The Snare

by David A Ogunde

  With a final kick, Frank thrust his hands into the slime-covered retaining wall and groped for any kind of handhold as the relentless waters continued to carry him downstream. At this point, exhaustion crept from his every fiber, demanding at once his resignation from this terrible and intolerable task. But determination won the day as Frank’s leaden fingers finally caught into a set of plastic 6-pack rings which was wrapped around a restraining bolt barely emerging from the surface of the wall. Frank pulled the rings taut as he fought against the current, and was fearful they would break from the force. But the plastic held, and he was able to stop himself long enough to hoist his torso onto a low-set walkway that paralleled the river. With the last ounces of his strength, he brought up the rest of his fatigued frame and automatically checked his surroundings for witnesses or villains. To his great relief, the river had carried him down quite a ways, and he had berthed next to a thick grove of trees and brush. In a motion that could more closely be identified as rolling rather than walking, Frank made it a yard into the undergrowth before finally collapsing in a fatigue-induced faint.

  Chapter 28

  The all-too-familiar lunge hit James’ stomach as the plane began its decent over Brussels. Although the flight had taken just over an hour, James felt as if only a few minutes had passed between take-off and touch-down. Looking out of the window of the company-owned private jet, he drank in his first draught of the artfully historic city. When it comes to cityscapes, it’s usually the formation of the skyscrapers which dominates the eye and excites the visitor’s travel palate. But quite the opposite sensation can be said for Brussels. For here, James found, the cluster of silver and glass business towers plastered against the afternoon sky seemed rather out of place—modern misfits sticking out from amongst a historically rich crown of Art Nouveau architecture which elaborately ornamented the greater part of the city.

  As the plane flew lower and the architectural details became more stunning, James made a silent promise to himself to return here with his family on holiday and spend some time touring and appreciating this living masterpiece of art, for there would be no time for sightseeing on this trip, as it were. “A quick fly-in for a day or two of meetings, then, a quick fly-out,” Derek had assured him. “You’ll be back before you can say Jack Robinson.” James was grateful that he would not be too long gone from his family. When his daughter, Tolu, was younger, he had done a lot of traveling abroad for his work; and though they had managed it all right, thanks to his wonderful wife, James was none too keen upon placing that kind of strain upon his family again.

  When the flight attendant opened the door for him to exit (for he had been the only passenger), James thanked her and the pilots before descending the metal stairs to the tarmac. As soon as his polished leather shoes touched the pavement, a smiling woman in overly-tall heels and a fashionably tight hair-bun stepped toward him. One of her hands was clutching a silver tablet against her ribs, the other was outstretched.

  “James Mode,” she greeted with a slight, but smooth tinge of an Eastern European accent. “I’m Sonya Novik. Welcome to Brussels. I’ll be your personal assistant for the duration of your visit. So, please, let me know if there is ever anything I can do to make your stay more comfortable.”

  “Thank you, Sonya. I appreciate that.” James noticed that her handshake was very firm despite the smallness of her hand.

  “This way, please.” Her heels clicked sharply on the pavement as she led him toward a limo parked just a few yards away. The driver was already standing at the door and opened it gracefully as they approached. Tipping his hat to Sonya—who replied with an infinitesimal wink as she entered and took the rearward facing seat—the driver then returned James’ polite nod before expertly closing the door, then taking his position behind the wheel.

  As the car sailed off, Sonya woke her tablet and started tapping and swiping across the screen.

  “We’re to take you directly to H.Q., Mr. Mode,” she began. “Your luggage will be transported to the hotel to await you. Do you mind answering a few questions beneficial for the comfort of your stay?”

  “Not at all,” James assented, pulling his attention off the awe-inspiring architecture of the passing city blocks.

  “Do you prefer a penthouse or standard room?”

  “Either way.” James smiled and tried to sound as nonchalant as he could. Though being no stranger to business trips nor the usual comforts they often afforded, he had never experienced one of this caliber and thought it best to step up to the part as if he were on familiar ground.

  Sonya answered his smile with a small one of her own as she tapped a few places on her tablet. James couldn’t tell if it meant that she was satisfied with his answer or could see right through it.

  “Do you have any dietary requirements or restrictions?”

  “Not that I’m aware of…but I haven’t tried Belgian food before. Anything I should watch out for?”

  “Not, unless you’re allergic to gluten, chocolate, shellfish, or eel.” She smirked at him on the last word and glanced up from the pad to gauge his reaction.

  “All sounds fine to me,” James replied coolly. He didn’t mind eel, really; and as far as “cultural delicacies” went, he had tried a culinary thing or two that he’d bet the mention of would make that tightly wound hair of hers stand on end.

  “Any special requests in general?” she moved on. “Anything you’d like to have waiting for you when you get back to your room? A specific type of drink or linens or bathing soap we can accommodate you with?”

  “No, I’m good.” Seeing that Sonya was serious, James tried not to grin too largely. Although these things didn’t matter at all to him, he had no doubt that she frequently had to deal with GED guests and businessmen who would throw a very costly fit if their preferred shampoo had not been supplied to them.

