Deliverables: Joel Smith, #1

By Tom Spears

Roger Follansbee doesn't know what to do.

He's the director of Information Technology at ESS, a battery company with a new technology that could revolutionize the world of electrical energy generation and storage. The company is pursuing a license with a German conglomerate to help make Quantum, the new energy storage system, immediately available for multiple applications across the globe. Once the deal is announced, the company's stock price should soar, and everyone -- including Roger -- will get rich. Follansbee's future looks bright.

That is until Geoff Sommers of the Central Intelligence Agency calls him. He claims Hoeffner International, the German partner, has a questionable history of protecting sensitive technology -- and Quantum may have military applications that Roger never dreamed of.

He is torn between the loyalty owed to his employer, and it's greedy, obnoxious leader, Tony Ng, and the loyalty he owes to his country.

Deliverables is a story about Roger's decision to go against ESS, and the consequences of that decision.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tom Spears
• Release date: Jun 30, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476260877

Tom Spears

Tom Spears earned a Bachelors of Science degree in Engineering from Purdue University, and a Masters in Business Administration from Harvard University. He spent twenty-seven years working for four U.S. based public Corporations. During fifteen of those years he held a title of President or Group President. Tom retired from his last Group President position in 2010 to pursue his interest in writing fiction. He still consults occasionally, having expertise in manufacturing, engineering, pricing, strategy and corporate politics. Tom lives with his wife and six children in Ashland, Nebraska.

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Part 1 – Roger Follansbee

Chapter 1

I glanced around the inside of the restaurant, stomach acid burning a hole in my throat. I felt I was hyperventilating as I watched patron after patron walk in the entrance, wondering if each could be the man I was here to meet.

Wynkoop, the oldest microbrewery in Denver right across from Union Station, was a bit out of the way, but I would have driven to Utah, given the menace in Sommers’ voice.

A tall, lanky guy scanned the room from the entrance, and I caught my breath in anticipation. He appeared exactly as I imagined a government agent would look, overdressed and trying too hard to blend in. He must be Geoff Sommers, I decided.

After a quick look around the tables, my junior James Bond walked over to the bar and embraced a woman there. Wrong guy.

Of course, he might have a tough time picking me out in a crowd, too. I was middling height, middling weight, with a slight nerdy-ness I couldn’t seem to shake.

I checked the time on my phone. If Sommers strolled in now he would still be ten minutes early. I’d already been here for half a lifetime sipping a Diet Coke and pretending to concentrate on my BlackBerry. I doubted I was fooling anyone, not even myself.

Is this chair taken?

Behind me stood a middle aged balding guy looking down with a big stupid grin on his face. He had a medium-sized paunch, and was wearing an ill-fitting Broncos sweatshirt.

I’m waiting for someone, I said, dismissively.

Maybe I’m the guy you’re waiting for, he said. The combination of the words and voice caused me to do a double take. Geoff Sommers? Really?

Maybe, I said, trying to look calm, cool and collected, although I was feeling a tingling in all my extremities, like I did any time I felt like I was about to pass out.

The man extended a hand as he came around the table.

Geoff Sommers, he said, as I shook his hand. He had a vice-like grip that I hadn’t expected given his doughiness.

Roger Follansbee, I replied. But I guess you already knew that.

Sure.

I looked around the brewpub. No one appeared to be watching us, and the pesky waiter who had stopped by my table about thirty times since I arrived was nowhere in sight. It was time to make my move.

Okay Sommers, you got me here. Now explain yourself. What’s all this bullshit about national security?

~ ~ ~

Sommers’ call came yesterday afternoon – not to my office phone, but to my cell. I rarely gave the number to anyone, otherwise it would be ringing all the time. I normally just provided the office number, and forwarded my calls to the cell when it was convenient. This one came in directly to the mobile number, and caller ID flagged it as an Unknown Caller. I normally wouldn’t have answered, but for some reason I did.

I was sitting in Tony Ng’s Scandinavian-tacky office working on a new video call application for his computer – he’s the CEO of Energy Storage Solutions, and is a real pain in the ass. I was happy for any interruption.

Hello? I said.

"Is this Roger Follansbee?"

Yes. Who are you? I’m not normally quite so rude, but like I said, few people had my number, and I was pretty sure this caller wasn’t one of them. Probably a salesman, I figured.

"Roger, you don’t know me. My name is Geoff Sommers, and I work for a very important organization that’s concerned with the security of the United States."

I tried to absorb this. A what? A very important organization?

