GWOT 2 - Processing
Mar. 3rd, 2019 03:12 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
drewkittyOur detour had only taken us two days. And it is much easier to get a single vehicle around the Bay Area than any convoy.
The company fuel card continued to work. We were both in uniform, armed, with travel papers. And my travel papers were apparently Papers Of Great Respect +10, because reading the signature at the bottom of the first page seemed to galvanize Homeland sentries into immediate action. Gates opened, barriers raised, even salutes.
I almost felt relieved when we made it to Milpitas and the local police control point flipped us shit but passed us through.
I called in on radio now that we were in range. The acknowledgment was brief and crisp.
When we made it back to the South Gate, there had been some changes.
Most notably, concrete construction. We were now building concrete walls to take the place of the wire-and-ditch of our first attempt at a perimeter.
Also, the sacrificial tower at the gate was now manned with a single guard with binoculars. I had never expected us to post someone up there.
Then came the kicker. The Gate Captain was Sarah Stewart, and she was under orders to deny me access.
"Brooke, you're good. But [Echo 18] is explicitly listed as not cleared for access by order of Major Cartwright. I've called him. He knows you're at the gate. He will not permit you access."
I blinked. Hadn't expected that.
"Is the SLE still [so-and-so]?"
"Yes." Although properly she should not have answered any questions from an unauthorized person.
Let's push this just a little.
"I'd like to use the internal phone."
Sarah looked relieved as she passed the battered analog phone over and I dialed several digits from memory.
The Dragon Lady answered. She allowed that while the SLE was in a meeting, that she could interrupt him, and stay on the line please.
"[Echo 18], glad that you're back! Come up to my office and let's debrief."
"Yes, sir. I'd love to. But I can't get past the gate."
"Why not?"
"I'm not cleared for re-entry, sir."
"Not. Cleared," he said slowly, making each syllable last a second.
"Sir."
"By whom are you not cleared?"
"I am told that I am not cleared by Major Cartwright, sir."
Click. The phone was abruptly hung up, and I passed it back to Sarah.
"Under the circumstances, I think I'd like to inspect the outer perimeter defense - as that is a task I can do from outside the site. You're the Gate Captain, is that OK with you?"
Sarah thought about it.
"I would be OK with it, but I have a safety concern. There could be a horrible accident. You are not cleared; you cannot enter. But if you leave this area, you could be mistakenly taken under fire. I have had no instructions to disarm either of you. But I am thinking it might be best for all of us to stay here."
How tactfully put, Sarah. Very Captainly of you.
So we hung out and talked shop while waiting for something to happen.
About eight minutes later, the Reaction Team responded to the South Gate without contact or a PA notification.
The SLE and his protection specialist were in the lead vehicle. They walked briskly up, calling for the Gate Captain.
"The access list?" the SLE demanded.
She showed it to him. He reviewed it.
"Did you speak to Major Cartwright?"
"Yes, sir."
"Did you tell him that [Echo 18] was at the gate?"
"Yes, sir."
"Did you ask permission to allow him entry?"
"Yes, sir."
"Was that permission granted?"
"No, sir."
The SLE turned on his heel to meet the Security golf cart being driven up to the gate by Major Cartwright, alone. The SLE's bodyguard perforce followed.
Even though they were two hundred feet away, I could see by body language that their conversation became extremely heated.
As a subject matter expert, I could tell that the bodyguard was constantly within a half second of emptying a magazine into Major Cartwright.
This was rapidly developing into a big problem.
It was not a secret to anyone that Major Cartwright and I did not see eye to eye. But not allowing me in the South Gate was borderline delusional on his part. Persisting in this delusion with the SLE - Site Location Executive, the Client executive in charge of this little floating patch of sanity in the sea of madness - would normally be career ending. Usually for the lowly contractor, like me, but sometimes for everyone who witnessed it. Because this was the thing that should not be - a faction fight among the leadership, made embarrassingly public.
The three walked back. Major Cartwright wordlessly took the access list binder from a stock-still Sarah, scrawled in a name and date and time, the word APPROVED and his initials, and walked back to his cart. Only then did the SLE offer me his hand.
"Welcome back! You will allow me to give a ride to you _both_ to my office."
"Sir," I shook back as Brooke retrieved her rifle and slung it. As always, her shoulder weapon was her greeting to everyone. We then walked through the gate. Sarah was already on the phone.
