“An unexpected bonding occurred in those couple of hours. I felt comfortable enough to reveal a little of my past, something I hadn’t done with anyone but poor Jason in the last several years.
“When I told Jason’s brother-in-law, Harry, about my banking experience, he nearly fell off his chair. Turns out he’s a Human Resources manager for the United Bank of European Crossroads (UBEC).
As astonishing as it must seem to you and it still is to me, two years on, I applied and got a job with UBEC.”
Mark cut in. “I’ve heard of that one. It’s a major international bank. Wow! Yours certainly is a riches-to-rags-to-riches story.”
Mark leaned toward Steve as he spoke and the admiration in his expression told Steve it had been worth the anguish of recounting his past.
“Okay, Steve, but I still need to hear why I should believe UBEC is any different from the bank that almost destroyed us.”
“Fair enough; instead of using adjectives that only give my opinion, let me tell you another story. This one’s about Rick. He’s the only boss I ever had who would let me define the strategies to achieve corporate goals. Rick also shares useful, sometimes even restricted, information when I ask. Can you imagine ole Jim doing that for us?”
“Hardly!” Mark grimaced. “Power was his survival mechanism.”
Steve nodded and carried on.
“Well, after I had been there five or six months and one of the first loans I had made was already two months late, I was distraught. Envisioning another failure, I decided to be proactive instead of waiting for the call.
“When Rick and I sat done at the little round table in his office, he immediately brought up the past-due list, saying, ‘I know you’re worried about this, Steve. I could hear distress in the message you left on my answering machine.’
“I remember that his tone revealed empathy when I expected anger. Rick added: ‘Late payments do raise red flags about lending decisions but I know from years of experience that some things are out of our clients’ control. I doubt very much that you were remiss in your analysis. You wouldn’t have advanced to senior loan officer at First National if you weren’t capable, but we do need to discover the cause of this past due.’
While Steve paused to let Peg fill his coffee cup, Mark commented.
“That’s quite a generous statement coming from a manager. How did you respond?”
“I wanted to assure Rick that I hadn’t cut any corners in my decision making, but I didn’t know what I could say that would prove it. As I struggled with my defense, Rick surprised me again by asking me to put the process I had used in making the loan decision in writing.
“He suggested we meet again the following day and go over the process and documentation together. Nervous is a tame word for my feelings before the second meeting; I thought he’d have the HR manager with him.”
Mark interjected. “That reminds me of Denise. Have you heard from her? Sorry, Steve. I am listening. What happened next?”
“Relief and regard are the words that come to mind as I recall that second meeting.
“When Rick finished analyzing my procedure, he looked at me and said: ‘You did well. I would have reached the same conclusion.’
“Can you imagine those words in response to what appeared to be a loan loss! Rick assured me my job was safe. Then he gave me some tips on connecting with my client, which I followed.
“I’m pretty sure it was our relationship that gave my client the motivation to make good on the loan in spite of major losses that year. That’s the best I can do to describe the UBEC difference; any questions?”
“Yes, Steve, where is that job description?”
Steve beamed and turned to address his response to Peg.
“Would you be greatly opposed to moving to a place where about two thirds of the area is covered with forests, lakes and mountains? Where the temperature reaches the high 60s in the winter and where public health stats are among the most positive in the world?”
He paused just long enough to let these details sink in.
“The city I’m thinking of is consistently ranked in the world’s top ten cities.”
“Is that fact or opinion?” Peg asked, smiling.
“Fact, at least according to World Records; their rating for quality of life is based on abundance of public transportation, excellence of education system and generous mix of culture and recreation.”
“Did you say you’re a banker or the public relations specialist for a foreign Convention and Visitors Bureau, Steve?” Peg said as she grinned at him playfully.
“Of course, it’s also one of the most expensive cities in the world…but you won’t have to worry about that. If Mark accepts the terms I am authorized to offer, you’ll be able to afford living there.”
Peg chose this moment to ask the key question.
“How far away is this paradise you’ve sketched for us, Steve?”
“Well, it’s about halfway around the world.”
Peg’s playfulness had vanished, replaced by something a little harder to read. Seeing her back stiffen, Steve was pretty sure he had to make a compelling case in the next few minutes or lose her interest.
“Just over three thousand seven hundred miles as the crow flies; certainly that’s a long way from home but living in Geneva, Switzerland, is a dream of people all over the world. After two years, I still wonder at my own good fortune!”
“But you went there alone, Steve. It’s harder to move a family, especially when we know so little about the place,” Mark said carefully.
“Lifestyles and living conditions between Switzerland and the U.S. are incomparable. Geneva benefits from being smaller than most cities in its class. It’s like taking advantage of the culture of New York City without the crime and crowding.”
“Without the crime? In the twenty-first century?” Peg probed. “Even in this town the crime rate is escalating!”
“Some believe Geneva is so safe because Swiss men and women are taught to handle weapons from an early age, primarily for military service, yet Switzerland doesn’t have a full-time army.”
