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Prologue
8:13 am. Monday, December 16, 2002. Bethesda, Maryland.
Joseph Torbin stepped out of his limo onto the corner of Adams and Main. The sky was clear and blue, the weather bitingly cold. Today was a very important meeting between the top executives of Lockheed Martin. They were entering a critical phase of development in their F-35 JSF program. The initial flight testing had been completed over a year ago, and it was now time to finally bring these jets into a combat ready form.
The Joint Strike Fighter variants employed a revolutionary propulsion system, along with many commonalities that would save billions of dollars in maintenance in the long run. Torbin is the head of the R&D division, credited with coming up with the innovative propulsion system. He was to give a cost projection and timeline for this lucrative project that would supply jets to the US Navy, Air Force, the British Royal Air Force, and several international partners. Up to now, everything was on schedule and on budget. Torbin sighed, he was about to go to the top floor of the massive Lockheed headquarters and tell them that everything was about to change. They were not going to be happy about this.
He entered the lobby, flashed his ID badge at the security guard, and pressed the elevator call button. One of his fellow engineers walked up next to him. He was young, bright eyed, and brilliant. And also extraordinarily naïve. The sooner he realized that there were a thousand guys just like him gunning for his job, the better.
"Going up to give them the bad news?" he asked.
"Yep, I just hope they don't fire my ass."
"It's not your fault, Joe. This was just a computer fuckup," said his friend as they got into the elevator. Torbin pressed the button for the top floor.
"This was a fuckup of epic proportions, Larry. EPIC. Do you have any idea how much this is going to cost Lockheed?"
"No, but I'm guessing you do."
Torbin rubbed his temple. "Yes, I do."
"We're all behind you, Joe. If you want, we'll all go up there too and vouch for you."
Torbin managed a small smile. Larry was exaggerating, he was probably the only loyal one out of the entire division. This was due in no small part to Torbin's mentoring of the young engineer.
"No need, Larry. The whole team need not be punished for this."
The elevator stopped on the 46
th
floor. "Well, good luck Joe," said Larry as he stepped out of the elevator.
"Yeah, thanks. I'm going to need it."
***
Michael Torbin walked out of the umbilical into the airport terminal, carrying a black duffel bag. He looked around and saw his mother waving at him from one of the seats. He walked over and stood before her.
"So, how was school?"
"Fine."
"Grades?" It was more of a statement than a question.
"A's. Just like you wanted."
"All of them?" said his mother sternly.
"Yes, I got an A in every class."
"Good. Let's go get your luggage."
The two of them walked out of the terminal and down to the luggage area. The buzzer sounded and bags came tumbling down the ramp.
"How's this thing with dad coming along?"
"Not good. He's actually delivering the news right now. Is that your bag?"
"No. After all this time, they still couldn't find the data? How is that possible?"
"You know how your father is. He'd rather fail than ever ask for help. Once he realized he didn't have it, and couldn't find it, well…"
"He's going to take responsibility for it?" His mother nodded. "He'll be fired, won't he?"
"We'll see Michael, we'll see."
Chapter One: The Weekend
7: 41 pm. Friday, May 16, 2003. Chicago, Illinois.
"Come on boy, tests are over, vacation is about to begin and I have a wad of cash to blow. It's time to get hammered."
"You can call my dog, 'boy.' Don't ever call me boy. And I've got too many things on my mind-"
"All the more reason to come get piss drunk with me. You've got the next week to worry about just how far down the shitter your life is going. Tonight, you drink."
"Maybe you're not hearing me, Tom. I
know
how far down the shitter my world is going. What I'm worrying about is how exactly I'm going to climb my way out."
"Well," Tom paused. "Hmm. You're fucked. Fucked, fucked, fucked, fucked. There's nothing you can do about it. Short of bending over and letting Ruszinzko take you up the ass, that is."
"Yeah, well, I feel like I've already been anally raped by all my professors this week. I just showed up to each test with a giant smile on my face, proceeded to remove my pants, grab my ankles, and begged them to shove these finals up my ass as far as they could go."
Michael Torbin buried his face in his hands and rubbed his eyes as hard as he could. It was not going to be pleasant explaining his grades to his parents. And if taking the exams felt like getting raped up the ass, then groveling for his parents to continue his college funding was going to feel like getting on his knees and sucking off the guy who just raped him. The gods of test scheduling had decreed that all six of his finals be taken during the first two days of exam week with advanced biochem and multivariable calculus leading the way. Tom had pretty much the same schedule, but he seemed pretty confident of
his
grades. He stood up from their rather dilapidated couch.
"Jesus, you're a downer."
"So is alcohol."
"Yes, but where's the pleasant side effects? The inflated sense of self esteem? The suddenly beautiful women?"