To us _both_.
Sarah was saying quickly, "Final go-no go point for Operation Post It Note. Will advise," and hung up.
To us _both_.
Sarah handed both of us radios as we walked behind the SLE.
There was room in the pickup truck bed for Brooke, Stewart and myself. And we were very much in operating mode.
No bells, no PA announcements, but all over the site, Security personnel were shrugging on armor, checking weapons and radios, and getting ready.
The technical term is coup. As in coup de etat.
There was some question as to who was the lawful authority and who was the traitor. But isn't there always?
It is hard to conduct a complex political briefing in the back of a rumbling pickup truck. It was up to Sarah to talk loudly into my left ear, the one not wearing a radio earpiece.
"Cartwright basically went nuts after you left. Cancelled all your accesses. Put his people in as shift supervisors and busted the rest of us to support positions. He's been rewriting the SOP to take out the licensing and training requirements so he can fill Security positions with employee volunteers."
I nodded and said loudly over the road noise, "He can do all those things."
I can tell that Sarah heard me, because she flinched.
"Say again, sir?"
"He's the boss. He can do all those things. What else did he do?"
"Weapons audit, vehicle audit - no discrepancies. Fired Mo. Kicked him and his family outside the wire."
Now that was just not on. But again within his powers.
"What about the shed?"
"I don't think he knows about the shed. Mo gave his key to me."
That would help. "What else?"
"Says he has secret orders. When the other guards got back, he didn't want to let them in. Only when you weren't with them did he allow it. They are off duty status - under investigation - and not getting paid."
When I had left the site, I had carefully given my Company responsibilities to the only other person who had been a Company supervisor before the Firecracker.
"Where is Arturo?"
"He was fired too. But his wife is a contractor so he's a dependent, so he's still here."
"Who took over the Company hat?"
"No one. Well, we've been bringing food to Wyatt after Cartwright turned off his ration card with the rest of the Company ration cards."
I blinked. Now that was just stupid.
"Some of us have been offered jobs with the Client. But no one in the Group, and no supervisors. Last week's payroll wasn't processed so none of us have been paid."
"Anyone else fired? Or off property?"
"Just Mo and his family. I think they're OK though. They had backpacks and took off running as soon as they cleared the gate."
If I'd had to pick a guard to have this happen to, I'd have had to pick Mo. He and his family knew well how to survive in a war zone. But this was all so stupid and unnecessary.
The Reaction Force trucks pulled up to the H building loading dock.
"Gather around," the SLE called, and the Reaction Force - corporate militia - perforce did so. This drew in Sarah, Brooke and myself.
"I have made a decision to remove Alan Cartwright for gross misconduct. As he is the current Corporate Security representative, this is going to pose an interesting problem."
The corporate manager in charge of the Reaction Force blinked several times.
"Sir, could I speak to you privately?"
"No."
"Sir, Major Cartwright has orders from Corporate to do some of the things he is doing."
The SLE turned, like a gun barrel tracking.
"I have a copy of those orders and he has considerably exceeded them. Considerably. Now you don't work for Corporate Security. You work for me. Or you don't. Decide, right now."
This was going to get ugly no matter which way it turned out.
"I work for you, sir."
"Better. Now hear this. Mr. Alan Cartwright is an employee of this corporation. Under my executive authority, however, I am removing from him all supervisory authority at this location, all access privileges to restricted areas, and specifically he is not to possess any weapon, especially not a firearm. You are to implement this decision, effective immediately. I have discussed this with our Vice President of Corporate Security and he agrees. Do you need to give VP Damon a call to confirm?"
"No, sir," he said hastily.
Because if he had insisted on calling VP Damon, and been wrong, he would also be looking for a new work site if not a new job.
"[Echo 18], welcome back. I am told that there are some [Company] issues that you may need to address. I highly value the [Company] contractual arrangement and I would like you to invoice us for all the extra costs associated with these special services - both the Utah trip and the Cartwright issue. After he has been corralled please restore my Security department to proper functioning."
"Yes, sir," I said without enthusiasm. I stepped aside a short distance and keyed up.
"This is [Echo 18] to all stations. Alert One. I say again Alert One. This is not an exercise. This is not a drill. Alert One. I say again Alert One."
