The Luddite Conspiracy Ch. 01

"I am. And you are..."

"Cecile. Cecile Schaefer. I work with your husband." He looked a little sad as he said that, and Gina immediately knew that he had information she did not have.

Opening the door further, she smiled at him. "Please come in. My husband isn't...home right now, but I would like to ask you some questions while you're here."

Cecile stared, almost gawking at her, and she was reminded of her state of undress. She was also aware, in the distanced way a married woman is aware of such things, that he was much younger than her and attractive. She blushed a little.

"You are welcome to help yourself to a soda, if you want, and find a place to sit. I'm just going to slip into the bedroom and get dressed. If you don't mind."

"I...uh....no."

"I'm afraid all we have right now is Sprite, but it's in the refrigerator if you're thirsty." She excused herself and disappeared into the bedroom.

Cecile stared down the hallway after her, swallowed, and shook his head.

She was so beautiful!

He walked into the kitchen and took a Sprite out of the fridge. Then he reached into his pocket, took out the note, and looked at it.

This was what he came here to do, wasn't it? To replace the letter and then "find" it so that nobody would ever know he had taken it?

What was a woman like that doing with Neil Fenner?!

He shook his head. It didn't matter! This was his chance.

For some reason, that phrase stuck to him. "This is your chance," he said to himself. It seemed a summary of everything he felt right at that moment.

Bending down, he tucked the letter into the space between the fridge and the cabinetry. With a gentle tap, he tried pushing it back until it was barely in sight. He pushed too hard, though, and it vanished into the black.

Biting his lip, he started to reach out and adjust his work. He froze when a liltingly feminine voice called out from the bedroom.

"What were you here to see Neil about?" it asked.

What indeed? "I...uh..." he coughed. "I wasn't here to see him. I was here to see you."

A long pause. "Why?"

He looked at the place where the note had vanished into the black. What was wrong with him? This couldn't go anywhere good. But Cecile had never been more instantly attracted to a woman in his entire life.

He stood up, leaving the letter where it was. "I...I was worried about you."

With quick, soft steps, she rushed into the kitchen. She'd put on a pair of expensive jeans and a blouse, and she looked amazing. Cecile swallowed hard.

"Wh...what do you mean?" she looked terrified. "Why would you be worried about me?"

He looked away, not knowing what to say. All he could think about was what it would be like to feel her in his arms, to smell her shampoo and skin. He couldn't even think clearly enough to make something up.

"Cecile?" she asked. "Tell me what's going on with my husband."

"I..." he faltered, unsure of what to say.

"At least tell me he didn't cheat on me. I know it sounds crazy, but I'm starting to worry-"

Cecile saw his chance. "I'm sorry," he said quickly. He thought about Neil, about how everyone liked him and cared for him. About how easily he put his own desires out of mind for the sake of others. "I hate him for it," he said. And she must have thought he was continuing to answer her question, because she curled up against herself and sobbed. He reached out, and she let him hold her.

It felt incredible.

-=-=-

Neil Fenner stood staring at the door to the small manufactured home, breathing deeply. It had taken him a full day to check in to his hotel, rent a car, and find this house. Now was the moment he'd come down here for. He was expecting an angry reaction, possibly even some violence. In fact he was counting on it. But he also hoped that he could get the man to listen to some of what he had to say.

And what would that be? He wasn't sure. I killed my daughter, friend, and now I've killed yours, too.

Or maybe just, I'm sorry.

All he knew was that, for his own sake, he needed to try and be a part of this man's healing. He needed to know that this man wouldn't end up blaming himself the way he did. And he needed it to hurt. If a few punches were thrown, that was for the best. It might be therapy enough for the both of them. Anyway, Neil had a week before he had to go home, so that would give him time to recover.

He sighed. No reason to put it off any longer. He pushed the doorbell.

A younger man, maybe 30 years old and looking like he had a background in manual labor, opened the door. He had bags under his eyes and he needed a shower.

"Can I help you?" he asked slowly.

Neil took a deep breath. "Mr. Leise?"

"Yeah. What?"

