Page 24 of The List
DAY SEVEN
C HRIS MARCHED ACROSS THE B LUE T OWER’S TWENTY-NINTH FLOOR, away from management’s corner, to the cadre of offices that accommodated the company’s sales force and chief of security.
Jon De Florio’s office didn’t share the prestige he, Lee, and Hughes enjoyed, but it was respectable and the position came with two subordinates and an administrative assistant. More than enough help to accommodate the meager responsibilities the official position actually entailed.
He noticed the assistant’s desk was empty. He and De Florio were often first in every morning. So he stopped at the open doorway to the private office.
“You’ve come a long way,” he quietly said.
De Florio, framed by an overcast morning filtered even grayer by the tinted glass, looked up from what he was reading.
“It’s been, what, fifteen years? You’ve done a lot here.”
“The Priority program is on a steady course,” De Florio said in his characteristic low voice.
“Not like in the beginning, huh? Prioritizing was so haphazard. We never considered pattern, variation, or verification. Those little things that make all the difference. But you fixed that, Jon. The Rules you fashioned have proven sound. The program’s success is directly attributable to your efforts. ”
“I appreciate that, Mr. Bozin. I’ve tried to do a good job.”
He stepped inside. “Do you like your position, Jon?”
“This office, my title, yes, they’re measures of respectability my actual profession never enjoys.”
He liked that there was no pretense between them. No secrets either. “I’ve noticed that you spend more time in here than you used to.”
De Florio nodded. “I’ve been devoting more attention to my public position. My associates are competent and handle the Priority orders efficiently. They don’t need me standing over them. That’s one reason I requested the third associate earlier this year.”
“I understand you’re back to two again?”
“Unfortunately, I had to terminate the employment of one.”
“Will the loss be a problem?”
“I’m already looking for another, and should have somebody in place by August. Luckily, background files on the three new Priorities approved a few days ago were generated in April.
It’s the pre-work that consumes the time.
On-site surveillance. Records review. My associates devote about eighty percent of their time to file generation and twenty percent to actual processing. ”
“But that eighty percent is time well spent.”
De Florio nodded. “There’s a proven correlation between a successful processing and a thorough file.”
He was impressed with how effortlessly the man sitting across from him discussed murder.
“And,” De Florio said, “with union negotiations approaching, I assume there will be a one- to two-month lull in any new Priority approval, as in the past.”
“A safe assumption. Negotiations tend to consume everyone’s attention, at least for a while. Realistically, it will be July before any new names are added to the list.” He motioned to the mail and files stacked on one corner. “You seem to have a lot to do.”
“I haven’t gone through this stuff in days. I’ve been busy with the processings from May’s list and overseeing the training of the new associate.”
He smiled. “I’ll let you get back to your work. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
He left the office and headed back to management’s corner, satisfied with what he’d learned. De Florio and only two associates.
Until August.
Perfect.
8:20 A.M.
J ON TURNED HIS ATTENTION TO THE STACK OF PAPER ON HIS DESK, realizing that was perhaps the longest conversation he’d ever had with Christopher Bozin.
He wasn’t fond of the administrative prattle associated with his job, usually passing most of that on to his assistant. Some things, though, couldn’t be delegated, simply for appearances’ sake, and he started shuffling through the various memoranda that required his initials.
Most were reports from his two subordinates.
He gave a few a cursory glance. One concerned the resolution of a troublesome theft situation at the Concord bag plant that had cost the company thousands of dollars.
Half a dozen more involved personnel changes that required his approval.
Since the fiscal year expired on June 30, the security department’s budget submission, prepared by his admin assistant, was there for review.
But a memo at the bottom of the stack captured his undivided attention.
TO: J. De Florio
FROM: Computer Systems at Concord mill
DATE: June 9
RE: Power Surge / Security Breach?
A routine check of main computer core revealed electrical damage to the secured access circuits.
Power interruptions were reported during thunderstorms this week.
No specific damage was noted but a circuit board was found charred.
Perhaps from a lightning strike. Power surge protectors did trigger and are thought to have insulated the system.
