This story is dedicated to Lois. She reawakened my love of Mannix. Please read and review. Thank you.

Slippery When Wet

Chapter One

Early Sunday morning the Sixth Avenue Bridge street lamps blinked off. The rumble of the Union Pacific locomotive vibrated the road deck as it lumbered underneath the bridge towing a slithering line of freight cars.

A car straggled past and Lewis Edward Wickersham, CEO and owner of Intertect, Limited, leaned against the bridge railing. The concrete gray of the bridge contrasted with the asphalt black of Santa Fe Avenue below him.

A Red & White Cab, Number 130, parked behind his black Lincoln Continental. The sign on the roof of the cab advertised a pawn shop, a place where desperate people go. Something Wickersham could sympathize with. Even from this distance, the brown suede jacket, the cigarette hanging from his lips, and the walk spelled Joe Mannix. He hadn't seen him since Costa Verde, and he wasn't sure he wanted to now.

He'd kept tabs on Mannix. Through his private investigator apprenticeship with Harry Forrest to his undercover assignment with the California State Police and lastly, to the unfortunate Claman incident, Wickersham watched him grow into a private investigator with a good reputation.

"I don't go for this cloak-and-dagger stuff," Mannix said when he reached Wickersham.

"Good morning to you too." Eleven years had passed and Mannix still could get on his nerves.

"Yeah, morning." Mannix yawned. "You didn't call me here for old times' sake, did you?"

Wickersham studied his former mercenary colleague. On paper, he knew everything about Joe Mannix since Costa Verde, but he wasn't sure what he was about do was the right decision. Sometimes even the wrong decision is the only one you can make.

"I need your help."

"My help? You're Mister Intertect. What's the matter? Computers break down?"

Wickersham ignored the bitterness in Mannix's voice. "I have a problem with internal security. I need someone with fresh eyes."

"What's the problem?"

"Intertect is working with the FBI on a top secret project. Information has been leaking out to the Soviets. I have one week to fix it or lose a quarter of a million dollar government contract."

Mannix flipped his cigarette butt off the bridge. "I'm surprised that the FBI hasn't already cut you off."

"Special Agent Hanson wanted to, but Hoover interceded. Intertect's too far along in the project to be easily replaced. Even if we turned everything over to them it would still take a while for someone else to get up to speed. Suffice it to say Intertect's been given a reprieve."

"Okay, as long as you know I'm going to do this my way."

"You think that surprises me?"

"You know my license and gun permit were revoked."

"I know. But you're working for me. I'll assign you to the security division. You don't need a private investigator's license or a firearm to be a security consultant."

Wickersham faced north away from Mannix and glimpsed the downtown skyline in the distance. The sun's rays brought the heat of the day as it crept up the side of Los Angeles City Hall. A drop of sweat slid down his back. On one of the rare smog free days in Southern California, wearing a black suit might not be his only mistake today.

"When Claman was finished with you, I was surprised you still had a library card." Wickersham clasped his hands behind his back. "You don't want to get Harry's license revoked too, do you?"

"I was just helping him out." Mannix stared down and kicked at the pavement. "What's in it for me?"

"I can get your P.I. license and firearm permit reinstated."

Mannix gaped at Wickersham. "How? Who do you know? God?"

"Don't worry about that." Wickersham shifted to face Mannix. "Can I count on you?"

"You know I owe you." Mannix lit another cigarette. He glared down at the cab. "Fill me in."

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet."

"Intertect won a contract to work with three colleges in California on a nationwide system to send computer data via telephone. Have you ever heard of ARPANet?" he asked. He was positive that Mannix hadn't. He himself had only heard scant rumors until Intertect was awarded the contract. "It's something that the government is proposing in case of nuclear attack." Wickersham handed him three folders with the Intertect logo on them. "I've narrowed it down to these three."

Mannix paged through the files. "If you've done all this, why do you need me? What can I do that you can't or haven't already done?"

"One of the things I've discovered since owning Intertect is that too much information can be a bad thing. I find that sometimes my operatives become blinded by their computer readouts. You'll be a fresh set of eyes."

"I don't know, Lew." Mannix picked through a file and stopped at the photo of a female, Carol Ann Bagley. "If you can't find anything on them, maybe it's because they're not involved."

