“Now,” Kelly replied, “I’d have to guess. But my guess would be that if someone—someone clever enough to reprogram a computer—were out to kill Mr. Hoffman, it could have been done anywhere along the line. A little shove into the furnace. A failure of the glass cutter. Any number of ‘accidents.’ With Mr. Hoffman standing in the path of the loading robot, with everyone’s eyes on the robot’s procedure, anyone easily could have slipped over to the computer controls and quickly reprogrammed it. It would require only a few seconds. Oh, yes; it could be done easily.”
The officer, seemingly satisfied, nodded. But he would later question the men who had been working in the area to see if any of them had noticed anything or anyone unusual in the vicinity of the control box.
For now, he turned to the plant manager. “Mr. Culpepper, what kind of security do you have in this plant?”
Culpepper looked embarrassed. “Well, none, really. There are no uniformed guards—or plain-clothes guards, for that matter. We try to keep our eyes open, but it’s almost impossible. The other day, I saw somebody wandering through, taking pictures, so I challenged him. Turned out he was on assignment by The Company and nobody had notified us. But, just about anybody can come through here, especially if he or she is wearing work clothes. Nobody wears identification tags. And the place is so big nobody knows everybody else.”
“So, if this thing had been caused by someone who reprogrammed the computer, that person might or might not be working here?”
“Right. Or, for that matter, if somebody did reprogram the computer, he or she could have been hired by someone not at all associated with The Company.”
Kelly leaned forward. “One thing puzzles me, Amos: How in hell did you ever guess that the probe was out of control? I mean, a split second later and we would have had a major league tragedy.”
“I’m not sure even now.” Culpepper, still shaken by the incident, shook his head. “The arms came up just a fraction too fast. And, when the probe missed its first pulse count . . . I . . . I just reacted.”
“A lucky reaction as far as Mr. Hoffman is concerned.” He turned to an obviously angry Hoffman. “Mr. Hoffman, who knew you were going to make this—uh—operating review today?”
“Just about everyone. It was common knowledge around my office.” Hoffman paused. “And I guess I complained about it enough so that most of my friends and co-workers knew about it. Why?”
“Because we can’t be sure yet what we’ve got here. It’s either a very dangerous industrial accident, or attempted murder.”
“Murder!” Hoffman reacted as if he’d never before heard the word.
“It’s a possibility, especially since we know that this—uh—axis runaway could have been programmed.”
“Murder!” He shook his head. “That’s impossible.”
“Not impossible, Mr. Hoffman. If Mr. Culpepper had not reacted as quickly as he did, that machine either would have sliced you in half or battered you into that pillar. Either way, you would have been dead. And if someone actually programmed the robot to act as it did, then that’s attempted murder.”
“My God!” Concern began to replace anger.
Both officers sat down across the conference table from Hoffman. “I think it would be to your advantage,” said one officer, “to take a little time and try to come up with a list of people who might want to do you harm. If it was an attempt at murder, there’s a big problem.”
“What?”
“If it was merely an accident, it’s The Company’s problem. If it was attempted murder, you and we have a bigger problem.”
“Yes?”
“Whoever did it may try again.”
In a brief time, Frank Hoffman would repress this incident from his consciousness.
But there would come a time when he, and others around him, would be forced to recall it vividly.