Bafo: (Best and Final Offer)

By Richard Haddock

When the Pentagon releases the biggest computer contract in history for bids, it gets everyone in Washington's attention, from the myriad computer services companies to the President of the United States. The multi-billion dollar NMS (Navy Material System) could sway political fortunes, make or break careers, and will serve to energize the FBI in its quest to uncover industry corruption. The political maneuvering, business posturing and personal vendettas surrounding NMS create a complex mosaic of intrigue, boardroom struggles and political chicanery at the highest levels of government. Not to mention the sex, drugs and industriual espionage that are intertwined as the proposals move from initial submittal to BAFO (Best And Final Offer) to award and protest.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Oct 8, 2002
• ISBN: 9781462097067

Richard Haddock

Dr. Haddock is retired and lives with his wife, Marilyn, in Northern Virginia.

Book preview

Contents

Foreword

PART I

SEPTEMBER

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

PART II

NOVEMBER– DECEMBER

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

PART III

JANUARY–APRIL

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

EPILOGUE

For

Lou DuBusc

And

The Young Turks

Foreword

In the late 1950’s, before Al Gore invented the Internet, before personal computers became as common as telephones, at a time when many people thought Microsoft was a new brand of laundry detergent, an industry was born. Following in the wake of the IBM-led computer revolution, corporations and government agencies, imbued with their shiny new toys ensconced in their expensive showrooms, soon found they needed help in developing software to make the electronic marvels work their magic. But the computer manufacturers were too busy pushing iron to focus on writing payroll programs or converting manual card files. This left a vast and rapidly growing sea of customers anxious for help. Enter the computer services industry.

The industry was bi-coastal in origin, some companies forming as subdivisions or off-shoots of the giant aerospace conglomerates in Southern California. Others fed off the Federal government’s insatiable thirst for computers, primarily in Washington, D.C. This latter group, with a veritable alphabet soup of three letter acronyms proclaiming their corporate sovereignty, began literally encircling the nation’s capital by hoisting their logos all around the Capital Beltway.

They were quickly dubbed the beltway bandits by Government procurement officials who were used to a multi-year process of purchasing bombers or battleships based on highly detailed requirements. The tasks of compiling an accurate set of computer services requirements, imbedding those requirements in an RFP, evaluating scores of proposals and making an award was simply too cumbersome in an environment where requirements could change overnight. This created the phenomena known as requirements creep, which often resulted in heated contract renegotiations, schedule lengthening, and more money being added to the contractor’s pot of gold even before work was underway on the newly awarded contract. Clients and procurement officials viewed the contractor’s approach to this frequent scenario as a bait and switch tactic; the bandits responded with the allegation that their clients simply couldn’t make up their mind what they wanted.

As the industry blossomed, it attracted a diverse mixture of personnel and personalities. There were, of course, engineers and programmers, the latter with little formal education in their craft, retired Government officials and a wave of the Pentagon’s finest. The new industry attracted an influx of salesmen, from true computer experts and professional marketing minds, to many hustlers just one step removed from peddling snake oil to the town folks. This combination of personalities and backgrounds created an industry mosaic as rich and colorful as the hell-on-wheels days of the transcontinental railroad and as diverse as the crowd at a heavyweight championship fight.

But, for every company that added to the reputation of the bandits there were examples of conscientious, dedicated organizations who prided themselves on the quality of their work, continually strove for excellence, and created a reputation of customer satisfaction. Many of these companies stressed an aerospace engineering discipline, began to hire the emerging flood of computer science graduates as programmers, and populated their management hierarchy with experienced business professionals rather than computer technicians who had risen from the pack or retired Generals who practiced their limited business acumen at the Ft. Myer Officer’s Club or the Army-Navy golf course.

Some companies reflected the personality and character of their founder or current savior. The two best examples were World Computer Systems (WCS) and Allied Data Systems (ADS). WCS was founded in 1960 by Big Jim Johnson, a California native who started the McLean, Virginia company on a shoestring, built a reputation for technical excellence and business integrity, and now enjoyed recognition as the most heralded CEO of the premier company in the industry. WCS solutions were technically superior, employed the best engineers and managers in the business, and never failed to satisfy their clients completely.