"Right now I don't have enough evidence to charge any of them with jaywalking much less espionage." Wickersham pulled his glasses up on his forehead and massaged the bridge of his nose. "I don't want to believe anyone at Intertect is capable of betrayal."

"There's always someone willing to stick a knife in your back."

"And you speak from experience?"

"Low blow, Lew." Mannix leaned against the railing. "A week's not a lot of time. What's my cover?"

"Let's try the truth. You're an old friend who needed a job. I gave you one."

"When do I start?"

"Tomorrow. You're one of three new Intertect operative-trainees coming on board."

Mannix tucked the files under his left arm. "Are your suspects still under surveillance?"

"As we speak."

"Call them off. I don't want to trip over Intertect while I'm doing this. Besides if you haven't found out anything by now you probably won't."

"All right, anything else?"

"Lew, why are you doing this? I'm grateful but—"

"Claman's a vindictive son-of-a-bitch. You got a raw deal. You were right and you kept an innocent man from getting railroaded into the gas chamber at the cost of your license. Besides, you owe me and I intend to make you pay." He handed him a card. "Private phone number, my car phone. By the way, at Intertect, we wear suits and ties. You do own a suit, don't you?"

"Yeah, Lew, I got a suit. When again?"

"Tomorrow morning, 7 AM."

He studied Mannix as he watched him stride away. Wickersham debated whether to call him back and inform him that his license reinstatement came with conditions. Conditions that he wasn't sure Mannix would agree to.

o0O0o

The room was huge with beige walls that climbed to a ceiling a few feet above his head. Whirring, clacking, spinning, a computer covered the wall behind him. A door materialized a basketball court away. He jogged toward the door. Little slots opened up on the wall. He felt a blast of air. A punch card sailed past his head. Then another and another. Flying punch cards choked the room. He fought them off as he raced for the door. He pulled on the knob. The door was locked. He was knee deep in the cards and getting deeper. He yanked and jerked on the door. He was drowning in punch cards. From the other side of the door he heard Lew laughing.

Joe crashed from his bed to the floor. A tangle of sheets wrapped around his body and threatened to smother him. He gasped for air and slouched against his bed. What the hell?

He unwrapped himself from the sheets and eased from the floor to the edge of his bed. He lit a Kools from his pack of cigarettes on the dresser and inhaled. Was working for Lew and Intertect really a good idea? Right now he didn't have a lot of choices.

He crossed to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. He felt more like pouring it on his head instead of drinking it. He frowned at the files on his couch. He had familiarized himself with the suspects before heading to bed: Brady Richards, the project manager, Carol Bagley, the programmer analyst, and Woodrow Wright, the hardware engineer. Outwardly they had the means and opportunity but no motive. No sudden financial gains, no debt, no skeleton rattling around in their closets that Intertect could find.

He noted bits of information from each file. Richards had been in the marines corps. Most of his career in Criminal Investigation Division. Probably where Lew knew him from. Carol Bagley had a brother in the marine corps, a brown belt in Judo, and a bachelor's degree in computer science. Smart, fit and good-looking. He lingered on her photo. Dark brown hair and eyes. Wouldn't mind getting to know her under other circumstances.

Joe delved into the file on Woodrow Earl Wright. navy veteran, electronic technician, employed at Intertect for three years. He studied the photo of the suspect. Sandy brown hair and built like a linebacker. Earlier he had noted Wright was a Sunday night regular at a local Italian restaurant and pizza joint named Sarno's. He finished the cigarette as he thumbed through the remainder of the file.

Besides needing to know when Wright wasn't at home, Joe was hungry. The lack of food in his fridge decided for him that Sarno's would be a great place to eat and wait on Wright to show up. Knowing Lew, he was sure no one had bugged Wright's apartment or any of the other suspects. At least there wasn't a mention of it in any of the files.

After a quick shower and shave, he dressed in work clothes, a short-sleeved green twill shirt with "Mitch Lockwood" sown above the pocket, matching pants, a pair of dusty ankle high black work boots, and a cap with a Pacific Bell logo on it.

