by D S Kane
Pedro opened the Hummer’s rear door and nodded for her to exit. She followed him on a brief tour of the main house. It was large and modestly decorated. She examined paintings on the wall of the living room. Old, but probably copies. The originals, she hoped, were on the walls of museums.
There were five bedrooms. One was obviously Frank’s. No clothing was visible, so she assumed Frank must have had a housekeeping staff neatening up the house. The other bedrooms were smaller, and contained at least a bed and a dresser. She asked Pedro, “Where will I be staying?”
Pedro looked confused. After nearly a minute, he said, “With Mr. Lucessi, I assume. When he returns, you may ask him.”
As she continued touring her new home, she wondered if she was committing to Frank too easily. What am I missing?
* * *
Frank Lucessi read the short text from Randall and then opened the attachment and cursed. The calendar schedule of board meetings covered almost every day for the next two months starting tomorrow, crisscrossing the United States nearly three times. Fifty-seven meetings in eleven cities. And his first meeting was in Akron, Ohio, at eight in the morning.
He cursed in four languages. I’ll have to call Laura and apologize. He trotted to the ticket counter and picked up the envelope with his name on it. Within, he found his ticket on the flight out and a voucher for a Best Western in Akron. He picked up his suitcase and ran for the gate where the aircraft was now boarding.
He was the final passenger to board and as he entered, the flight attendant closed and locked the door. He plucked his cellphone from his pocket. But before he could punch in Laura’s number, the flight attendant instructed all passengers to place their phones on Airplane Mode. He’d have to wait nearly six hours until the plane landed at its first stop in Chicago. That would be after midnight in Paraguay. She’ll be pissed.
* * *
Jon nodded at Lee’s advice. “So I should tell them everything?”
Cassie shook her head. “Absolutely not! You’ll scare the bejesus out of them. Weren’t you taught by the Mossad to lie? Well, if there is one situation where lying best serves everyone, it’s this. Tell them a story about how their field is so competitive, and sometimes people lie in order to succeed. Be a bit vague,”
Lee’s jaw fell. “No, no, no. Tell the truth.”
Jon sat in silence. Then he shook his head. “Well, that confuses the issue. Tell you what. Let’s play out both approaches. First, the ‘truth’ approach. What could go wrong?” He looked from Lee to Cassie but both were silent.
Jon waited until he was sure they wouldn’t answer. “So, the risks here are at the very front end and at the back end. At the front end, we tell them about the danger they’ll accept if they take our offer. Many will just tell us to go to hell. So, of the few we have on our short list, there’s the risk that we’ll have no pretenders to send out into the venture capital world. But the risk at the end is that they’ll decide to tell the world our secrets. The result would be catastrophic. If the world discovers that intelligence agencies own and operate venture capital companies and terminate cofounders of their startups, there will be no trust in the venture capital industry. Worse, the idea will be compelling and contagious to every country’s spy agencies. We’d have fed the monster we’re trying to kill.”
Lee nodded. “Each is a killer risk.”
Jon looked at Cassie but she just nodded for him to continue.
Jon took a breath. “Right, then. Now, let’s look at the ‘lie’ scenario. Here the risks run high throughout the exploit. At the beginning, we lie when we don’t tell them about the danger they’re exposing themselves to. Then as they perform, we must provide them with more protection than we’d have to if we told them the truth and gave them a mini-course on countersurveillance. And when we reach the end, if they’re still alive, we get them what we promised: the funding for their enterprise. Less, maybe even no risk at the end. Which is a better approach?”
There was a long silence, Finally Cassie spoke. “Uh, I hadn’t thought of the risks. I just thought we wanted to keep both the Mossad and the United Nations out of the exploit.”
Lee shook his head. “Easier to keep your story straight and simple if you tell the truth.”
Cassie’s mouth opened slightly. “But, lying is what they taught you in your training for intelligence work. You probably can keep your story straight.”
Jon shook his head. “Not really. It’s a decision that has profound, unintended consequences. We’ll need to decide this before we design our talking script.”
They argued for hours. In the end, “lying” won out.
Jon grinned. “After all, lying is what spies do best.”
* * *
It was after midnight when Frank’s flight landed in Chicago. He disembarked and pulled his spinner suitcase through the labyrinthine airport terminal. At the terminal gate for the flight to Akron, he checked in and sat, waiting for the flight to board. Then he pulled his cellphone from his pocket and punched in Laura’s number.
He could tell from her voice he’d woken her. “Hello?”
“It’s Frank. Sorry to not be with you. That business issue I spoke about when we landed, well, it’s become something more than an issue. I’ve been called away, and I’ll be travelling for the next two months. I’m so sorry for this, but I didn’t know before it happened.”
“Two months? Frank, I don’t know anyone here. I haven’t any idea what to do for two months. Not fair.”
“Yeah, I know. Look, I’ll find a way to make it up to you. Give me a chance. Please.”
Laura was silent for a while. “Oh, fuck this.” She terminated the call.
Frank blamed Randall for this. He spent the half hour before boarding thinking of ways to get even. He could simply fail and force Randall to fire him. Or he could let it slip that InTelQ was a CIA operation. But, in the end, he found his seat and stared out the window.
