He was open as usual, convincing as usual, engaging as usual. And as usual it was nearly impossible to resist trusting him. And so our list of candidates became one person shorter.
Then it shortened further. To tell you the truth, I ’m not thrilled about this either, announced Paul. Even less than Michael. I ’m not an admin istrator. Not a business leader . They ’ve been telling me that for years, while shoving more headcount down my throat and asking me to do more. But whoever wins, you better put me in charge of all the technical stuff. And don ’t try making me manage idiots, even if they are your pals. Especially if they ’re your pals. All right, I ’ve said it. Now you know my vote can be bought and you know what to buy it with.
That was a joke of course. A half-joke, at least. But it had one word, one key word , that defined everything that followed, that still defines what ’s going on.
My vote can be bought . . .
Because of that word, an invisible, inaudible marketplace was bo rn right there. A marketplace in which everyone was a buyer and everyone was a seller. And on that note, everyone walked away thinking about trading and about what Michael had said.
Of course, some of us had other things to brood over. I know I did. And that other thing had a name. A short name.
Ed.
And the question was: how to make the best use of that sweet puppy? Elections are important. But there could be more to what they referred to as “methodology .” What happens, for example, when workshop participants pi ck one person while the observers—professional psychologists, mind you—recommend someone else? Is this scenario completely out of the realm of possibility? Perhaps no t. Ed ’s been laboring over his annals for a reason. “A leader has clearly emerged . . .” We don ’t even know ourselves who that is. But they already know. They think it ’s clear and obvious. They do have an opinion. And they will surely provide that opinion to their clients. This information will go somewhere. It will end up on someone ’s desk. It will influence someone ’s opinion. So who cares what kind of agreement we all reached on that pier ? What matters is that the final recommendation has the right name in it.
Which means that tonight’s rendezvous has just become even more crucial. The key thing is to keep him unsuspecting. He ’s not dumb, so most likely he realizes what ’s behind this sudden and passionate romance—and he doesn ’t care. But it ’s imperative that he doesn ’t suspect—even for a second—tha t we ’ve had a close encounter with his precious folder. That would be a disaster and it should be avoided at all cost. The plan for the evening is therefore clear. That said , the few hours left before our date—or business meeting, call it either way, it ’d still be right—should be used wisely. Wisely and with all kinds of precautions. We ’re all going to work together quite soon. And that changes dramatically what is off limits and what isn ’t. Dramatically.
It was at about that moment that Alan emerged from nowhere. That was a very timely appearance. Perfect timing, perfect pl ace—what a winning combination. There was no one around, just like two days ago. And the need for his vote was greater than ever. He had suffered enough, watching all the advances by Alex and Chris and Paul and knows who else. So bring ing peace to his poor soul and get ting him into the right mindset was such a noble thing to do .
But then . . . something unthinkable happened. This was not the same Alan. The Alan of two days ago was gone. This person shared looks with him , and the voice , and the clothes . . . but, boy, was he different. The change that had happened to him was so weird that it even had a creepy air about it.
It seemed at first that it was all her fault—she must ’ve pushed too far and now the poor boy was hurt and didn ’t want to talk anymore. The signs were so typical and familiar. It even brought back for a moment some long-forgotten memories: it ’s the eighth grade again and Sven, scowling, informs her that he ’s fed up and he ’s not going to put up with her dirty tricks any longer. The same tightened lips were present, the same words were spoken reluctantly through clenched teeth and the same steel y eyes were looking gloomy and wistful. None of this was new, all of that had happened in the past and all these eyes and lips and words presented no challenge whatsoever.
But minutes went by and words kept flowing out just as reluctantly, like water from a leaking faucet, and the eyes were not warming up. And towards the end it became apparent that this wasn ’t so simple and that high-school memories were not going to be of any help. At that point the topic of discussion was their future work. It would be cool working together, wouldn ’t it? We ’re just such a great bunch of people. And regardless of who we choose, be it Brandon , Alex or Alan, the atmosphere is right.
And then he muttered those words—empty , strange and eerie in their meaningless ness .
“Atmosphere, ” his mouth twisted . “He ’ll show you some atmosphere.”
And although he immediately heaped up a pile of comments on top of that short phrase, it didn ’t go anywhere and once in a while glimmered dangerously from underneath that mound of words. It had no resentment in it, no broken heart, no cheap romance. Anxiety, secrecy and danger lived in that phrase. Who is he ? And what is he going to “show us?” But extracting anything relevant from Alan proved to be completely impossible. He only produced another pile of hollow chitchat ty remarks , then abruptly departed. And in that departure the same frightening phrase shot out.
Men with hurt feelings and broken hearts don’t say goodbye this way. This is how men who have zero interest in you say goodbyes. Men to whom you mean absolutely nothing.
“So what’s wrong with that?” Michael asked. “We all know that someone ’s been muddying the waters here.”
“It’s just a bad time for scare tactics, ” Alex repeated patiently. “The right time was yesterday. Even this morning. But now this is pure damage. Things have changed.”
