by Jaz Primo
…put Mr. Bernard in a difficult situation.
…better let Wallace handle this, came a prominent stray thought.
Bernard rose from his chair and made his way over to his desk. He picked up his phone receiver and dialed.
“Sorry to bother you, Mr. Wallace,” he said. “No, sir, we’re still negotiating. There’s a sticky point. Now? Yes, sir.”
He reached down to press a button on his phone base and hung up the receiver.
A widescreen video display at the head of the conference room came on to reveal a white-haired old man in a stately looking business suit, sitting at a desk before a scenic ocean view.
Despite his obvious advanced age, his blue eyes still held a piercing quality.
“Hello, Mr. Bringer. Thank you for coming in to meet with us today,” announced the man with a determined and steady voice. “My name is Nevis Wallace, founding father of Nuclegene Corporation.
“I apologize for not meeting you in person, but I’m currently in the Mediterranean on important corporate business. And since I wasn’t certain if you’d entertain our offer, I didn’t see the need to remain stateside,” he said. “What seems to be, as Mr. Bernard puts it, the sticky point?”
“Hello, Mr. Wallace,” I offered. “Our current topic revolves around conscientious objection.”
“Hm. Interesting,” he said. “What is it, precisely, that you conscientiously object to?”
“Nothing, yet,” I replied. “But I’d like the opportunity to make that determination, if necessary, in the future.”
“Ah, but not merely to determine, rather to declare,” he clarified.
“True.”
“Mr. Bernard, why not bring me up on the other items of negotiation,” Wallace prompted.
As Bernard relayed our previous discussion items, Wallace patiently listened, nodding here and there. I desperately wished that I could poll the old man’s thoughts from a distance.
But then, it occurred to me that over the span of thousands of miles, the additional millions of minds of feedback would probably drive me insane.
“Mr. Bringer,” said Wallace. “I hope you realize and appreciate how much effort this company—my company—is engaged in to accommodate you. Some of your stipulations are unusual, to say the least.”
“Mr. Wallace, I do indeed appreciate your company’s consideration,” I conceded, staring intently at him onscreen. “However, I believe you’d agree that these are unusual and quite dangerous times for both your company and the rest of the nation.”
The sober expression on Bernard’s face was priceless.
“Undoubtedly. You understand that better than most anyone, I’d venture,” Wallace agreed with a knowing look. “Well, Mr. Bringer, you do drive a hard bargain, but I’ll agree to your stipulations, including your right of conscientious objection. All that I ask is, should the situation arise to exercise that particular clause, that you will permit either me or Mr. Bernard the opportunity to discuss the matter.”
“That sounds reasonable enough,” I conceded.
“Good. That being said, and unless you have any further concerns, I believe we have a deal, Mr. Bringer,” Wallace said. “Mr. Bernard and his team will draw up the final contract paperwork for us.”
“That sounds like a wrap for me, as well,” I said.
“Congratulations and welcome to Nuclegene Corporation, Mr. Bringer,” Wallace said. “Do shake his hand for me, won’t you Clive?”
“My pleasure, sir,” Bernard said, reaching out to firmly grasp my hand. “Welcome to Nuclegene, Mr. Bringer.”
A flurry of emotionally charged thoughts filled the air around me.
…entirely unbelievable.
…never thought I’d see something like this.
…historic occasion for us.
“Call me Logan,” I said, returning Bernard’s firm grip.
“Logan, just for contractual purposes, when can you start?” asked Wallace.
I smiled. “I believe I just did.”
Bernard turned toward Yalesin and Wren.
“I need contracts, now. Top priority, no delays on this. Bring in everyone that’s required to get this done asap,” Bernard ordered. “I’ll need the federal paperwork for the FBI, as well.”
“Certainly, Mr. Bernard. I’ll also schedule his two-day corporate orientation immediately,” Ms. Wren replied.
“What? Two days?” I asked. “I’ll just take the Cliff’s Notes version, if you don’t mind.”
Bernard held up his hand. “Mr. Bringer is correct. We’re working under very time-critical circumstances here, so we’ll dispense with the usual formalities.”
“I see,” said Ms. Wren, obviously displeased.
My mobile phone rang and I whipped it out of my pocket.
It was Sanders.
“Bringer,” I said. “What’s up?”
“I know you’re probably in the middle of your meeting, but something important just fell into our laps,” Sanders said.
“Fell?”
“Sorry, figure of speech,” she said. “But it’s big, and you’d better get down to the office fast.”
“Be right there,” I promised.
“Is everything okay, Mr. Bringer?” Bernard inquired.
“I’m sorry, but I’ve really gotta run.”
“Logan,” prompted Nevis Wallace.
“Yes, sir?” I asked, turning toward the monitor.
“I admire your sense of commitment, and I suspect there’s no time for delay,” Wallace said. “Due to the situation at hand, we’ll need to proceed under a handshake agreement. But rest assured, you’re a Nuclegene man now. We’re one of the most powerful companies in the world, and we don’t stand still while others vacillate or cower. You’re our company’s right hand now, and you have the discretion to use either a handshake or a fist.”
