by Jake Devlin
A third arrival brought Judy and Steve, the Survivors, from Atlanta, Georgia; Tanya and Oliver, the Players, from Lugano, Switzerland; Dixie and Wheeler, the Baptists, from near Nashville, Tennessee; Barbara and Kim, the Gigglers, also from Bonita Springs, Florida; and Jean and Tom, the Golfers, from Prescott, Arizona.
Last came Claire and Solange, the Tiny Prancers, from Brandon, Mississippi; Gavril and Magdalena, the Vampire Hunters, from Covasna, Romania; Nancy and Richard, the Readers, from Naples, Florida; Trish and Chuck, the Investors, from Hanover, Pennsylvania; and Keith and Lin, the Builders, from Elkhart, Indiana.
Ten minutes later, all of the mentor/trainers came through the salon doors, and the conversations and congratulations began.
Pam mingled with all of her classmates, gravitating naturally to the ones she'd formed the closest relationships with a year earlier, especially Barbara and Kim, Jean and Tom and Kee-Kee and Mimi.
As the volume of voices increased in direct proportion to the decrease in the quantity of food and drink on the foldout bars, an older woman and two beautiful young women entered from opposite ends of the room, the former carrying a long-range .50-caliber sniper rifle with a laser scope, which she raised in the air with an attention-grabbing, raspy, “May I have your attention, everyone?”
The voices in the room all went silent and everyone turned to see who had spoken.
“As all of you know, I'm Sharon, the Sniper, and I would like to congratulate each and every one of you on completing your initial orientation and screening last fall and the advanced courses and seminars which some of you elected to take. For those of you who elected the sniper course, a special congratulations; you all passed. And if you have had the opportunity to actually perform assignments over the past year, congratulations; you all did very well on those.
“And for those of you who took my seminar on assassination psychology and motivation, I know you all have a much deeper understanding of those threats and how to deal with them, both reactively and pre-emptively.
“Now, behind you, let me introduce Jill and Carie, the Mimosa twins, our undercover surveillance experts, who will be giving a seminar on their specialty in October.”
The entire crowd spun 180 degrees to observe the newcomers. Pam looked at them and said to herself, “I knew it; pros.” She shook her fingers at them, smiling, and they responded in kind, but with somewhat more knowing smiles and broad winks, which Terry, Mary and Carolyn, the Merry Spinsters, misinterpreted as meant for them; the three glanced at each other and smiled lasciviously.
“Now,” Sharon continued in her raspy, smoky voice, “I know all of you have been looking forward to meeting our ultimate boss, but I'm afraid that only a select few of you will have that honor today. In fact, that select few is only one person.
“However, the boss has prepared a message for you all, and if you would turn your attention back toward me, and this screen --” at which point a wooden panel descended, revealing a huge wall-sized TV screen “-- here it is.” She stepped to the screen and pressed a button in the lower right-hand corner, which brought the screen to life, showing a live but pixellated, unrecognizable figure, speaking with an electronically filtered voice, also unrecognizable.
“Ladies and gentlemen, let me begin by welcoming all of you to Optimum Protection, unequivocally the world's foremost private security company.
“I am very proud of you all for getting this far, and you all now have a job, and a career if you want to make it that, at whatever level of participation you choose, from occasional observer as a freelancer to the intense day-to-day stress of close-up bodyguarding, as well as in the security consulting and other services we offer to our clients.
“Some of you are ex-military or ex-intelligence operatives, from many, many countries, and while we value your skills deeply, there may be times when we serve clients whose interests oppose those of your native countries, and may disgust or outrage you, but you will have no obligation to work for those clients if you choose not to.
“The only thing we insist on from you is absolute confidentiality, not about O-P … feel free to tell your spouses, friends and anyone else you want that you work for us … but absolute confidentiality about specific missions and clients. Feel free also to discuss the non-sensitive parts of the training you've had; your trainers have let you know which parts fit that category. But I would ask that you only discuss the training in generalities. Word to the wise, okay?
“Also, any press or media inquiries must be referred to our central office … you all know how to reach them … and you are all forbidden from making any media appearances or giving any interviews yourselves about O-P. But if you're invited to appear on any shows or give interviews for any other reasons, feel free. Just keep O-P out of the mix. And be alert to devious invitations and what we call 'gotcha' interviews. Some so-called journalists are just trying to get at you for a feather in their cap and career advancement. Avoid them like the plague. Another word to the wise.
“With that, welcome once again to Optimum Protection. Now give yourselves a round of applause and enjoy the party. Goodbye.”
Sharon pressed another button and the screen went blank, as the room erupted in applause and cheers, after which it buzzed with speculation as to who the one chosen to meet the boss might be, each one hoping and fearing he or she would be the one.
Pam immediately zeroed in on the Mimosa Twins and plowed her way through the crowd to them, smiling and shaking her fingers at them. When they saw her coming, they reciprocated with the smile and the finger-waving, which led without comment to high fives between Pam and each of the twins.
“I knew you were pros.”
“We know,” the twins said in unison.