He inspected his toolbox. A tape recorder equipped with a sound-activated on switch and two blank cassettes, a small, adhesive-backed, wired microphone, pliers, electrical tape, a hand drill with one eighth inch bit, and various other tools he might need. He carried a tool belt with a phone handset hanging from it. He placed the tools in the trunk of his silver Dodge Charger and drove the few blocks to Sarno's on Vermont Avenue.

Joe discovered that Sunday evening at Sarno's was amateur opera singer night. So that was the draw. He wondered if Wright sang opera. That hadn't been in his file. Sloppy surveillance by Intertect.

He positioned himself at a table facing the front entrance to see his suspect when he arrived. Wright was dressed casually. Joe watched him talk amicably with the maitre d'. Joe had his answer about whether Wright sang opera. His voice was pitched in the tenor range and sounded musical even when he conversed. Joe watched him for a few more minutes while he finished his cigarette, downed the last of his beer, and slid out of the booth. Time to go to work.

Joe parked on North Serrano. He strapped on the tool belt and grabbed the toolbox. He sauntered around the corner to Russell Avenue, home to the Russell Arms Apartments.

Wright lived on the first floor at the end of the hall on the right, Apartment 113. He arrived at Wright's door and slipped a small piece of plastic between the door jamb and the lock.

The first thing Joe observed was that except for the soldering iron and circuit boards on the coffee table,Wright's apartment was far neater than his own. Despite the sweat-sock-stale smell there were no clothes on the back of chairs or on the floor. Wright had no dirty dishes in the sink; his bed was made, and he owned a really expensive Pioneer component stereo system: a turntable, reel-to-reel tape deck, amplifier, receiver, headphones, and a pair of very large speakers. An orderly pile of opera albums leaned next to the receiver. A music stand held several sheets of printed music.

Joe scanned the apartment for the best placement for the microphone. He discarded the idea of putting the bug in the phone; he wanted to hear more than telephone conversations. The stereo system was situated near a window on the bachelor's favorite of concrete blocks and wooden planks.

He peeled away the bug's adhesive backing and placed it on the underside of the table next to a window. Fortunately, the wiring for the stereo system would hide the wire from the microphone to the cassette recorder. He had only two days before batteries died. His luck held as the window faced out on the fence of the property behind the apartment building. He could squeeze between the building and the fence to retrieve the recorder later.

He drilled a one eighth inch hole in the outside of the wooden sill and twisted in a large cup holder hook. He tested the recorder. The wheels of the cassette started up a second after he tapped on the table. He checked again that the recorder was set to the longest recording speed. He hung it on the hook by its handle. He'd be back sometime tomorrow evening to retrieve it.

oO0Oo

The eleventh floor of the Tishman Plaza Office Building was the home of Intertect Limited, Detection and Security. Intertect's reputation was such that the building had come to be known unofficially as the Intertect Building even though the company only occupied the eleventh floor, part of the twelfth, and the subbasement.

Wickersham marched off the elevator in his steel blue tailored suit. He pushed into his glass-enclosed outer office. Christine Reynolds, his executive secretary, always managed to get here before him no matter what time he started his day. From time to time he joked with her that she must have a hideaway bed in the sofa across from her desk.

"Good morning, Mr. Wickersham."

"Morning, Chris. Get me Hayden. Any changes to my schedule?"

"7:15, welcome speech to the new employees in the boardroom. At 8:00 AM, Brady Richards' briefing on Project Moriarty. 10:00 AM inspection tour of the VanCom facility with Fred Reston. After that your day is open."

"Schedule me for an afternoon at the pistol range. Kidd's after me to test a few of his new recommendations for the armory."

"Yes, sir."

Oak paneling encased Wickersham's office. A small aisle cut it in half. One side of the office contained Wickersham's desk, a small credenza that served as his bar, and a video control panel to his right. Within the realm of Intertect he had cameras on all areas of his operation. With the push of a button he could scrutinize anyone anywhere with the exception of the bathrooms. Even his surveillance had its limits.

The other half of the room held a tan chenille-covered couch, end chairs and tables, and a coffee table with ashtrays. Wickersham didn't smoke himself, but some of his clients did. The back wall held bookshelves filled with law reference books he never used and Central American folk art statues he had acquired in Costa Verde.

The morning light spilled in from the corner window. To his right was the view of the Ambassador Hotel and Wilshire Boulevard. The perks of a smog free day included a view of the Sierra Nevada Mountains to the east, but today was not that day.