ADS, on the other hand, opened their doors in 1970 and underwent a turbulent series of senior management and ownership changes until Peter Jones, a flamboyant pitch man, was brought on as CEO with a mandate to save the financially troubled company. Jones stressed image over substance. He changed the corporate logo, redecorated the staid Silver Spring, Maryland-based headquarters with the most attractive furnishings and women he could find, and employed marketing tactics that stretched the procurement regulations to their limits. His we won’t build you a Cadillac when all you wanted was a Volkswagen mantra was particularly attractive to a clientele that was mired in budget cuts. Under Jones’s leadership, ADS established itself as the fastest growing company in the industry, a distant second to WCS in revenues and profits, but a surprising competitor nonetheless.

By the mid-1980’s the industry had achieved a level of homeostasis. The fly-by-night companies had flown into the night, new start-ups were generally limited to mom-and-pop small businesses, and the larger corporations, having survived the meteoric rise and settling out process, were reduced to a score in number through attrition and merger. The mainstay of the business changed from software for large mainframe systems to mini-computers and then to the emerging client-server networks of personal computers.

Government procurement regulations evolved as well. An engineering-like process was applied to developing the request for proposal (RFP), a structured checklist designed to remove subjectivity from the evaluation process was employed, and a rigorous set of rules and regulations made it more difficult for the ultimate client to exercise any personal influence over the award process.

Despite the relative maturity of the industry as a whole, there was still constant turbulence and change, driven by the rapid pace and advance of technology itself. Computer system and product life cycles decompressed from years to months. A foreshadowing of the 1990’s dot.com rise and fall occurred, many changes driven by technology alone rather than solid business practices or even common sense. Corporations and Government agencies felt obligated to keep current technologically to remain competitive or to meet the growing demands of a work volume created, and only able to be processed by, the computer. It was a self-fulfilling prophecy run amok and everyone was a willing participant in the charade. Then came NMS.

*            *            *            *

When a Navy F/A 18 Hornet crashed on the U.S.S. Andrew Jackson, it was back page news until it was discovered that the pilot who was killed was the eldest son of the senior Senator from Nebraska. Angered by this senseless loss of life on an unneeded training mission, not to mention the waste of a multi-million dollar aircraft, the Senator’s colleagues, always in quest of a high visibility cause, convened a Senate investigation on the matter.

The Navy’s spokesman at the hearings was Admiral Sanford Stony Brooks, a photogenic, articulate fast mover who seized the opportunity, and the limelight, to further his own career by accepting the Senate’s challenge to fix the deplorable Navy supply system that caused this horrible accident. Rather than besmirch the memory of one of its own, not to mention further antagonizing the body that determined its annual budget, the Navy adroitly withdrew its original verdict of pilot error. The Senate’s conclusion that the Navy’s antiquated supply system had provided the wrong part for the plane, thus causing a mechanical failure on take off, provided both a challenge and an opportunity for the wily Brooks.

Accepting the gauntlet thrown down by the Senate, not to mention the additional budget allocated for the project, Brooks immediately recalled a minor Navy computer system procurement known as the Navy Material System (NMS), and revamped and expanded it’s requirements to meet the Senate’s demands. His involvement in the procurement process was unprecedented and, in a town where such actions are commonplace, completely politically motivated.

This procurement, gentlemen, Brooks proclaimed privately to the white-knuckled Navy procurement team, will not stumble through the standard Mickey Mouse bullshit procurement process. NMS will be swift, efficient, and awarded to the absolute best computer services company in the business. I will not stand by and let your dumb-ass procurement regulations permit some Jack-Shit outfit to win this job and then fall on their ass when it comes to performing. The Senate expects a prototype system operational in twelve months and I will give it to them. His reputation, and his fourth star, hung in the balance. There would be no delays, mistakes or sophomoric procurement decisions on this job. No, sir. Not with Stony Brooks at the helm.

PART I

SEPTEMBER

CHAPTER 1

Bob Branigan looked at his watch. Six o’clock. He yawned and stretched, fists raised over his head. It would be another late night. He lowered his arms and stared off across the tiny conference room where the proposal strategy meeting had ended twenty minutes ago. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the far end of the room he could see the sprawl of buildings and roads spread out before him like a miniature city. When he had started at World Computer Systems (WCS), this had been the only building in the new Tyson’s industrial park. Now, it was surrounded by scores of glistening steel and colored glass towers, each sporting their own neon logos, like the red WCS letters that glowed on the roof overhead.