What are we talking here? CIA? NSA? What?

"Yes," Sommers said. The less you know the better.

Not really. My mother taught me not to talk to strangers.

And with that, I hung up on him.

Ng gave me a strange look, but I just shrugged my shoulders and looked back at his computer. He went back to ignoring me.

I usually don’t hang up on people, even when I should. But this got under my skin – not just annoying me, but worrying me a little. The government? Call me about the security of the country? Somebody’s idea of a joke.

The phone went off again. Unknown Caller. Again.

Pardon me, I said to Ng, as I ducked out of his office and into the hall.

What do you want?

"Knock it off," the voice said. You hang up on me again, and I won’t be able to help you.

Help me? With what?

He ignored my question.

"My colleagues and I have been watching Energy Storage Solutions for some time now, and we have concerns. Grave concerns, I’m afraid. About the direction the company is taking, that is."

Like what? I asked. My pulse was already kicking up. This sounded vaguely threatening.

"I wonder if you would be willing to meet with me over lunch tomorrow to discuss it?"

Sure, I could, but why would I? I had no idea who this guy was or what he wanted, other than the fact he was implying something bad – maybe even something illegal – was going on at ESS.

You need to give me a little bit more to go on, before I’ll agree to waste my time, I finally managed to mutter. I just wanted the guy off of my phone. I didn’t need any additional stress right now.

"Quantum," he said.

And with that, he hooked me.

I took a deep breath.

Okay, where do you want to meet?

~ ~ ~

I don’t want you to think that we normally watch American companies or Americans in general, but ESS is…well, it’s a special situation, Sommers said.

This made me frown. ESS was special? It merited government observation? Sure, Quantum was a big deal, but to the government? I doubted it.

I can’t imagine what a little battery company could possibly do to attract the attention of the Central Intelligence Agency, I said. I was guessing he was from the CIA, and I wanted to provoke him to put some cards on the table.

But ESS isn’t just a battery company, is it? It never has been.

That was true. The company was initially started to develop new and innovative electrical energy storage products, the kinds of things that would make electric cars, wind turbines, or photovoltaic cells more practical. But that was before the Automotive Division was purchased. Since then, the public markets thought of ESS as an automotive battery company, albeit one with delusions of grandeur.

Go on, I said, intending to sound impatient, but instead having it come out snarly.

The ESS founders, White and Anderson, both have...high profile reputations. They have been persons of interest to the government for a number of years. There can be a fine line between an activist and a terrorist, you know.

I had never even met Jan Anderson – she had already retired from ESS before I came on board. Ed White would occasionally spout off about irresponsible corporations, externalities, or democracy’s failure to manage our capitalist economy, but nobody at the company paid much attention to it. I guess he could have a reputation that might bother someone in the intelligence community, although it seemed like a stretch. The whole thing was sounding a bit like McCarthyism. Or Brave New World.

But Jan is gone. She has been for four years, and I understand she’s very ill. And Ed is just a figurehead. He lost all his real power back when the board appointed Tony Ng as CEO.

We don’t suspect White or Anderson of anything improper. I merely mentioned it so you would understand there are reasons we’ve been watching ESS. Of course, we know what the company is trying to accomplish with the Quantum project.

While the project had been occasionally mentioned publicly over the years, no one outside ESS knew they had succeeded in its development. And the public statements had ended a while ago, making Quantum ESS’s deepest secret. I wasn’t going to give anything away just because he knew the name of the project.

Look Geoff, let’s cut to the chase. I don’t really care what you do or don’t know. Just tell me what you want.

We know the Quantum effort is nearing completion, and the company is in secret negotiations with Hoeffner International. We don’t know the scope of those discussions. I’d like you to help us figure out what risks a deal with Hoeffner might represent to national security?

Now I was shocked. He knew a lot more than just the project name. He knew about the deal we were cutting with the German electrical equipment giant. Even within ESS only the top management people knew about the negotiations. I only knew because I handled information tech at ESS, and as a result, the top people sometimes need my help.

I paused, considering how to handle this.

Let’s say, hypothetically, you’re correct – which I’m not confirming, you understand? I said.

He nodded his head.

What would be wrong with it? Hoeffner is very well known, and they have a great reputation.

He smiled. I was reminded of Alice’s Cheshire cat. In an instant the expression vanished, and was replaced with one of concern.

I wouldn’t assume Hoeffner’s reputation is all that clean, he said. They have ties to numerous governments around the world – some of which are not particularly friendly to American interests. You may have heard, for example, that they supplied nuclear processing technology to Iran – techniques that have helped the Iranian government come much closer to their dream of being the nuclear weapons powerhouse of the Middle East. That incident actually made the papers.

