RAD HARD

“This is the work that started it all. The story that made me want to be a writer. It includes espionage, hard science fiction, martial arts, and dirty law enforcement. This is the beginning of chapter one. I hope it grabs your attention, makes you want to read more, and that you enjoy it.” JC Falenschek

The morning routine was finished, reports read and filed, and overnight production reviewed. Usually long and tedious today was smooth, quick, and efficient. So much so that Hank was going to be able to have lunch uninterrupted for a change. Normally, with about an extra thirty pounds on him there would be a salad or one of those low-cal frozen entrees for lunch. But today there was homemade lasagna that Vinny had brought for him, the lab tech had remembered how much Hank had loved his wife’s lasagna from the department potluck. Seven layers of noodles, sauce, cheese, and Italian sausage that were pure gastronomical heaven. Even the sauce was homemade from fresh vegetables and herbs, then there was aged parmesan and ricotta cheese blended into a smooth gooey texture in well-defined layers, and the Italian sausage added just the right zing to it.

He was extremely disappointed when entering his office, there in the middle of his desk was a new report. Hank’s afternoon did not have any extra time for something like this and it would have to wait a day or two. He grabbed the report to see what it was about and which of his engineers were trying to ruin his lunch. Thick as a small book, it was not going to be an easy read. The author turned out to be Michael Knowles, one of his best and brightest process engineers. Anything Knowles presented was worth checking out while he ate. He quickly found that it was way too complicated for him; the physics, chemical engineering and material science was beyond his grasp.

Turning to the synopsis, he knew the summation would give a concise overview of the content. Knowles adhered to the practice of presenting reports in three parts. Succinctly, it was: “tell them what you are going to tell them, tell them what you want to tell them, and then tell them what you told them”.

Digging into it, his heart started to race, eyes going wide, he read faster. Forgetting about lunch he yelled through the door, “Pam, I need you in here right now.” His assistant was a bit surprised because Hank rarely raised his voice, he was usually more considerate, not as insensitive as to yell through the doorway like that. Coming to a stop in front of his cluttered desk, she saw he was upset to the point of being frantic.

“I need ten copies of the synopses, and I need it now, please have them ready in five minutes as I’ll pick them up on my way out. Also, I will be unavailable for probably the next couple of hours. When you’re done, file the report in the safe, nobody gets to it but me.”

The directors’ meeting was happening right now, but it wouldn’t go for more than another thirty or forty-five minutes. He needed to get there quickly because that group needed to see this ASAP. Without so much as a thank-you, Hank grabbed the copies from Pam and headed down the hallway.

The Solid-State Electronics Process Center, SSEPC, a division of Pinnacle Semiconductors also known as “THE CENTER,” had the usual bureaucratic structure. There was a division Vice-President, a Senior Director, Section Directors, various department managers, and so on. With fourteen individual departments this structure could lead to a quagmire of managerial decision making. Hank was reticent to interrupt the meeting; all the directors would be in attendance, and this should not necessarily include everyone, but the urgency of the matter meant he would take whatever he could get. There was one other thing nagging at him, the Department of Defense representative would be there. Army Major Brigg had a reputation as a real hard case, and this situation didn’t need to be muddled by some over eager DOD liaison.

With some trepidation and a deep breath to settle his nerves, Hank opened the oversized conference room door, and all conversation abruptly ended. With a quick sweep of the room, he saw the Sr. Director seated to Hank’s right at the end of the artesian oval table. Hank’s boss, Daunte, was about halfway down the table directly across from the door. “What the hell, Hank?” Daunte said from across the room.

Robert Simms, Senior Director, looked at Hank with an unsettling glare and after what was an unpleasant silence said “These are closed meetings, with few exceptions. You better have more than a good reason for this interruption.” He did not need to ask who Hank was, despite the large managerial staff, Robert made sure he knew everyone from Directors to Shift Supervisors.

“Sir, I sincerely apologize for bursting in like this, but I have something that I think most people in this room need to see right away.”

He began to hand out the report summaries around the table noticing that the DOD liaison started reading immediately.

“To save you time, just read the last four or five pages. This will give you enough information to understand the enormity of the situation,” Hank told the group.

The silence was deafening for Hank. Standing close to the door with his back to the wall, he started to second guess his decision, maybe he should have waited on this and just talked with his boss. He figured he was as high in the company as he was going to get, but he liked it there, and being forced out was not a pleasant thought. Will Bradford was the first to break the quiet. Bradford was the Director of the section that included the Engineering Design department; he was known by subordinates, and some peers, as “Willy the whiner.”