He slipped between the credenza and his desk. The Los Angeles Observer Morning Edition and his mail waited on him. He pushed them aside for now. He pondered his decision to hire Mannix. He didn't second guess himself often. In the ten years since he launched Intertect he had made many hard choices. In his gut, this decision felt right, but a sense of dread lurked beneath. Not just the loss of a government contract, but the fear that he wasn't in as much control as he thought he was.

A knock on his door and Hayden peeked in. "You wanted me, Mr. Wickersham?"

"Come in." Wickersham shifted his gaze to Hayden. Sometimes when he looked at the hardware engineer he saw a shorter version of himself. The glasses Hayden wore made the resemblance impossible to miss.

"How's that location tracker coming?"

"I'm not sure . . . maybe . . ."

"Good, it's ready for testing?" Wickersham knew Hayden hated to let go of his pet projects.

"Well . . . I guess . . . the parameters . . . uh . . ."

"Install it on Vehicle 71. Let the watch commander know I want around the clock monitoring. I want to call in and be given a location. Doesn't have to be perfect, just somewhere in the vicinity of."

"Yes, Mr. Wickersham. Uh, who's driving Vehicle 71?"

"Doesn't matter who's driving it. It's a test. Get it installed."

"Right away, Mr. Wickersham."

Wickersham didn't want Mannix to know that he was being tracked. As much as he trusted him, he was aware of his penchant for roaming far afield. At least he would have an idea of the general area of Los Angeles County he wandering around in.

His intercom buzzed. "Agent Hanson on line three."

"Thank you, Chris." Wickersham steeled himself. Since the leaks had come to light, he expected he would get more calls from Hanson. After all it was the FBI's quarter of a million dollars.

"Agent Hanson. What can I do for the FBI this morning?"

"Have you found the leak? Your time is running out." Hanson didn't waste time with civilities.

Wickersham's right foot patted the carpet. "I have the entire resources of Intertect working on it."

"You know you only have until next Monday, May 2nd."

"I know and I said we're working on it. It has my highest priority."

"Doesn't sound like it."

"Intertect is not a government agency. We don't throw money at a problem. We actually try to figure out what's wrong and how to fix it."

"It's your money," Hanson said.

"No, it's the taxpayer's money of which I am one."

"Don't give me that 'I pay taxes too' line."

"Agent Hanson, I don't have anything to report at this time. I will apprise you when I do. Good-bye." Wickersham refrained from slamming the handset on the cradle. He would think long and hard about accepting another government contract.

He adjusted his tie and relaxed his jaw. Time to indoctrinate the new operatives in the Intertect Way.

o0O0o

The elevator door opened onto a well-padded, gold-carpeted and oak-paneled corridor. Joe stepped aside from the elevator to let the other passengers flow around him. Most scurried to his right toward an attentive receptionist seated behind a desk with a single piece of paper on it; her Intertect photo ID hung from the left collar of her white blouse. Each person showed their badge. A breeze of recycled air sent a whiff of her perfume toward him.

To his left a set of glass doors displayed the Intertect logo with the lettering "L. Wickersham, CEO" below it. So far the Intertect offices looked like what Joe expected—everything squared away and shipshape.

A blond man, Joe guessed to be about four years his junior, approached him.

"I'm Marty Pender, your training officer. You're late. At Intertect, early is on time."

Joe trailed Pender through the corridors to the conference room.

Wickersham interrupted his speech. "Mannix, you're late. This is the last time, correct?"

All eyes in the room turned to Joe. "Yeah, Le—Mr. Wickersham." He wanted to take a seat at the far end of the conference room table, but Pender motioned Joe to sit next to him on the end of the table closer to Lew.

Joe pulled out his cigarettes and Pender shook his head at him even though there were ashtrays at every seat. Welcome to Intertect!

He tuned out Lew's speech and concentrated on the other people in the room. All the then sat with their hands cupped on the table. He focused on the men not wearing ID badges. A black man with a short, well-groomed Afro and mustache and quick eyes was seated next to a man who Joe guessed was his training officer. He wore the Lew-approved dark blue business suit, white shirt, and a blue-black striped tie. The other trainee was dressed in a suit of charcoal gray with white shirt and a bolo tie, his black Stetson on the table next to him. Definitely not from Southern California. He wondered if these people realized they'd been drafted, like him, into Lew's Intertect army.

