Our Little Secret Ch. 01

Joel arrived at the MARTA headquarters on Tuesday morning at nine sharp on another warm sunny day. He announced himself to the same receptionist, who again asked his purpose for visiting. She once again called Keith Bradshaw, and this time the receptionist reported someone will come down to collect Joel.

A young woman -- she couldn't be over 25 -- breezed into the front foyer and extended her hand with a smile. She was tall and slim with straight black, shoulder length hair. Her narrow hips and tiny tits presented the physique of a runway model. Her face was attractive, more aptly gorgeous. "Hello Mister Winkman," she extended her hand with a smile, "I'm Amber, Mister Bradshaw's assistant." She exuded that confidence that comes with natural beauty. She was wearing a knee-length red pencil skirt and a white button-up blouse with frills hiding the buttons. Her black high heels clicked as she crossed the hard floor to greet Joel.

He didn't know any women called Amber who wasn't a stripper. Joel tried to hide his bemusement. "Hi Amber," he smiled back weakly, and shook her hand, but he couldn't hold her beautiful blue eyed gaze. Joel looked down instead.

"If you'll sign in, please," Amber gestured toward the register at the front desk. Joel picked up the pen on the counter and filled in his name and company. Amber completed the remaining fields, depicting Keith Bradshaw as the person visited, and she signed for him in the signature field. "If you'll follow me, please," Amber offered, and used the ID card hanging around her neck to unlock the secure door she entered from. Joel retrieved his large rolling toolkit case and followed. "We better take the elevator," Amber nodded toward the heavy looking rolling case.

They arrived on the third floor, and Amber led him through a maze of hallways to a small conference room. "If you'll have a seat," Amber gestured to the row of chairs, "I'll let Mister Bradshaw know you're here." Joel watched her sleek figure walk away to the doorway and turn left down the hallway. As he watched her snug skirt hug the contours of her tight ass, Joel wondered if Amber fucked Keith regularly.

Joel started unpacking his toolkits from his case. He was just putting the empty protective case aside when he heard a voice in the room. "Joel," he heard, and looked up. A balding man in his fifties with a black and white speckled beard swooped into the room and extended his hand with a confident smile. "I'm Keith Bradshaw." Joel shook his hand, feeling intimidated by Keith's room-filling presence.

"Hi," Joel shook his hand back. Keith's eyes sparkled with self-assurance, and Joel looked down at the table.

"Listen," Keith offered, "I really want to thank you for coming down here on such short notice. I know Stewart would be here if he could." Joel nodded. "How did his surgery go?" Keith asked with genuine concern.

Joel didn't even know what was wrong with Stewart, let alone having surgery. "Uh," he faltered.

"That's okay," Keith gracefully rescued Joel from embarrassment. "I trust all went well." Joel nodded in agreement with Keith's sentiment. "Listen," Keith backed away two steps, "I hope you don't mind, I've invited some of our techies to join us. They can give you the lowdown on where we are."

"Yeah," Joel nodded uncertainly, "uh, that's fine."

Just then Amber returned to the doorway, and leaned in. "Can I get you gentlemen some coffee or anything?'' Joel's fantasy world was leaning toward the 'anything' option, but he asked for a coffee instead, two sugar, two milk. Tonight, he'd have to conjure up a scene with Jenny and Amber together. Keith said thanks but no thanks. Joel watched Amber retreat down the hallway without trying to look obvious.

A minute later, a man and a woman entered the room. He was perhaps thirty five, had fine red hair and fair skin. She looked slightly younger with wavy brown hair, bedroom brown eyes, and high cheekbones. Her skin was perfectly smooth, and her physique was attractively muscular without being butch. They both wore jeans and a button up shirt. They introduced themselves as Geoffrey Toller, head of the Message Management System, and she was Beatrice DeFalco, head of mobile display systems. Beatrice was another unusual name, Joel considered, as he wondered if this organization hired only good looking women with odd names.

"Where's Bill?" Keith asked them both.

"He's in a meeting with Judy," Geoffrey offered. "I'm guessing he's going to be a while."

"Okay," Keith nodded, understanding the hidden subtext that eluded Joel. "Let's get started, then." Just then the lovely, slim, dark haired Amber re-entered the room, and set a coffee down in front of Joel. "Thanks, Amber" Keith smiled as she backed toward the door.