“Why didn’t this come through my department? Through proper chain of command.”

He had not even finished the last pages of the summary. He was just worried about his appearance in this situation, always trying to get some glory off the backs of others and he was upset by being left out.

“I think that if you had finished reading Will, you would realize the immediacy that this report presents,” Simms said in a somewhat annoyed voice.

Sharon Brigg, the DOD liaison to The Center, interjected in a clear and articulate voice.

 “I want to see the complete report and evaluate its efficacy. If this is viable, it is the most important development since the basic computer chip. This is a game changer.”

She commanded the room with just those few sentences. Those that needed to, basically Robert and a few of the directors, knew her background. A graduate of West Point with a GPA of 3.95, she had degrees in mathematics and material science with a minor in physics. At 38 she wasn’t the youngest Major in the Army, but close, and she was on a fast track to more promotions. Despite her accomplishments, she had asked for this assignment. She loved the science this Pinnacle division worked with. As the DOD representative she had access to all reports pertinent to any contract and was able to give serious input.

Simms did not need to elaborate.

“I agree.” He turned to Daunte and simply said “Tell me about Knowles.”

•  

Tony rolled over looking at the bright sun cutting through the blinds. It was only seven, and the day was already blistering hot. A typical mid-July Minnesota day, it would be humid with temperatures in the high 90s and humidity in the 70s. But it wasn’t just the humidity that made it extremely uncomfortable, more so, it was the damn dewpoint; a measurement of temperature below which dew, or surface condensation, could naturally form. Dewpoints in the 50s were somewhat annoying and anything over 65 was more than stifling, today it would be nearly 80. He heard the door open but didn’t bother turning over. Shortly after, the water started running and the shower sent warm, moist air wafting from the bathroom. He and Derek had been together since being assigned to the Minneapolis office, almost four years now, and they had been able to keep it their secret. When it came down to it, he loved Derek more than the job, if there had to be a choice, he would resign in a heartbeat. While the FBI embraced an all-inclusive work environment for the Pride community, there were rules about agency fraternization. With gays involved, it would be somewhat more than a scandal. He and Derek were assigned as partners on the job, which would make their “outing” that much worse, and both may be forced to resign in disgrace.

Tony shifted and rolled out of bed. He knew Derek had been on his usual morning run, five thirty-five-minute miles, rain, shine, cold, or heat. Tony was fit, he always passed his physical qualifications with outstanding marks, but unremarkable, certainly not the runner Derek was. The remote was handy, and he tuned to his favorite news show to see if there was anything that might be their next assignment, though that wasn’t going to happen for the next three days. The boss had given them the day off and they had already taken the following two as vacation.

He had a surprise for Derek; they were headed to Grand Marais on the North Shore, a beautiful little artist’s town on Lake Superior. Always cooler than the rest of the state with fantastic sunrises, a great little marina, fun shops, and a trading post with high-end camping goods and clothes. It would be a much needed respite from the daily grind and oppressive heat.

Derek was finished and Tony was ready to get cleaned up, and as they passed Derek took Tony’s hand, leaned in, gave him a kiss and a slight caress. Within the hour, they would be on the road. Refreshed from the nice shower and its rain fixture Tony dressed in cargo shorts and a sandy colored ‘T’, Derek, a little more fashion conscious, in khakis and a button-down shirt. He was always stylish. The BMW was gassed and ready to go. It was detailed inside and out, so much so that the beautiful black body seemed to change color in the bright sun. Tony loved this car; it was a present to himself a couple of years earlier when he had received a promotion to lead field agent. He estimated that in about five hours or so they would be able to walk the breakwater in Grand Marais and feel the cool breeze from the largest of the Great Lakes. In the center of town they’d stop at “The World’s Best Donuts” shop where Derek would purchase a half dozen chocolate iced cake donuts. Without much thought the half dozen would be gone within the hour.

Hinckley, a little over an hour from their condo, was where he planned on lunch. This made the incoming phone call more than a little annoying. With the wonderful handsfree technology, he saw it was the office and answered sternly.

“Tony,” short and terse.

“This is the SAC’s assistant sir. You and your partner are needed back in the office as soon as possible.”

“I am taking a few vacation days, signed off by the SAC by the way” Tony argued.

