McLeod sighed and started talking in a low, almost casual voice.
“I had access to three classified files — SECRET, TOP SECRET, or above— all about the laser cannon installation on Zumwalt-class destroyers, or about the cannon itself. I copied all three and took the information home.”
“Go on,” Weber said.
“Then I prepared several deliveries.” McLeod cleared his throat, continuing, “I wasn’t going to hand out everything in one deal. I milked it for all it was worth.”
“So, you’re just a regular Judas, a traitor for money?”
McLeod smiled bitterly. “That’s what you think, huh? How simple it is for you ignorants to slap a label on someone and find peace with your conscience, no matter how wrong you are. Amazing… Ignorance is bliss.”
“Then tell me, what am I missing?”
“You haven’t asked the most important question: why? Why did I decide to risk my life and my freedom to give these people information? I couldn’t care less about their ideology.”
“OK, I’ll bite. Why?”
“A few years ago I filed a patent for a new navigation stabilization system, one that could be used on Navy vessels, and also adapted to any aircraft. My invention introduced variable geometry controlled by environmental sensors. In short, the vessel would change its hull properties depending on currents and wind direction, bringing significant gains in speed, fuel efficiency, and stability. Do you even know how important that is, how much of a game changer? I guess I’m safe to presume not…”
“Yes, you are. Go ahead, I’m all ears,” Weber replied dryly, immune to McLeod’s biting arrogance.
“The patent was filed under joint authorship, me and Walcott Global. It wasn’t the first patent that I filed under these circumstances.”
“Then what happened?” Weber asked, while his interest piqued.
“A couple of months ago I heard it on TV, on the fucking TV no less, that Walcott had sold my patent to Endeavor Aviation for 157 million dollars. Nicely done! I didn’t even know about it.”
“Then what did you do?”
“At that point I was still a solid citizen,” he said with a disgusted scoff. “I went to see my boss about it, then Human Resources. They all said the same thing, that all my work was work for hire, that I was being paid every two weeks, and that they didn’t owe me anything. Fucking bastards!”
“I understand you were upset—”
“Upset? I was frantic! What a difference 5 percent would have made for me, for my life, while they wouldn’t even have felt it. Even 1 percent; I’d have taken that 1 percent and be eternally grateful. But no… the fucking greedy parasites, the leeches, sucking every ounce of someone’s value and paying pennies for it. They had the arrogance to think they could own my brain. They only pay for eight hours of my time during each business day. They don’t even come close to paying for everything this has to offer,” McLeod finished his tirade pointing his right index finger at his temple.
“Then what did you do?”
“I decided to make them pay a different way, if I couldn’t negotiate with them. I thought maybe there was someone else out there willing to pay me, while I taught the leeches a lesson in humility and fair compensation. That’s why I didn’t hand out all the documents at a time.”
Weber’s anger was getting harder to control. He couldn’t believe the entitled arrogance in that asshole.
“Did you ever stop to think you were betraying your country, Mr. McLeod?”
“My country can take it, Agent Weber. This country is full of brilliant schmucks like me who’ll invent new gizmos every day and get paid next to nothing for it. That’s what makes America great, isn’t it?”
Weber stood abruptly and exited the interview room, afraid his mixed feelings would cloud his judgment in there. He had spent his entire life serving his country, and nothing disgusted him more than a traitor. He could have wrung that arrogant bastard’s neck himself in there, with his bare hands. Yet, in the back of his mind somewhere, he could feel the man’s frustration and see his point. Maybe McLeod wasn’t the only guilty party in this game… Maybe Walcott could have done things a little differently too, although Walcott had never broken the law; only McLeod had.
But if that were entirely the case, why didn’t Mason Armstrong find any evidence of this situation anywhere in McLeod’s file, Human Resources debriefings, or during the interview with his manager?
…73
Evgheni Smolin woke up a little disoriented and started looking around his hospital room. The smells of disinfectant and medication were his first sensory input, followed by the whiteness of everything in that room.
He was by himself; always a good thing. His healthy left arm was handcuffed to the bed rail, and an IV line was stuck in it. His right shoulder hurt quite badly, but it was bearable. His right arm was bandaged and immobilized. His mouth felt dry, probably from the anesthetics they had given him for surgery.
There was a chip in one of his molars. He felt around with the tip of his tongue, then grunted angrily. His cyanide capsule was gone, probably removed during surgery. Bastards…
He was hooked up to several sensors. A clasp sensor on one of his fingers measured his blood oxygenation. Several adhesive sensors planted on his chest conveyed electrical signals to the monitors next to his bed. The upper monitor beeped and displayed a healthy, steady heart rate of fifty-eight beats per minute, and a blood pressure of 112 over 74. The lower monitor showed his breathing rate at fourteen per minute, with 98 percent O2 sat.
The wall at his right was made entirely of glass and had a French door, which was wide open. He took a few minutes to observe the traffic in the hallway, and listen to the sounds — how distant they were and what kind. All was peaceful on that hospital floor, except the MP who guarded his room closely, leaning against the glass. However, that MP was bound to leave his post at some point.
Waiting for that to happen, he started checking out his own body. He lifted his head from the pillow and noted no dizziness. Great. He tensed the muscles in one leg, then the other, restoring a vigorous blood flow and waking those muscles up. He was ready, as ready as he was ever going to be.
The MP looked in his direction briefly, then walked slowly away. Smolin gave him a minute to disappear, then moved into action.
First, he leaned on his left side, reached out, and with a great deal of effort, grabbed the IV needle with his teeth, and pulled it out of his arm. Then he held his breath for as long as he could, sending one of the monitors into a beeping frenzy. After that, he started hyperventilating, and then held his breath again. This type of respiratory distress finally raised his heart rate above 120 beats per minute and spiked his blood pressure, causing the second monitor to join in the concert of beeps.
A nurse burst in his room and started checking his vitals on the monitors, as Smolin heaved, hyperventilated, and writhed on the bed, making it hard for the nurse to assess his condition. Vaguely, he heard a code call, and then the nurse’s voice, yelling from right next to him.
“Hey, you, come on in here and remove his handcuff, stat!”