by L. Z. Hunter
He nodded, maybe a little too vigorously. “I do, sir. Yes.”
“Good. Good. That’s what we like to hear, isn’t it, Ms. Warwick?”
She didn’t reply, but worked the dials unlocking her briefcase. She depressed the snap-releases, and opened the lid.
“You have a bachelor's degree in software engineering, correct?”
“I do. Yes.”
“You had a double major, I believe?”
“Geology,” Louis Powell said. He leaned forward, not sure where the conversation was headed. Regardless, he wanted the big boss to know he had his full, undivided attention. “Just something I’ve always enjoyed. I was taking extra classes anyway. A double major was right there, so I finished taking what was needed.”
“Commendable. Very admirable,” Brunson said.
The smile made Powell a little apprehensive. “Well, I don’t know about all of that. Just a personal choice, really.”
“Did you aspire to work in the field, going on digs and the like?”
“As a kid, a young man, I think part of me did,” Powell said.
“And what changed?” Brunson said.
Louis couldn’t help watching Ms. Warwick. Her expression hadn’t changed. She was writing on a yellow legal pad. Was she taking notes on the conversation? Why would she? His degree had no bearing on his job. Did it?
“I suppose reality changed.”
“Reality?”
“I’m not one for writing grants. Digs need sponsoring. I work for everything I have. If I’d been independently wealthy, maybe I’d have explored the option after graduation. Sooner or later though, I’d have come to the same decision,” he said.
“Same decision?”
“Software engineer. It’s what I’m meant to do,” Powell said.
Brunson laughed. “You think telling me what I want to hear, is what I want to hear.”
Powell offered up a thin smile. “I’m really not sure what is going on, sir. And I’ll admit, I’m a little apprehensive.”
“Apprehensive? Louis, you have no reason to be. Trust me.” Brunson nodded at Ms. Warwick.
She reached into her briefcase.
“Do you know what this is, Mr. Powell?”
Louis. Mr. Powell. The boss was all over the place. It caught him off guard.
Ms. Warwick produced a blue velvet cloth. She unwrapped it. A rock was inside. She set it down on the table.
Powell pointed at it. “May I?”
He pulled the rock close. He turned it over in his hands, and looked at it closely.
“Do you know what it is?” Brunson said, again.
Powell set the rock down on the velvet. “It looks like coal, the dull, black part embedded in the rest of the sediment.” He ran a finger over it, looked at his finger tip. “But I don’t think it is. I’m not sure what it is.”
“It’s your paycheck, Mr. Powell.” Brunson said. “It is our paycheck. The black rock in there is coltan.”
Coltan. He should have known. He picked up the rock again and studied it more closely. “I’ve never seen it in raw form like this before. It’s a dull, metallic ore.”
“You know something about it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell me what you know,” Brunson said.
“Well, I know that it is often referred to as the blood diamond of the technology world. It looks just like gravel, which was why I said coal. Only because, I guess I couldn’t see you calling me up here to show me a piece of gravel.” Powell set the rock down again. “The parts of this metallic ore are used in circuit boards, cell phones, video game consoles, e-readers, missiles, jet engines…”
Brunson sat forward, his arms on the table. “Exactly. It’s used in capacitors, and tiny components that are essential in managing the flow of current in just about any and every electronic device that exists. The bigger question is, do you know what it is worth?”
Powell shook his head. “I don’t.”
Brunson dropped a finger on a corner of velvet and slid the rock over. “The Tantalite, and Niobium content, as well as radioactive levels are what is looked at when it comes to pricing.”
“Radioactive?”
“This particular piece has low, low radioactive levels. No worries,” the boss said.
Powell was worried. He absently rubbed his palms over his suit pants. “I see,” he said.
“A thousand a pound. If we’re lucky. We pay one thousand dollars for every pound of coltan delivered. Do you know how many pounds of coltan we purchase a year? A month?”
Powell shrugged, and arched his eyebrows. “I don’t, sir.”