Chapter 21
Lucessi compound, Areguá, Paraguay
September 18, 8:16 a.m.
Laura Hunter sat in the opulent living room and thought about her future. She could have Pedro drive her back to the airport and simply return to Stanford. But she’d have to find the cash to buy an air ticket. She was conflicted in how she felt about Frank. If she was truly falling for him, she could just wait for his return, but what could she do for two months that might please her?
She scouted out websites that might give her something interesting to do if she waited for Frank to return. She brooded about how he’d abandoned her in a place where she knew no one and couldn’t speak either of the two languages—Paraguayan Spanish or Guaraní—that locals spoke. If she was going to wait for him, she’d need to learn to speak the local languages. She cursed Frank and herself for agreeing to travel to Paraguay.
There was nothing interesting in Areguá, but the capital city, Asunción, was less than an hour away by limo, and it was home to over a half million people. According to the websites she’d researched, there were a few sites worth visiting in Asunción. She made a list:
Godoi Museum
Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes (containing old paintings from the nineteenth century)
Church of La Encarnación
Metropolitan Cathedral and the National Pantheon of the Heroes, a smaller version of Les Invalides in Paris, where some of the nation’s heroes were entombed.
Not enough to occupy her for two entire months. In desperation, she searched harder. She considered several other places. At first, she wasn’t sure if they were worth her time, but her list was so short. In the end, she made a note to visit the Calle Palma, the main street downtown, where several historical buildings, plazas, shops, restaurants, and cafés were located.
The Manzana de la Rivera, located in front of the Presidential Palace, was a series of old traditional homes that had been restored and served as a museum showcasing the architectural evolution of the city. It might appeal to the art history major still living in
her bones.
Asunción also had shopping malls. While she waited for Frank to return, she could spend his money there. But first she’d have to find where he hid it.
Asunción might not have many conventional tourist attractions, but if she were willing to be her own tour guide, Asunción was worth at least one entire day. She reminded herself that a full day would have to include midday siesta, when just about everything in the city was closed.
She decided to ask Pedro to suggest who might teach her the languages of the locals and to set up meetings with several possible teachers.
She felt a sense of panic rise inside her. What will I do with myself for two entire months?
She looked at another website for additional places of interest. The Municipal Museum and the Center of Visual Arts looked good, but she was afraid the Fine Arts Museum might be fairly unimpressive.
Finally, she stumbled across the Museo del Barro, which claimed to be Asunción’s most interesting and underrated attraction. Years ago, this museum started as a private circulating collection and seven years later acquired a permanent location. It included three separate divisions devoted respectively to pottery, indigenous art, and contemporary art.
The list was so short. Soon, she would have nothing to do but sit and wait. She cried while she sat alone.
* * *
Frank Lucessi rose at dawn the next morning and drove his rental to his first-ever board of directors meeting for a startup called XXY Dimensions. He arrived at a run-down building that must have originally been a factory before the startup moved in. As he approached the building, he sniffed the air and smelled industrial lubricant. What the fuck do they do here? He searched for the door but the only one was locked. He looked in vain for a doorbell.
A voice rattled through a hidden speaker. “Can I help you?”
He couldn’t find a microphone so he just opened his mouth and spoke. “Yes. I’m Frank Lucessi. I’m here for your board of directors meeting.”
“Are you on the list?”
“I’m from InTelQ.”
The door popped open and Frank entered. He found himself in a blind—a small room between the door he’d entered and another three feet away. The disembodied voice spoke. “Place everything metal on the tray.” He looked around and watched as a tray emerged from the wall perpendicular to the doors. This area stank even more of industrial lubricant. He dumped most of what was in his pockets on the tray, then carefully pulled his notebook computer from his attaché case and placed it on the tray. He heard a slight, very low-pitched noise. The voice said, “Okay. Please take your things and enter.” He reloaded his pockets and his attaché case, then walked to the inner door, which sprang open as he neared it.
The inside area was spacious. He could hear factory noises. Machines grinding and pounding. He turned and inspected the area for more details. The walls were a light green and the floor was concrete and painted gray. He waited for someone to tell him or show him where to go next.
Someone wearing a business suit emerged from around a corner. “Hi. I’m Josh Taggert, the CFO.” The man extended his hand and Frank shook it. “Welcome to XXY Dimensions.”
From the notes Randall had sent him, Frank had been able to research the business. According to the scant news they’d generated, XXY Dimensions, Inc., was a genetic modification startup, whatever that was. “What exactly happens in this building, Mr. Taggert?”
“Well, we’re just getting started. This was the largest vacant building we could find. We’re setting it up to house genetic modifiers using a CRISPR. Ever hear of the term?”
Frank nodded his head. He already knew that the acronym stood for “clustered regularly interspaced short palindromic repeats.” Some saw the gene-editing tool as the future of medicine. Others saw it as a Pandora’s box. “How far along are you and what are your intended applications?”
“We’re in the process of designing a super soldier. As it states in our business plan, this project was designed to get us the seed capital. Today’s board meeting will decide if we’ve made enough progress to seek a second round of funding.”
