The Fourth Law Read online

  Ryan Marshall had become fascinated with moving huge objects as a child. His first introduction came while visiting his grandfather Rusty at a timber harvest operation near Farmington, New Mexico. Rusty was the foreman of a giant forest products company, having spent his entire career in the logging industry. He was a legendary logger in Northern New Mexico. The elder Marshall taught his grandson the practical application of mechanical advantage using logging techniques from a bygone era.

  Ryan was just seven years old when he first visited his grandpa’s worksite, but never forgot that fateful day. His little eyes bugged out at the sight of a huge earth-mover buried to its tracks in a sinkhole— the operator churning the tracks, hopelessly stuck. Ryan always smiled when remembering the sight of Rusty’s red baseball cap flying through the air, having been thrown at the hapless tractor operator.

  “Goddamnit! Stop moving before you kill the engine, you dumb son-of-a-bitch,” Rusty yelled, as he raced to the tractor. Rusty was known as the bull of the woods, having earned the nickname “Hot Piss” for his explosive tirades.

  The inexperienced operator continued spinning the tracks of the D7, sinking lower with each forward thrust of the monstrous tractor.

  “Stop, ya dumb redneck,” Rusty shouted again. “Fetch me a choker and two twelve-inch blocks from the maintenance shed… then haul your sorry ass back and I’ll show you what a smart logger can do,” he fumed, leaning over to pick up his dirty red cap. “Fuckin’ kids don’t know a goddamned thing anymore.”

  Rusty clearly had a plan for extricating the hopelessly mired tractor. By connecting the pulleys, he hauled the hulking tractor free with a much smaller piece of equipment. How can something so small pull out that big tractor? Ryan had wondered. He had learned an invaluable lesson from his grandfather, one which launched him on a lifelong quest.

  From that moment, Ryan spared no effort in learning everything he could from his grandfather. He became extremely skilled at both the theory and the practical application of mechanical advantage; the workings of fulcrums, pulleys, inclined planes, and hydraulics became his passion.

  Ryan capitalized on this knowledge and developed the skill to expertly move all types of heavy objects. It began with heavy equipment, following in Rusty’s footsteps, and he became a journeyman crane operator, mastering the techniques to safely erect cranes capable of handling enormous weight. From cranes, he graduated to relocating massive buildings in one piece without dismantling them. As his professional development continued, Ryan ultimately advanced to his present role as the premier designer of special application cranes. It was in this capacity that his services were now in great demand throughout the world. As the saying went: Levitation Solutions has the might to surmount any weight or height.

  Even with these successes, Ryan was a long way from realizing his ultimate dream; he imagined the perfect crane, capable of levitating any object regardless of the mass. In this regard, he was locked in a mortal contest with his cousin, Jarrod Conrad, to unravel the mystery shrouding their obsessive dream: the source of universal gravity. Ryan pursued the mechanical means to overcome gravity: a frictionless crane that could levitate infinite weight. It was this single-minded obsession that drove him forward and put him on a path toward self-destruction, ultimately costing him more than he could have imagined: the love of his life.

  EIGHT

  RIO GRANDE GORGE

  TAOS, NEW MEXICO

  RYAN MARSHALL rolled onto the jobsite where Levitation Solutions was erecting a truss-arch bridge spanning the 600-foot-wide Rio Grande Gorge. His men were busily preparing to unload the keystone arch—Big Mo—the huge piece of steel that would complete the span in the middle of the bridge. This chunk of steel was indeed a big mother, weighing nearly thirty tons—the absolute limit of the tower crane’s specifications.

  Corky was true to his word. The massive steel girders that would support Big Mo were all strapped and looked ready for the lift. There was a frenzy of activity while the crew made last-minute preparations as the delivery truck from Apache Steel pulled into the yard.

  Ryan parked next to the construction office—really a twenty-six-foot-long portable trailer that had been converted into an office. He grabbed a set of plans, donned his hard hat, and headed to the base of the tower crane. The men, likewise, began gathering for the mandatory safety meeting, recognizing that Ryan had just arrived.

