Disclosure_ A Novel - Michael Crichton [31]
“Well, I’ve got to get a heat-sealer first. I hope I can ship Wednesday, you can have them Thursday.”
“Not good enough,” Sanders said. “You should ship today, or tomorrow at the latest. You want me to run down a sealer for you? I can probably get one from Apple.” Apple had a factory in Kuala Lumpur.
“No. That’s a good idea. I’ll call over there and see if Ron can loan me one.”
“Fine. Now what about Jafar?”
“Hell of a thing,” Kahn said. “I just talked to the hospital, and apparently he’s got cramps and vomiting. Won’t eat anything. The abo doctors say they can’t figure out anything except, you know, a spell.”
“They believe in spells?”
“Damn right,” Kahn said. “They’ve got laws against sorcery here. You can take people to court.”
“So you don’t know when he’ll be back?”
“Nobody’s saying. Apparently he’s really sick.”
“Okay, Arthur. Anything else?”
“No. I’ll get the sealer. And let me know what you find out.”
“I will,” Sanders said, and the transmission ended. Kahn gave a final wave, and the screen went blank.
SAVE THIS TRANSMISSION TO DISK OR DAT?
He clicked dat, and it was saved to digital tape. He got up from the desk. Whatever all this was about, he’d better be informed before he had his meeting with Johnson at six. He went to the outer area, to Cindy’s desk.
Cindy was turned away, laughing on the phone. She looked back and saw Sanders, and stopped laughing. “Listen, I got to go.”
Sanders said, “Would you mind pulling the production reports on Twinkle for the last two months? Better yet, just pull everything since they opened the line.”
“Sure.”
“And call Don Cherry for me. I need to know what his Diagnostics group is doing with the drives.”
He went back into his office. He noticed his E-mail cursor was blinking, and pushed the key to read them. While he waited, he looked at the three faxes on his desk. Two were from Ireland, routine weekly production reports. The third was a requisition for a roof repair at the Austin plant; it had been held up in Operations in Cupertino, and Eddie had forwarded it to Sanders to try and get action.
The screen blinked. He looked up at the first of his E-mail messages:
OUT OF NOWHERE WE GOT A BEAN COUNTER FROM OPERATIONS DOWN HERE IN AUSTIN. HE’S GOING OVER ALL THE BOOKS, DRIVING PEOPLE MAD. AND THE WORD IS WE GOT MORE COMING DOWN TOMORROW. WHAT GIVES? THE RUMORS ARE FLYING, AND SLOWING HELL OUT OF THE LINE. TELL ME WHAT TO SAY. IS THIS COMPANY FOR SALE OR NOT?
EDDIE
Sanders did not hesitate. He couldn’t tell Eddie what was going on. Quickly, he typed his reply:
THE BEAN COUNTERS WERE IN IRELAND LAST WEEK, TOO. GARVIN’S ORDERED A COMPANY-WIDE REVIEW, AND THEY’RE LOOKING AT EVERYTHING. TELL EVERYBODY DOWN THERE TO FORGET IT AND GO BACK TO WORK.
TOM
He pushed the SEND button. The message disappeared.
“You called?” Don Cherry walked into the room without knocking, and dropped into the chair. He put his hands behind his head. “Jesus, what a day. I’ve been putting out fires all afternoon.”
“Tell me.”
“I got some dweebs from Conley down there, asking my guys what the difference is between RAM and ROM. Like they have time for this. Pretty soon, one of the dweebs hears ‘flash memory’ and he goes, ‘How often does it flash?’ Like it was a flashlight or something. And my guys have to put up with this. I mean, this is high-priced talent. They shouldn’t be doing remedial classes for lawyers. Can’t you stop it?”
“Nobody can stop it,” Sanders said.
“Maybe Meredith can stop it,” Cherry said, grinning.
Sanders shrugged. “She’s the boss.”
“Yeah. So—what’s on your mind?”
“Your Diagnostics group is working on the Twinkle drives.”
“True. That is, we’re working on the bits and pieces that’re left after Lewyn’s nimble-fingered artistes tore the hell out of them. Why did they go to Design first? Never, ever, let a designer near an actual piece of electronic equipment, Tom. Designers should only be allowed to draw pictures on pieces of paper. And only give them one piece of paper at a time.”
“What have you found?” Sanders said. “About the drives.