Twenty minutes into his workout routine, Guerrero couldn’t shake his concern for CK Campbell. Or maybe it was concern for his own reputation. He had made it publicly known Campbell was his decision.
Guerrero danced around the punching bag, delivering a series of left right combinations. He should have been worrying about the morning’s security breach. He bobbed and weaved while focusing on his footwork. If the league office found out a leak originating from within his training facility had compromised their proprietary technology, they’d take his team before the end of its first season. Then again, there wasn’t any use squirming until Miss Fasano gathered more information.
His mind strayed back to Campbell. The media had dubbed the acquisition as exactly the sort of splash expected from a Vegas Guerrero, despite the fact Alejandro hadn’t lived in Vegas or near the rest of his family for years. Screw the media.
Captain Kumbaya was exactly the type of hokey, boy scout hero San Antonio needed. They might not see it now. Guerrero attacked the bag with feverish rage, reining punches like gunfire. The fans were still upset by the college standout’s so-called betrayal of the sport they love. He slammed his left glove into the bag hard enough to rattle the chain attaching it to the ceiling of his private gym. They boy’s only crime had been stupidly sticking to moral convictions born out of deep, personal anguish.
Guerrero delivered a final blow with his right before dropping his hands and breathing deeply. Nothing from the kid’s past mattered. Winning covered a plethora of sins. And winning always followed leadership. Guerrero only hoped he wasn’t wrong about Campbell’s ability to lead. How could he be? He hadn’t been wrong once in the last seven years—every pick a winner. But this was football, not Silicon Valley. Guerrero had a lot to learn about football.
That thought brought him full circle. What had been so damned important that Campbell blew off the entire coaching staff? Unlacing a glove with his teeth, Guerrero pulled both gloves off and tossed them at his locker. Before fetching a jump rope from the wall, he spoke a voice command to his computer. “Locate Christen Campbell, 6:50am this morning.”
The response came immediately via the ear piece Miss Fasano had insisted he wear for the rest of the day. “Christen Campbell was in the southern equipment locker of this facility between 5:08am and 7:06am.”
Guerrero knew the backup QB spent every free moment gaining extra reps on his KIP. The cunning SOB had actually worked it into his contract in exchange for taking $10,000 less. Only Guerrero, his head of personnel, Campbell and Campbell’s agent knew about the special arrangement. If anyone on the team were to find out, it could ruin the kid’s chances of ever leading the Aztecs to glory, and profit.
Guerrero addressed his computer while skipping rope as quickly as he could bounce on his toes. “What was he doing?”
“For 72.8% percent of the time, Christen Campbell remained inert. For—”
“Inert? What, he was asleep?”
“At the moment his kinetic isolation pad workout terminated, Christen Campbell’s vitals indicated cardiac arrest rather than slumber.”
Guerrero struck himself in the shin with his jumprope and swore. “Are you telling me Christen Campbell had a heart attack?”
“Incorrect—”
The computer’s voice faded, overridden by an incoming call from Miss Fasano.
“Yes?” Guerrero accepted the interruption despite his annoyance with it.
“Did you give Campbell clearance to be in restricted areas unaccompanied?”
“To the point, Miss Fasano.” Guerrero wondered if his equipment manager was about to tell him his backup quarterback had dropped dead that morning.
“My question goes straight to the point.”
“Well then pick a different point, one that deals directly with this morning’s security breach.”
Miss Fasano exhaled into the receiver. “I’ve found something you need to see, sir. It would be best if you came to the control room.”
“Miss Fasano,” Guerrero hailed her before she could sever the connection.
“Yes, sir?”
“Have you seen Campbell this morning?”
Her breathing hitched noticeably. “Um, yes. Why?”
“Nothing. I’ll be there after I shower.” He tapped the ear piece and returned his jumprope to the wall. He spoke to his computer. “I’ll be cutting my workout short today. Record my log entry now.”
“Done.”
Guerrero stopped shy of the shower and scratched his chin. He addressed the computer again. “Is Campbell inert currently?”
“Negative.”
That put Guerrero’s mind at ease. The rest could wait until his briefing in the command room.
ns 15.158.61.46da2