Alert One: draw your weapon, switch off the safety and prepare to defend yourself and your post from a superior attack. Secure all doors and gates. No person regardless of clearance or authority is permitted to pass your point, except on duty Reaction Team and Security Force personnel who are actually responding to a breach. Challenge as if during hours of darkness. Force is authorized up to and including deadly force. Report post status via radio every ten minutes or on demand of the Security Control Center. Report relevant observations as they are made.
Brooke and Stewart were already taking up positions to guard the SLE, who was swiftly headed upstairs.
The Reaction Team manager was calling Security Control by wifi cell and demanding Cartwright's location.
I knew he was not yet at H building because his cart was not here. But where had he gone?
I keyed the radio again.
"Echo 18, Security Control, disable Cart 3 immediately. Password Post It Note."
"Wilco," replied the dispatcher laconically.
"What is twenty on Cart 3?"
"Motor Pool."
Had he swapped vehicles? He'd been on site more than long enough to find out about the remote kill switches on all the electric vehicles.
"Control, Truck 2, what are you doing? Authenticate immediately!"
Oh shit.
We did not have remote kill on the armored trucks. They had originally had that capability, but when we had 'bought' them, we had disconnected the remote engine kill from the satellite radios. If I remembered correctly, re-enabling that feature had been on our to-do list but had kept being pushed down by other maintenance issues.
And I was willing to bet hard money that Truck 2 was being operated by Alan Cartwright, which put him in unauthorized possession of a weapon.
"Motor Pool, Control, emergency traffic. Officer down, Truck 2 hijacked. We have casualties, scene not secure, say again scene not secure."
The Reaction Team manager was getting in the truck when I pushed in to sit behind him. I needed to be in the same cab. The displaced Reaction Team member - corporate militiaman - got in the truck bed just as we peeled out.
"Sir, I can detonate a tear gas grenade inside that truck whenever you want," I said loudly.
"Do it!"
"Echo 18, Control, gas Truck 2, password is Post It Note. Gas gas gas."
We had not disabled the remote activation for the tear gas cartridges. We had hooked it up to a wi-fi cellular radio. The authorized armored truck drivers knew about putting a safety pin in each of the three cartridges - two in the cab, one in the back - before leaving on a convoy movement. But Cartwright was not authorized.
They also knew which of the unlabeled emergency bags contained the full face gas mask. I was willing to bet Cartwright did not.
"Motor Pool, scene secure, request stretcher bearers Code 3 for two casualties."
As we came around the corner, we saw that Truck 2 had come to a shuddering halt and a cloud of tear gas was coming out the open driver's door.
Cartwright was running, empty handed, wiping at his eyes. He had been headed to H building with the truck. Not out the gate, not to somewhere else.
Now he was just running. And he was armed.
The Reaction Team manager turned to his driver and gave an order.
I immediately dropped my radio mike, fastened my seat belt and held on tight to the seat in front of me, bending my knees.
The truck's bumper hit Alan Cartwright at 40 miles per hour.
The order had been three words, simple and direct.
"Run him down."
We came to a halt. I dismounted and drew my firearm, running back the way we had come.
I holstered. I did not reach for my handcuffs to run an approach.
There was no need. Not with Cartwright's body at the base of a light pole, and his head ... elsewhere. Off into the bushes like a necromancer's basketball.
"Echo 18, Control, secure from the Alert evolution. Password Post It Note. Password change."
All posts checked in. The stretcher bearers arrived at the Motor Pool. The ambulance - at the Motor Pool - soon rumbled towards the infirmary with two casualties. Then a blood page for O negative.
I started taking pictures and notes for the use of force report. We taped off the base of the light pole. I ruthlessly delegated the 'find the rest of him' task to the Fire Brigade - it was technically search and well... recovery - and Janine in turn brought in stretcher bearer teams to assist.
With a Reaction Force sergeant and Janine as witnesses, I searched the recently deceased Alan Cartwright. By the time I was finished, the bearers had found the head and brought it back to the body.
Then we searched the truck, just for completeness. Nothing found.
The body was transported - by stretcher bearers - to the morgue. The effects were bagged and taken to Security Control, where we booked them into our property room, this time with a different set of witnesses.
Only then could I start tackling the serious issues.
Like getting Mo and his family back, like getting Arturo back to post, like getting the shift supervisors back on schedule and interviewing the former Major's hand picked replacements for suitability for any purpose whatsoever.