Mark remembered that he’d read that somewhere. “Isn’t military training required each year until the men are middle-aged? Even up to fifty years old?”
“You’re right and they’re required to store their military rifles in their homes. Seems like it’d be suicidal to break into a house with that amount of protection. Also, think about the scenic views of the countryside surrounding Geneva. Little boys love to explore the hills and you wouldn’t have to fear for Martin’s safety.”
“Okay, okay, you’re quite convincing. You may stop now,” Mark said, holding up his left hand like a traffic director. Mark looked at Peg and she nodded in response to his implicit question. Peg then took over.
“We are interested but we really should visit before making such a drastic, non-refundable decision. Might a preliminary visit be included in this offer?”
“My next point was to suggest just that. We’re on the same wavelength, Peg. If you choose a departure date by tomorrow, the plane tickets will be in your hands the following day.”
22
DESPERATION
Five days have passed. It seems like my life has been moving in slow motion ever since I got the first e-mail from Martin. His updates are still encouraging although I sense a tinge of desperation in this latest note. If only I could talk to Martin or anyone else who knows Mark. I need help to stay focused; to be assured Mark will wake up and be as he was.
I can feel the dam that’s been holding back my tears for five days collapsing. I can’t stop crying. I’m glad I’m alone - I wouldn’t want others to see me sobbing like this. I’m so afraid! What if I lose him?
Along with my agony I can sense something else bubbling up through my subconscious. My temples are throbbing with the pressure. It’s more than fear—I can restrain fear once I recognize the cause but I don’t know where this sensation is coming from.
I feel the pressure threatening to suffocate me. Suddenly, the identity of the source becomes clear; it is despair.
Now that I have labeled it, I’ve discovered a tiny bluish light that remains in my line of vision even when I turn my head. It, too, seems to come from nowhere. The thought has just come to me: ‘Name it; name the light.’ Just as my fear seems about to crush me, I hear a whispered word: ‘Hope’.
Ah, the light of hope. Hope bathes my soul and I feel the despair dissolving. Breathing my gratitude, I’m still crying, but these tears comfort and liberate.
I send a prayer across the ocean: ‘Dearest Mark, you will be all right. And we will be together again.’
***
As Janine slept, far away in her own bed, Mark’s spirit once again fused with his body, one that seemed to serve no other purpose than as a wrapping, like the paper wrapped around a gift.
No one in the hospital room saw any change. The hospital monitoring system hooked up to his body was registering the same levels of temperature and heart rhythm, flow of nutrients into his body and discharge of bodily waste out of it. The same blank stare remained fixed upon his face.
The immobility of Mark’s body was in direct contradiction of his psychic state. Within his spirit, activity was intensifying as he struggled to make sense of a world remade at each turn—as with each twist of a child’s kaleidoscope.
“I’m pretty sure the next stop on this ultra-strange journey will be Geneva. Was I really there with my old friend and co-worker, Steve, replaying his invitation or was all that only happening in my mind?
“Why that destination? I wasn’t a player in anything as horrific as a war or as sordid as a banking scheme there. Anyway, why am I asking you where I’m going?
“I still think it’s conceivable that you’re nothing more than a fantasy I’ve concocted, someone to connect to in a world that doesn’t seem to know I’m still here.”
“Do you think you’d be more certain of me if I was in a flesh-and-blood body? Did you really know your ex-wife with whom you had physical contact for more than ten years?” Zachri asked.
“If you were as certain of her as you wish to be of me then you would have known of her plans to leave you.
“Mark, I can’t hurt you like she did. The truth I reveal is sometimes painful, but it always leads to healing and gratitude.
“But if you would like more time to ponder my existence and my proposal, you could always command me to leave.”
“Oh my God, no, please don’t leave! I’m sure I would go out of my mind. Maybe I already am, although I seem to be thinking rationally.
“For the most part, I have to admit that if you are only a figment of my imagination, I like what I’ve conceived! Please help me do whatever I must to regain my life.
“I sometimes think I hear Janine crying and calling me, and it breaks my heart that I can’t reach out to her. I wish there was a way to let her know how much I love her.”
23
THIRD STOP – PIRACY
Mark’s premonition of where Zachri would take him next proved correct. He recognized the conference room of Eurotanko-Central in which he had led numerous meetings and was even pretty sure of the time; nearly five years earlier.
The scene evoked powerful and painful memories that he had no desire to re-live.
He seemed to be viewing the scene through the two-way mirror in the viewing room that his marketing team sometimes used for focus group surveys. By using the mirror, the people involved didn’t know they were being observed.
Without his being aware of it, the mirror of time slowly tipped and Mark merged into the scene on the other side.
***
An astute observer, scanning the faces and listening to the accents of the men and women seated around the conference table, could pick out at least five different nationalities: German, French, Chinese, American and possibly Russian.