No, I didn’t know, I confessed.

Did you know they sold machining centers to China, and provided the know-how to make complex precision surfaces as part of the deal – the kind of precise machining you might find on an advanced submarine propeller? And don’t even get me started on North Korea….

I remained silent. Could he be telling me the truth?

"Perhaps knowing that would make you a little less enthusiastic about providing a technology with obvious military applications to Hoeffner. I mean, making money is great, but we all want a safe America for our kids to grow up in too, don’t we?"

The McCarthyism had returned. There was obviously only one answer to the question if you loved your country.

If what you’re saying is true, why me? Why don’t you go to Ng? Or Ed White? Or the board?

Sommers had clearly thought through the answer to this question ahead of time, because he jumped right into an explanation.

We decided against dealing with Mr. Ng, frankly because he appears to be remarkably self-interested. If we insisted he put the brakes on the deal, it would hit his wallet – big time. We need help, not a battalion of lawyers challenging every question we ask. And Ed White would never help us – we represent the establishment he wants to poke in the eye.

He had Tony Ng sized up pretty well, for sure. The guy was definitely driving hard for the Hoeffner deal, and would likely run over anyone who got in the way. I didn’t know Ed well enough to know if Sommers’ characterization was a hundred percent accurate, but based on the impression I had, it was close enough.

There might be nothing to worry about, Sommers said, not waiting for me to reply. Right now we just need to find out what’s happening. If the deal is on the up and up, and there’s no risk of the technology ending up in the hands of a dangerous foreign power, then I’ll just go away. I don’t think ESS wants its technology stolen by Hoeffner and provided to some Chinese manufacturer who would ultimately chisel away all the profits, either. You would be doing your employer and your country a big favor by agreeing to help me out.

We had gone to extreme lengths to protect Quantum, and the last thing the company needed was to lose control of it. To have a bunch of price-gouging competitors crawl out from under various rocks would hardly be in the shareholders’ interests. On the other hand, the board put its trust in the CEO, and they seemed to be completely aware of everything that was happening.

Well, that’s all lovely and everything, I said, but how do I know you’re with the government and not another competitor like G.E. or something?

You don’t. The problem is that I can’t lay everything out nice and neat so you can feel comfortable in dealing with me. It would undermine the whole purpose. I have to be under the radar, or I can’t do my job. He sat back and crossed his legs. You’re our first choice. I could go on to the next guy, but I think you’re best positioned to help us.

And what if I don’t?

Sommers half-shrugged and gave me a thoughtful look. Then, when the whole thing comes crashing down, you’ll be among the casualties. The train’s already in motion. It’s just a matter of whether you want to jump on board or not.

It was my turn to look thoughtful. That sounds vaguely threatening.

"It’s a reality. When I say, ‘Jump on the train or you’ll get run over by it,’ it is a threat – and also me offering you a helping hand."

I took a sip of my drink. Well, I think you understand my hesitancy. Just because you threw out the words ‘Quantum’ and ‘Hoeffner’ doesn’t mean I should automatically believe everything you say. After all, the Quantum project is something you can find on the Internet, and the Hoeffner deal could just be a logical guess.

But it’s not a guess. ESS has been in negotiations with Hoeffner. That’s a fact. I don’t need you to confirm it. I need you to help us decide if we have to stop it.

I can’t agree to this, I said. At least not right now. But I’m not saying no, either. I paused, feeling somewhat guilty about being so wishy-washy. I actually believed what he was saying, but I refused to walk blindly into something like this. And, frankly I didn’t want to do it. Let me give it some thought, and I’ll let you know in a day or two.

He looked disappointed. But if he was half the poker player I guessed he was, he already knew I’d say something along those lines.

Don’t take too long. Our sources, weak as they may be, say the deal with Hoeffner is moving fast. If we end up having to punish the ESS management team, the prosecution will be merciless. You now know about the risks to your country. Keeping your head down isn’t any way to find the light at the end of the tunnel. Deciding to ignore me will definitely put you directly in the train’s path. And trust me, you won’t be able to out-run it.

~ ~ ~

Driving back to Aurora, I had a million questions running through my head. Was this for real? Was Hoeffner really involved in cases of trading with America’s enemies? Why did Sommers have to call me?

I had a lot to think about. It basically boiled down to espionage. I was being asked by my government to spy on my company.