“A lot. Astronomical amounts. If Circuitz was a person, this ore is the lifeblood,” he said, holding the rock up as a prop.
Powell was at a loss. He still had no idea why he was here. The only lines he could draw were his degree in geology, and the fact the company used coltan. He kept his mouth shut, and waited.
“We want to promote you, Louis. We want to make you a project manager. How many people do you supervise currently?”
“Seventeen,” Powell said, without hesitation. He knew his staff as well as he knew most of his family. They were also equally as dysfunctional. Like family, though, they were his.
“Wonderful. Wonderful,” Brunson said. “Ms. Warwick has the legal documents for you to look over and sign. There is a fifteen percent raise involved, if that is acceptable?”
“Ah, fifteen percent? Yes. Fifteen percent is acceptable,” Powell said, running numbers inside his head. What clogged the thought process was legal. He’d signed confidentiality and non-compete clauses when hired. He knew what was expected of him as an employee.
“That’s what I hoped to hear.”
“And the legal documents?” Powell pointed at Ms. Warwick.
“We have an additional life policy form, compensation package, and enhanced confidentiality releases that require your signature,” Ms. Warwick said, she stood up and walked over. She set a manila folder down in front of him. There were pages and pages of contracts, and supporting documentation. Sticky arrows were affixed anywhere his signature or initials were needed.
“What is the project?” Powell said, his eyes blurred looking over the paperwork. He couldn’t concentrate on reading what was in front of him with Brunson staring.
“You are going to be in charge of our coltan supply,” Brunson said.
In charge of the coltan supply? Could the geology degree really be paying off? His father would never believe this. “In charge of it, sir?”
“We know you are not married.”
“I’m not.”
“No kids.”
“True.”
“And your parents are retired and living in Florida.”
It was kind of creepy. “You are right,” Powell said.
“Based on everything, we believe you are the best company candidate for the project manager position. I mean if you aren’t interested, we can go to the next person on the list,” Brunson said.
They had a list? “I’m interested. I am,” he said, picked up a pen and started signing and initialing as Ms. Warwick turned pages and pointed.
Brunson stood up. “Congratulations, Mr. Powell. I’m excited to have you on the team.”
They shook hands. He excused himself, leaving Louis alone with the attorney.
Powell stopped when he noticed forms on traveling and Visa application. “Work Visa? Am I going somewhere?”
“We don’t mine for coltan in Pittsburgh, Mr. Powell,” Betty Warwick said.
“So, ah, where am I headed?”
“To where the coltan is,” she said. “Sign here.”
He signed. “Like a process factory? Where is it, Mexico? China?”
“You’re not going to a factory, Mr. Powell. You are going where the ore is mined.”
Where it is mined? “I don’t know where it’s mined from. Where am I going?”
He took the papers from the attorney and flipped through the pages, sc
anning them more closely. He saw his destination just as the lawyer explained.
“You have agreed to go to central Africa, Mr. Powell. For three months. You will be stationed in the Democratic Republic of the Congo.”
Chapter 3
Louis Powell sat behind his desk, and stared blankly at his opened laptop. He wasn’t positive how he felt, but thought shell-shocked might best describe it. The fifteen percent raise was substantial. Spending three months in a rain forest, in a third world country was far less appealing. Wasn’t there some kind of war going on over there?
The light knock on his door seemed accidental. He looked up. A young woman stood in the doorway. She wore a grey suit, black glasses, auburn hair hung just above her shoulders. “Can I help you?”
“Actually, can I help you? I’m Claire Askew,” she entered the office, hand extended.
Powell stood up, shook it.
“I’m your assistant,” she said. “Mr. Brunson assigned me to you a few days ago. I start today.”
Louis laughed as he sat back down. “You are my assistant? I’m going to be in Africa for the next year. I’m not sure how much help you’ll be. I think they might have played a quick one on you.”
“The Congo. I know. I’m coming with you,” she said.
