Duplicity Ch. 03

Chapter 3

This is Chapter 3 of the story. It finishes the original tale I had in mind. Yes, a long illness and death in my own family had delayed just about everything, yes I need an editor/more imagination/better vocabulary/etc. (no I'm not going to get one, just stop writing for now).

And yes I started getting longwinded and then rushed the ending since I need to end this and a lot of other stuff.

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Mrs. Hammond burst our crying and barged into my private bathroom, slamming the door behind her. I looked at the two people sitting in front of me. People I respected and loved. Even Agnes had a tear in her eye and Jeremiah's voice sounded rough when he said; "Carol is having an affair."

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I was dumbstruck.

My heart was screaming that this was a mistake and yet my mind was telling me that these three people, each whom I trusted implicitly, would never make unfounded accusations of this type. My heart was saying that I trusted Carol implicitly as well. I was torn and broken and slumped to the ground.

I looked at Agnes and realized that my life as I thought I knew it was over. The pain in those eyes killed any possible doubts regarding the veracity of what I was being told. Mrs. Hammond, in a gesture of camaraderie and friendship sat down next me and enveloped me in a comforting embrace.

"Do you want to hear it?", asked Jeremiah.

Taking a deep breath, I nodded slightly, closing my eye and leaning back against the wall.

Delving into my business and private life, disagreeable as it was to Jeremiah, had been absolutely required in order to dispel the accusations which had been made via the company's Anonymous Tip-Off line. The tip had been communicated to Mrs. Hammond by the private contractor, leading to her contacting Agnes who in turn approached Jeremiah for advice. Although the triumvirate of Agnes, Jeremiah and Mrs. Hammond was convinced that the claims were bogus, our considering taking the company public and the good corporate governance any investors would require, necessitated a thorough and transparent investigation.

The timing of my trip to the UK had been fortuitous in that it got me out of the way in such a matter that investigating the claims could be performed without any perceived interference by me.

The same PI from years before was employed and the group set about taking dissecting, and forensically investigating, my business and private life.

I came out clean as a whistle. No surprise, actually it seemed that I had the horrible habit of not submitting claims for all business related expenses I had covered with my own credit card.

What did come to light however, were a few innocuous seeming charges on one of our personal credit cards, which took the PI all of a morning to follow up on.

The charges were from a motel a few towns over. The motel's long time manager was interviewed, I assume money changed hands and by the next morning the PI was presenting the triumvirate with a detailed account of visits to the motel going back more than ten years. These visits had all been paid for in cash, but on a few occasions, room service had been ordered and paid for via credit card.

CCTV records going back about 6 month positively identified Carol and her paramour. Brad Mitchell.

Jeremiah paused in his monotone recital and Agnes took over.

"I am so sorry, Peter. I'm afraid my family's dirty washing has become the source of your pain."

"Ten years. Ten fucking years! You're shitting me. Carol was still in school back then! This is bullshit!" I screamed, jumping up and glaring at the three.

With a little moue of pain, Agnes said: "It is my family's dirty washing, as I had said. Will you please let me explain?"

The anger in me dissolved at the vista of her transparent pain, and I slumped into one of the chairs, Mrs. Hammond joining to the side.

"Thank you, Peter. Please bear with me. The telling of this tale is as painful to me as hearing of it will be to you. Well, part of it anyway. Please understand that I am entrusting you with the darkest secrets of my family's history. This train wreck started more than 25 years ago, when John Marsden..."

The telling took all morning. The story, most of which had come to light as an indirect consequence of the PI's investigation into the thieving manager 11 years ago. The man had been a friend of Agnes' brother and she had kept him in the dark regarding the investigation. A bad decision in hindsight.

Agnes' brother had become aware of the investigation and, with the intuition born of a dirty conscience had decided he was the suspect. He sat down, penned Agnes a handwritten confession and took a walk out of his 17^th floor window.

John Marsden, a ladies man of note had apparently succeeded in convincing Marla Mitchell that her marriage vows allowed her some leeway in having a number of assignations with him. Agnes' brother became aware of this in an undetermined manner, met with the Lothario late one evening on a construction site and left him there as fill for the building's foundations. He was left with a remarkable lack of misgiving for more than ten years; until the fateful day the PIs came sniffing and he decided to end his life.

