On Monday Jon arrived at work nearly an hour later than usual. It was just before eight, the official start time at HTPS Industries. He was in no rush. He had already spent half of Saturday at the office checking in on Harry. There being no sign of him, Jon had assumed Harry finally went home to get some rest. While he was there, he decided to take a quick look at a couple of documents he was working on with Lettie. The next thing he knew it was noon.
Jon headed down the narrow, steel stairway that led to his basement office. He had learned the hard way that the elevators involved too much waiting time. During peak times of traffic, they were always going up.
He checked Harry’s office first thing. He was still not there. Jon could only assume that he’d be in later. Since Harry nearly always worked a sixty to seventy hour week, the management was content to let him come and go as he pleased. It suited Harry, who was more of a night owl.
Jon’s inbox contained a number of new emails from Lettie. He found it interesting how factual and businesslike her emails were. Nothing like the ones she used to send in the old days. Jon was convinced that she made an extra effort to ensure that any personal content was carefully expunged. Her emails this morning were more of the same. Jon wondered why she took such extreme care to avoid personal touches, but after a second or two decided that thinking about it was a waste of time.
At nine a.m., Ted Blume came for a visit. “Morning, Jon,” he said, seating himself in the chair in front of Jon’s desk. “You know, there’s something I’ve wondered about, Jon. The rest of the basement is damp and cold, but your office always seems very comfortable, just like the offices upstairs. How do you manage that?”
Jon hesitated. “Uh, just good ventilation, I guess.”
“Odd, very odd,” Ted replied. “I guess the other vents down here must be blocked up or something.”
So far Ted hadn’t questioned the brand-new furniture or flawless lighting, and Jon hoped he never would. It was fortunate for Jon that Ted was not a very curious person in general and always focused on the task at hand.
Ted cleared his throat. “Getting down to business. I need your help. The IT team from the Pentagon wants to have a conference about the progress of the PKD project. The catch is, they want Harry to be there.”
A long uncomfortable silence followed. “Harry’s not going to like that,” Jon finally said.
“Believe me, I know. But I’m hoping you can find a way to talk him into it. They’ve scheduled the meeting for tomorrow afternoon. They want Harry there—no ifs, ands, or buts.”
Jon frowned. “That could be a real problem. Harry’s been … difficult lately.”
“Tell me about it,” Ted replied. “I went into his office last Thursday and he snapped my head off. And I could smell him from three feet away. It really grossed me out. The guy needs to shower more often.”
“I finally talked him into going home last Friday. Hopefully he’ll be in a little better shape this week. I’ll tell him about the meeting as soon as he gets in. I’ll be sure to twist his arm.”
The rest of the day passed with excruciating slowness, broken only by lunch and a documentation meeting with Lettie. Time and again he checked Harry’s office, only to find it empty. By late afternoon he was genuinely concerned. He tried Harry’s home phone but there was no answer.
Shortly before five he stopped by Ted’s office. He had agonized about what to tell him and realized he had no choice but to play fast and loose with the facts. Harry had left him in the lurch. The only way to keep things moving forward was to cover for him.
“Harry’s out sick. He didn’t come in today and I don’t think he’ll be in tomorrow.”
Ted looked concerned. “What’s wrong?”
“He didn’t say,” said Jon. “But my guess is that it’s exhaustion.”
“Do you think he’ll be better by Wednesday?” Ted asked.
Jon shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Ted began to fidget with his pencil. Harry was turning them all into nervous wrecks. “That really puts us in a bind,” Ted said. “We’re getting close to the wire on the PKD project and the Pentagon people are breathing down our necks.”
Tuesday came and went with no sign of Harry. When Jon explained to Ted that Harry was still out and that there was no definite date for his return, he saw panic flare in the older man’s eyes.
“Well, if he doesn’t show soon,” Ted said, “we’re really going to be up a creek without a paddle.”
The next day, when Harry was again a no-show, the pressure spiked accordingly. In the morning John Balis stopped by Jon’s office. He leaned against his desk, arms crossed, expression grim.