  The safety meeting was a daily ritual that Ryan believed was the single most important reason Levitation Solutions maintained a stellar safety record. The foreman would lay out the plan for the lift, with each crewman reciting his responsibility. Communication signals were always reviewed, even though the routine never varied. This repetitive familiarity focused the men on the task at hand and reminded them that no mistake would be tolerated.

  Ryan sauntered into the center of the gathering. “Morning, everyone. Let’s close that gap,” he said, pointing at the open space in the bridge above. “Who’s in the bird’s nest, Corky?” This was the small enclosure hanging from the jib at the center of the tower crane. The operator climbed to this perch some 300 feet above the ground to run the crane.

  “Artie’s the jockey today…he won the toss,” Corky replied. Artie Rummerfield broke into a moonwalk to celebrate his good fortune.

  “Okay, settle down, twinkle toes,” Corky scolded. “Just because you won the flip don’t mean squat. If Big Mo ain’t ready by noon, we do it all over tomorrow.”

  “Like hell,” Artie replied, still stirring up dust in a pitiful-looking break dance. “Once I’m in the nest, I ain’t comin’ down ’til the two ends meet,” he sang out. “I’ve got the pisser and lunch…it’s all I need. Nothin’ standin’ in my way, boss,” he said, grinning broadly. His antics were intended to aggravate Martin Cavanaugh, the other crane operator.

  Cavanaugh scowled back at Artie, irritated that he drew the more mundane role of communications between the rigger and the operator. “Yeah, you just keep clowning around, ya dumb Injun,” Martin sneered. “You’ll twist an ankle and won’t be able to climb the tower.” He shoved Artie irreverently.

  “Whatever…” Artie scoffed in retort. “I’ll be the one in the bird’s nest looking down at your sorry ass.”

  “Okay, okay, let’s get serious, boys,” Ryan finally said, stepping forward and cutting off the horseplay. “Corky, did you have a chance to check with Martin and Artie about any swayback?”

  “No, I didn’t, Ryan,” Corky replied, embarrassed by the oversight. “I planned to start off the safety meeting with that question.”

  “How about it, guys…either of you notice swayback or anything out of the ordinary?” Ryan asked of his two experienced operators. The concern on his face was not missed by the men.

  “Nothing unusual, Mr. Marshall,” Artie responded. “Why’d you ask?” This was not the kind of discussion an operator wanted to have before ascending the tower.

  An accomplished crane operator was all about confidence—but not just blind machismo. They demanded perfection, relying on the erection team to precisely calculate the counterweight and cable strength of the crane. The counterweight, in turn, defined the load limits of the crane. As long as the operator stayed within these predetermined limits, catastrophic failure was unlikely.

  As important as the reliability of the crane, though, was absolute faith in the ground rigger. Each load was equalized by the rigger to assure it couldn’t slip once hoisted. A shift in the load, once airborne, would cause a dangerous shock load as the static weight was mathematically magnified. This could buckle the jib and collapse the tower. Surviving a crane collapse was extremely rare, especially a 300-foot tower crane like the one at the gorge. Artie noticed that his stomach constricted and his butt puckered at the mere mention of the counterbalance being compromised.

  “Same goes here, Mr. Marshall,” Cavanaugh chimed in, sharing Artie’s concerns about the crucial counterbalance stays. “Shouldn’t we do an inspection?” he asked, so Artie didn’t have to b
roach the question himself. He knew Artie would do the same for him were the roles reversed. All of a sudden, it didn’t feel like such bad luck he wouldn’t be the operator to lift Big Mo into place.

  “Okay, look…maybe I’m just paranoid,” Ryan said mollifying everyone’s increasing anxiety. He understood best of all that a crane operator had to feel absolutely confident prior to ascending the tower. This was not the kind of safety meeting he intended.

  “I apologize for getting everyone stirred up,” he said calmly. “From across the canyon, level with the jib, the tower seems out of plumb. It’s probably an optical illusion. You guys tell me there’s been no swayback…I believe you. But just to be safe, let’s delay the first lift until Artie and Martin inspect the counterweight. This won’t take long unless somethin’s out of kilter, in which case we delay until the crane’s ready. Either way, nobody gets hurt.”