Michael emerged from the soft embrace of the armchair and got up, leaning against the railings of the pool table.
“I’m not so sure about the damage, ” he said, throwing a lazy indifferent glance at the cue rack. “On the contrary, now it ’s more important than it was before . Today , winning here means something. Yesterday it wasn ’t worth a damn .”
“Exactly,” Alex agreed with noticeable relief . “So now we should be bringing people together, not dividing them. What ’s done is done. It ’s all in the past ; let it stay there. We can ’t afford scaring them now. We just can ’t. And you ’ve been frightening them all day long. Boogi e man this, boogie man that . . . It ’s time to let go. They may not understand this, but you do. Come on, Mike, you ’re the smartest of our bunch, you know exactly what your horror stories are doing to them. Thanks to you they all think there ’s some kind of monster lurking around. It ’s time to let it go and get down to business. What ’s up with the witch-hunt?”
“What about the note?”
“What about it?”
“Don’t you want to find out whose job it was?”
“Mike, you’re not listening. I don ’t give a rat ’s ass about the note. I don ’t care about this shit a nymore.”
“So what do you care about now?” asked Mike with genuine interest.
“I think you know. We both care about the same thing. We always have.”
“Not so sure, ” Michael said, slightly drawling the words. “I ’ve already told everyone —I ’m not interested in winning any long er.”
“But I am, ” said Alex, his voice suddenly turning cold. “And I ’m making no secret about it. Your witch-hunt is starting to get in the way. Not only in my way —i t makes matters worse for everybody. Including you.”
Michael glanced at the large wall clock.
“All right. I ’ll definitely take your opinion into consideration. Is that why you wanted to meet, or you had something else to talk about?”
“Yes, that’s why I wanted to mee t.” Alex tightened slightly in his armchair , like a large predator a second before a deadly pounce. “I ’m not clear what the bottom line
is.”
“The bottom line?” wondered Michael. “I ’ve ju st said it. I will consider your opinion. The search for the schemer bothers you. I ’ll remember that.”
“You—,” Alex abruptly lifted his hand with his index finger raised , then dropped it slowly. “Are you going to stop doing that or not?”
“Depends. If I think it ’s necessary I ’ll keep it up.”
“And right now, do you think it ’s necessary?” Alex spoke slowly, as if every word was taking him some effort to pronounce.
“For now, yes. If you think about it, this search bothers only some of us. To be precise, it bothers two categories of people: those who think it is a distraction and the schemer himself . . .”
“So you want to wait for someone ’s guilty conscience to speak up ?” Alex said doubtfully, relaxing a bit. “Think you ’ll scare him into doing something stupid?”
“Exactly!” Michael was unquestionably happy to hear this conclusion. “Exactly!”
“Okay, I get that. But how long do you want to keep trying? What if he doesn ’t show up? He may be smarter than you think.”
“Nah,” Michael said nonchalantly. “So far it ’s the first category that keeps silent.”
“That doesn’t mean—” Alex broke off, as if someone had just pressed a mute button on an invisible remote.
He sat still for a moment and then began rising from his armchair—unhurriedly, inch after inch, muscle after muscle, straightening up and standing up to his full height.
“So that’s what you ’re talking about, ” he said, once he ’d stood up.
His ever—friendly face was now unusually stern.
Michael shrugged.
“That’s what I ’ve been talking about all this time.”
“Are you suggesting it was I who damaged the boat?”
“That’s for you to say.”
“I see. You’ve got no proof and no guts to say it.”
Michael looked puzzled.
“To say what? How am I supposed to know whether you did it yourself or delegated to someone?”
“Delegated?”
“Right. You could ’ve called Ross into this room and delegated this task to him.”
“Ah, Ross . . .” said Alex thoughtfully, looking around. “Into this room . . .”
“Or someone else, ” replied Michael, looking with full understanding at the closed door behind Alex ’s back. “You ’re very good at convincing people, aren ’t you?”
He stepped to the side and slowly took a glittering black-handled new cue from the rack.
“Who knows who else you could ’ve delegated this to.”
“I thought you were smarter, ” said Alex, watching Michael ’s actions.
Michael didn’t say anything in response. He stood silently, holding the cue like a baseball bat and looking at Alex with some ironic indifference in his eyes. And this expression on his calm face was much more offensive, much more unsettling than everything he had said.
Alex smiled curtly and stepped forward.
He knew how to deal with his kind. Educating Ross had been boring. Making Alan obey had been mildly entertaining. But breaking this one was promising to be enjoyable.
He knew his kind from corporate hallways and conference rooms. Too smart, too cocky, too confident. Every time he had to cross paths with one of them he knew that there would be a moment when he would want to punch the cocky punk straight in the face. Or choke him. Or kick. The moment when he would want to teach him a lesson. To make him realize that he must respect superior physical strength, despite all the protection that laws, regulations and social norms give to him. And typically he could always find a shade of intimidation in other men ’s eyes whenever there was an argument. Even though they knew they were completely safe, something inside their minds was telling them to be wary of these ripped muscles and cold eyes, no matter how absurd that thought was. But there was always this kind—the kind that just didn ’t seem intimidated in any way.