“You’re going to Africa, too?” Powell said. Wonderful.
“I am. And from what I understand, we have a lot to do in a very short period of time.” She consulted the tablet in her hand. Tapped the screen. “I’ve added to your calendar a meeting with John Marksman and Mr. Brunson for Friday morning, and our flight has been confirmed for seven on Monday,” she said.
Powell drummed his fingers on the desk. “And Marksman, who is he?”
“I’m not sure. I couldn’t find him in the directory.” She swiped left and right on the tablet, as if double checking the directory.
“Come in, sit down,” Powell said. He indicated the one chair in front of his desk. She sat. “Have you ever been to Africa?”
“No, sir.”
“Louis, please. Not sir.”
She pursed her lips, and nodded. “Aside from visiting Niagara Falls a few times, I haven’t really been anywhere.”
Wonderful. “I see,” he said. “And this meeting on Friday?”
“Mr. Brunson’s secretary set it up. Oh, and it’s not here.”
“It’s not?”
“No. We’ll be meeting them offsite.”
“Offsite, where?” Powell said.
“Well, I looked into it,” she said. She moved the chair closer to the desk. “It’s an abandoned warehouse. Small building. It’s on Steubenville Pike.” She repeated the address.
“Are you kidding me? We’re meeting at some abandoned warehouse?” He stood up. “I don’t get it. Nothing about this day.”
“You want me to reschedule?” She held fingers poised over the tablet.
Louis ran his hands through his hair. “No. No. I just wish I knew what was going on.”
“I’ve got directions included in the event. We can drive over together if you like?”
“That will be fine,” Powel said.
“If that’s all, I’d like to head home and start packing,” she said. “And according to Mr. Brunson, you do not need to report to work the rest of the week.”
“I don’t, huh?”
“No, sir.”
“Louis. We agreed you’d call me Louis.”
“Might take some getting used to,” she said.
“I’ll keep reminding you.”
# # #
Louis spent the week getting things in order for a trip he didn’t want to take. The idea of leaving the country for three months made him apprehensive. His banked online, so that wasn’t an issue. He stopped his mail. The neighbor agreed to keep an eye on the house, and would check for mail that still got delivered. The kid down the street was going to take care of the lawn. He paid up front, and told him if it needs more attention to give it, and he’d make up the difference when he got home.
He picked his assistant up at the office. They drove to the warehouse in his Jeep. Claire fed him directions. They reached the warehouse in twenty minutes.
There were two vehicles parked on the side of the small building.
“Abandoned, huh?” Powell said.
“That’s the information I found. And judging by the look of the place, I was right.”
They stepped out of the Jeep. “Can I ask you something? You think this is on the up and up? I mean, I’m not doing anything illegal. I refuse to.”
“I’m with you. I’m not breaking laws.”
“Did you have to sign a bunch of papers with legal? Did you read them all? No? Me either,” he said. “Do we just go in?” Powell said.
The sun rose in a blue and cloudless sky. The street was mostly empty.
Claire looked up and down the street. “I don’t see why not.”
Louis Powell was not comfortable.
“Well?” she said.
“Let’s get this meeting started,” Powell said. The raise should have been the first red flag. This warehouse, the second. Definitely a second.
A wire milk crate propped open a door on the west side of the building. Louis pulled the door open. He stuck his head inside. “Hello?”
“Mr. Powell. Ms. Askew. Please, come in.”
It wasn’t Gary Brunson doing the inviting. This man was tall, dressed in a black t-shirt, black pants, black boots. His hair was shaved off. His scalp polished to a shine. Powell’s apprehension only grew, but walked into the warehouse, anyway.
The warehouse was one big grey room. Except for some tables in the center of the place, and some safes along the back wall, there was little else. The floors were simple cement. Light fixtures with fluorescent bulbs hung from the ceiling. Everything looked chipped, peeling, water damaged, or was a combination.