Like getting my people paid.
The company fuel card continued to work. We were both in uniform, armed, with travel papers. And my travel papers were apparently Papers Of Great Respect +10, because reading the signature at the bottom of the first page seemed to galvanize Homeland sentries into immediate action. Gates opened, barriers raised, even salutes.
I almost felt relieved when we made it to Milpitas and the local police control point flipped us shit but passed us through.
I called in on radio now that we were in range. The acknowledgment was brief and crisp.
When we made it back to the South Gate, there had been some changes.
Most notably, concrete construction. We were now building concrete walls to take the place of the wire-and-ditch of our first attempt at a perimeter.
Also, the sacrificial tower at the gate was now manned with a single guard with binoculars. I had never expected us to post someone up there.
Then came the kicker. The Gate Captain was Sarah Stewart, and she was under orders to deny me access.
"Brooke, you're good. But [Echo 18] is explicitly listed as not cleared for access by order of Major Cartwright. I've called him. He knows you're at the gate. He will not permit you access."
I blinked. Hadn't expected that.
"Is the SLE still [so-and-so]?"
"Yes." Although properly she should not have answered any questions from an unauthorized person.
Let's push this just a little.
"I'd like to use the internal phone."
Sarah looked relieved as she passed the battered analog phone over and I dialed several digits from memory.
The Dragon Lady answered. She allowed that while the SLE was in a meeting, that she could interrupt him, and stay on the line please.
"[Echo 18], glad that you're back! Come up to my office and let's debrief."
"Yes, sir. I'd love to. But I can't get past the gate."
"Why not?"
"I'm not cleared for re-entry, sir."
"Not. Cleared," he said slowly, making each syllable last a second.
"Sir."
"By whom are you not cleared?"
"I am told that I am not cleared by Major Cartwright, sir."
Click. The phone was abruptly hung up, and I passed it back to Sarah.
"Under the circumstances, I think I'd like to inspect the outer perimeter defense - as that is a task I can do from outside the site. You're the Gate Captain, is that OK with you?"
Sarah thought about it.
"I would be OK with it, but I have a safety concern. There could be a horrible accident. You are not cleared; you cannot enter. But if you leave this area, you could be mistakenly taken under fire. I have had no instructions to disarm either of you. But I am thinking it might be best for all of us to stay here."
How tactfully put, Sarah. Very Captainly of you.
So we hung out and talked shop while waiting for something to happen.
About eight minutes later, the Reaction Team responded to the South Gate without contact or a PA notification.
The SLE and his protection specialist were in the lead vehicle. They walked briskly up, calling for the Gate Captain.
"The access list?" the SLE demanded.
She showed it to him. He reviewed it.
"Did you speak to Major Cartwright?"
"Yes, sir."
"Did you tell him that [Echo 18] was at the gate?"
"Yes, sir."
"Did you ask permission to allow him entry?"
"Yes, sir."
"Was that permission granted?"
"No, sir."
The SLE turned on his heel to meet the Security golf cart being driven up to the gate by Major Cartwright, alone. The SLE's bodyguard perforce followed.
Even though they were two hundred feet away, I could see by body language that their conversation became extremely heated.
As a subject matter expert, I could tell that the bodyguard was constantly within a half second of emptying a magazine into Major Cartwright.
This was rapidly developing into a big problem.
It was not a secret to anyone that Major Cartwright and I did not see eye to eye. But not allowing me in the South Gate was borderline delusional on his part. Persisting in this delusion with the SLE - Site Location Executive, the Client executive in charge of this little floating patch of sanity in the sea of madness - would normally be career ending. Usually for the lowly contractor, like me, but sometimes for everyone who witnessed it. Because this was the thing that should not be - a faction fight among the leadership, made embarrassingly public.
The three walked back. Major Cartwright wordlessly took the access list binder from a stock-still Sarah, scrawled in a name and date and time, the word APPROVED and his initials, and walked back to his cart. Only then did the SLE offer me his hand.
"Welcome back! You will allow me to give a ride to you _both_ to my office."
"Sir," I shook back as Brooke retrieved her rifle and slung it. As always, her shoulder weapon was her greeting to everyone. We then walked through the gate. Sarah was already on the phone.
To us _both_.