"Yes," Joel remembered, "thank you," he offered weakly, embarrassed he didn't think to say it first.

"So," Keith started, "I think you have the background. Our mobile monitors that are cutting off the bottom segment of the display. We've run tests on the bench system here, and we can't duplicate the problem. It only happens on the live feeds. I'll let Geoffrey and Bea take it from here." Joel felt a moment of privileged intimacy to be included with the small circle of people who call Beatrice 'Bea'.

"We've checked the packets at both ends," Geoffrey added, "and they come out identical."

"Do you mean identical in size, or content," Joel asked, growing confident now that the topic of conversation was in his area of expertise.

"We can't check content -- we don't have the analyzer for that," Bea chimed in.

"Yeah," Joel nodded, "It's our proprietary protocol, that's why. I brought an analyzer." Joel paused. "So Derrek told me you are not using a FourLine FCS anywhere in the pipe," Joel checked for confirmation.

"No," Keith jumped in, "we didn't say that. Derrek phoned me and asked if we were using a FourLine FCS, and we said no. We don't know what the carrier is using."

Joel hung his head in frustration. That's two fuck-ups Derrek made. Joel specifically asked him to ask MARTA if there was a FourLine FCS used anywhere in the end-to-end connection. Joel looked up. "You need to find out if your carrier uses a FourLine FCS," Joel stated, "and if they are, make sure they are using version seven or later, otherwise you will get data loss, like what you are describing to me."

Geffrey pulled out his cell phone, and looked up a number in his contact list, and pressed CALL.

"Tom, it's Geoffrey," he opened the conversation, and everyone in the room listened to his end. "Can you tell me if you are using a FourLine Frame Compression System in our mobile bus data network?" ... "you are. What version?" ... "you're sure it's five point two?" ... "Yeah, okay, thanks." Geoffrey hung up, and gave Keith a hardened look as he saddled his phone.

"So that's almost certainly your problem right there," Joel explained. "We found the problem in version six, and FourLine corrected it in version seven." Joel added after a moment's thought. "I reviewed our technical specs on the way down here, and those specs rule out the use of version five point two. Not by name, you understand, but by performance requirements. If you passed those specs on to your carrier, which I am sure you must have, then you can make them change to something else."

"So that's it, then?" Bea asked.

"Well, I'll run the analyzer on both your source and destination packets, on both the bench and in a live setting, just to be sure," Joel assured them. "I'll be done before lunch, unless it turns out to be something else. But right now it is looking like it isn't a Quinton Systems problem."

"You know," Keith jumped in, "it's great that you identified this problem so quickly, but Jesus, Joel, why couldn't this have been sorted out over the phone?"

"I really don't know," Joel sympathized, because he agreed completely. "I specifically asked Derrek to ask you guys if there was a FourLine FCS anywhere in the end-to-end connection."

"You're shitting me!" Keith snapped back angrily. "Derrek phoned me, and asked me about FourLine. I asked him did he mean just us, or us and the carrier. He told me just the MARTA components."

"I'm really sorry," Joel offered understandingly, "I don't know what to tell you. It could be my mistake, and I just don't remember it right. I will check my notes -- I log every technical phone call and meeting. I have the log with me. I'll check after I'm done my tests."

"Can you check now?" Keith asked.

"Sure," Joel shrugged. "Give me a minute to boot up." He pulled out his ruggedized Toshiba laptop, and powered it on. While it was booting up, Joel asked "Do you notice it works in some areas and not others?"

"We seem to be okay downtown," Beatrice offered, "and we get problems everywhere else."

"Yeah," Joel nodded. "I know TrackTel is upgrading their network. I'm guessing that's who you're using for your carrier." Geoffrey and Beatrice exchanged a look at that comment. "They start with the urban core first, and they're probably installing the version nine FourLine FCS." His laptop came alive, and Joel entered his login credentials, and then went to his technical log app. He scanned through the entries. "Yeah," he pointed to the screen, "here it is. June Third, 3:17 PM. I sent an email to Derrek to ask MARTA if they used FourLine FCS anywhere in the end-to-end connection between the control and command center and the live bus terminal."

"Can you give me a copy of that email?" Keith asked.

"I'm really not supposed to. I know we really value your business, but it is considered privileged and proprietary information. I could get into serious trouble for that." Joel paused. "I'll tell you what, though, I can print out a copy of my personal log that describes the email. I can't give you a soft copy, though."