I wasn’t on the deal team, although I happened to know about it – just like I knew about everything that went on at ESS. I was the Director of Information Technology for the company, and if something involved the collection, transmission, or storage of information, I was a part of it – which probably explained why Sommers came at me first. Up to now I had limited curiosity about the Hoeffner deal – beyond data compatibility and transfer protocols, that is. I was way too busy to care much about the details.

I pulled into the parking area of ESS headquarters. It was a newish, single-story, concrete and glass building in an industrial park just off of I-70. Looking at the outside, you would never suspect world-class quantum physics research and development went on inside those walls.

I had never gotten completely used to the new digs – the sterile cleanliness of the Nano-tech labs, the modern-minimalist furnishings, the ink-blot art lining the lushly carpeted halls. They were certainly nice – much better than the gritty old manufacturing plant in Anderson, Indiana where I’d worked before the acquisition. But without the smell of machine lubricant, or a mess from plastic injection molding scrap, it seemed…fake.

I parked my car and hurried in. I typically didn’t take long lunches, and I was guiltily wondering if anyone had missed me. I was already thinking like a spy. After realizing it, I mentally kicked myself and resolved to stop it. But it didn’t work – the story Sommers had told me kept turning over again and again in my mind.

I ended up doing what most living creatures do when feeling threatened – I burrowed into a hidey-hole by hustling down to my office and closing the door.

I sat down at my computer, glancing at my inbox – forty-four new messages just during lunch. Jesus, don’t these people have anything better to do than to copy me on every stinking email they send? It hadn’t always been that way, at least that’s what I had been told. Before Tony Ng’s reign of terror, people just did their jobs, and didn’t invest a lot of time trying to cover their asses. Now, it seemed like every discussion was documented, sent to your ten closest work associates, and put in storage forever.

I opened a new browser window and typed Hoeffner Iran nuclear into the search engine. In less than a second, I saw the article I wanted, originally reported in the New York Times about three years ago. I read through the first couple of paragraphs.

Hoeffner International Admits to Iranian Nuclear Shipments

Frankfurt, Germany – AP

German electrical equipment giant, Hoeffner International, admitted to the U.S. Justice Department they had unintentionally shipped nuclear fuel reprocessing equipment to an Iranian customer. According to company sources, an Italian subsidiary inadvertently sold manufacturing components critical to the production of plutonium to a French firm. The firm has been previously identified by U.S. government officials as a front for the Iranian government.

"We’ve made a big mistake, and have acknowledged it in our submission to the United States Department of Justice, said Hoeffner CEO, Thorsten Holtzmann. The responsible members of management have been terminated from their positions, and we await the decision by the U.S. government as to penalties."

DOJ officials were unavailable for comment, but an anonymous source confirms it is unlikely the government will act on the admission. Although Hoeffner has operations based in the United States, the extension of U.S. export law to a foreign headquartered multinational is untested in the courts.…

So, on this count, Sommers had been telling the truth – at least about the Iranian incident. I seriously doubted Hoeffner would have turned themselves in to the DOJ if they thought they weren’t likely to be exposed.

There were no subsequent articles on the subject. It appeared the incident had been a tempest in a teapot – or had been efficiently swept under the rug – without any long-term consequences to the German firm. I tried locating anything on Chinese machine tool sales, or news associated with Hoeffner and submarines, but came up blank.

Before I could look into North Korea, my Internet surfing was interrupted by a knock at the door.

Come in, I said.

The door opened a crack, and Christina Taylor, the Chief Financial Officer, poked her head in.

Roger? Are you coming to Tony’s staff meeting? she asked.

Christina Taylor represented a series of firsts for me – my first female boss, my first African-American boss, and the first to be younger than me. She was also the first one I actually liked.

Duh! I said, banging myself in the side of my head, doing my best Homer Simpson impersonation.

I think the word you’re looking for is – Doh! she said, smiling.

I grabbed a pad of paper and a pen and hurried.

Must have doooonuuuut, I said, though I stopped short of actually drooling.

Together we headed down executive row to our CEO’s weekly gum-scraping.

~ ~ ~

Tony Ng wasn’t an imposing figure – short, rail-thin and appearing much too young to be the CEO of anything other than a kindergarten. But he brought an intensity that left no one doubting who was in charge. We all fidgeted awkwardly waiting for him to kick off the meeting.

Okay, let’s get started. Christina, why don’t you go first.