“How long until you can be here sir? Your boss needs to know” was the pointed reply.

With an audible sigh Tony simply said, “two hours.”

“We will see you no later than 2 pm then.”

The phone went dead and a few seconds later Derek’s phone rang, and the conversation went pretty much the same.

•  

Noon, lunchtime. Michael was in a rush to get out of his office, grabbing his workout bag, he headed to the parking lot. Seven minutes to the studio, a few minutes to change and he could join the class as it started. He went to classes Monday through Friday in the evenings but was also able to make the day classes twice a week as the school’s schedule allowed. Located in the Willow Creek mall, right across from the theater, the school was not far from his apartment or work.

Dragon Martial Arts was a high-end studio; well-appointed with two classrooms and a separate workout area for warming up and for concentrating on needed improvements. Michael was one of the better students, though he didn’t realize it. He was introverted with a somewhat negative view of himself, professionally it would be characterized as low self-esteem. Having joined the school more than four years before, Michael should have been a 1^st or even a 2^nd degree blackbelt by this time. As it was, he was an advanced brown belt, one level shy of black. Tending to spend a long time at each belt level, he always felt he was not ready to move on. It was more than frustrating for the school’s instructors, though this is what made him better than most everyone at his level. The staff were always pushing students to move through the ranks as fast as possible; pushing them so staff could meet the school’s business goals each month. This resulted in a rather unsettling and frustrating atmosphere for the really devoted martial arts students.

Day classes were generally taught by the school owner and were extremely well attended. Lots of soccer moms, young kids, and a few retired folks. The dojo was owned by charismatic Californian Eric Dunn. At thirty-five he still had that all-American blond surfer boy look; his blue eyes made him a favorite with the ladies. Smooth and confident, Eric worked especially well one-on-one. As an accomplished martial artist, he was well liked in that community. Having won many national events in the sparring division, Eric was regarded as a favorite whenever he competed. This fed his ego, which at times contributed to him being a classic narcissist. He was full of himself, demanding of his employees, sometimes of his students too, and in his mind, he was always right, and never backed down once he expressed his opinions. What many failed to realize was that he was characteristic of a professional black belt.

Class was starting. Sensei Dunn, as he preferred to be called, walked around the room greeting each student by name and asking how their day was going or how their families were. Coming to Michael he commented.

“You are looking exceptionally good! The next test for black belt is coming up in August. I’ll put you on the list and you’ll finally have that blackbelt.”

Michael was ready to protest, but Eric cut him short with a demanding voice.

“No arguments this time, you’ve been more than ready for quite a while. You’re doing it.”

Michael was more than distracted by this for the rest of the class, just automatically going through the motions. Before he realized it, class ended and was on his way back to work.

•  

Robert dismissed most of the section directors, having them leave their copies of the report’s summary, asking Will, Daunte, and Major Brigg to remain.

“Hank, please go get the full report copies that you have made. Make sure you bring all of them,” Robert ordered.

“There is only one copy sir,” Hank stated.

“Make a couple more, bring a total of four including the original.”

“Yes sir,” Hank muttered as he left the room.

Hurrying back to his office Hank wondered what the hell was happening. He understood the importance of the report, but this situation seemed odd. Upper management was going to have the only copies out there.

Pamela Stevens, though she preferred Pam, enjoyed the relative quite the afternoon had brought. With Hank in some sort of important meeting, the hardest thing she had to do was push his afternoon schedule to tomorrow. Her desk was neat as could be. Having had stapled, filed, straightened, collated, and copied everything she could find. A diminutive and slight person, she certainly was not an imposing figure, nonetheless she commanded her office and Hank’s schedule with authority. Sandy blond hair cut modestly, Pam was always dressed professionally, more so than her position needed. A calm demeanor was her secret weapon, a lot of people underestimated her, which always gave her an edge in getting what she wanted, though what she wanted was always in line with Hank’s needs. Pam heard the hurried footfalls, looking up quickly, seeing Hank rushing towards her, she stood and waited.

“Pam, please get the Knowles report from the safe and make three copies. I need to get back to the meeting as quickly as possible.”

Hank disappeared into his office. Shuffling through papers on his desk, he then turned to his collection of “The Journal of American Physics.” Hank riffled through copy after copy. Finally, in an issue almost ten years old, he found it. Giving it a quick scan, he put it aside for later reading. Pam was just finishing up and he waited through the final thirty seconds impatiently. He was still worried as he made his way back to the conference room. Something was going on and he was more than a little concerned that he had screwed up.