"I appreciate that much," Keith thanked him. Joel understood that, under their contract, MARTA had to pay for a service call that was not a Quinton problem. If it was Quinton's problem the service call costs were covered under warranty, which came out of Quinton's profit. Joel realized Keith was angling toward not paying for a service call that could have been prevented with a simple phone call. Frankly, Joel agreed with him, and he felt it was good customer relations for Quinton to pay for the service call, especially for a customer as valuable as MARTA. Joel pulled out a small portable printer, and turned it on. It automatically established a wireless link with the laptop, and he printed the entry of his log, and handed it to Keith. "Thanks," Keith nodded.

"So," Joel said, "do I do my bench testing in here, or do you want me to go to you lab?"

"We'll bring the equipment to you," Geoffrey said, and Bea nodded in agreement. Joel wasn't surprised. Often customers don't want contractors in their labs. "Then we'll take you to our live lab out back, and you can test on an actual bus."

"Perfect," Joel said.

"Joel," Keith stood up, "I really appreciate your honesty and candor. I wish we had more contractor reps like you and Stewart," and he extended his hand to Joel. Joel stood and smiled, and reached for Keith's hand, and Keith shook his hand firmly. "I have to leave for another meeting," Keith explained, "so I'll leave you in these two capable hands," he gestured toward Geoffrey and Beatrice. "But if there's anything you need, find Amber and she'll come get me."

Joel liked the idea of finding Amber, and resolved to manufacture a reason to see Keith. "Thanks," he replied.

An hour later, Joel was in the conference room alone conducting tests on the bench equipment. As he expected, everything worked properly. His work cell phone rang. Joel looked at the call display. It was Derrek McAlister, his boss. "Hey Derrek," he answered, ready to relay his report with confidence.

"What the fuck, Joel!" Derrek yelled.

"Sorry?" Joel asked, confused by Derrek's outburst.

"You're fucking right you're going to be sorry!" Derrek yelled through the earpiece. "What the fuck were you thinking, giving Keith Bradshaw a copy of your log?"

"It's not considered company proprietary," Joel defended himself.

"First of all, you fucking retard, it is proprietary," Derrek continued yelling. "Any fucking notation you make about our system on our time is our property. Just because it's not in an email doesn't mean shit," Derrek continued his belligerent rant. "Second, I don't give a fucking rat shit if it's proprietary or not. You don't pass internal information about conversations or emails you and I have to a client without my permission. Jesus fucking Christ, Joel! How the fuck did you get a job as a customer rep in the first place?"

Joel ignored the rhetorical question. "Look," he tried defending himself logically, "the client is right. We should not charge him for this trip."

"Then that's what you say," Derrek snapped back.

"I don't have the authority to make that decision," protested Joel.

"Then you tell them you'll take it back for discussion. You call me. You make me part of the solution. Instead, you've made me look like the problem. You don't make your customer happy by throwing your boss under the fucking bus, you fucking moron!"

"I'm not the moron that fucked up in the first place," Joel didn't have the courage to say. Instead, he eked out a weak "okay."

"Finish your testing, and get on a plane home today," Derrek ordered.

"My testing might go into the afternoon," Joel noted, concerned the problem might not be what he suspected it was.

"No," Derrek emphasized, "it fucking won't. I don't fucking care what you find in your fucking testing. You will finish your live lab testing by noon, then you will go to the airport, and get on a fucking plane, and you will fucking fly home tonight. Is there any part of that you don't fucking understand?" Derrek barked.

"No," Joel sulked. "I got it." The call went dead.

Joel's ears were still stinging from Derrek's rebuke when Beatrice came into the room. "How's it going?" she asked.

"I .. uh ..." Joel felt his face flush with embarrassment. He felt like she had listened into the whole tirade he had just suffered, even though logically he knew that was impossible. He took a deep breath. "I'm pretty well finished in here," Joel finally announced. "I'm ready for the live lab test." He paused looking at his equipment. "I ... ah ... just need to pack up my stuff."

"Okay," she offered cautiously. It didn't take a mind reader to sense something was definitely amiss with Joel. "I'll come back in five minutes."

Joel finished the live lab testing just before noon, and packed up his toolbox case. As he suspected, he found no problem with the Quinton equipment, but he did confirm the data signal was being corrupted when it passed through the wireless carrier network.