“You knew I knew?”
“We knew you knew. We wanted you to know, but we didn't want you to know we knew you knew,” said Jill.
“You wanted me to know, but you didn't want me to know you knew I knew or to know you wanted me to know?”
“Both.”
“What?”
“We wanted you to know, but we didn't want you to know we knew you knew or wanted you to know.”
“Wait. What? You wanted me to know, but you didn't want me to know you knew I knew and you didn't want me to know you wanted me to know or to know you knew I knew?”
Carie said, “Right. All three.”
“What three?”
“We wanted you to know; that's one. We didn't want you to know we wanted you to know; that's two. And we didn't want you to know we knew you knew; that's three. But that was then.”
“And now?”
“Now we know you knew and we know you know we knew you knew and we know you know we wanted you to know, and it's okay with us if you know we knew you knew and wanted you to know.”
“Right; all four of those,” Jill added.
“All four?”
“Right.”
“Oh, okay.” Pam gave up and shrugged. “Why?”
“Because now you're in; then you weren't in, you were out. But we were okay if you could make it in. And you have. Bravo.”
“Oh … okay.”
“In fact, we were the ones who recommended you.”
“Jill, I'm not sure she should know that.”
“Well, now she knows. And she knows we --”
“Hold it, girls; no more knowing who knew what when, okay?
“Why did you recommend me?”
“'Cause your tradecraft was good. And because he had no idea you were testing him until that gorilla head popped up.”
“You were there for – oh, right. Right. Do you know he called you the ditzy chicks?”
“No; you did.”
“I did?”
“Yup; he just called us ditzy. Which was what we were trying to seem to be. But I kinda like 'ditzy chicks'; maybe we'll change our nickname.
“No, Jillybean; that would be too obvious.”
“And 'Mimosa Twins' isn't obvious, CB?”
“Not as obvious as 'ditzy chicks,' JB.”
“Well, I like it.”
“I don't.”
“Guys, guys, settle down. Guess I just need to say thanks.”
“For what?”
“For recommending me; guess that's what got me here.”
“No; that was the helicopter.”
“Geez, JB.”
“And the executive jet before that.”
Pam could only nod.
“And Rona and Joel probably picked you up, right?”
“Right. But I meant that your recomm- --”
“Gotcha, Pam. I was just pulling your leg, practicing ditzy.”
Pam smiled and pointed her index finger at Jill. “Got me; you do do a good ditzy.”
“I do, don't I? CB can't do it quite so good.”
“You mean well, JB.”
“Some of the time; sometimes I don't.”
“No, I meant --”
“Gotcha, Carie Berry.”
“Oh, geez.”
“Look, girls. I'm glad I finally got the chance to meet you, and thanks for the recommendation. I'm glad I'm here.”
“So are we.”
“Glad you're here?”
“No, that you are.”
“Gotcha.”
“Oh, Pam, that you did. Welcome. We are gonna have so much fun.”
“Could be, could be. We'll see what happens next. By the way, what's the boss like?”
“Don't know; never met.”
“Really? How long have you been with O-P?”
“Six years.”
“Wow. And you've never met him?”
“Or her.”
“Or her; hmm. Guess I've got some male stuff still kicking around in there,” Pam said, tapping her temple.
“Or maybe somewhere else --”
“Ssst, Jillybean.”
“Sorry. What?” Pam asked, holding a palm over an ear against the cacophony in the room.
“I said --”
“So, Pam,” Carie cut in, “when are you going back to Bonita?”
“I'm not sure if I will. Rona and Joel didn't tell me; they got the tickets and had me pile all my stuff in the --”
“In the middle of the room,” said Carie.
“Right.”
“They're doing a cleanout; you'll get all your stuff soon.”
“Oh, really? Why would --”
“We loved our time there,” Jill cut in. “It's a great place.”
“I love it there; it's so peaceful, most of the time. How come you left? I haven't seen you since the spring.”
“Oh, we had a situation.”
“A situation?”
“Yeah. Can't say anything more abou- --”
“Pamela?” A raspy, smoky voice intruded.
“Yes?”
“Could you come with me for a minute?”
“Uh … sure, Sharon.”
“Okay. Follow me.”
Pam glanced back at the twins, who both held up crossed fingers and smiled, mouthing “Good luck,” and winking. The Merry Spinsters moved in on them.
Pam followed Sharon, still carrying the rifle, out of the salon, down a paneled inside hallway and into a smaller, but still spacious and opulent, office-type room, where she was greeted by a woman in her late fifties, stocky, with graying hair in a loose ponytail.
“Hi, Pamela; I'm Amber. So nice to finally meet you. I've heard tremendous things about you, all good.”
“Do you need anything else, Amber?”
“Nope, Sharon; thanks. Go back and enjoy the party.” Sharon nodded and left.
“Sit, sit, Pamela.”
“Thank you.”
“I'm the boss's chief of staff, been with him for --”
“Ah-ha,” Pam thought, “good.”
“--nearly forty years, since we were both just young shoots.”
