Lefebre's not the type of man to make apologies, I've come myself. Lefebre's ears are still ringing. He will keep his revolting temper under control. No ifs, ands, or buts. I swear to you, if I didn't know him better, if he had not had such a good record with Schlumberger in Paris, if he had been less of a faithful employee here, I would have fired him on the spot. Scotty, what can I say? Lefebre's explosive, unpredictable, headstrong, eccentric. He has a horrible temper, though I never saw it explode like it did today. But I need him. He's a trustworthy man. Effective. And he lives for Geminii."
"I understand," Scotty said stone faced. He understood the nature of the ridiculous self-serving rationalization. He'd heard them before. What's a fight when placed against the overall good of the company. Christ, he was boiling! He did not like being beaten and nearly strangled! He damn well knew that if Lefebre tried again, it would be the Frenchman whose neck would wind up in a sling. But he also knew the realities; he would have to try to avoid another confrontation with Lefebre no matter how strong the impulse to lay one back on the bastard. Although he was determined to pull Lefebre's company dossier and examine the lunatic's background, he was going to have to try to leave it at that. Hell, he'd just gotten here and had just assumed his post. There was the Columbus incident. His own previous history. Another confrontation with the Frenchman was the last thing he needed right now. He would try to keep his fists to himself no matter how hard it would be to do!
"Scotty. I appreciate your restraint," Whittenfeld continued. "And again, you have my promise. There will be no other incidents. Between Lefebre ,and you. Or Lefebre and anyone else for that matter."
"Good," Scotty declared. He prayed Whittenfeld was right.
"For your information, we did a further check on Mr. Reynolds. He has two arrests for assault on the police blotter. And an unsavory background, to boot. He might very well have attacked Girard and Lennox. As for Lefebre's people in general, I've issued a very restrictive authorization. They will continue to investigate the Columbus incident, searching for the guilty parties. But there will be no violence of any kind." He patted Scotty on the shoulder. "I detest violent incidents. I promise you there will be no more."
"I appreciate the consideration," Scotty said. He held up a telegram. "This just arrived. The sonar tug will be here on Monday and will be deployed Thursday."
"I'll want to inspect the vessel before it goes on line."
"Of course."
"I'll also want the Columbus and loch security forces to begin duties simultaneously. Please advise Lefebre."
Scotty massaged his throat—it was covered with bruises—then nodded. "No problem," he said.
Whittenfeld smiled and stepped out the door.
"I'll see you later" were his final words.
Scotty sat at the den desk, shrouded in darkness. It was midnight. He was tired. He'd returned from dinner two hours before. Since then, he'd been frozen in place, sifting through an avalanche of thoughts.
There were several documents on the desk. Lefebre's company resume and security clearance. A telex from Schlumberger Corp., Paris. A telex from the Marseilles police.
Early that afternoon, he'd pulled Lefebre's records. He'd been determined not to look for trouble. But trouble had already found him.
The resume and security clearances did not match the information contained in the telexes. Lefebre had worked for Schlumberger Corporation, but he'd not been a model employee. Twice he'd been implicated in brutal security excesses. Another time he'd nearly beaten a company superior to death during an argument. Several times he'd been suspended from duty but rehired. He'd also been with the Marseilles police, but the resume had listed a tenure of ten years, while the telex had only reported two terms of one year each, six years apart. Eight years of Lefebre's life were missing, and
"I understand," Scotty said stone faced. He understood the nature of the ridiculous self-serving rationalization. He'd heard them before. What's a fight when placed against the overall good of the company. Christ, he was boiling! He did not like being beaten and nearly strangled! He damn well knew that if Lefebre tried again, it would be the Frenchman whose neck would wind up in a sling. But he also knew the realities; he would have to try to avoid another confrontation with Lefebre no matter how strong the impulse to lay one back on the bastard. Although he was determined to pull Lefebre's company dossier and examine the lunatic's background, he was going to have to try to leave it at that. Hell, he'd just gotten here and had just assumed his post. There was the Columbus incident. His own previous history. Another confrontation with the Frenchman was the last thing he needed right now. He would try to keep his fists to himself no matter how hard it would be to do!
"Scotty. I appreciate your restraint," Whittenfeld continued. "And again, you have my promise. There will be no other incidents. Between Lefebre ,and you. Or Lefebre and anyone else for that matter."
"Good," Scotty declared. He prayed Whittenfeld was right.
"For your information, we did a further check on Mr. Reynolds. He has two arrests for assault on the police blotter. And an unsavory background, to boot. He might very well have attacked Girard and Lennox. As for Lefebre's people in general, I've issued a very restrictive authorization. They will continue to investigate the Columbus incident, searching for the guilty parties. But there will be no violence of any kind." He patted Scotty on the shoulder. "I detest violent incidents. I promise you there will be no more."
"I appreciate the consideration," Scotty said. He held up a telegram. "This just arrived. The sonar tug will be here on Monday and will be deployed Thursday."
"I'll want to inspect the vessel before it goes on line."
"Of course."
"I'll also want the Columbus and loch security forces to begin duties simultaneously. Please advise Lefebre."
Scotty massaged his throat—it was covered with bruises—then nodded. "No problem," he said.
Whittenfeld smiled and stepped out the door.
"I'll see you later" were his final words.
Scotty sat at the den desk, shrouded in darkness. It was midnight. He was tired. He'd returned from dinner two hours before. Since then, he'd been frozen in place, sifting through an avalanche of thoughts.
There were several documents on the desk. Lefebre's company resume and security clearance. A telex from Schlumberger Corp., Paris. A telex from the Marseilles police.
Early that afternoon, he'd pulled Lefebre's records. He'd been determined not to look for trouble. But trouble had already found him.
The resume and security clearances did not match the information contained in the telexes. Lefebre had worked for Schlumberger Corporation, but he'd not been a model employee. Twice he'd been implicated in brutal security excesses. Another time he'd nearly beaten a company superior to death during an argument. Several times he'd been suspended from duty but rehired. He'd also been with the Marseilles police, but the resume had listed a tenure of ten years, while the telex had only reported two terms of one year each, six years apart. Eight years of Lefebre's life were missing, and
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