The leader of this group, an American in his late fifties, had the air of one who knows that his influence is considerable. He was still rather handsome; the lines in his face and gray in his hair giving Mark Kennecott a dignified appearance.
Pulling a stack of papers from a manila envelope marked ‘Confidential,’ he looked down at them in his shaking right hand. He brushed his forehead with the back of his hand and shifted his focus to a point above the heads of the people staring at him. Finally, he made eye contact and began to speak.
“Yesterday one of our crude-oil tankers was attacked by pirates in the Indian Ocean.”
After a brief pause to allow the accumulated gasps of horror to subside, he continued.
“It was the ‘Oceanora’, carrying roughly 93.5 million gallons of crude from Saudi Arabia to Houston. All eighteen crew are being held hostage. We had counted on our increased security to spare us but, as of yesterday, we are the hundred and ninetieth victim in eleven months.”
Mark stopped talking and gazed slowly around the table. The room had become so quiet that it was possible to catch excerpts of a conversation being held by someone on the phone across the hall.
The twenty-four sets of eyes looking back at him registered everything from shock to confusion, grief to irritation. It was easy to differentiate between those who had friends among the crew of the ‘Oceanora’ and others who only knew of the tanker as a corporate asset.
“Before we discuss our response to the pirates, I need to tell you why I am unable to view this matter objectively. My son, Martin, was on board.”
It was clear that Mark was struggling as he presented this information. His glassy eyes and shaking hands spoke plainly. Steve Kraysman, one of the senior members of his team, was the first to reach Mark.
Others crowded around him with the same thought in mind, but nobody who knew Mark well was surprised when he abruptly left the room.
As soon as the door closed behind Mark, the room erupted. Angry pronouncements, palpable distress, and stifled fear were welded into a confused mass of voices and gestures.
Steve elected himself as facilitator and, knowing that to allow some venting would be constructive, he decided to wait twenty minutes before bringing the room to order. In the interim he took careful note of the prevailing attitudes.
Rich, a senior member and VP of Business & Legal Affairs was the first to speak.
“They just want the money. These Somali pirates are terrorists, murdering and hazarding disastrous oil spills as a fast track to wealth and power.”
“They’re more like Robin Hoods, trying to take from multi-national corporations to give to their starving countrymen,” Kat, a popular young executive from H.R. interjected.
The fiery female boss of Advertising responded sharply.
“Robin Hoods! All these people know is pillage, rape and slaughter—they’ve been doing it to neighboring tribes forever. They just have better weapons now.”
“Yeah and, with those weapons, small bands of pirates are disrupting the flow of oil through the Gulf of Aden,” the Fleet Operations Manager, a wiry man with over thirty years of shipping experience, pointed out.
Leah, in her forties and normally quiet, had only recently been named as the International Shipping Specialist. She responded with a question aimed at the room in general.
“What would you do if you were a Somali eking out a living by fishing along that coast and observing the wealth of the world sailing by?”
“Actually, if I were a Somali, I would no longer be a fisherman. I would have given up. On top of the toxic waste dumping that’s going on, there’s illegal fishing by foreign fleets. They steal the fish and harass local fisherman, all under the protection of naval vessels belonging to their own countries.”
This information came from Jeremy, the IT Support Engineer and one of the youngest men in the room.
“You can sympathize with poor people all you want, but our issue is with armed robbers and kidnappers. They have our people and our ship.” Their Senior Accountant, known for his bushy eyebrows and sardonic humor, sealed hi
s claim with a glare, seeming to challenge anyone to disagree.
With the tension mounting, Steve brought the discussion to an end and directed the meeting back to its primary agenda.
“We have to decide how we’re going to respond to this heinous act. The owners of other tankers attacked by pirates have paid ever-increasing ransoms rather than disrupt their businesses. The action we choose to take should be the one with the highest probability of achieving our crucial goal: bringing our people back alive.
“It is, therefore, imperative that we first look at all realistic options for saving their lives. While we’re waiting for the ransom demand, Mark had planned to ask each of you to think about how you would respond if the decision was yours alone to make. Let’s follow his recommendation.
“As you think about this, please reflect on the following questions: One: Do we pay the ransom, try to make a deal, or reject their proposal outright?
Two: Should our company discontinue transporting crude oil, chemicals and petroleum products to and from the East African coast?
Three: If we continue to transport the same products to and from the same destinations, how can we improve our chances of eliminating pirate attacks?”
Steve paused for a moment to allow those who wrote more slowly to catch up with their note-taking and then continued.
“If most of you opt for discontinuation of any of the services to our existing markets, the development of a new business plan may be necessary, but let’s save that dialogue until this crisis is behind us. When we have heard from the pirates, Mark will reconvene this group.”
After Mark had slipped away, overwhelmed by the kindness of his co-workers and knowing he was unable to think rationally, he had gone directly home.
Sitting in his favorite recliner, trying to pray and to subdue his terror, he had been staring at a blank screen behind his closed eyes. Suddenly the screen was populated by a single image: Martin.
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