He was so self-absorbed he did not even say thank you; he just turned and left. Trudging down the carpeted hallway his thoughts swirled. Knowing that the report had significance was obvious, but to have the upper echelon change their schedules was unheard of. The players were interesting; the Director, arguably the most powerful man on site, the Director of Design and Development, Hank’s boss – the Director of Production, and most surprising the Major. He had not had any direct contact with her previously, his boss always ran interference when she wanted to tour the labs. Stopping at the one elevator that went to the seventh floor, pushing the up button, he considered his options. If he had messed up big time, they probably would not fire him out right but give him the option of early retirement. Not too bad of an option, really. He was maybe five years from retirement anyway and he could supplement his income working somewhere like Home Depot. It would be nice and relaxing, low stress, just showing customers where the plungers are.

This time he stopped at the door and knocked before opening it. The large oval table dominated the room now that all those people were gone. It had a large border of beautifully dark rich walnut surrounding a field of spalted maple, a stunning golden sea of wood with black veining spiderwebbing through it. Large walnut monoliths finished the look of the table as they supported the massive top. Simms was still at the head of the table while the others had moved to flank either side of him. Interestingly, his boss, Daunte, was seated next to the Major, who was next to Simms, with Will directly across from them but one seat removed from the Director. It was clear where alliances were. Approaching the group Hank handed out the copies giving Simms the original.

“Are these all of the copies.”

“Yes sir,” Hank replied.

“Good, take the summaries” he motioned to the stack next to him, “and shred them. Treat them as top-secret documents.”

Simms continued with unnecessary details.

“Cross-cut shred and then get a burn bag and oversee them being destroyed. If you have any questions about how to do this get in touch with my assistant. Remember, I expect you to personally see the shredding put in the furnace.”

“Ok,” was all that Hank could mumble.

He hadn’t known that The Center had a furnace for document destruction. What the hell was this all about? Hank was really confused and out of his element now. He took the stack and retreated to the door.

Before he could reach for the handle Daunte spoke up.

“Hank, I want to talk with you before you leave tonight. I may be awhile, so be prepared to stay late.”

“Sure, not a problem Daunte.”

Heading back to his office he settled down a little and thought whimsically that he was finally going to get to the lasagna.

•  

Finally, the entire report. The four of them pretty much did the same thing, hefted the lengthy report fixating on the title page.

“Plasma Enhanced Chemical Vapor Deposition

of Silicon Nitride and Silicon Oxide Structures

For Photon Based Semiconductor Technology

Design and Development”

Will read out loud unnecessarily.

“What is this garbage? Design and development. I told you this should have come to me first.”

Again, complaining so that he might cover his ass if needed.

“Look, normally Hank would have brought this to me and then I would have included you, as well as the director” Daunte interjected. “Michael did what he was supposed to do, gave it to his immediate supervisor, following chain of command. It was Hank that side sidestepped that chain, and in my opinion, it was needed. I don’t really want to hear more about it unless it comes from a third party.”

Everyone there knew that meant the Director.

Robert pushed the conversation aside and did not comment. Instead, he turned to Daunte asking him to begin the process of deciphering the report.

•  

Derek had changed to work clothes. Selecting a button-down shirt, next, a conservative tie, he finished his ensemble quickly. Thinking about the expense of the custom tailoring it took so the bulge under his left arm was not noticeable he figured it was worth it. The look was finished off with expensive shoes. He had learned as a rookie that good shoes provided a foundation of stability and were needed for those excessively long days. Fashionable, and extremely comfortable, with great support. That was what he really paid for. Disappointed about the mini vacation being canceled, he displayed it by throwing his travel clothes on the bed in a pile. But more than that he felt bad for Tony, because Tony had been excited about this surprise and wanted to make it special for the two of them.

Tony was more casual; slacks, a simple dress shirt and sports coat, and comfortable shoes he could run in. None of his clothes were tailored but they did not need to be, as he carried his weapon in the small of his back.

Derek and Tony were just walking into the offices, 2pm as expected. Their boss’s greeting was perfunctory.

“Follow me.”

Thomas Nevens; the Minnesota area Special Agent in Charge, or SAC, had been in his position for over eight years. Ensconced here, at this level, he had no intention of moving anytime soon.

Derek and Tony followed him into the secure conference room, a definite sign that this was extremely important and completely sensitive.