After he finished his introductory speech, Lew personally welcomed his new employees.

"Mallory, Intertect is lucky to have lured you away from the McNeil Agency. Welcome." Lew shook his hand.

"Thank you, Mr. Wickersham, glad to be here."

"Bienvenido, Dan, nice to have you working for me instead J.J. How is that old Texas scoundrel doing these days?"

"J.J.'s not happy that you stole me away from him for Intertect but he understands the opportunity you've given me here."

"Mannix." Lew gripped Joe's hand and pulled him closer. "Couldn't you have worn a suit like I asked?"

"Lew, I—"

"You have to learn to follow a rule before you can break it. Gentlemen." Lew nodded to his new operatives and left.

Joe was already regretting his decision. Reminded him too much of Costa Verde.

Pender introduced him to the other new trainees—Dan Chavez and Bill Mallory and their training officers, Gordon Parker and Jack Fredericks. The other new men, like Joe, were already experienced private investigators. Because of that, their training was abbreviated to one week. It was designed to introduce them to the Intertect way of investigating.

From the moment Joe stepped from the elevator he had been conscious of a tremor in the soles of his feet. As they left the conference room, he stopped in the hallway. "What's that vibration?" His head swiveled around the corridor, searching for the source of the low-pitched rumble.

"You'll get used to that. IBM 360 Mainframe computers. They run twenty-four hours a day," Pender said.

Joe was herded through Personnel and Payroll with the others. He hadn't signed this much paperwork since he had enlisted in the air force during the Korean War. Next he was photographed for his Intertect badge. Then the official tour began.

When they walked into the computer room he saw what his feet had been feeling. So the future of crime detection's in these machines. He watched spinning discs whirl and stutter; people scurried around the machine placing stacks of cards in a reader and watching the machine shuffle the deck. Lew's god. The only thing a computer could do for Joe is get his electric bill right.

o0O0o

"I'm sorry about getting behind schedule," Brady said.

Brady was nervous. In all their years together at the Marine Criminal Investigation Division, Wickersham could recall one other time he'd seen Brady fidget. Right before he married Marcia.

"I'd rather be a little late and have a quality product than be on time with something half done," Wickersham said.

"It's just that damned endless loop problem. Thought we had it licked."

"I'm sure you'll get it solved. Is there anything else you want to talk about?" Wickersham asked Brady as he rose to escort him to the door.

"Funny, that's what I was going to ask you."

Wickersham's guilt over suspecting Brady overtook him. The only reason he was a suspect now was because as project manager he had access to all the information leaked.

"You know, just the usual lonely-at-the-top thing," Wickersham said.

"Doesn't have to be."

"I know." Wickersham thought, better the traitor was either Carol Bagley or Woody Wright.

o0O0o

Pender checked his watch. "Break time." He led the way down another hallway and turned left. "Just so you know." He turned to face the other direction and pointed. "That's the restricted area. Very few people are cleared to go in there. Especially not someone like you who's new to Intertect."

Joe noted the armed security guard in Intertect gray standing in front of a door next to a podium with a sign-in book on it. A video camera hung from the ceiling pointed toward the door. As Joe looked down the corridor he saw unusual paneling at odd intervals on the walls. He wondered what that was about.

"You'll get more information on security procedures in the briefing this afternoon. This way to the canteen."

The canteen was like any other break room. People wandered in, gravitated toward the vending machines, smoked cigarettes, and drank coffee. Clumps of people gathered here and there.

Joe found the coffee machine and shoved a quarter in. On his way to join Pender at a table, he sipped. "This is really good coffee," he said when he sat down.

"Isn't it?" Pender pointed to a man in the blue work uniform closing the soda machine. "Royal Vending Services took over the canteen services about six months ago. Greg must be in here at least three times a week."

Joe grunted and lit a cigarette. He was too busy scanning the women in the room. He was looking for Carol Bagley. Then he saw her near the candy machine talking with Wright. She looked better in person. A lot better. He took a drag of his cigarette. She was dressed in a cheap knockoff of a Jackie Kennedy suit. During his brief fling with Joyce Loman, a model, he learned a lot about how women dressed.