“You’ve got to get that guy in here. The ball is in your court, Jon. You’re the one with the most to lose, I guarantee it.”
The most unpleasant visitor was Eric Meyers, in the early afternoon. Meyers barged in unannounced and sat down in the chair opposite Jon’s desk. As he drummed his fingers in a purposely annoying fashion on the desk, Meyers wore his all-too-familiar “I know something that you don’t know” smirk.
“Your buddy Harry has left you twisting in the wind,” he finally said.
For the first time there was a chink in Jon’s professional armor. He shot a hostile glance at Meyers but kept his mouth shut.
“I always had that guy pegged as a weirdo,” Meyers continued. “I was on a project with him a couple of years back. There was this beautiful blonde babe who would just about spread her legs every time he came around, but Harry wouldn’t give her the time of day.”
Jon did not have to guess the identity of the “beautiful blonde babe.” Both his hands closed into fists and he had to exert a monumental effort of will to keep from jumping up.
“My theory about that guy Harry,” Eric Meyers went on, “is that he’s some type of fag.”
Jon stood up. He was calm, his composure absolute. “There’s the door. I have work to do. I don’t have time for your ignorance or your bigotry.”
Meyers’ smirk became even more pronounced. He held his ground, perfectly relaxed, and said, “We need to know when Harry will be back.”
“He’ll be back when he damn well feels like it.”
“The deadline is this Friday. As I already told Blumenberg, or whatever his name is, if the code is not ready by Friday our inclination will be to cancel the project.”
Finally he rose to leave. At the door, he turned and delivered his parting shot. “I know this guy Harry is a lot more intelligent than you are, Jon. But apart from that, I think you’re two of a kind.”
It took nearly five minutes before Jon could calm down enough to start thinking rationally about what had just happened. Meyers’ incredible vitriol made no sense to him. He could understand his first few encounters with the man. Meyers obviously wanted to scuttle Jon’s earlier position in the project because of Lettie. It was a blatant maneuver that allowed him to hit on her. But the pure hatred Meyers had just shown him was beyond comprehension. Had Harry done something to set him off?
While Jon struggled to sort it all out, there was another knock on the door. Well, at least it’s not Meyers, he thought. Meyers would have just barged in.
“The door is open!”
Benton Reeves walked in. “I hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time,” he said politely.
Jon smiled nervously. The “Old Man” rarely made personal visits, and he might well wonder who had authorized the elaborate remodel of his office.
“Not at all, sir, not at all,” he said quickly. He hoped his rapid response didn’t make the panic that engulfed him too obvious.
Benton Reeves approached his desk. Uncertain whether to invite him to sit, Jon remained silent.
“How are things going, my boy?”
“Well enough, except for the fact that Harry’s out sick.”
“Well, that’s not good,” Benton Reeves said gruffly. The Old Man’s eyes were fixed on Jon like twin laser beams. Jon almost winced. With anyone else he would have kept his cool and remained silent. But with Benton Reeves he was compelled to say something.
“Actually things were going very well before Harry took sick. We’re very close on the PKD project.”
“Close only counts in horseshoes, my boy,” said Benton.
And hand grenades, thought Jon, silently finishing the saying. He immediately regretted his choice of words.
“The company has a whole lot riding on this PKD project. And so do you. I want you to do everything in your power to get Harry to finish this thing, even if you have to drag him out of bed by the scruff of his neck.”
Jon could just imagine Harry’s reaction if Jon had the nerve to do that.
“Yes, sir,” he replied. He felt like a complete fool.
“I know I can depend on you, my boy,” said Benton. He smiled broadly, a forced expression, more grimace than grin. He turned and walked out of the office.
When Jon left the office shortly after five o’clock, he recalled Harry’s appearance the last time he had seen him. He had looked like a whipped dog—absolutely defeated, with no fight left in him. Jon shuddered, realizing that was exactly how he felt now.