I held out my open palm and conjured fire above it. The room fell silent and I knew I had everyone’s rapt attention; even the old man’s eyes widened and he leaned forward as if compelling his body to enter through the wall-mounted display.
“Sometimes, I use neither a handshake nor a fist,” I said. “For those who threaten me or my family, I have other means at my disposal.”
“Incredible,” Wallace muttered.
I waved my hand, extinguishing the flames.
The old man chuckled. “Well, I suppose you shouldn’t have to worry about any breach of contract on our part, then.”
Much to my surprise, I found the guy somewhat charismatic.
“And I don’t do hidden agendas,” I said.
Wallace’s eyes narrowed. “Good. You’ll find that I don’t either, Mr. Bringer. My agenda is keeping this company intact and flourishing, while also assisting in securing our country’s national security. That’s a big job for one man, even one as powerful as you.”
I nodded. “I’m fine with those objectives, though the order may vary by the situation. However, my primary objective is the safety of my family and eliminating any threats to them.”
“Understood,” Wallace said. “Fortunately, those appear to be mutually inclusive objectives for us. Let’s hope that continues, for both our benefits. In the meantime, proceed as you see fit, but please check in with Mr. Bernard, or me if he’s not available, to keep us appraised of your progress. In the immediate future, and per your agreement, you’ll be subcontracted to the FBI.”
“Sounds fine,” I said with a nod.
I hastily shook Bernard’s hand before barreling out of his office toward the elevator.
I left the meeting with a hopeful sense that at least a few things in my life were finally falling into place at a manageable level.
Experience had taught me that was typically about the time that everything went to hell.
But most of all, I hoped that I hadn’t just sold my soul to the devil.
Chapter 5
When I walked through the FBI office doors, everyone looked up with expectant expressions.
Ag
ent Denton stepped outside of his office and rested his hands atop his waist. “Sorry to interrupt you on draft day, Bringer. I hope we didn’t rush you during your stock options negotiation. Did they give you a healthy signing bonus?”
I grinned and flipped him my middle finger, resulting in sporadic laughter throughout the office.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
Denton inclined his head toward his office door. “In here.”
Sanders looked up with an expectant look. “Well? How did it go?”
I held my arms wide open. “You’re looking at your newest contract employee.”
Wainright and Tevin were also there, and joined Denton in shaking my hand and congratulating me. Sanders seemed especially pleased.
“How was the steak and rum dinner?” I asked Wainright and Tevin.
“A good time was had by all,” Wainright replied.
“A good meeting of the minds, as well,” Tevin added.
“Good all around,” I said. Then I turned my attention to Sanders. “While I’m at it, thanks for the contract advice, Sanders,” I said. “You’re even better than having an agent on retainer.”
She flashing me a cute, and rather rare, smile. “Hey, I am a federal agent, thank you. But your sentiments are appreciated and, as such, you owe me the industry standard fifteen percent of your contract value.”
I shook my head. In all honesty, at that moment, I wanted to give her a lot more than fifteen percent…and it had nothing to do with money.
Denton cleared his throat. “We better get to it now. This could be the break we’ve been waiting for.”
He definitely had my attention. “What sort of break?”
“An American agent in Europe made contact with a Russian investigative reporter out of Moscow who witnessed an unsettling event at an abandoned mental institution in Belarus,” Tevin explained. “Fortunately, she took video of what she saw. Even better, the agent she made contact with was NSA and not CIA, otherwise we probably wouldn’t have a crack at it this yet.”
“CIA’s keeping secrets from us now?” Sanders asked.
Tevin shrugged. “They always have. It’s been a pissing contest between us and them for some time now. However, it’s become even worse since the last presidential election.”
“I thought policy under Homeland Security after 911 changed all that,” I said.
“Yeah, but 911 was a long time ago. When it comes to interagency rivalries, policy and practice are two different things,” he replied. “That aside, things changed a lot soon after President Graydon took office. He seems to have a different vision regarding his favorite federal agencies.”
It figures.
I couldn’t help wondering if the Wallace Building explosion could’ve been thwarted if all the government’s intelligence agencies had been working together from the start.
The door to Denton’s office opened and a young man who couldn’t have been older than his mid-twenties peeked inside.
“Sorry to interrupt, but I’ve processed the new intelligence and it’s ready for your review,” he said.
“Agent Wilson’s one of mine,” Tevin said. “Route it to the main conference room, son.”
“Yes, sir,” he replied.
We’d no sooner closed the door to the conference room than Agent Wilson brought up a grainy video image on the widescreen mounted on the wall. It was past dusk. A grayish, decrepit-looking building sat amidst overgrown hedges and encroaching trees.
“What are we looking at?” Tevin asked.
“This is the abandoned mental asylum outside of Minsk, Belarus,” Wilson replied. “I’ve run it through filtering software to maximize image and sound clarity.”
“That place?” I insisted. “It looks like something post-apocalyptic.”
“Yeah, I’d have to agree with you on that,” Denton said.
Wilson increased the volume and we heard breathing, rustling leaves, and gruff voices shouting in the distance.
The person taking the video, a woman by the sound, muttered something indistinguishable.