  “You heard the man…get cracking,” Corky snapped, taking charge again. He was still smarting from having let Ryan down earlier. He hoped like hell there was nothing wrong with the tower or his reputation would be tarnished. No one would work with a foreman whose safety record was considered lax.

  The rules of working the high-steel were inviolable: Personal safety came first, followed by a partner’s safety; if these rules were broken, the well-being of the entire team could be threatened. It was the unyielding responsibility of the foreman to watch for anything that could jeopardize the crew.

  “Artie, you follow Martin up the tower and work your way back to the blocks. Report back when you can confirm anything,” Corky ordered as the two operators broke from the pack.

  Corky clapped his hands to break the growing tension. “Okay, men, look alive…we’ve got a deadline to keep. Let’s get the lift completed on schedule. That means both girder teams get set on either side of the bridge. Shane, you or Jack have any questions?” he asked, anxious to conclude the meeting.

  “Naw, we know the drill,” replied Shane Greyfern, one of two Navajos on this team. “You swing us Big Mo, we’ll jack ‘er in place,” he said with a dry smile. “Nothin’ to it. My guys’ll be the first to cross this bridge later today.”

  Everyone sprang into action as the meeting broke. Martin and Artie donned climbing harnesses to safely walk the jib back to the counterweight. Once outfitted, they began the hand-over-hand ascent to the top of the tower crane. Ryan and Corky restlessly awaited their inspection. What they found would determine whether or not the team was going vertical today.

  Artie was the first one to arrive at the apex of the tower and stopped to put his gear in the operator’s cabin. Martin moved past him and connected a safety leader to a separate rail that ran the length of the jib. Then he walked the catwalk along the top of the swing arm. Artie followed a short distance behind.

  “Well, son-of-a-bitch,” exclaimed Martin, who came to an abrupt halt about midway to the counterbalance at the back of the swing arm. “Look at this, will ya?” he said, pointing at a broken cable tie. “No way Mr. Marshall could’ve seen this from across the canyon. How the hell did he know this clevis pin was twisted?”

  “No shit. I know the man’s got powers…but this is unbelievable!” Artie exclaimed, whistling absentmindedly.

  “Artie…he just saved your life,” Martin added, as solemn as an undertaker.

  What the two operators had discovered was that one of the two guy wires—thick steel cables connecting the counterweight to the end of the swing arm—was improperly connected to the crane. The cable was typically held fast with a u-shaped clevis pin secured with a threaded steel bolt. Somehow the bolt had loosened and the cable slid sideways. In this configuration, the clevis pin would fail when loaded, and the crane would collapse. Ryan Marshall’s intuition had saved the operator’s life, and possibly others, depending upon when the failure occurred.

  “Corky, this is Martin,” he said, keying his radio.

  “Go ahead, Martin,” Corky replied restlessly.

  “Tell Mr. Marshall he’s a frickin’ genius…or some ki…kind of miracle worker,” Martin stammered. “The clevis pin on our port side cable was side-loaded. Don’t know how long it’s been that way…or even how it happened. But, sure as shit, it wouldn’t have held Big Mo!”

  “Well, okay…that’s good news, I guess, Marty,” Corky replied, surprised by the information. “Sounds like an easy fix. You’ll need a new clevis and a come-along to take up the tension on the cable, correct?”

  “You got it, bossman,” Martin replied. “Send Jimmy up with a new clevis, a couple of one-inch cable clamps, and the thirty-six-inch come-along. We’ll have this sucker fixed in no time. Still can’t figure how Mr. Marshall knew this was screwed up, though,” he added with a touch of admiration.

  “Okay. Jimmy’s on his way shortly,” Corky replied. “This is damned unusual, for sure. I’m certain Mr. Marshall will contact Sandia Crane to discuss the issue. For now, you guys fix the cable so we can meet our deadline.”

  While Corky had maintained his poise throughout the early morning ordeal, in truth he was humbled beyond measure. How his mentor knew there was something wrong with the crane was a total mystery. The events of the day would add to his already legendary status among the elite crane operators around the world. Ryan’s intuition had clearly saved the life of Artie Rummerfield. Corky considered himself blessed to be in the presence of this high-steel savant.