Bob had worked at WCS for nearly twenty years. As the company’s Chief Engineer he had achieved a national reputation for excellence, authored a dozen books and scores of articles on computer engineering and lectured frequently at local universities and industry conferences. He was an icon within the computer services industry and a living legend in the hallways of WCS headquarters in McLean, Virgina. It was said there wasn’t a major computer system running anywhere in the Government that didn’t have Bob’s fingerprints on it in some manner.

He continued to stare out the window, his mind whirring in a hundred different directions. The fifty-foot oak trees that rose to greet him were still clinging to their red, brown, and yellow leaves, obscuring his view of the neatly manicured grounds. He sighed. Tranquil moments like this had been few and far between these past few months. The proposal had seen to that. He frowned, picked up his ubiquitous spiral notebook as he stood up, then arched his back and rubbed at the small of it with his free hand, emitting a tired moan. He was getting too old for the workaholic life style that writing a large proposal required. But the Navy Material System (NMS) was more than just a large proposal. It was the procurement of the year, of the decade for that matter.

Bob walked out of the conference room towards the elevator at the end of the hall. Executive row here on the tenth floor was quiet, the senior managers having long since fled the premises for important dinner meetings, a rendezvous with a key client or mistress, or a quick nine holes at their country club. As he neared the elevator he saw a light from an open door. It was Dick Walker’s office.

Dick was a fellow Falls Church, Virginia, native whom Bob had met in the first grade. They had been classmates all the way through high school, then Bob moved on to Virginia Tech as an All-American football and baseball player, while Dick attended the University of Virginia. After college they both joined WCS, the new company that had started right up the street from their homes. Despite twenty years at WCS they had never had the chance to work together.

Bob had been the technician, the engineer who understood how the bits and bytes coursed through a computer’s veins, how programs talked to one another, how data was organized, stored and retrieved. Dick, on the other hand, had always been involved in project management; his focus was on overhead budgets, client satisfaction, executive presentations, and EBIDTA (earnings before interest, depreciation, taxes and amortization). But now, after years of fast-paced management assignments, Dick was languishing in the comparative inactivity of being a member of the executive staff.

Bob reached the open door and stuck his head inside the office. Hey, what the hell’s a big shot doing here this late?

Dick smiled, stood up and circled his desk. He had a thin, handsome face with chiseled features, brown eyes, and a full head of slightly graying hair. Bob, how the hell are you? How’s the proposal going?

Bob returned Dick’s handshake and moved slowly to the couch beside the desk, slumped down and tossed his notebook into the adjacent chair. We’re struggling, he said.

Oh?

Yeah, Munson is in over his head. The moron doesn’t have a clue about how to get us through BAFO and he won’t listen to any of my advice.

So— Dick said with a grin.

No, you ass hole, just because someone doesn’t listen to my advice doesn’t make them a moron.

Dick laughed. Good, because half the people in this building would be morons if that’s the case.

Bob leaned forward and lowered his voice. "In case you haven’t looked around old buddy, half the people in this building are morons."

Dick waved a hand. I know, and the other half are idiots. He stared at his friend. Except you and me, of course.

Bob smiled, but then his face turned serious. Well, the step four could be a massacre. Every proposal at WCS went through five distinct reviews with senior management, from original identification of the opportunity, through the step four which was prior to initial submission, to the step five which preceded the Best And Final Offer (BAFO). Bob closed his eyes. What day is it?

Dick grinned. Last time I looked it was Thursday.

Bob took a deep breath. Only a week to go. He looked around the office. So, have things picked up here?

Dick sighed. Not very much. I’ve audited some more projects and attended my share of boring meetings.

And what’s the bullshit meter read now?

Dick winced. Seven hundred and fifty nine days.

Bob shook his head. I don’t know how you keep from going nuts.

Dick shrugged.

Well, like I told you before, enjoy this vacation. It won’t last forever, pal. I haven’t even had time to take a leak lately. At least you’re able to get out of here every day and get some exercise. He shook his head again. Don’t know how you do it. Running around in a circle an hour every day would drive me bonkers, he said, referring to the high school track where Dick jogged every day at lunchtime. You know, I haven’t set foot in that place since we graduated. Guess it hasn’t changed much, huh?