I spaced out during a series of dull and mostly pointless updates from each staff member. When my turn came, I added thirty seconds of commentary on a system problem we’d had at the battery plant. No one paid any attention, and probably only Jim Castro, the President of the Automotive division, cared anyway, if even he was listening.

Thank you everyone. Now, I’d like to move on to the subject of our visitors next week.

I must have missed something. I looked around the room, and most of the management team seemed equally surprised. This was Ng’s way of being dramatic, and in Geoff Sommers’ words, self-interested. Ed White, one of the company founders, and only an occasional participant in these meetings, asked the question most of us had on our minds.

What visitors?

Ng leaned forward and looked around the room, as if to make sure he wasn’t overheard by someone with a glass pressed to the outside of the door.

This is all strictly confidential. Most of you have probably heard rumors we are talking to Hoeffner International about licensing the Quantum technology. We just don’t have the development or distribution muscle to do Quantum justice if we keep it to ourselves.

Not a shock. Everyone in the room had, at one time or another, worked on the project, and knew or guessed at the limitations. With the exception of my friendly Fed lunch date, the only people who knew anything about Hoeffner, Quantum, and a deal were in this room.

Tony, I have to go on record again saying I think this is a bad idea… Ed White started.

That was already debated during the board meeting, and it’s settled, Ng snapped. I would appreciate you not mentioning it again.

Yeah, Tony can be an asshole. Or maybe he always was, and managed to tone it down when he had to. I was pissed off on White’s behalf, but he seemed to take it in stride.

A team from Hoeffner will be here next week to plow through the final elements of the contract, and I want the entire event scripted. We’ll start with a welcome dinner on Monday evening….

Ng droned on for several minutes, going over the entire agenda – every minute detail, from the color of the napkins to who sat where. The only reason I was present was in case anybody needed something technical – like a video conference link-up, or something unusual in their PowerPoint presentation. It was clear the license agreement was a lot closer to completion than I thought.

What crossed my mind was not how much the deal might be worth, or what role (if any) I might play after it went through…but if I was going to take Sommers up on his offer, I would have to do it soon.

The meeting soon broke up with no additional news other than the napkins would be white with a blue trim, and German chocolate cake would be served for dessert. I wandered back toward my office, knowing I had a serious decision to make. And quickly.

Chapter 2

I needed Geoff Sommers right now about as much as I needed a hole in the head. While I was doing okay at work, there was always a lot to do, and keeping up made it a high stress environment. Tony Ng was a tough guy to work around, and the pressure he imposed on the organization rolled downhill. I spent my time working with the people on the receiving end of his tirades.

Then I had my home life to worry about. Something was going on with Wendy. I don’t know what, but I had my suspicions.

I understand that marriages have their highs and lows, their peaks and valleys, but we’ve been in this particular canyon for something going on three years.

While I’ve navigated through the corporate jungle, she’s been focusing on caring for Justin, Anna, and Colton, and with the youngest just starting kindergarten, Wendy had more time on her hands. I often wondered what she was doing to fill in the gaps. I just know it wasn’t spent paying attention to me.

There I go, sounding neglected. The hard-working bread-winner, moping around because he wasn’t getting enough nookie. I’ve really got to knock that off.

I put the finishing touches on a presentation I was scheduled to make to the senior staff tomorrow – the subject was disaster recovery. I briefly considered deleting all the supporting material and just putting my recommendation up – they’d buy it, not because I was so brilliant, but because they didn’t understand technology, and inherently trusted me to navigate the company through their confusion safely and economically.

But I left the justification in anyway, being a basically honest guy who wanted all my reasoning out on the table.

Then I checked my watch. Already 6:30. I guess sometimes time flies even if you’re not having fun.

I packed up my backpack and headed for the door.

When we had moved to Denver four years ago, the ESS corporate headquarters had already been relocated from Boulder to Aurora, a suburb. The reason for the move had been to tap into a deeper talent pool in the bigger city, but knowing Ng, I suspected another motive was closer to the truth – such as keeping the founders in Boulder at arm’s length.

I exited from the highway in Littleton, and in a few minutes was sitting in the driveway of my own little piece of the American dream – a tract Tudor two-story with blue trim, a clone of many other places in our nice but bland suburban neighborhood. Our home’s only distinguishing feature was a continually changing front door decoration, currently a rendition of a cornucopia, which rotated with the seasons – one of Wendy’s touches.

I sat in the car for a while thinking. On one hand, while I tended to believe Geoff Sommers’ story, it would be hard to say I trusted him. There was nothing to base it on. I had no idea who Sommers was, or who he was working for. And I had