The Tower of Mount Everest

The tower Lattimer was building had almost instantaneously eclipsed everything else that had been done before it. The very idea of building such a thing seemed totally outrageous, even as it was being built. The cities that had been embedded into Mount Everest had actually added charm to the mountain. The lights would twinkle at night, providing an amazingly magical touch and warmth to this otherwise vast, barren, forbidding landscape. The tram that climbed the face of the mountain was almost completely hidden by the snow and ice…but the tower had a completely different effect.

Amazing as it was, there was no escaping the fact that it dominated everything around it. There was no graceful interplay between man and nature here. The tower was simply rude and overpowering, just another notch in man’s belt in the never-ending war between himself and the environment which had provided the gateway to his very existence. Mount Everest, the mother goddess, was becoming trivialized and violated with each passing day; and the higher the tower rose, the more painfully aware this indigestible fact became.

There was definitely a steep learning curve for everybody concerned in the building of the tower. There was also a Darwinian factor. Anyone foolish enough to lose respect for the mountain, the weather, or the tower itself more often than not, met an untimely end. By the time the tower was 1000 feet tall, survival of the fittest had taken its toll on the workman population. This reality, though sobering, had a perversely positive effect on productivity by weeding out those people who seemed to be responsible for slowing things down for one reason or another. It also led to medical claims, workmen compensation, lawsuits and increasingly bad PR.

Lattimer is lying on his bed, head resting on his hands; eyes wide open. Even though he has his own room, Jose (ever the mother hen) is in the bunk directly above Lattimer, sound asleep and snoring. Lattimer turns over, covers his head with his pillow, fidgets, and finally sits up and throws the pillow against the wall. He turns the lamp on, wheels around, puts his feet on the floor and bends his head down, covering the back of his neck with his hands.

Jose stirs, “Wha’s su mater boz, can’ you sleep?”

Lattimer just shakes his head. “No, I can’t sleep, Jose. I can’t get those pictures out of my mind!”

Jose rises up and blinks. “What pictures, boss?”

“The mental images I get every time someone DIES up here!”

Jose rises up, fully awake and yawns. He rubs his stubbly chin, scratches his side, and throws his legs over the side of the bunk.

“It’s not your fault, boss if some of these guys don’t have the sense the Good Lord gave a goose.”

A flash of guilt crosses Lattimer’s face. “I keep telling myself that, Jose. But somehow, it just doesn’t wash.” He looks up at Jose. “Do you realize just how many people we’ve lost since this damn project began?”

Jose has a chagrined look on his face. “I know boss... lots.”

“Over 700 people, Jose. Seven-hundred people!” He puts his head back down, rubbing his forehead.

Jose doesn’t know what to say. All he knows is that he feels bad for Lattimer.

“This is beginning to look less like a project and more like a damn war!”

Jose, looking down at nothing in particular, nods in agreement. “It makes you wonder, doesn’t it boss?”

Lattimer looks up at Jose, “Wonder about what?”

Jose just shrugs his shoulders. “I mean about the Sherpas, what they said.”

Lattimer looks at Jose with a mix of disdain and amazement.

“Don’t start that head crap with me, Jose! That’s the absolute last thing I need right now!”

“I know, boss, I know. Still, it does kind of make you wonder... doesn’t it?”

Lattimer takes in a deep breath and lets it out in disgust, shaking his head. “OK, that’s it! We’re done! Back to bed!”

“Ok.” Jose shrugs, “You’re the boss, boss.”

With that, Lattimer turns off the lamp and the two men do their best to get some sleep.

The weeks flow into months as the tower continues its slow, steady march to the top of the sky. By hook or by crook, Calvin Malone has finally figured out the real purpose for the tower. Treinwood had wanted to keep it under wraps for as long as possible (for PR purposes of course)... but conjectures and innuendos abound, and the human toll of the tower was increasingly demanding an explanation.

“What do you mean they want to kill the project?!” Treinwood yells into the phone. “Are they crazy? We’re almost through with it! Stopping it now would only make all those deaths just abysmal exercises in futility!” Treinwood listens to the voice on the other end of the line. “I know, I know it doesn’t look good, but...,” the voice interrupts him. He continues listening, nodding his head up and down in nervous irritation. “Have you talked to Snyder about this? Yes, Snyder! He still has a stake in this, same as everybody else! Talk to Snyder! If anybody can pound some sense into these people’s head, he can! Yes... thanks... bye!” He hangs up the phone, rubbing his chin, a worried look on his face.

He hits the intercom. “Christine!”

“Yes, Mr. Treinwood?”

“Get Dr. Lattimer on the phone for me, will you?”

“Sir, don’t you have a meeting at 10:00 today?” Agitated, Treinwood looks at his wristwatch and shakes his head in frustration.