Dick smiled. A few coats of paint, that’s all.

Bob laughed. You remember homecoming our junior year?

Dick nodded. I remember you scored a couple of touchdowns against Wakefield, but I got all the bragging rights by taking both the Hatfield twins to the dance.

Bob shook his head. "I scored four touchdowns scum-bag, but you bagged both the Hatfields and Judy Monroe that night."

Dick laughed. Who didn’t bag Judy Monroe?

Both men laughed. Lot of good times, huh, pal? Bob said.

Dick smiled. Yeah. He studied his old classmate. At six two, Bob still carried a trim athletic frame and weighed the same two hundred pounds he had in college. His blue eyes were bloodshot tonight, but were still the center of a handsome face, a full head of wavy black hair, and an engaging smile that had hypnotized women from adoring coeds to Washington’s most sophisticated socialites. Bob’s casual attire, never wearing a tie or business suit, added to his most-eligible-bachelor image and had started a fashion revolution amongst the aspiring young engineers who treated the man like he was a God.

So, when are you going to get out of this chicken-shit assignment? Bob said.

Dick laughed without humor. Who knows? He stared at a spot on the floor in front of the desk, then up at his guest. You know, some days I sit here and wonder if I’ve totally lost my edge. I listen to these new hot shots and they talk a different language. I feel like an outsider.

Bob scoffed. You ain’t missing nothing, pal. Yeah, there’s a lot of new technology, a lot of new buzzwords, but it’s what we were doing twenty years ago. They’ve just dusted them off and given them new names. That’s all. These new hot shots couldn’t carry your jock strap. He chuckled. Remember when we used to have just thirty days to do a proposal?

Dick nodded and smiled.

I’ve been working this mother for over six months.

Yeah, I read the new RFP, Dick said.

Do you believe those changes? Bob said. The amendments are ridiculous. Two thousand systems to be deployed. He shook his head. This thing is a multi-billion dollar job now.

Dick let out a whistle. Nothing like the old days, huh?

It’s a different world. Bob took a deep breath and leaned his head back, eyes searching the ceiling. Proposals used to be works of art, remember? You busted your butt, lots of cold pizza and warm beer. There was a problem to solve and working the solution was, well, it was fun.

Dick nodded.

Today, it’s just a checklist of meeting requirements. Makes the evaluation clean and easy, but it doesn’t do a damn thing for creativity. It all comes down to low price.

Dick leaned back in his chair. Well, I can’t believe that will be the case with NMS. It’s got too much visibility. He gestured towards the newspaper on the corner of his desk. The Post has been running a series on the procurement. It’s drawn a lot of attention from a lot of important people.

Bob registered a surprised look on his face. Yeah? Like who? I haven’t had time to read a paper in months.

Well, Dick said, the administration has apparently chosen NMS to spearhead its modernization initiatives.

Bob laughed. Yeah, the President’s right on, most of the Government still uses technology that was outdated when Lincoln was in office.

Dick nodded. Well, Senator Winoski is counting on that resistance I suppose. Pudge Winoski was the Republican’s leading candidate for President in next year’s election. If NMS is a failure in any way, he’ll pounce on that as an example of our young, snot-nosed President trying to move the country too fast in the wrong direction.

Jesus, Bob said. So we got the two parties lined up on either side of this thing, huh?

It’s worse than that. You’ve got DoD going toe-to-toe with Congress over the budget, the Navy elbowing the other services for control, and everybody in town jockeying for a position depending on the outcome. In addition you’ve got Navy procurement insisting this will be a by-the-book acquisition, with Stony Brooks beating them with a whip to take every shortcut they can to get this thing awarded quickly.

Yeah, Stony Brooks will be a hero if he pulls NMS off, that’s for sure, Bob said.

He’ll probably get the CNO (Chief of Naval Operations) job if he’s able to have the IOC (Initial Operating Capability) running in one year, Dick said.

The schedule seemed more politically than technically derived, Bob considered, just before next year’s November elections. He pointed towards the newspaper. They say anything about how Allied got involved?