  Ryan had his own concerns, however. When hearing the specifics of the problem, he immediately knew this was no mere accident, but an act of sabotage. There was no possible way for a fully tensioned guy wire to twist along the axis of the clevis pin. These stabilizing cables were tensioned at thousands of pounds per square inch, transferring the load’s weight to the counterweight at the back of the jib. The erection team from Sandia simply couldn’t have made this kind of mistake; if they had, it would have been immediately recognized from the very first attempt to calibrate the crane when it was fully operational.

  Ryan didn’t show his concern, but he knew without doubt this was a blatant attempt to undermine his company. An accident of this magnitude would result in interminable delay while lengthy investigations were conducted to determine the cause. More egregious than monetary losses, however, was that whoever sabotaged the crane decided that certain death was an acceptable price for whatever the gain.

  Ryan knew only one man ruthless enough to do something this heinous: his cousin, Jarrod Conrad. Ryan hated Jarrod with a passion. Realizing his cousin had so little regard for the lives of his men intensified this disgust. He vowed to get to the bottom of this latest affront and rejoin their long-standing but latent rivalry. He would never forgive the part his cousin played in his divorce from Sarah. This latest outrage reopened that festering wound and the trauma that followed; never had he felt so bad—worse, even, than after the death of their beloved son, Jacob.

  Watch your back, cousin…watch your back. The score’s still uneven!

  Ryan wondered how to resolve the boundless hatred the cousins had for each other—a loathing so deep that not even the lives of innocent bystanders were off-limits. Jarrod’s hatred seemed truly immeasurable. It often didn’t seem possible they were really cousins, given how dissimilar they were. But the fact remained; they were raised in almost identical environments.

  Ryan knew he was a good man, albeit imperfect. The disciplined teaching of the Dominican nuns at Our Lady of Lourdes instilled in him qualities that build character, honor, and integrity. He held the qualities of honesty, loyalty, industry, and patience closest to his heart. But like most students of a parochial education, he also bore the heavy guilt associated with this teaching philosophy. Any failure to maintain impossibly high standards was harshly punished.

  But of all the mistakes in his life, the most egregious was his infidelity to Sarah. The shame he carried for the unfaithfulness to his wife was overwhelming. He’d broken his vow and abandoned a core principle; there was no way to forgive his transgression. But the role Jarrod had played
was also unforgivable. Simply remembering his part in the matter enraged Ryan beyond any consolable level.

  Ryan first met Sarah Coscarelli while attending the University of New Mexico. He recognized her classic Italian beauty, which immediately caught his attention. Sarah had dark curly hair that she wore short and chic, olive skin, and rich, full lips, which perfectly accented her prominent cheekbones. She was also tall and athletic, a departure from the full-bodied look of most European women. Sarah was of Irish-Italian descent, which made her both feisty and passionate. She was a business major at the university and a central figure among the Lobo cheerleaders.

  A devout Catholic, Sarah’s strong spiritual beliefs were the foundation of her life, and she never wavered in her faith. Even though she was remarkably attractive with countless suitors, she never drew close to anyone that didn’t keep God their highest priority. Sarah was one of those rare people who held to beliefs regardless of what others might think. She was extraordinary in many ways, but her unshakable faith was, in Ryan’s estimation, the most attractive of her many qualities. The fact that she was also Italian made her the ideal mate. Ryan fell in love with this gorgeous brown-eyed girl, determined that he would be the man to steal her heart.

  Sarah Coscarelli came from one of the most influential families in New Mexico. Her father was a two-term senator, Alfonse Coscarelli, a member of the powerful Appropriations Committee in the United States Senate. He later became chairman of the Senate Intelligence Committee, which formed the Department of Homeland Security.

  Ryan’s friends bet the chance of dating the venerable Sarah Coscarelli was a long shot, but he would not be dissuaded; he was completely smitten by Sarah’s charm and extraordinary beauty. It took considerable effort for him just to catch her eye, but they did eventually meet during junior year, when Ryan happily discovered they were enrolled in the same statistics class.