“Toscani, Anderson, sorry for cutting your weekend short. This came across my desk this morning from the regional office. We have been given a high-profile case of espionage and with your background, I want you two to handle it. Your experience and success in interrogation, your uncanny ability to uncover small relevant details, and your knowledge of international criminal organizations should all prove valuable ferreting out the truth.”

“Is this time sensitive, other than some political scrutiny?”

“We are not sure yet. Here’s the file.”

Nevens slid a blue file that was about an inch thick across the table.

“There is evidence that seems to indicate corporate espionage on a somewhat small scale. Nothing consistent, each piece of information we have gathered seems totally unrelated. The only item that is consistent is the facility the information is coming from.”

“Sir, corporate espionage isn’t necessarily FBI purview, is it? Isn’t it normally handled on a local level?” Derek questioned his boss.

“Under normal circumstances yes, but in this case the stolen information is showing up in various places across the globe. Most of it, though, is showing up in Europe in maybe a half dozen places or so.”

Nevens took his tablet and brought up a map on the large screen at the end of the room.

“These are the most recent places the information has popped up,” he pointed out highlighted cities, “looking at individual pieces of data it all seems innocuous. Performance specifications for a processor chip, a manufacturing recipe for depositing sub-micron thickness of metal on semiconductors, protocols for speed tests on chips and so forth. But, and it is a big but, all this information comes from one facility. Besides this being something more than coincidence, that facility does DOD work. There are a few high-profile contracts being worked on right now; everything from guidance hardware to communication modules. If this information is going to one of our enemies, it severely compromises our technological advantages.”

“Has there been any other indication that this is DOD related? I am assuming they make other products there. Where and what is this facility?”

Tony was extremely curious now.

Nevens looked at the two of them, wanting to wrap this up, he replied that it was all in the file.

“To save you some time though, it’s Pinnacle Semiconductors’ Solid State Electronics Production Center in Plymouth. This needs to be fast tracked because of the DOD angle. I’ve arranged a meeting for you with their personnel Director tomorrow morning at 9 am. You have this evening to familiarize yourselves with the information in that file and develop a game plan on how you are going to approach this. Upper management is aware that you are coming, and you have any support you need to get to the bottom of this.”

At the mention of The Center, Tony’s attention became much more focused.

Derek felt his blood pressure rise but kept his face passive and his demeanor calm.

They both knew this was going to be a particularly tricky situation. One that could possibly ruin them or put them in jail – for life.

•  

They had been at it for about three hours now and formalities were gone, engrossed in theory. Will and Daunte were bouncing ideas off each other discussing a detail in processing. Shari was deep into the report, understanding the basic ideas and most of the math. She and Robert talked quietly about the major points of the theories.

“I would like to get through at least about two-thirds of this report before we adjourn. What do you think Shari?”

He knew that in relaxed situations, she preferred the shortened version of her name.

“I’m already past that point, Bob, and I can have a full report for you in the morning. I’ll spend some time on it tonight, however, I can give you an overview right now. The theories Mr. Knowles has put forth are valid with all the math making perfect sense. The only question I have is the validity of assuming the Silicon Oxide structures can be wrapped in metal sufficiently. I’m not familiar enough with the PECVD process to understand their relationship to the photo etching process and metal deposition on these shaped glass structures. But from what I’ve already read, I have no reason not to believe his suppositions.”

Daunte interjected, “The theories are sound, no doubt about it, but the sticking point, as I see it, is the input/output mechanism. Packaging will be exceedingly tricky.”

“Undoubtedly you would see it that way,” Will asserted himself, “I would say that metal deposition of sub-micron thickness is going to the hardest specification to meet.”

Robert brought the conversation back to point.

“Can we agree that what Michael has proposed is definitely possible however unconventional it seems?”

Assent ringed the table with nods and voices.

“Then can I safely say that now the big decision is what to do with it?”

Will and Daunte were with him, but Shari kept quiet while she pondered the question. Pretending not to notice Robert continued.

“I would like suggestions on my desk by 10 am tomorrow. I will make the final decision on planning to move forward, dismissed.”

“I don’t think so,” was the subdued comment from Shari.

This stopped Daunte and Will in their tracks as they were gathering their things to leave. Robert bristled at this comment as it took him by surprise.

“Sharon, perhaps we should take this off-line.”

“Not this time, Director,” she was more formal too, “I will take all the reports please.”

H