Dick frowned. Those miserable pirates.

Everybody knew that Allied Data Systems (ADS) was a cutthroat outfit that specialized in minimally complying with RFP requirements, cleverly creating loopholes and caveats that allowed them to price their proposals at dirt-cheap rates, then negotiate adjustments and contract modifications after award that recouped their initial losses.

Yeah, how in the world did they get on the same page as us on this one? Bob said.

Dick raised two fingers. Two reasons. When the Navy recalled the original RFP and revised it to meet the Senate’s requirements, it became apparent that we were the only company capable of making the necessary investments to submit a proposal. In order to have a true competition, Navy procurement convinced Allied to bid this job.

In return for what?

Dick shrugged. The second factor was Winoski’s influence.

Bob shook his head. What do you mean?

You see, if WCS was the lone bidder, Winoski’s gang figured we could and would pull it off.

And that would further the administration’s modernization program?

Yes, and almost guarantee the President a second term.

Bob pointed a finger at his old friend. But if some shady outfit like Allied won the job—

Exactly. NMS wouldn’t have a chance to be on schedule, the procurement would be a fiasco, and the Administration’s modernization program would die on the vine.

Along with the president’s re-election.

Dick nodded. So what we have here is a full-scale, winner-take-all, high-stakes poker game.

Bob let out a low whistle. Hell, I’ve had my head so far down in the technical details I had no idea about, well, all this other political mumbo-jumbo.

Dick nodded his understanding.

So why in the world do we have a dimwit like Munson running such a key proposal? How did that ever happen?

Simple. When NMS first came out it was a relatively straightforward procurement, the sort a guy like Munson could handle.

But when the revised RFP was released surely Big Jim could see that somebody else needed to be in charge? Bob said. He picked up his notebook and waved it back and forth. You know, we just spent over an hour in another one of Munson’s goddamned strategy meetings discussing what the proposal cover should look like. You believe that? He tossed the notebook back into the chair.

Dick shook his head. Well, I know that Schelling and Presley are very concerned about Munson.

Ted Schelling and Gene Presley were the two most senior marketing vice-presidents at WCS, each possessing a diametrically opposed approach to the art of marketing, both constantly battling for influence with Big Jim.

Well, those guys ain’t helping much, Bob said. Each one wants to impress Big Jim that they’re in control of everything and Munson is like a ping pong ball being bounced back and forth between them. Bob frowned. I just don’t understand why Big Jim hasn’t done something about Munson. It’s just not like him, you know?

Well, he hasn’t been himself since the accident.

Bob formed a tight-lipped frown as he recalled the automobile accident three years ago that had killed Big Jim’s wife and two teenage children. Yeah, he said softly, I guess you’re right.

Dick slapped his desk and pointed at his long-time colleague and friend. Well, you’re the best damned engineer in the business, Bob. If the Navy knows what it’s doing, then we ought to be a shoe-in.

Bob shrugged. Big assumption that the Navy knows what it’s doing, pal. He got up, walked across the room, and stared out the window.

You look like hell, Dick said with a chuckle.

Bob turned around and smiled. I’m whipped. I haven’t had a day off since— He rolled his blue eyes, searching for the calendar in his mind. He shook his head, unable to recall the date.

Well, it’s almost over.

Bob sighed. It’s getting harder and harder to get up for these things. I guess I’m getting old or something. I just don’t have the enthusiasm I used to.

It sounds like you’re just plain exhausted.

Bob rubbed his eyes. Yeah. He blinked, bringing his friend into focus. So, how’s Sarah holding up through all this? he said, referring to Dick’s wife.

Dick smiled. Oh, she’s the eternal optimist. This too shall pass, you know? He moved across the office and clapped Bob on the shoulder. When the proposal is done, we’ll have you over for dinner. It’s been too long since last time.

Bob retrieved his notebook and patted Dick on the back. Let me know when you’re ready and I’ll have you two over to my place. It’s my turn.

You got it. Dick smiled. Don’t tell her I said so, but you’re a better cook than Sarah any day.

Bob moved slowly towards the door. Yeah, but she’s got better legs. See you soon. He trudged down the hall, shirttail out, and was gone.