Michael sighed. The last time he went on a bender, his parents cut his food allowance in half. The prospect of eating nothing but ramen noodles for breakfast, lunch, and dinner again had kept him on the straight and narrow for awhile now.
"Well?" asked Tom. "Get up man, let's go put some brain cells out of our misery."
8:07 pm.
After tying the dog up outside the house, Michael and Tom took the L train downtown to a nice bar on Lake Street that the two frequented. The bartender was a man named Steve, an elderly gentleman who took a liking to the two students and was rather lax about checking their ID's. Many a debate between Michael and Steve was had over the Bears, Cubs, Sox, and any and all things sports related.
The place itself was absolutely beautiful. 19
th
century design, leather couches and chairs, pool tables, big screen TV's, even a few chess tables. Steve and his wife Lisa somehow ran the whole place by themselves, with a bit of hired help on the weekends when it was really crowded. Lisa was in her mid 40's, 5' 7", curvy, mischievous eyes and had a vivacious personality that drove men wild when she was younger. Over the years, quite a few drunken men had made passes at her. But Steve had a bit of a temper, and those guys never hit on her again, lest they receive a swift, right cross to the jaw.
It was a cool night with a nice breeze that day. The place wasn't quite jumping yet, but there was a decent crowd there with a few absolutely gorgeous women drinking whatever frilly drink it is that gorgeous women drink. Tom's head was a swivel, but Michael was too busy wallowing in self-pity to care. They found a couple of empty stools and saddled up for the large amounts of painkillers they were about to ingest.
"Evening gentlemen, what can I get for you?" asked Lisa.
"Hi, Lisa." said Tom. "Gimme a Guinness."
"I'll have a double tequila," said Michael.
"Coming up," Lisa spun around and just as quickly turned back with the drinks.
Michael downed his in one gulp and asked for another.
"Bad day, honey?" asked Lisa as she refilled his glass.
"You could say that," he said as he downed his drink again and tapped the bar with his knuckle. "Where's Steve?"
"Upstairs playing chess. The man decides to learn how to play chess on our busiest night of the week, the big lush." said Lisa. "So, come on you, tell me about it."
Michael decided to let Tom take the lead.
"He's just depressed because he single handedly destroyed his life. Yep, his life is very over. Dead man walking. Quite a feat actually. And he has no one to blame but himself." said Tom. "Another Guinness, please."
"Screw you Tom," said Michael as he downed his third drink of the last sixty seconds.
"Just because I'm the king of cramming doesn't mean you have to be jealous. Well, considering your situation, yeah, you probably should be." He took a big swig of his beer.
"I don't see why kids today are in such a hurry to grow up, graduate college and get a job. Real life isn't all that exciting. You gotta slow yourself down, boy." said Lisa. "You're still young. Take a semester or two off. Go find yourself some young woman to love, or at least make love to."
She spoke the last part with a bit of a twinkle in her eye. Or maybe the tequila was starting to take its toll on Michael.
"Right Lisa, and if a big suitcase of money falls out of the sky and into my lap, then maybe I'll take some time off. But hooking up with a girl certainly sounds like a good idea. Ah, I don't know." Michael looked down at his empty glass. "Can you give me a drink that I can nurse for a few hours?"
"Sure. I got just the thing, but give me a minute, ok?" replied Lisa sweetly. She turned and really put on a show of mixing the drink. She was a virtuoso with glass bottles and metal mixers.
Tom looked at him. "He's not going anywhere, Lis, I however, am certainly feeling the vibes from that redhead over there. Excuse me for a moment, or the night if I got my mojo going."
He picked up his drink and sauntered towards the other end of the bar where a few women were sitting. One of them was a beautiful young girl, quietly sipping some pink concoction. Michael locked his eyes on her. He couldn't stop staring. She was a real cutie. Subdued blue eyes and medium length blond hair that perfectly framed her face. A dictionary definition of young, feminine beauty. And also very, very familiar but Michael couldn't quite place her. She glanced up, raised her eyebrows a bit and gave him a slight little smile. He looked straight back at her but he still couldn't figure out who she was. Tom finally sidled up next to the redhead and she looked towards them. Despite Tom's boastings and his numerous former girlfriends, his encounters with women were the stuff of comedic legend around the university. He was a good guy, he just needed to keep his arrogance in check. Or someone to keep it in check for him.
"Hey there, still with me?"
Michael looked back at Lisa. "Of course, I'm not a lightweight you know."
"Maybe not for booze. But it doesn't take much more than a beautiful woman to make your head spin." She said as she noticed the girl sitting across the bar from him.
"Are you offering?"
"You want Steve to break your nose? Here, take this drink and go sit down over near those girls you and Tom were gawking it. I think Tom is trying to break the record for the number of drinks thrown in his face in a row."