He was so flustered by his conversation with Derrek, Joel forgot to find Amber. He decided to walk back to his hotel, dragging his rolling case behind him. It took all of ten minutes.

He packed up his clothing, and called an Uber cab to the airport. Inside the cab, he texted to Valerie. "Finished up here. Heading to airport. I think I am fired."

"figures" was the one word text reply from his loving wife.

Joel used his work smartphone to book a 3PM flight to Boston. He arrived at Hartfield airport just past one, and after passing through security, he had just enough time to grab a quick lunch at a fast-food sandwich wrap outlet. His plane boarded on time, and he had no problems with his seat this time. This flight was an Airbus 319 -- six seats across with a center aisle. The plane was only two thirds full. Joel was sitting in seat 16A -- on the left window two rows behind the emergency exit. From his seat Joel pulled out his work cell phone and sent a quick email to his boss, Derrek, saying he was on the 3 PM flight, and then switched his cell phone to airplane mode before any reply could arrive.

Joel was seated beside a young mother and her five year old daughter. The daughter was in the middle seat, beside Joel. Seated ahead of him in the three seats were the father and two sons of the same family. The five family members exchanged various glances and conversations between the two rows. Although they were energetic, the children were well behaved, and Joel didn't at all mind the polite, inquisitive young girl sitting next to him.

An hour into the flight, somewhere over West Virginia, Joel heard the young boy in the seat ahead of him ask "Dad, what's that?" Joel looked out his window. Far ahead and way out to the left he saw a brilliant white light. It was brighter than anything he'd ever seen, save the sun itself. It appeared to be travelling in the opposite direction their plane was travelling, however Joel couldn't tell if that was true motion, or apparent motion because they were flying at such a high speed. The boy's father could not see it, because in the middle seat, he did not have the correct viewing angle out the window.

The light seemed to both increase speed and bank to its left -- toward their aircraft. Now Joel heard others in the plane gasp at the light, and quickly the entire cabin become abuzz between those who could see it and those who wanted to see it. People on the right side of the plane stood up and leaned across the aisle, trying to catch a glimpse of the bright flying object.

It picked up speed and turned again, and for the first time, Joel feared it might come close enough to become a concern to the plane's safety. It seemed to grow larger, but Joel couldn't tell if it was actually growing or if it looked larger because it was closer. Suddenly, Joel realized it was going to collide with the plane -- there was no escaping it, and he heard a volley of screams throughout the cabin as other people on the left side of the plane triangulated the same intersecting vectors.

Joel awoke in his seat. His mind was foggy, sluggish, as if he was dazed or in a dream. He shook his head, and noticed the young girl beside him was unconscious, as was her mother. The cabin was deathly quiet save the steady drone of the engines. No one was speaking. Finally he heard a distant male voice ask "What happened?"

Joel looked right, across the aisle. One of the three people seated there was just waking up. Joel looked left, out the window, checking the status of the aircraft. They were still flying straight and level. He could see the port side wing and engine, and both appeared fine. Signs of life were returning, as people started to awaken, but the girl and woman beside him were still unconscious. He felt the girl's neck for a pulse, and found one. Then he checked the woman's neck, and as he did, he heard "Are they alright?" It was her husband from the row ahead, looking back over the seat.

"They both have pulses," Joel replied, "but they seem unconscious."

"Dad, what happened?" one of his sons asked him.

"I don't know, Tod," he answered honestly, "but we're going to find out, and everything will be alright."

"Someone check the cockpit!" called a man's voice ahead. Right! Joel realized they could be flying on autopilot with everyone dead on the flight deck. He stood up, and crawled over the unconscious girl and woman beside him, and looked up the aisle, and that's when Joel became truly afraid. At least a half dozen people lay dead or unconscious in the aisle. He picked out both flight attendants among the stricken. He looked backward, and counted four more collapsed bodies behind him. Make that five -- he just barely could see the feet of someone in the back galley -- he guessed that was the third flight attendant.

He started walking carefully toward the front of the plane, stepping over the bodies as he did. Some of them were stirring awake, others remained still. In the front galley Joel saw a flight attendant lying on the floor, not moving. Her head was gashed, and she was bleeding. He surmised she must have struck her head on something as she went down. Joel squatted down and felt for a pulse. It was faint and rapid. That's not good.