Sarah was saying quickly, "Final go-no go point for Operation Post It Note. Will advise," and hung up.
To us _both_.
Sarah handed both of us radios as we walked behind the SLE.
There was room in the pickup truck bed for Brooke, Stewart and myself. And we were very much in operating mode.
No bells, no PA announcements, but all over the site, Security personnel were shrugging on armor, checking weapons and radios, and getting ready.
The technical term is coup. As in coup de etat.
There was some question as to who was the lawful authority and who was the traitor. But isn't there always?
It is hard to conduct a complex political briefing in the back of a rumbling pickup truck. It was up to Sarah to talk loudly into my left ear, the one not wearing a radio earpiece.
"Cartwright basically went nuts after you left. Cancelled all your accesses. Put his people in as shift supervisors and busted the rest of us to support positions. He's been rewriting the SOP to take out the licensing and training requirements so he can fill Security positions with employee volunteers."
I nodded and said loudly over the road noise, "He can do all those things."
I can tell that Sarah heard me, because she flinched.
"Say again, sir?"
"He's the boss. He can do all those things. What else did he do?"
"Weapons audit, vehicle audit - no discrepancies. Fired Mo. Kicked him and his family outside the wire."
Now that was just not on. But again within his powers.
"What about the shed?"
"I don't think he knows about the shed. Mo gave his key to me."
That would help. "What else?"
"Says he has secret orders. When the other guards got back, he didn't want to let them in. Only when you weren't with them did he allow it. They are off duty status - under investigation - and not getting paid."
When I had left the site, I had carefully given my Company responsibilities to the only other person who had been a Company supervisor before the Firecracker.
"Where is Arturo?"
"He was fired too. But his wife is a contractor so he's a dependent, so he's still here."
"Who took over the Company hat?"
"No one. Well, we've been bringing food to Wyatt after Cartwright turned off his ration card with the rest of the Company ration cards."
I blinked. Now that was just stupid.
"Some of us have been offered jobs with the Client. But no one in the Group, and no supervisors. Last week's payroll wasn't processed so none of us have been paid."
"Anyone else fired? Or off property?"
"Just Mo and his family. I think they're OK though. They had backpacks and took off running as soon as they cleared the gate."
If I'd had to pick a guard to have this happen to, I'd have had to pick Mo. He and his family knew well how to survive in a war zone. But this was all so stupid and unnecessary.
The Reaction Force trucks pulled up to the H building loading dock.
"Gather around," the SLE called, and the Reaction Force - corporate militia - perforce did so. This drew in Sarah, Brooke and myself.
"I have made a decision to remove Alan Cartwright for gross misconduct. As he is the current Corporate Security representative, this is going to pose an interesting problem."
The corporate manager in charge of the Reaction Force blinked several times.
"Sir, could I speak to you privately?"
"No."
"Sir, Major Cartwright has orders from Corporate to do some of the things he is doing."
The SLE turned, like a gun barrel tracking.
"I have a copy of those orders and he has considerably exceeded them. Considerably. Now you don't work for Corporate Security. You work for me. Or you don't. Decide, right now."
This was going to get ugly no matter which way it turned out.
"I work for you, sir."
"Better. Now hear this. Mr. Alan Cartwright is an employee of this corporation. Under my executive authority, however, I am removing from him all supervisory authority at this location, all access privileges to restricted areas, and specifically he is not to possess any weapon, especially not a firearm. You are to implement this decision, effective immediately. I have discussed this with our Vice President of Corporate Security and he agrees. Do you need to give VP Damon a call to confirm?"
"No, sir," he said hastily.
Because if he had insisted on calling VP Damon, and been wrong, he would also be looking for a new work site if not a new job.
"[Echo 18], welcome back. I am told that there are some [Company] issues that you may need to address. I highly value the [Company] contractual arrangement and I would like you to invoice us for all the extra costs associated with these special services - both the Utah trip and the Cartwright issue. After he has been corralled please restore my Security department to proper functioning."
"Yes, sir," I said without enthusiasm. I stepped aside a short distance and keyed up.
"This is [Echo 18] to all stations. Alert One. I say again Alert One. This is not an exercise. This is not a drill. Alert One. I say again Alert One."