Agnes, determined not to sully the memory of her brother, swore to secrecy Jeremiah, who had found and read the letter; and buried and grieved her brother. She had in all honesty always held Marla in contempt, viewing her to be a leach at best but she loved Brad like the son she had never had and when their fortunes changed for the worst, had them move in with her.

But truth has the nasty habit of coming to the fore, and on one fateful afternoon Brad came home from school proclaiming that he had found the love of his life, a freshman by the name of Carol Marsden.

Meeting the girl, Agnes was shocked by traits they both shared in her suspicious eyes. Again employing her ever dependable PI, she was within a week presented with DNA proof that Brad and Carol were definitely half-brother and sister.

Revealing that Brad had not a drop of Mitchell blood in his veins, might start people asking questions she did not want asked. Finally confronting Marla with proof of her infidelity, Agnes threatened her with a life on the streets if she did not toe the line in doing as Agnes prescribed in keeping the issue a secret and keeping Brad and his sister apart.

Starting with gentle pressure the two women tried to dissuade Brad from pursuing a relationship with the girl. In typical teenager fashion, he proved to be disinclined to accept their opinion of his paramour and the matter culminated with Agnes' threat to disown him if he should not break off with Carol immediately.

He did so and upon graduation was shipped off back east to pursue his studies. This should have been the end of the matter.

In hindsight, Agnes suspected that this had not been the case. From the motel records, it seems that upon receipt of his 18^th birthday present, a very nice BMW sedan, Brad started regularly spending afternoons at the motel. Since no CCTV material existed this far back it was supposition of course, but Brad frequented the motel every time he came back from college.

The date and time of the first charge at the motel on my credit card, coincided with a reservation in Brad's name, dating to a week of Carol and I returning from honeymoon.

"There is a school of thought that calls this Genetic Sexual Attraction", Agnes said. "I personally think that my actions in pressuring Brad to stay away from Carol woke some kind of teenage rebellion which herded them together instead."

There was a long silence, broken only by Mrs. Hammonds sniffing tears away.

I felt like I had gone a full bout with Evander Holyfield.

Finally, Jeremiah asked, "What would you like to do, Peter?"

I wrung out. "I want to be a virgin when I get married, Peter. Lots of girls' hymen break from sports at school and stuff, Peter. I'm not really experienced but I've watched a lot of videos, Peter. Yaddah yaddah.

I am going to divorce her lying cheating, skank of an ass",

"You need to think of the possible repercussions first, my friend. Divorce is expensive."

"What! You are seriously thinking I will accept being lied to and cheated on for all this time? Really? Surely there is enough proof of her marrying me under false pretences and..."

"Stop!", Agnes exclaimed. "You need to take some time to think on this issue. We've had a few days to prepare and think we can get you a few days to assimilate what has happened and what needs to be done."

"What do you mean?"

Mrs. Hammond explained: "Carol's best friend from school, Lillian, is pregnant and having a bad time of it in her final trimester. She needs full time care and her husband - who happens to work for us - needs to go to a workshop in Chicago. I've spoken with Geoff - we do have a responsibility for the wellbeing of our employees and their families and by this time he should have asked Carol if she would mind caring for Lilian for the next few days."

Agnes piped in: "Irrespective of what you decide, we will need to arrange some type of care for the poor girl. Martin must really go to that workshop; we will badly need the new software when we start the power station project."

I was a piece of flotsam in the events that transpired that transpired from then on.

In the early afternoon my secretary, June, fielded a call from Carol, explaining that I was in back to back meetings regarding the power station project. My loving wife, having just come back from a few weeks with me where I had breathed and eaten nothing but said project (OK, and a few butties as well), understood and asked that the message be conveyed that I should call her cell, but that she would be away until Sunday.

The triumvirate decided that more information was needed and that this, together with the fact that I couldn't fool a two month old baby in my present state of mind, necessitated my immediate absence.