*            *            *            *

As Bob headed back to his office on the eighth floor, he wondered again why Big Jim had chosen to entrust Bill Munson with the most important proposal in the company’s history. Particularly while someone as talented and experienced as Dick Walker languished in his staff assignment, totally out of the NMS picture. It was true that Big Jim had been a different man since the accident, hell, who wouldn’t be, but, well, Bob knew he just needed to focus on his own responsibilities and let all the politics and marketing get taken care of by others. Still, the situation bothered him. He walked into his office and tossed his notebook onto his desk, and stood staring out the window.

Far below, the muted noise of car engines signaled the daily exodus from work. He thought of others heading home to their families, able to leave behind the egos, the pettiness, the ruthlessness of corporate life, exchanging it for the hustle and bustle of dinnertime, a stroll with their wives, throwing the ball with their kids.

He watched the flow of cars out of the parking lot, smiling at the reversal of the morning’s sluggish, sleepy arrival, every car now seemingly racing at top speed to leave. His reflection stared back at him and he realized how tired he was. His eyes were bloodshot and had circles under them. He wondered when he had last shaved or had eight hours sleep. His mouth opened in a wide yawn and he closed his eyes. Despite his fatigue, frustration and concerns, he knew the worst was yet to come.

*            *            *            *

The short, muscular body was silhouetted against the picture window. Outside, the last rays of sunlight glowed orange and gold on the marble buildings across the street. The man rocked back and forth on his heels, hands locked behind him, studying the picturesque scene with an unseeing stare. Well, the foxes have been turned loose in the chicken coop, Raymond.

Yes, sir, Raymond Sanchez replied from across the darkened room. Every computer services company inside the beltway is scurrying like rats in a maze.

Rats in a cheese factory would be more accurate.

Sanchez smiled his agreement.

His boss smiled back. It’s time for us to accelerate our involvement. This NMS contract will flush out all the skunks in the woodpile and I want to catch every last one of them.

Yes, sir, Sanchez said, nodding vigorously.

We’ve been this close, his boss continued, holding his thumb and forefinger an inch apart, to exposing all this DoD procurement corruption before. This time, we’re ready and we’re going to end it. Once and for all. He walked slowly across the room and moved behind his desk. Raymond, these computer business guys are arrogant as hell. They think we’re all fools, can’t possibly keep up with their wheeling and dealing. He shook his head. They’re going to get sloppy on this one, though. Somebody will brag or leak what’s going on at the wrong place and we’ll be there. He smiled. Is our informant at WCS in place?

Sanchez nodded.

Good. How about over at Allied?

Not yet, sir. We’re still working on that.

The man nodded and stared back out the window into the emerging darkness. We’re going to make ourselves a lot of enemies on this one, Raymond. The Pentagon, the computer business, even the White House. He shook his head. But justice will be served. That’s all that’s important here. We’re going to expose this incest, greed and arrogance. The public will do the rest.

Yes, sir. Sanchez rose to leave. Anything else, sir?

No. Thanks, Raymond. Keep me informed.

Yes, sir. Sanchez bowed slightly toward his boss and moved across the room. He opened the door and squinted into the bright light of the anteroom outside. It was empty. He moved forward, closed the door behind him, and looked back at the gold nameplate. It said: Director, Federal Bureau of Investigation.

CHAPTER 2

Ted Schelling was the personification of the computer services sales executive: well groomed, bubbling with enthusiasm, a lexicon of good old boy cliches and acronyms. Gene Presley was his antithesis: slovenly, cynical, a vocabulary laced with profanity and off-color jokes. Both were six-foot tall, but the combination of Ted’s trim, erect carriage and Gene’s slump-shouldered stoop made the former look much taller. Adding to the contrast, Ted’s full head of dark wavy hair was parted neatly on the side, while Gene was completely bald, his bony pate shaved and polished.

Both were corporate vice-presidents at WCS, but Ted held the upper hand in seniority with the company by ten years, and in his relationship with Big Jim Johnson. Ted despised Gene’s crude manners and lack of respect for tradition, appropriate behavior, and himself, while Gene considered Ted a pompous windbag, out of touch with the rapidly changing world of the computer services business. Still, they held a grudging admiration for each other’s capabilities.