Alert One: draw your weapon, switch off the safety and prepare to defend yourself and your post from a superior attack. Secure all doors and gates. No person regardless of clearance or authority is permitted to pass your point, except on duty Reaction Team and Security Force personnel who are actually responding to a breach. Challenge as if during hours of darkness. Force is authorized up to and including deadly force. Report post status via radio every ten minutes or on demand of the Security Control Center. Report relevant observations as they are made.
Brooke and Stewart were already taking up positions to guard the SLE, who was swiftly headed upstairs.
The Reaction Team manager was calling Security Control by wifi cell and demanding Cartwright's location.
I knew he was not yet at H building because his cart was not here. But where had he gone?
I keyed the radio again.
"Echo 18, Security Control, disable Cart 3 immediately. Password Post It Note."
"Wilco," replied the dispatcher laconically.
"What is twenty on Cart 3?"
"Motor Pool."
Had he swapped vehicles? He'd been on site more than long enough to find out about the remote kill switches on all the electric vehicles.
"Control, Truck 2, what are you doing? Authenticate immediately!"
Oh shit.
We did not have remote kill on the armored trucks. They had originally had that capability, but when we had 'bought' them, we had disconnected the remote engine kill from the satellite radios. If I remembered correctly, re-enabling that feature had been on our to-do list but had kept being pushed down by other maintenance issues.
And I was willing to bet hard money that Truck 2 was being operated by Alan Cartwright, which put him in unauthorized possession of a weapon.
"Motor Pool, Control, emergency traffic. Officer down, Truck 2 hijacked. We have casualties, scene not secure, say again scene not secure."
The Reaction Team manager was getting in the truck when I pushed in to sit behind him. I needed to be in the same cab. The displaced Reaction Team member - corporate militiaman - got in the truck bed just as we peeled out.
"Sir, I can detonate a tear gas grenade inside that truck whenever you want," I said loudly.
"Do it!"
"Echo 18, Control, gas Truck 2, password is Post It Note. Gas gas gas."
We had not disabled the remote activation for the tear gas cartridges. We had hooked it up to a wi-fi cellular radio. The authorized armored truck drivers knew about putting a safety pin in each of the three cartridges - two in the cab, one in the back - before leaving on a convoy movement. But Cartwright was not authorized.
They also knew which of the unlabeled emergency bags contained the full face gas mask. I was willing to bet Cartwright did not.
"Motor Pool, scene secure, request stretcher bearers Code 3 for two casualties."
As we came around the corner, we saw that Truck 2 had come to a shuddering halt and a cloud of tear gas was coming out the open driver's door.
Cartwright was running, empty handed, wiping at his eyes. He had been headed to H building with the truck. Not out the gate, not to somewhere else.
Now he was just running. And he was armed.
The Reaction Team manager turned to his driver and gave an order.
I immediately dropped my radio mike, fastened my seat belt and held on tight to the seat in front of me, bending my knees.
The truck's bumper hit Alan Cartwright at 40 miles per hour.
The order had been three words, simple and direct.
"Run him down."
We came to a halt. I dismounted and drew my firearm, running back the way we had come.
I holstered. I did not reach for my handcuffs to run an approach.
There was no need. Not with Cartwright's body at the base of a light pole, and his head ... elsewhere. Off into the bushes like a necromancer's basketball.
"Echo 18, Control, secure from the Alert evolution. Password Post It Note. Password change."
All posts checked in. The stretcher bearers arrived at the Motor Pool. The ambulance - at the Motor Pool - soon rumbled towards the infirmary with two casualties. Then a blood page for O negative.
I started taking pictures and notes for the use of force report. We taped off the base of the light pole. I ruthlessly delegated the 'find the rest of him' task to the Fire Brigade - it was technically search and well... recovery - and Janine in turn brought in stretcher bearer teams to assist.
With a Reaction Force sergeant and Janine as witnesses, I searched the recently deceased Alan Cartwright. By the time I was finished, the bearers had found the head and brought it back to the body.
Then we searched the truck, just for completeness. Nothing found.
The body was transported - by stretcher bearers - to the morgue. The effects were bagged and taken to Security Control, where we booked them into our property room, this time with a different set of witnesses.
Only then could I start tackling the serious issues.
Like getting Mo and his family back, like getting Arturo back to post, like getting the shift supervisors back on schedule and interviewing the former Major's hand picked replacements for suitability for any purpose whatsoever.
Like getting my people paid.