My call to Carol's cell, choreographed by Mrs. Hammond, just happened to coincide with Lillian's bath time and went to voice, so I left her a message, "Love, issues have come up with the power plant project. I am going back to the UK tomorrow morning. I will call you when I get there."

Jeremiah switched of my cell and threw it on my desk. Less than 24 hours later I was again ensconced in a tube of high-strength aluminium alloy streaming across the Atlantic, chaperoned by the Jeremiah.

The next three weeks were interesting, exiting and profitable. Yes, Richard Thompson sang, "Lucky in Life, Unlucky in Love", and I was living it. No sooner had we landed, than Jeremiah (my cell of course, was still laying on the desk in my office) received an urgent message from Agnes that I should contact the secretary of the power plant bid committee. I did so and, 15 minutes after checking, found myself bundled into a hotel meeting room with the whole bid committee, secretary and all, as well the representatives of two of the other shortlisted bid companies. We were requested to sign stacks of documents pertaining to non-disclosure, confidentiality (apparently not the same thing), the truthfulness of our bid presentations and a legion of other matters. Highly irregular and I was starting to feel uneasy about the whole thing and when a guy from British Ministry of Defence joined us the frustration of the last 48 hours burst came to a fore.

"I'm out of here," I said getting up; "this is highly irregular. Having this 'meeting', held here in these circumstances with a member of your government's MoD involved in what should be a purely civilian project reeks to high hell and honestly, not the type of shenanigans my company would like to get involved with."

I stomped out of the room leaving their amazed expressions behind and went off to find Jeremiah in the bar, where I had arranged to meet him after.

Not having signed any of the stack of documents, I started filling him in on the weird and wonderful way in which I had just lost us what would have been the most profitable transaction the company had ever undertaken.

My beer had not even arrived, when the MoD guy pitched up with a uniformed lackey in tow.

"Mr...Peter, please! You can't go around spilling your gust to people, it could have serious legal ram..."

"Shut up!" I was quite fed up. With the Brits, Carol, the Triumvirate and life in general. "I am not a citizen of your quant little island. Everything in the bloody project spec and our bid document is a matter of public record and at the moment the only serious legal issue I see at hand is you harassing me!"

"But Peter, yo..."

"Shut up, I said! You don't know me bub, were not on first name terms. If you want to talk to me, you may address me as 'Mister', but honestly I really don't give a shit about anything you have to say, so just bugger off, and stop bothering me."

He was gaping at me, unable to utter a word, as was Jeremiah who had known me for a long time and couldn't believe personality transformation I seemed to have undergone.

The uniformed lackey bristled, causing the spaghetti on his epaulettes to tremor, "You cannot address a head of department of the MoD in that manner, how dare you! I will personally see t..."

"Go to hell general. You want to see a political incident? Wait until our embassy hears about an America citizen being threatened by a uniformed member of your armed forces in a public venue."

His turn to gape. The MoD guy was turning an interesting shade of red. Not that I noticed, of course.

Jeremiah chose that moment to chip in, "Oh look, wave at that friendly lady videotaping this little discussion."

I look around and saw what looked like a Japanese tourist, indeed in the process of taping the altercation.

By some unspoken command, the two toadies turned around and stormed out of the bar, shouldering aside the Chair of the bid committee, who was standing in the doorway with the other two representatives watching the little scene.

I pointed in their direction to Jeremiah and downed my tepid beer in a single swallow.

Jeremiah turned around and exclaimed; "Harry Wilson, as I live and breathe! Come join us for a drink. You don't mind, do you Peter. Bring those two with, if you want."

Harry and the other two approached, Jeremiah decided we needed a table and in due course I was trapped at a table with two guys who couldn't stop reminiscing and two representatives sipping their drinks and only giving short replies when addressed directly. A rather nice Speyside or two and a warning look from Jeremiah convinced me to keep my trap shut for the interim.

From the way they spoke for the next 30 minutes, I gather that they'd run into one another over the years during the course of a few big projects, and that they shared quite a few acquaintances.

"So Harry, they going to lock you in the Tower if you tell us what that was all about?" Jeremiah enquired at last.