However, there could have been a drop in the secured access system allowing entry into the secured files for a short period (approximately 1 to 2 minutes).
Time of day makes any actual access unlikely.
Most storms peaked after 9:00 P.M. when the vast majority of terminals with potential access were not in use.
Wanted to make you aware of the possibility.
What day of the week had this happened?
The memo was dated last Friday and did not specify anything except this week .
He grabbed the phone, dialed Concord, and got the sender on the line, keeping his voice calm and cordial. “I received your memo on the possibility of a secured file access. You talk about power interruptions during storms last week. Exactly what day of the week was that?”
“It’s hard to say, but the worst storm occurred last Tuesday, the sixth, which probably accounted for the damage. But there were storms on Wednesday and Thursday also.”
“Any evidence of entry into the secured files?”
“Not from our end. But there wouldn’t be. We rely on the secured access system for protection. Of course, the individual terminals would keep a record in their directories of any file entry.”
“Do we know which terminals were operating during the storms?”
“We didn’t go that far. And I really wasn’t going to. No maintenance requests came from any department. We don’t even know if there was a breach. Even if there was, it would have lasted only a minute or two at most. The odds of access at that time of day are pretty slim.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” he said for his listener’s benefit only, “and I appreciate your thoroughness. But why did it take a week to detect this?”
“No breakdown occurred and, for some reason, the backup system didn’t trigger any control panel alerts.
Which, by the way, may also suggest that the system itself never failed.
That’s why I said could have in the memo and put the question mark on the ‘re’ line.
The actual damage was found only when we physically went into the system on Friday to do some routine work.
Once it was brought to my attention, I thought I should report it.
Odds are, my people tell me, no access into the secured system occurred at all. ”
He thanked the man and hung up.
But he was not as convinced.
9:25 A.M.
H AMILTON L EE WAS CHANGING HIS CLOTHES IN THE MARBLE bathroom adjacent to his office, replacing his Armani suit with a knit shirt and Ralph Lauren golf slacks.
“What’s the problem,” he called out, as De Florio walked into his office and closed the door.
He stepped from the bathroom.
“The computer systems people have reported a possible breakdown of the secured access code that protects the board’s personal files, including Priority.
The breakdown may have occurred last Tuesday during a thunderstorm in Concord.
The same day Marlene Rhoden worked late and stole the memos we left for her to find. ”
“And you believe she may have gotten into the secured files?”
“The thought crossed my mind.”
“Any proof?”
“Not in our system. But her terminal could tell us for sure.”
“What makes you think she even tried to access the Priority files?”
“Years of being paranoid.”
He smiled. He wasn’t as concerned as De Florio seemed to be, but he wasn’t foolish either. “Check it out.”
“My thought, too. Do you wish a suspension on the processing of the remainder from May’s list in the meantime?”
“How’s that progressing?”
“Numbers 6 and 8 are fully done. Seven will be shortly.”
He considered the request, but he had an 11:30 tee time and had to be finished with golf by four.
His wife had made that clear. It was the start of the summer social season and she did not want to be late for the first event this evening.
And he did not want to lose the dollars gained from that last Priority.
Every penny counted.
“Go ahead and finish.”
12:55 P.M.
C HRIS WAS DRESSED IN A POLKA-DOT GOWN, OPEN IN THE BACK, identical to one he’d worn most of the weekend.
He was in his doctor’s posh downtown Atlanta office, on the fifteenth floor of a medical building adjacent to Crawford W.
Long Hospital. He’d spent the weekend having tests.
Today a couple more were required. But thankfully, they could be performed in the office.
It had been two years ago, during a routine physical, that another doctor first noticed the mass.
A subsequent biopsy confirmed that his prostate harbored cancerous cells.
At his insistence a conservative treatment had been employed involving a drug combination designed merely to check any spreading.
He’d vetoed surgery, not wanting to draw attention.
Luckily, the drugs were somewhat successful and subsequent tests confirmed that the cancer seemed contained.
But that situation had changed over the past few weeks.