“From what I've seen of O-P and this beautiful yacht, you've both grown up successfully.”
Amber laughed, a deep, throaty laugh, and said, “Oh, good one, Pamela.”
“Please, call me Pam.”
“Okay. Pam,” Amber said, still chuckling.
“He's got a beautiful office,” Pam said, looking around.
“Oh, he doesn't use an office, Pam. This is mine.”
“Wow,” Pam blurted.
“It's pretty comfy for a marine setting. I'm usually in one of the onshore ones.”
“More than one?”
“Oh, sure; we're worldwide, as you know.”
“Ah, right. Makes sense.”
“Oh, it makes more than that. We make dollars and euros, millions of them a year. But he doesn't much care about money, just what good he can do with it.”
“I guess when you reach a certain point, you --”
“Exactly. He especially likes to support micro-loan programs, one in India and a couple in the States. And now he's getting into some crowd-funding things, as well.”
“I've heard about those; pretty cool ideas.
“So can you tell me anything about him, what he's like?”
“Let's wait till he – oh, here he is now.”
Pam turned in her chair, looked at the man who had just come in from a side door, a broad grin on his face, and gasped.
“Hi, Pam. Welcome to the inner inner inner circle.”
Now Pam was totally perflutzed; she could only gape. “You?”
“Gotcha.”
-124-
Friday, January 5, 2035
8:30 p.m.
The Oval Office
The White House
via a 24-hour news channel
Gordon Donne, dressed in his usual casual clothing, his fringe of hair much, much thinner and grayer, smiled into the camera. His complexion and demeanor gave a picture of general good health, even at his age of 75.
“Good evening, my fellow Americans, and Happy New Year.
“It's been a little over 23 years now that I've been working for y'all, and, as usual, I have some good news to report.
“But before I start on that, I want to take a moment to remember Wesley T. Farley, my COO at DEI, who has done phenomenally well running that company and all its subsidiaries in my absence, who passed away last month from a lingering case of vegetarian poisoning. I told him over and over again to try at least a cheeseburger or a grilled ham and cheese from time to time. Would he listen? No. But he had a wonderful and successful life, raised a happy family and left the world a better place for his time here.
“First, as usual, on the economy, I'm pleased to tell you that GDP grew at about 13 percent last year, and our unemployment rate is consistently running at about 3.1 percent, so inflation is staying below our acceptable rate.
“Our revenues amounted to eleven percent of GDP last year, and our budget is now down to a bit over eight percent of GDP. I'm now confident that we can get the total cost of your government down to less than six percent of GDP by the year after next, 2037.
“Our Sovereign Wealth Fund is now worth 15 trillion dollars, and with our population now over two billion, out of a world population of 16 billion, we are now able to reduce our income tax rates, for both individuals and businesses, by cutting them by two thirds, effective this year.
“I've also got to comment, if only briefly, on the incredible and astounding leaps and bounds our private sector has made, especially in the last seven years, in the agriculture, technology and energy sectors. We are less than a decade away from making all our roads and bridges completely obsolete and less than a year from getting a full hundred percent of our energy needs from nuclear power and sustainable resources, and building a huge export market in energy.
“I'm going to end with that and let you all know that you can find more information about the state of the country on our web site, ________.gov.
“So I'll now simply wish you all a very happy and prosperous 2035. Good night.”
-125-
Sunday, September 16, 2012
10:27 a.m.
When Norm and Janet arrived at the beach, Norm with his long-shafted drill and umbrella in hand, they noticed that Jake Devlin's three-way lounge, bag and cooler were in Jake's usual spot, but there was no Jake.
Norm glanced at Janet and said, "That's odd."
"Maybe he's taking a walk," Janet replied.
Norm, stomping on the ground and digging with his hands before positioning the drill, shrugged and said, "Ah, he'll be back soon."
But an hour later, Jake still had not returned. Janet asked, "Do you remember seeing his car in the lot?"
Norm, engrossed in his crossword, mumbled, "No idea. Hey, Janet, what's a nine-letter word for subterfuge or beguilement, D, blank, C, blank, P, ends with N?"
"I'll go check, see if it's there."
"Good luck."
A few minutes later, Janet returned, "His car isn't there. I looked all over the lot. I'm worried, Norm."
"Oh, relax; he'll be back when he's ready."
But Jake never returned. In fact, he was never seen again. Sergeant Dooley, when he was finally called in, was unable to find any clues as to his disappearance; in fact, he and his team couldn't find anything in Jake Devlin's name, no real estate, no lease, no bank or brokerage accounts, no auto registration, no passport, not even a driver's license. There were no fingerprints or DNA on his lounge, his cooler or his beach bag, all of which were left abandoned on the beach. It was as if Jake Devlin had never existed.
After that frustration and being demoted for never having checked Devlin's ID the many times he'd had the chance, now-Deputy Dooley could never hold his head high again; four years later, at the age of 43, he retired, became a mall cop and was given the nickname "Hangdog." Six years later, just before his 50th birthday, he ate his gun and was buried without honors.
-126-
Monday, September 17, 2012