“Just page me, ok?” He sighs, “I need to speak with him right away!”

“Yes sir, Mr. Treinwood.”

“Thanks, Christine.” He clicks the intercom off. Christine enters Lattimer’s private number. After a few rings, Jose picks up.

“Dr. Lattimer’s office, can I help you?” says Jose.

“Yes Jose, this is Christine, Mr. Treinwood’s secretary. He needs to speak to Dr. Lattimer right away.”

“He’s up on the tower right now, checking things out,” Jose says. “I’ll patch you through to him, just a minute.” Jose hits a couple of buttons on the phone and waits for an answer. “This is Jose, I have a phone call for Dr. Lattimer. It’s from Treinwood.” Yes, I’ll hold.” He speaks to Christine. “They put me on hold.”

“I’ll get Mr. Treinwood on the line,” she says. After a few minutes, Lattimer answers the phone.

“Lattimer here.”

“Dr. Lattimer? Just a moment, while I connect you.”

“Lattimer, this is Treinwood. Listen we’ve got a problem.”

Lattimer rubs his brow and shakes his head. The last thing he needs right now is more problems. “What is it, Richard?” he sighs.

“They want to stop the project!”

Lattimer is confused. “Stop the project? What do you mean; stop the project?”

“I mean stop the project,” Treinwood says. “Kill it, end it! You do understand plain English don’t you?!”

Lattimer sighs, bows his head, and shakes it. He is so tired of all this PR garbage.

“Richard, I thought we had an agreement. You handle the PR, I build the tower.” He listens intently as Treinwood continues speaking, then, he quickly interjects. “I can’t build it any faster, Richard! Look that’s how we got into so much trouble in the first place!” He continues listening, then, suddenly interrupts again. “It won’t do any good to hire any more men! They’ll just get themselves killed up here and take some of my better people with them! Listen, Richard, the crew I have up here now is battle-hardened! They won’t stand for me to bring any greenhorns up here screwing things up for them. We’re moving at a phenomenal pace right now!” He listens as Treinwood continues to vent his spleen, then, Lattimer speaks up again. “Listen to me Richard! Listen to me VERY carefully!” Richard is suddenly silent. “We’re building this tower as fast as we possibly can. I absolutely REFUSE to have any more deaths on my conscience! And so should you! Now you do YOUR job, and let me do mine! OK? Trust me, Richard. This is the only way you’re ever gonna get this thing built. The ONLY way!” Richard speaks briefly. “Yeah, me too,” says Lattimer. “Good bye, Richard.” He clicks the phone shut, staring out into space. One of the crew looks at him with concern.

“Not good?” he asks.

Lattimer turns to the man, shaking his head. “No, not good. Not good at all, Frank.”

Treinwood calls an emergency meeting of all the investors. Lattimer’s presence is “requested” as well. The boardroom is chatty and tense. Lattimer, always “fashionably” late, walks in just as the meeting is about to begin. He hates talking to these people. He pulls up a seat just as Treinwood rises and begins dinging a water glass with a spoon to get everybody’s attention.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Treinwood says. “Ladies and gentlemen. It’s time to begin.” He waits until everyone in the room quiets down, then, takes his seat and begins to speak. “I’ve called this impromptu meeting to address some of our concerns regarding the completion of the tower.”

One of the female investors raises her hand, then, speaks to gain Treinwood’s attention, “Mr. Treinwood?”

He turns to face her, smiling, hands folded on the table. “Yes, Mrs. Reynolds?”

She continues, “You know I represent a very large consortium of small investors who have a tremendous stake in the future of this project.” Treinwood nods and smiles. She glances over at Lattimer. “I’m sure we all want to see Dr. Lattimer finish this up... but at what cost? I mean, when do we say enough is enough? So many people have died already!” The room goes into an uproar.

Treinwood raises his hands and tries to talk over the din.

“Please, let’s not all speak at the same time, shall we?!” He begins dinging his glass again, this time with more fervor. When the room becomes quiet again, Treinwood speaks. “Ladies and gentlemen, please! I do understand your concerns, here, but we must have some order to this process!” He turns and smiles at Mrs. Reynolds.

“Please continue, Mrs. Reynolds.”

She surveys the room, looking for allies, “What are we going to do, Mr.Treinwood? I mean, about... all these deaths?” The room starts to get noisy again but quickly dies down. All eyes focus on Treinwood.

“Emily,” he says to Mrs. Reynolds. “There’s nothing we CAN do about it at this point. I’m afraid what’s done is done. However, there is something we can do about this tower.”

Lattimer interjects, “Yeah, we can FINISH IT!”

Treinwood looks over at him. “Yes, Dr. Lattimer, we certainly can.”