Ted sat, legs crossed at the knee, casually inspecting the results of a recent manicure. His black and red paisley tie blended stylishly with the charcoal gray of his Armani suit and his black leather shoes. His solid gold company pen, awarded for twenty years service last year, flashed its WCS logo alongside the blue TRS monogram on the pocket of his immaculately white shirt.

Gene sprawled on the adjacent leather couch in Big Jim’s tenth floor office, his hand shoved under the front of his pants, relieving an itch. His short-sleeved white shirt was stained in several places from today’s lunch, his pink tie loose at the neck. He wore no jacket and the pudgy fingers of his free hand barely encircled a mammoth cigar that filled the office with blue smoke.

Ted cast a disdainful gaze at the cigar. I wish you wouldn’t bring those things to meetings. They’re really quite offensive.

Gene extracted his hand from his pants and rubbed it slowly over his paunch. His shirt strained at several buttonholes, revealing a white, hairy stomach. Teddy, he said, looking out the window rather than at his subject, I’m gonna give you the same advice my old granddaddy used to give me.

Ted winced. He hated to be called Teddy.

Gene belched, shot Ted a grin, and rolled his cigar between thumb and forefinger. Never pass up an opportunity to shut the fuck up. He stuck the cigar back in his mouth and turned to admire the view of the lake in the courtyard far below.

Ted closed his eyes and took a deep breath, struggling, as always, to control his temper with his adversary.

Big Jim appeared suddenly, striding briskly through the open door and across the office. Hey, fellas, sorry I’m late. He unbuttoned his suit jacket and chose the wing-backed chair between the two men. So, he said, settling back in the chair, I guess we’re here to discuss NMS and Bill Munson, is that right? He looked at Ted, then at Gene.

The rivals shot each other an anxious look. Their alliance on the issue of Munson was tentative, at best. Ted cleared his throat. Jim, as I’ve said before, we’ve experienced a paradigm shift on NMS; it’s become a totally different animal than when you assigned it to Bill six months ago. The political importance of the procurement and its unprecedented size have raised the stakes considerably.

Big Jim nodded. You still getting pressure from Stony?

Ted frowned. Well, yes. His career is on the line, Jim. Congress is holding him accountable for the implementation of the system and it’s clear that his next star, and his hopes of becoming Chief of Naval Operations, ride on NMS.

Big Jim waved his hand. Yes, I know all about the political importance of NMS to the Navy and to Stony Brooks, but what does that have to do with Bill Munson?

Ted cleared his throat again. Well, you promised Stony we would put our best people on this proposal and—

Jesus, Ted. Since when do we let our clients tell us how to run our business?

Ted swallowed hard. Jim, it’s not just Stony. We feel the same way. He gestured towards his nemesis.

Gene stirred on the couch and extracted the cigar from his mouth. His rough, guttural voice was a contrast to Ted’s mellow tones. Jim, no matter how you cut it, Munson’s a loser. He’s—

He’s got the best damned engineer in this company working for him, Big Jim said, jabbing a finger at Gene. And the key to winning NMS is to have a superior technical solution.

Ted uncrossed, then re-crossed his legs. His tone was soft and conciliatory. Jim, we think Munson lacks some of the business experience necessary to manage a winning proposal of this complexity. We need someone who can think outside the box on this one, someone who can seamlessly integrate the assets of our team, who can create some synergy.

He’s got no moxie, Jim, Gene said. He’s got no nose for the politics, the pricing strategies, the negotiations with our sub’s. His total focus seems to be the design of our damned proposal cover and little else.

Big Jim leaned forward, elbows on knees. His voice was low and calm, but firm. Look, fellas, I expect the two of you to bring those other skills to this job. That’s what I’m paying you for. He looked at both men. Understand? Bob Branigan will cover the technical solution. Gene, you negotiate what we need from our subcontractors, and Ted, you handle the interface with Stony. He leaned back in the chair with a sigh. Besides, if Bill is such a concern, who exactly did you have in mind to replace him?

Ted stared at the floor. Well, we didn’t exactly have a candidate in mind, Jim.

So, you’ve brought me a problem without a recommended solution; is that what I’m hearing, Ted? Big Jim said, the rat-a-tat-tat of his fingers drumming the arm of the chair the only sound in the room.

Ted looked hopefully at Gene, who casually picked his nose.