"Yes well, that is the question isn't it? Possibly, probably if those two get their way. But fuck them anyway. Peter, errr... may I call you Peter? "

Toasting him with my now empty glass, I replied; "Gladly." Jeremiah got the hint and waved a the barlady.

"OK Peter, Jeremiah. These two gents have signed all those little documents guaranteeing their lifelong silence, so they are all right and I guess I will just have to trust you two?"

I shared a glance with Jeremiah, lifting an eyebrow and he, sighing, got up and went off to berate the unresponsive bar lady.

"Tell you what Harry. This sounds serious, so let's limit the fallout by limiting the exposure. It is obviously serious enough, considering the events that had just transpired? Just tell me what you can without getting into too much trouble, and we'll go from there."

He was nodding in agreement when a voice behind me exclaimed, "What a capital idea!"

Jerking around I found a smallish, trim man standing behind me, eyeing the gathering. "Although I do suggest the other Mr. Wilson join us. If can be dragged away from the bar, that is."

Jeremiah felt our eyes on him and at a signal from Harry did indeed join us.

"Gentlemen, my I present Mr. Smythe from ...errr... our government..."

'Smythe' tittered, "These days it is quite acceptable to say MI5, Mr Wilson, quite acceptable. But please do call me John, gentlemen."

I noticed that the other two company representatives were, to all intents, being ignored. Interesting.

When Jeremiah had settled, 'Smythe' prompted Harry; "Please do continue with your tale if you will, Mr. Wilson. Feel free to spare no detail, I am sure our compatriots will prove to be paragons of discretion should this be required. Am I right, gentlemen?" The last while peering at the other two reps, which garnered nervous nods from both.

The story was John le Carré featuring Peter Sellers' Inspector Clouseau.

The bid committee had decided that none of the local bidders would manage to deliver on the whole contract. It was decided that three international companies would be short-listed and the two leading British companies would be included in this list. Once a decision had been taken regarding the winning international bidder, the bid would be awarded with the requirement that the two smaller British companies be included as much as possible in the scope of the project. The winning bidder would in effect be the lead contractor, but would have to subcontract the smaller British companies to a greater extent. Think unholy crossing between a Joint Venture and a shotgun wedding. Nothing untoward at all.

Although a private project, this type of infrastructure is developed under watchful eye the Centre for the Protection of National Infrastructure. Who contacted the fire brigade, coast guard, local boy scout (do they have those?) chapter and the MoD, when an email from the French leading bidder to his German counterpart was inadvertently copied to a member of the bid committee. It blew open the fact that these companies were colluding with one another and were both in actual fact, mere well organised fronts for the same Czech outfit.

Which left us as the only viable bidder. Oh joy.

"Why tell us? Why not just appoint us and get the job done?" Jeremiah asking the rights questions.

It transpired that the Czech 'mother' company had been eliminated in the early stages of the bid process due to their, shall we say, political leanings and their penchant for industrial espionage. Which explained the involvement of MI5.

The rest of my stay in the UK was the perfect distraction from my domestic woes. Having 'forgotten' my cell at home, communication with Carol was limited to calls from my suite and discussing the publicly available details of the project with her meant I didn't have to act too much.

When we left I had brokered a hardnosed deal that included only one of the British companies, with a workload that would keep us busy for at least 10 years. 25 realistically. Agnes would be ecstatic.

In a scene reminiscent on the one from my previous return from the UK, I was again together with 'The Triumvirate' in a meeting room at the PI's office. In my absence Carol had, had a meeting at the motel with Brad. Surprise, surprise. My PI (Yes, other people have a family doctor or lawyer, I now seemed to have a PI), had managed to wire their room for video and sound. Illegal as hell but informative.

They didn't have sex.

They sat fully clothed for two hours, holding hands but chatting like two casual acquaintances. The only sexual thing that came up was when they were leaving and Carol gave Brad a peck the cheek. Grabbing her and going in for a smooch, she fought him off. "No Brad! I've told you before; I will not cheat on Peter! Whilst I am married to him, I am his and only his!" Brad accepted this with ill grace and garnered the promise from her that they would meet again, soon. The PI left the recording equipment in place.