“Russian, you said?” I asked.
“Yes,” Tevin replied.
“Her name is Nika Veselov. She said she was on the north side of the building,” Wilson said. “She’s also the contact who provided the video.”
A bright flash illuminated every visible window around the building and the crackle of energy sizzled, drowning out all other sounds.
Part of the roof exploded outward as flames shot in all directions from various breaches.
The frame momentarily froze before the image jerked back and forth, and then resumed toward the building.
More shouts in the distance preceded a high-pitched sound and another flash of white light that pierced into the sky through the roof and windows.
A woman cursed as the windows burst and flames jetted from the openings.
The video turned jerky again and the image rotated in what must have been the opposite direction.
I almost got nauseous watching branches slap at the videographer as she barreled through the brush.
As loud explosions permeated the audio, the woman eventually fell forward. The ground loomed large and a resounding crashing noise abruptly ceased.
“That’s it,” Agent Wilson said. “Veselov said she was too scared to do anything more than hold her camera and run.”
“How old is the video?” Wainright asked.
“Seventeen days,” Wilson replied.
“Why did she turn this over to us?” Sanders asked.
“We weren’t her first choice,” Wilson replied. “She’s a patriot and she first looked into the possibility that it was a secret Russian government research project.”
“And?” Tevin pressed.
“She said that, as closely as she could determine, it wasn’t,” Wilson said.
“Why did she decide to seek out one of our agents?” Tevin asked. “Let me see the report.”
Wilson handed him a red folder filled with printouts, which Tevin immediately began thumbing through. “According to Veselov, the Russians weren’t pleased with her footage. She feared for her life and sought our assistance.”
“I don’t see how the video helps us, except maybe that they hid someone there. What she captured was probably caused by the Balkan-sounding guy I faced off with downtown,” I said.
“No, can’t be,” Sanders insisted, shaking her head.
“Why the hell not?” I asked.
She gave me a flat stare. “Because the video is seventeen days old. That’s the same day you were tearing up Nevis Corners with that telekinetic. It couldn’t have been him.”
Her revelation hit me like a cold splash of water.
“If that’s true, then just as we feared, there’s more telekinetics out there somewhere,” Wainright concluded. “And based upon the video, they don’t appear too happy.”
“According to this field report, after Veselov saw the news coverage of Bringer’s showdown with the telekinetic, she knew there had to be a connection between that and what she witnessed,” Tevin said, flipping through pages in a flurry. “She was confident enough that she bargained for asylum in the United States and full citizenship in exchange for the video and her testimony.”
“I wonder if whoever was at that abandoned site is still there,” Denton said.
“That would be one of a number of million-dollar questions right now,” Wainright agreed.
“I’ll mobilize some of our European agents,” Tevin said.
“No,” I insisted. “We need to get out there ourselves. More to the point, I do.”
“Belarus is in the heart of Russian territory, and they won’t like our agents just showing up unannounced,” Wainright said. “Hell, they’d probably like to comb through the place themselves, if they haven’t already discovered it.”
“Wainright’s correct,” Tevin said. “We’ll need to do this clandestinely.”
“Aw, bullshit,” I said.
Some
thing occurred to me, and I withdrew my mobile phone.
“You know, I’m not officially a subcontracted employee for the feds just yet,” I said. “I’m still just a private citizen right now. And I’m due a vacation to Europe, don’t you agree?”
“Oh, yeah, like the TSA’s going to put you on a flight to Europe after all that’s happened,” Wainright countered.
Sanders gave me a look of pure recognition. “Yeah, and I’m way overdue a vacation, too. I think I’d like to take some annual leave now, Denton.”
“Just what the hell do you two think you’re up to?” Denton demanded. “Federal agents don’t just fly off to Belarus for no reason, Sanders.”
I reached over and wrapped my arm around Sander’s shoulders. “Gentlemen, I’m taking my girlfriend on a European trip to Belarus. Denton, how does the FBI view interoffice relationships?”
Sanders elbowed me in the gut.
“Bringer, you can forget government flights, and customs probably won’t let you board any commercial jets destined for there,” Tevin said. “Under the circumstances, the State Department will want to regulate your departure from the country. As such, I’m positive that the TSA is already watching out for you.
I winked at him as I dialed my phone.
“Hello?” answered a familiar voice.
“Clive, this is Logan,” I said. “Listen, I need to take an impromptu trip for two to Minsk, Belarus. Any chance you could arrange something?”
“It’s an unusual request, but I think something could be arranged,” he replied. “Do I detect that time is of the essence?”
“Faster is better,” I said.
“Do you have a carrier in mind already?” he asked.
“Funny you should ask. Any chance that Mr. Nevis might loan us one of his private jets? I’m willing to bet he has at least one.”
Wainright looked at Tevin. “We’d better get on the phone to State before these two are wheels up.”
“Pack a bag, Sanders,” Denton prompted. “Looks like you and your new boyfriend are headed to Belarus.”
The astonished look on Sanders’ face was priceless.
Chapter 6
Life seemed to be coming at me from all sides. I’d no sooner walked through my front door when my mobile phone rang.