Suddenly, an angry burly male investor stands up and yells, “This isn’t getting us anywhere! Too many people have died up there already! Doesn’t anybody GET it! The world thinks we’re a bunch of NAZI’S or something, sacrificing people on an alter of obscene vanity of our own making!” He looks around the room, fuming. “Does anybody agree with me here?!” Other than Lattimer and Treinwood, everyone holds their heads down, ashamed to look him in the eye. He squints his eyes in fury and surveys Treinwood, then, Lattimer. He begins nodding his head ever so slightly as he glares at Lattimer. “You’re the one... aren’t you?” He shakes his head. “It’s not Treinwood at all. YOU’RE the one that keeps this project going, keeps the death toll rising. He throws up his hands. “And for WHAT!?” He fixes his gaze ever more strongly on Lattimer, pointing his finger at him, shaking it for emphasis. “I’ll tell you for what! To feed your petty little ego, that’s what!” His voice rises as he paces the floor. “People are DYING up there, so that little Dr. Lattimer can feel GOOD about himself! Well, how many people in here feel GOOD about themselves, right now! Huh!?” His hands slap down to his sides as he looks around the room, his eyes filled with anger. No one says a word. He stands silent, nodding his head up and down as if a judgment had just been passed over the entire room. “I see.” He says. “So this is the way it’s gonna be, huh?” The room remains silent. No one dares look at him. He nods his head. “OK. All right. Have it your way. You people wanna buy me out?” Everyone looks up at him, astonished. He raises his hands halfway. “Hey, I’ve had enough! You want it? You got it!” He turns and begins walking briskly towards the door. Before leaving, he turns and points a finger at Treinwood. “You got my number, right?” Treinwood nods slowly. “Call me when you’re ready to do business!” He turns and exits the room, leaving the door ajar. The atmosphere of the room is as icy and barren as the summit of Mount Everest herself.

Treinwood is first to speak. “I’m really very sorry to see him leave the project under these circumstances. He was a valued associate who brought many skills and talents to the table. But do we all agree, the project must go on; even without Mr. Snyder?”

“Is that all you’ve got for me, Mr. Snyder?” asks Calvin Malone, as he pushes away from the table, lighting his pipe.

Snyder, elbows on the table, leans forward. “I can’t tell you any more right now, Mr. Malone... until I get my money back. Just hang tight on the story, ok?”

Malone shakes the match out and takes a puff on his pipe. “It’s too bad you blew up in the meeting that way. I could have used a good mole in the organization.”

Snyder leans forward even more, “You HAVE a good mole in the organization, Mr. Malone. Just stick with me, and I’ll get you everything you need to put these guys away for GOOD!”

Malone continues puffing his pipe as he carefully scrutinizes Snyder. He begins slowly nodding his head in approval. “All right, Mr. Snyder... may I call you Sam?”

“Please do... is it Calvin?” asks Snyder.

“Cal will do,” says Malone. “So, tell me Mr., uh Sam. What made you decide to come to me, instead of to some other news reporter?”

“That’s easy, Calvi... Cal. Because you’re the best, and you know it!”

Cal forces a thin smile. He removes his pipe and stands up, offering his hand to Sam Snyder. “It’s a pleasure doing business with you, Sam!”

“Same here, Cal!”

“We’ll be keeping in touch, right?” asks Malone.

“You better believe it!” says Snyder.

“That doesn’t sound good,” says Treinwood, who has been listening in on the conversation through an electronic bug. “Not good at all. What do you suppose he has on us anyway?”

“Knowing Snyder, it could be anything!” says Craig Randolph. “Hell, with what he knows he could just make stuff up if he wanted to and it would sound legitimate!”

“I know, I know,” says Treinwood, biting his knuckle. “Just what do you propose we do about it?”

“Well, for starters, don’t buy him out!” replies Randolph.

“Sounds good in theory,” says Treinwood, “but Snyder’s a loose cannon. He’s a master salesman and he will find a buyer.” Randolph reflects for a moment on Treinwood’s comment, then, a malicious smile passes over his face.

“Not if we can get to his buyer first.” A twinkle appears in Treinwood’s eyes.

“I think I see what you’re getting at Craig. He sells, we unsell.”

“Sounds good to me, Richard,” Randolph says. “After all, Snyder’s not the only one with moles around here.” Randolph rises, stretching his arms as he yawns. “Well, I have to get back to the project; see if I can dig anything up on our other buddy.”

Treinwood raises his finger. “Before you go, Craig. See what you can do about digging up some dirt on Snyder. I want to get him constrained as soon as possible, before any more damage can be inflicted on this project.”

“Will do, Richard,” returns Randolph. “In fact, it will be my pleasure. I never liked the S.O.B. anyway!”

Treinwood smiles, amused by the comment.