"I need you to know that I am here of my own accord, on my own dime, and that nobody has asked or knows that I have come to see you."

The eyes grew narrow, and the man looked uncertain. "Okay..."

"My name is Neil Fenner, and I am the engineer who designed the Technica. I was in charge of making sure it was a safe and reliable vehicle, and I am worried that I might have failed. I wanted to tell you-"

The first blow jerked his head backward. He wasn't sure where he'd been hit. His entire left side hurt, from above the temple to the curve of his jaw. The second strike glanced off his throat, and he fell to the ground. He couldn't breathe.

Looking up, he saw the man rushing towards him.

Yes, he thought. This is good.

-=-=-

The day lived and died, and Paul found himself sitting in his apartment with the television on. It had been a strangely quiet time at work, with almost nothing to do. Neil was gone, obviously, but Cecile hadn't shown up either. He'd called in sick early in the day. Probably just nerves. The kid wasn't handling the stress of the situation very well. Certainly not any better than anybody else.

The phone rang, which in and of itself was a little unusual. The voice on the other end was shaking, edgy, and that added to the effect. Just the sound of the man talking was like hearing an ambulance coming your way.

"P...Paul?" the voice asked. "Is this Paul Keegan?"

"It is," he acknowledged. "I thought you were going to stick to e-mail, unless things went south."

"They're south. They're beyond south. Listen," the man breathed heavy into the receiver, "what I'm about to say stays between us...us and Neil. You know?"

"I know."

"I'm risking a lot, here, and I'm only doing it because I owe him."

"Who doesn't? Tell me what you know, and I'll pass it along."

"They're saying that it looks a lot like tampering."

"What?"

"The problem with the Technica was in the pedal linkage..."

"Just like Neil said it was."

"Right. But it was altered. After your designs were approved and tested."

"Wait. What? How was it altered?"

"The linkage design was minutely adjusted prior to going to factory. The version sent to the assembly line is slightly altered from the one you tested. It was changed, Paul."

"Who could have done that?"

"The only people with both the knowledge and the access are the members of your team."

"But we didn't do it. You know that." Without realizing it, Paul touched his forefinger to his thumb as though gripping the ghost of a cigarette. "Who else could have done it?"

"They're asking that same question right now. They're not coming up with anything."

"Jesus. What does this all mean for us?"

"I believe it means that you are going to face criminal charges, unless things change drastically. I don't really know much about any of this, but I wrote down what I heard on my pad-"

"Charges? Fuck. You can't be serious."

"The big office guys are having lawyers look into whether or not a conviction against a single engineer...or a team of engineers...might help protect them from further lawsuits. They're talking conspiracy, Paul."

"Without motive?"

"If they want this bad enough, they'll find a motive."

"Jesus Christ. We really are going to get thrown under the bus, aren't we?"

"You're already there. I'm sorry. Can you have Neil call me? There's not much I can do, but..."

"Neil left town. He won't be back for a week or more."

The man swore. "That will look bad. That will look very bad."

"Yeah," Paul swallowed. "It will. Listen, thanks for not asking."

"Asking what?"

"If we did it."

"I don't know you from Adam," the man admitted. "But I know Neil Fenner, and I guess you understand why that's enough. I can't e-mail you anymore, though...this is up to Legal, now, and I don't have any access there. But if I can learn more, I'll call you."

"I appreciate that." Paul hung up.

With a sigh, he tried to think his way through the days leading up to the initial run on the Technica. He couldn't remember anybody acting out of place or behaving strangely. Is it possible that someone else...

Actually, there was one thing. Paul could remember Cecile getting called into Tracy's office and getting reamed for something. What was it? Something insignificant. The poor kid had been almost in tears by the time he came out. It was just Tracy pulling rank on the new guy, trying to make sure that no matter how high he climbed, he would still harbor some fear of her. It was a part of her game. Happened all the time.

But it was the only thing that remotely stood out in his mind.

He decided to call Cecile.

He had to look the number up first, but when he dialed it rang and rang. Apparently, Cecile had no answering machine.

Fuck. It was after eight o'clock on a Thursday night. Where was that kid?