Although he’d only recently met Claire, he felt protective and wanted her more safely behind him. He wasn’t much of a fighter. In high school, the few fights he’d been in, he’d lost. He couldn’t remember ever landing a punch in any of the scraps. There was no reason for her to know that, though. “Anything seems funny, you run. Got it?”
She said, “You don’t have to tell me twice.”
A door opened in the far right corner. Powell hadn’t seen it at first. Had to be an office. Gary Brunson stepped out, saw them and smiled. “We’re just waiting on Mr. Marksman. We can sit over here until he arrives.”
An eight foot party table sat in the center of the warehouse. Around it were six metal folding chairs.
They didn’t wait long. With the outside door propped open the rev of an approaching motorcycle engine was heard. There was a moment of silence, and then a man filled the doorway. He wore all black. Removing sunglasses and setting them on his head, he carried his helmet in one hand as he strode across the floor. “Sorry I’m late,” he said.
Powell noticed the gun on a shoulder holster, and a knife in a sheath strapped to his leg.
“You’re fine. We just sat down,” Brunson said. “Please, join us. This is Mr. Louis Powell.”
“The geologist?” Marksman said, and held out his hand.
“Not really,” Powell said, shaking the man’s hand.
“And his assistant, Ms. Claire Askew,” Brunson said.
They shook hands, as well. “I’m John Marksman. Nice to meet both of you.”
“Likewise,” Claire said.
Marksman sat down next to Brunson.
“John is going to be your guide in the jungle. He and his team will protect the parcel of land. They are well trained for these types of situations.”
Powell held up a hand. “Ah, situations?”
“The jungle. The natives. You want to feel comfortable in the Congo. John’s going to ensure everything goes smooth,” Brunson said.
Powell wondered why legal wasn’t at the meeting. He was tempted to ask. “And, if I may, what do you foresee as being rough, or rocky with the expedition?”
“Nothing,” Marksman said. “I’ve spent years in the Congo. I know it better than any city I’ve ever lived in. I’m a precaution. Nothing more. You don’t need to worry.”
“I wasn’t, until I was told there was nothing to worry about. When people say things like that, it’s usually because, well, there’s something to worry about.” Powell raised his hands as if surrendering.
Brunson laughed. “This is not like that at all.”
“How many people in your team?” Powell said, ignoring his boss’ flippant response.
“Six, including me,” Marksman said.
“Six.” Powell shook his head. “And you’ll all be armed?”
“To the teeth.” Marksman smiled.
“Mr. Brunson, I want to speak frankly here.”
“And you should,” Brunson said.
“I’m not sure I am comfortable with this. If we need mercenaries protecting us, it makes me a bit apprehensive about, well, everything.”
“They are not mercenaries.” Brunson pursed his lips and leaned back. He folded his hands and lowered them onto his lap.
“They’re not?” Powell said.
“Well. Yes, they are. But they work for me. They are employees of Circuitz, no different than you. They are loyal to the company. They are being very well compensated for their services. Marksman has been under my supervision for nearly ten years,” Brunson said. He didn’t appear happy, as if being called out on the truth ruined his mood. His left eye twitched more than once while he spoke.
Powell wasn’t impressed. Lying was not becoming on anyone, least of all his employer. Circuitz was asking for a lot from him. Was asking for the truth too much? It made him consider walking away. He appreciated his position with the company. The fact the boss was messing with his stability was unsettling.
“I assure you, both of you will be safe with my team. We’re highly trained, and the best at what we do,” Marksman said.
“The job is for three months. Would you feel better going into the rain forest alone?” Brunson said. It sounded like a threat.
“I just am not sure what to think. One, I’m hardly a geologist. Two, the coltan you showed me in the conference room the other day was the first time I’d ever seen the stuff. I’m hardly an expert, or qualified for this mission,” Powell said. He wasn’t playing a game. His degree was from a quality school. The job market might suck, but with his experience and education behind him, he was confident he’d find another job if it came down to it. The thing was, he was vested. Each year after that milestone made it harder to walk away.