Tell you what, Big Jim said. Munson’s got a step four review with me on NMS next week. Let me add a few folks to the regular audience and we’ll get an assessment of how he’s put his whole package together. If we need to make a change, we’ll do it then. Will that get you fellas off my back for now?

Yes, sir, Ted said.

That’s why they pay you the big bucks, boss, Gene said.

Big Jim looked at his watch and stood up, signaling an end to the meeting. Thanks, fellas.

The two VP’s stood and moved towards the office door.

Oh, Ted, Big Jim said. Did you get that information on Rex Snyder’s project?

Ted stopped, his face twisting into a frown. He shot Gene a look of annoyance, then addressed his boss. Uh, yes, I did, Jim. Ted glanced at Gene again.

And? Big Jim said.

Ted moved a few steps towards Big Jim and lowered his voice. Well, I had lunch with his client, Colonel James. Bottom line, he said Rex was doing a superior job. The project is going very well.

Big Jim smiled. Thanks, Ted. I’m glad to hear that.

Ted nodded, then moved out of the office and down the hallway, Gene beside him. Gene looked over his shoulder, then turned to Ted. What the hell was that all about?

Ted smiled. Well, in case you didn’t know it, Rex Snyder has become Big Jim’s fair-haired boy.

Gene chuckled. Yeah, I hear the kid has really pulled a few diamonds out of his ass on that Army contract.

Ted frowned. It’s more than that.

Gene looked at him curiously. What do you mean?

Ted shook his head. Nothing. He quickened his pace.

Gene struggled to catch up. So what’s this business with Colonel James?

They had reached Ted’s office on executive row and Ted paused, his hand on the doorknob. He sighed. Jim wanted some G-2 on how the project was going. I provide that sort of information for him all the time.

Gene shrugged. Yeah, me too. So?

Ted’s nose rose haughtily. Well, I believe Jim puts more credence in information derived over a civil lunch at Chez Francois than he does in the scuttlebutt some others gather at Burger King. He opened the door and turned to face Gene. Now, if you will excuse me, I have some important calls to make. And with that, he shut the door in Gene’s face.

Gene stood looking at the closed door. Yeah, you better find someone to dial the phone for you, you stupid bastard. He turned and walked slowly towards the elevator. The cigar went back into his mouth and his eyes narrowed in concentration.

Back in his office, Big Jim pushed the intercom buzzer for his secretary. Elaine, have you finished that memo on the NMS meeting for next week?

No, sir, I was going to do that now.

Good. I’d like you to add two names to the list of attendees, please. He paused, closing his eyes in thought. Add Dick Walker to the list. He paused again, rubbing his eyes. And add Rex Snyder too.

*            *            *            *

Peter Jones sat at the huge glass table that served as his desk. Dressed in his familiar turtleneck and sports jacket, the president of Allied Data Systems eyed the other man intently as he spoke. I don’t want to know how you do it, but we’ll need the details of WCS’s technical approach and their pricing strategy.

Woodrow Ginette nodded. He was Allied’s chief financial officer and a long time confidant of Jones.

Jones ran a hand through his blonde, close-cropped hair. He smiled at Ginette, then fingered the diamond ring on his left pinky. It was business as usual, this attempt to gain insight into the competition’s approach. The computer services industry was close-knit and incestuous, employees moving back and forth between companies, often between competitors such as Allied and WCS. There was always someone who could be counted on to provide inside information or who just wanted some old fashioned revenge against a company or a person who had wronged them.

Ginette smiled. Standing six five and weighing two hundred and fifty pounds, he possessed a sagging, hound-dog face, huge ears and brown eyes that drooped like he was always on the verge of going to sleep. I’ll have a copy of the WCS proposal the day after it’s delivered to the Government evaluation team.

Jones tapped the fingertips of both hands together in front of his face, deep in thought. He looked up. Good. It has to be done, Woody. Most of the contracts we’ve low-balled these past few years are coming home to roost. Winning NMS will be enough to cover those problems long enough to close the deal with Nippon.

The Nippon Computer Company had long wanted to make an entre’ into the DoD marketplace, but had been thwarted by the considerable political influence of the U.S. computer manufacturers. But trade tariffs had focused on the iron benders and left a loophole regarding the computer services portion of the business. Jones,