Frank scanned the area. “Where’s the meeting to be?”
“The other board members have arrived and are in the conference room. We have coffee and doughnuts. Please follow me.”
Frank walked the halls of the warren around several corners and then up a short flight of stairs. Taggert placed a plastic card bearing his photo against the doorknob and the door swung open. This room was much brighter. His eyes took time to adjust. He saw a wooden oval table with six plush black leather chairs, four occupied. Taggert sat in one and motioned Frank to take his seat at the other.
As soon as he sat, the man at the head of the table smiled and said, “I’m Willy Hangshaw, CEO of XXY. I hereby open the second board of directors meeting. First, a summary of our progress since the first meeting.” A screen dropped from the ceiling behind him and a movie soundtrack rattled through the conference room’s sound system.
* * *
The Stanford cafeteria was noisy when Jon, Cassie, and Lee entered. There were no open tables, so they waited. Jon scanned the room for a vacant table. There was no movement. He held a manila folder in one hand and a cup of hot black coffee in his other. He brushed the forelock of his hair off his forehead with the back of a hand, then realized it was a sign of being unsettled. His head swiveled toward the door to the lobby as it opened. He saw a tall, dark-skinned male enter. The man’s face matched the photo in the file he held. And, as if on cue, four seats at a nearby table opened. Jon smiled, approached the man, and held out his hand. “Daniel Tremain? I’m Jon Sommers of Abah Investments. We spoke on the phone a few days ago. My partners are Cassandra Sashakovich and Lee Ainsley.”
Tremain stopped short and examined Jon. “You look much younger than you sounded over the phone.”
They shook hands and Jon led Cassie, Lee, and Tremaim to the now-empty table.
Jon opened the folder. “As I told you, Abah invests on behalf of angel investors, corporations, and governments.”
“Yeah, I remember. But when I tried researching you, nothing came up. Not a bit, not a byte.”
“We’re new, and by that I mean we haven’t yet announced our existence. We’ll do that as soon as we have signed agreements with at least three startups.”
Tremain nodded. “So, what do you propose?”
Jon scanned the first sheet in his folder. “We ask for you to sign an agreement that outlines the terms of Abah’s investment in StarClaims. This won’t commit you to anything. It just allows us to work with you toward becoming a fungible startup. You can terminate at any time, but if you do, we’ll stop issuing payments. As the payments progress, we vest shares of preferred stock.” He handed a stack of paper from the file to Tremain.
Tremain nodded and scanned through the stack as Jon sipped his coffee. After Tremain read the final page, he looked up and nodded. “I’ll need to have our attorney read through these and then present them to my cofounders. Figure two days.”
Jon nodded. “Fine. Tell me more about StarClaims proposed products, your market, and your management team.”
Tremain pulled a notebook computer from his attaché case and opened it up. “What’s your email? I can send you a copy of the appendices to our business plan and then answer your questions.”
Jon opened his own attaché case and pulled out his notebook. “I’m [email protected].” He’d set up the website and the email with Cassie and Lee earlier in the day.
Tremain punched in Jon’s email address and pressed the Send button.
Jon smiled as he opened the first appendix to the StarClaims business plan. First step done successfully. Now onto setting the hook.
Chapter 22
Lucessi compound, Areguá, Paraguay
September 19, 10:16 a.m.
Laura awakened from a nightmare. In her dream, she was seven years younger than now, and heard her mother and father arguing upstairs. She climbed the
stairs, shivering with each step although the air in the house was warm. As she approached the door to her parents’ bedroom, she heard a something heavy hit the floor and then—silence. She woke knowing her father had murdered her mother. The sheets Laura lay on were wet with her perspiration. She rose and paced the bedroom. This nightmare was familiar territory for her, but this was the first time the dream had ended before she opened the bedroom’s door and seen the mess that had been her mother’s neck, lying on the floor next to the bloody body of a naked male stranger.
She opened the window shades of the house within the compound. Outside, she saw bright sunshine. She decided to don her bathrobe and head downstairs for coffee. As if a cup of hot coffee could cure the deep depression she had felt from yet another dream of her mother’s violent death.
* * *
At their next meeting, Jon smiled at Daniel Tremain as he watched the young man review the documents. This time, Jon was alone, having earned the trust of Cassie and Lee. While Jon might be the head operative for the assignment, Cassie had at least as much experience in covert ops.
Tremain reminded Jon of himself a decade in the past when he had just been awarded his MBA from the University of London.
Tremain looked up and stared back at Jon. “Mr. Sommers, what does this mean? It says, ‘In the event that any members of the startup team encounter a physically threatening situation, Abah Investments will deploy a team to ensure the personal safety of the team and their family members.’ If my team lets you invest in StarClaims, how would that put any of us in danger?”
Jon’s eyes widened. This language was from the original agreement that Cassie, Lee, and Jon had crafted before they made their choice to lie and obfuscate. Jon shifted in his seat and read the sentence himself. Ouch. We did this to ourselves. He would have to improvise something. “Ah, at one time we invested in a startup that had a running feud with another startup, and we wanted to ensure the continuation of our investment. It really shouldn’t apply to StarClaims.”