Paradime by Alan Glynn Read Free Book Online

me.’
    ‘Fine.’ He taps the table with his index finger. ‘Things are very tense at Gideon these days, with the DoD, with the industry in general, with everyone suing everyone else, to the extent that it seems like the whole thing is getting out of control. I mean, Artie Galansky is on a troubleshooting roller-coaster right now and he doesn’t know how to get off. All he does know is how to escalate shit and make it worse. He’s a lawyer, it’s what they do, they generate billable hours, but sometimes you have to take a step back, you know what I mean?’
    I shrug, half wondering now if Coover has made a mistake, if he might actually think I’m someone else. Because why would he be talking to me like this?
    ‘So then,’ he continues, lowering his voice slightly, ‘along comes some low-level employee, a food-services guy, say, and there’s a situation, there’s uncertainty, there’s a perceived risk. What does Artie do? What’s his plan? Crush the little cockroach, that’s what. He doesn’t give it a moment’s thought, doesn’t have to, because it’s all mapped out in the contract of employment, signed – as Artie sees it – by the cockroach.’
    I swallow. And loudly.
    Coover waits, giving me a moment. ‘Did you ever read your contract, Danny?’
    I shrug again. ‘Yeah, of course, but—’
    ‘I know, who gets beyond page one, right? But interestingly, on page fifteen there’s a confidentiality clause that effectively prohibits you from speaking to anyone – journalists, investigators, prosecutors, your girlfriend, doesn’t matter – about any allegations you might have against Gideon. The declared purpose of the clause is to protect the company’s internal review process, but in essence it’s a gag order on whistle-blowers. So, put that with your GO-1C violation, and you’re in a very vulnerable position. In fact, as far as Artie Galansky is concerned, you’re not even a problem any more, because your employment’s been terminated, you have your letter of warning, and the next step, if required, is automatic legal action, which – believe me – will be clear-cut, swift, and brutal.’ He smiles. ‘You’re a ticked box, my friend.’
    It’s not thumping any more, my heart – it’s paralysed, frozen over. Coover’s passive-aggressive style is exhausting, and I’m not sure what to think, let alone what I might even begin to say.
    Our drinks show up.
    But the time-out is all too brief. Coover doesn’t even acknowledge Cecily’s presence, which means that Cecily, being the pro that she is, doesn’t acknowledge ours. She’s gone pretty quick.
    For a second or two I look at the Martini on my side of the table, then reach for the club soda. I take a sip from it.
    ‘Okay, Phil,’ I say, ‘what are you telling me here that isn’t in the letter? Why is this cockroach getting special attention?’
    ‘Well . . .’ – he drags the word out – ‘that’s simple. It’s because I think Artie Galansky is wrong.’ He reaches for my Martini and pulls it towards his so that the two glasses are aligned directly in front of him, the large olives hovering below his face now like an extra set of eyeballs. ‘He’s paranoid is what it is, about whistle-blowers, because these days even the word is enough to—’
    ‘But I’m not a whistle-blower.’
    Coover clicks his tongue. ‘Maybe not technically, Danny, maybe not yet —’
    ‘What are you talking about?’
    But even as I’m asking him the question, I get an uncomfortable sense of what the answer is going to be, or at least its shape, the contours of it.
    ‘Listen, Danny,’ he says, ‘Gideon has its systems, its internal review mechanisms, and they’re looking at what happened that night, all of it, the riot, the thing you saw, or think you saw, they’re investigating it, you can rest assured of that . . . but what they don’t need is someone loudly confronting senior officials or approaching a congressman in a goddamned