"I haven't seen her around here. Who's she?" he asked Pender. He wanted to see what Pender knew.

"Carol Bagley. She's a programmer analyst. She works on Project Moriarty. You know, that secure area at the other end of this corridor I told you to stay away from. I don't even have clearance to go in there. All anybody knows is that it's something for the FBI. Pretty top secret." Pender crumpled his coffee cup and did a free throw to the wastebasket. "I'm learning basic programming. Mr. Wickersham chose me to be a liaison between the operatives and data operations."

"You mean there's a flaw in the program and Lew needs a human to fix it."

Pender frowned. "Break's over. Let's get on with the tour."

Pender loved to drone on about the glory of Intertect. Joe tuned out. His mind was working on a way to meet Carol Bagley.

Pender piloted Joe through the open floor plan of the inner offices of Intertect, a sea of Steelcase desks and Intertect employees. The battleship gray linoleum floors amplified the sounds of clacking typewriters and dot matrix printers dragging paper through their jaws. Doors with single nameplates ringed the open floor plan. Pender referred to it as "operatives' row." He opened the office door with the "J. Mannix" nameplate.

Joe's new office was neat and clean and bare of personal effects. A desk with a phone, a black office chair, a steel woven wastebasket, and a metal coat stand. A big, black notebook with the Intertect logo dominated the center of the desk. It dwarfed the olive green push button phone sitting next to it. Also on the desk was a set of car keys, a Chevron gas credit card, and his official Intertect badge and ID card.

Pender pointed to the upper corner to the left of the door. "Mr. Wickersham has video access to all operatives' offices."

Joe waved at the camera. "Hi, Lew."

Pender looked at his watch. "Lunch is in about forty-five minutes." He pulled a sheet of paper from the thick book. "Here's your schedule for the rest of the week. After lunch, the security briefing." He tapped the book. "Read the chapters on internal and external security. And wear your badge."

Joe toyed with the car keys; Pender snatched them away.

"Not until you pass your driving test."

"Pender." A voice came from the speaker. "I'd like to see you in my office."

"Yes, Mr. Wickersham." Pender slammed the door as he left.

Joe settled into the chair. He rocked back and forth testing how far he could lean back. He whirled around to look out of his window at what seemed like acres of apartment buildings. He turned back to the desk and opened the manual rifling through the pages. Conduct, procedures, a bunch of rules. Probably somewhere in there Lew's got rules about when and how he could take a piss. He slammed the book closed. Later for that. He looked at his ID badge; his number was A5893-A. He wondered what the numbers stood for. Good thing he wouldn't be around long enough to care.

Using the paper and pen he found in the desk drawer, he diagrammed what he had seen of the layout of Intertect, including the location of the restricted area.

o0O0o

After Jack Fredericks, Mallory's training officer, started talking Joe zoned out. His mind was still working on how to approach Carol Bagley. He thought about sabotaging her car, following her to lunch, or maybe just walking up and asking her for a date.

The class ended. Each of the training officers stood in the back of the classroom with a stack of clothing.

"That's it for today." Pender tossed Joe his stack. "Tomorrow's the obstacle course. You know where the police academy is in Chavez Ravine? Be there at 6 AM. Wear these, bring your suit, and toiletries."

Joe walked away inspecting the sweatshirt top and pants with the Intertect logo on them.

"Mannix." Pender called after him.

Joe turned. What now?

"Follow me," Pender said.

The ride in the elevator rivaled the Arctic temperature of the main computer room. Pender said nothing. He stared straight ahead and stood in a posture that veterans called "the brace." Any stiffer, Joe could have used him for an ironing board. At the parking lot level, he led Joe to a pale yellow Mercury Comet convertible. Pender tossed him the car keys.

"What happened to the driving test?"

Pender's jaw clenched. "You've already passed."

Joe assumed Lew had a little talk with Pender. Having a camera peeking into your office wasn't such a bad thing after all.

Pender began his spiel about safety and decorum on the road when you're driving an Intertect vehicle. While Pender talked on, Joe adjusted the seat and the mirrors and inspected the car. He'd worry about getting his car home later.