And of all them, this one—this slender average-height man with dark , calm eyes—was the worst he had ever met. Ever since the workshop began his entire behavior had been nothing but a pure challenge. Even Robert ’s attitude was less irritating—at least, it was grounded in some notable physical abilities. But this one was simply intolerable. He had it coming.
Besides, even though it would’ve been safer to avoid this, there was no choice . . . Letting him simply walk away now wasn ’t really an option. He knew more than he should and talked way too much.
The actions about to come were playing before his eyes like a slow motion replay. He won ’t last long . In a second or two he ’ll crack. Most likely he ’ll swing his cue, scaring the hell out of himself with that motion and aiming for the shoulder. Or for the head. Doesn ’t really matter. It would be so easy to intercept that stick, pull it sharply, and be done with it. Then it will be critical to plug this cheeky -mouth quickly. Next—a quick run through pressure points, a couple of pain locks and all his arrogance will be gone in a second. He ’ll be begging and sniveling just like the other two. You ’ve never felt a real pain lock in your life, pal. Well, this is your chance to learn something new. Now come closer, make your move, make my day . . .
But Michael acted rather oddly. Instead of swinging his cue, aiming for the shoulder, he suddenly clutched it so tightly that his knuckles turned white and , in a momentary abrupt blow , hit the pool table with it. With a loud bang , the cue blew apart, the sharp , short, spear-like portion remaining in Michael ’s hands. Then, without slowing down for a moment, Michael swayed this short and sharp spear in a sweeping diagonal blow. Alex hardly managed to back away. He saw the light surface of the freshly broken wood whistling right in front of his eyes, felt air chilling his skin and realized that the air-ripping blow was aimed directly at his face .
And somewhere far behind the rushing cue, the dark spots of eyes stood frozen on the suddenly pale face.
“Try touching me—and I ’ll kill you, ” said Michael in an even voice.
He stood holding his simple weapon calmly in his lowered hand, and something in his voice suggested that this was no exaggeration. He wasn ’t threatening . He wasn ’t trying to scare off. He was simply stating a plain fact. The pallor was slowly leaving his face. And somehow it was clear that , although he was one head shorter than Alex, he indeed would try to kill. Not to ward off, not to save himself, not to injure. To kill.
Alex stood for a second, looking into the calm, firm eyes that matched the voice.
“You’re a nutcase, ” he snorted finally. “You ’ve got a wild imagination, pal. The last thing I need is to touch you.”
He turned around and headed for the door.
“Stop,” a voice behind his back said imperatively.
Alex shook his head without slowing his pace, as if finding such impu dence amusing. The voice caught him again near the exit.
“Ross will talk.”
Alex turned around slowly.
“And not only Ross, ” added Michael.
“Where is he going to talk? And about what?” Alex asked slowly.
“You know perfectly well where and about what.”
Alex chuckled.
“Are you blackmailing me?”
“Why would I?” Michael was speaking easily, as if there were no broken cue in his hand at all . “It isn ’t me who ’s going to blackmail you. There are people who will have more to say.”
“So? Why should I give a damn?”
“Because you want to be our boss and you may end up being one. But if that happens, some of your employees would keep you on a short leash.”
“And why is that?”
“Because your motive will be obvious to any court room . You c ould of course use that new rule to get rid of your votes tomorrow. Then you look clean and whoever takes your votes will remember the favor. But otherwise . . . you are going to end up on a very short leash. There will be enough witnesses and more th an enough eviden
ce.”
Alex smirked curtly.
“You’re so full of it. What witnesses? What evidence? What are you talking about? Get real. Look at yourself. You ’ve just chopped some wood here; have you got any witnesses?”
“Sure,” replied Michael, listening to something. “Not that I really need them, though.”
Alex strained his ears, listening intently to the surrounding silence. The silence was gone. It had been there just a moment ago, but now had been replaced by a jolly tramping of feet, announcing someone ’s arrival on the scene. Alex shot a brief glance down at the floor, where the second half of the cue lay lonely by Michael ’s feet. He even made a step towards it, but Michael shook his head negatively and softly stepped on the sleek piece of wood.
“ . . . precisely at seven-fifteen sharp?” Brandon ’s voice came from the other side of the door.
“Well, you know Michael. He ’s a very punctual man, ” Robert ’s voice replied.
The owners of the voices entered the room. By that time , the disposition in the room had changed slightly. As soon as the door knob moved , Alex heard a loud whisper, “Catch!” Following this curt command , something that used to be a cue rushed towards him, tracing a shimmering arc in the air. He jerked his hand up automatically, felt a sharp push with it and only then realized that he would be better off not doing this. But it was too late.
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