, I'd like to think that each of the stories I've submitted so far feature genuine endings. God willing, that should be true for everything that comes after as well. I want them to be valuable as stories, not only as part of a larger puzzle. Besides, that way if life prevents me from painting the big picture (or if I get bored and move on) then anybody following it won't be left feeling like they've gotten robbed. 

As of right now, I've got one more story that will strictly be devoted to introducing characters, and then the continuations will begin. It just takes a while because I'm working so hard to make sure that every story reads as a story. 

And, of course, if nobody cares enough to read them all then that won't bother me either. Because, for right now, I'm having a lot of fun.