  “And what about evening entertainment? Most of our executives request, shall we say, special companionship during their stay.”

  Sonya’s meaningful eye contact affirmed the nature of inquiry, and James, slightly embarrassed, looked away and shook his head.

  “I’ll be calling my wife tonight, thanks.”

  Treading carefully as not to offend but insistent in elucidating the offer, Sonya leaned forward slightly and said in low tones, “It is common for many of our guests to call their wives before dinner and continue on to other occupations later. Brussels may not be that far from London, but it can be quite far away from home.”

  “I understand many men feel that way,” James stated courteously, “but I am not one of them.”

  “Very well.” Satisfied with his answer, Sonya straightened back into her seat and engaged the tablet once again.

  Sensing the mini-interview was over, James also sank back into the luxurious plush-upholstered seat and resumed looking out of the window at the fascinating buildings.

  “Actually,” he voiced suddenly after several moments of silent thinking, “I think I will go for that penthouse, after all.”

  Sonya flashed him an approving smile and hurriedly skated her fingers across the screen to secure the new accommodations.

  Chapter 29

  “There it is”, Sonya pointed out as the limo slightly slowed its pace on the street so James could get a good look, “GED’s Global Headquarters.”

  James rolled down his window and peered at the massive skyscraper a block away that cut toward the heavens like an imposing blade. Although lacking the traditional ornate façades characterizing the majority of Brussels’ structures, the tower was pleasing in its extremely modern— futuristic—appearance. The base of the tower was distinctly narrow, widening out as it rose to its great height; curved-looking panels of white-painted steel and silver-reflecting windows twisted up the tower in tight coils in such a way as to give the illusion that the building itself was in a perpetual state of rotation. As they passed directly in front of it, James looked up but couldn’t detect the shape of the pinnacle of the high rise, his eyes m
et by the blinding sunlight reflecting off the exalted floors. If he had had it in his power, James would have seized a moment or two more to take in the impactful appearance of the H.Q. However, an unexpected (by him) crowd was currently camped out in the surprisingly large pavement area at the tower’s base, and the driver sped up to avoid inviting any company.

  “Reporters and journalists,” Sonya explained as they rounded the block and entered a guarded underground car garage. “We seem to have a gaggle of them at our doorstep almost every day. GED has so many facets and projects going on that some kind of ‘big news’ is always being announced. They should be letting them into the press room shortly.”

  “I thought I also saw some signs in the crowd,” said James. “Do you get protesters too?”

  Sonya replied with a light smile. “Well, there is always some group or other that can’t seem to be happy with GED trying to save the world. Some people just have to find something to complain about.”

  “What do they complain about?” James pressed.

  “You know, I don’t even try to keep track anymore.” Sonya’s airy tone of voice swept the conversation away as she gathered up a Gucci leather tote. As if on cue, the door next to James opened, and the two exited.

  “Thank you,” James said to the driver before following Sonya to a set of thick glass doors a few steps away. Expecting it to automatically open when they got near enough, James was surprised that the glass remained stationary, barring their entry.

  “You’ve got the key, James.” Sonya smiled before raising her hand up, palm in, before him. Wondering how he never noticed before, James was shocked to see a small mound on the back of her hand just like his.

  “You use these here?” he asked in amazement, baring his own hand. “How did you even know I had one?”

  “We know quite a bit about all our employees, James,” she said, indicating with a nod of her head where the chip reader was. “CellSens, the company that chipped you and most of your countrymen is a subsidiary of ours. Technically, you’ve already been in our database for quite a while now. Try it.”

  James lifted the back of his hand to a silver pad on the wall by the doors. The silver surface flashed green and the heavy doors slipped apart in a smooth, graceful motion.

  “Welcome Mr. Mode,” spoke a cool male voice from unseen speakers. It had a formal British accent. “Ms. Pale is expecting you in her office shortly. If you’ll follow me, I’ll direct you to the nearest available elevator.”

  A glowing azure line appeared in a small slit along the left wall of the airy hallway, which was well-decorated with warm, grey walls accented by patterned lines of slate motifs. Pulsing softly, the light reached several yards down the hallway before turning a corner adorned by a large abstract bronze sculpture.

  James glanced at Sonya, his expression a blend of being amused and impressed.

  “Why doesn’t the London office have any of…” he waved his hand through the air inclusively, “these?”

  “We’ll be upgrading all our branches eventually,” Sonya said as they began walking down the hall. “Though in most cases, as with the London branch, it proves easier to build an entirely new, modernized building than try and renovate an existing one.”

  “That makes sense,” assented James, as his eyes wandered from the shiny rock-tiled floor to the strategically placed ornaments of artwork, sculptures, and exotic plants.

  They rounded the corner and found a bank of glass elevators. One was standing open, a faint blue light projected from the top of the doorway to the stone flooring directly before it.

  “Ladies first,” motioned James.

  Sonya stepped inside. And James followed, automatically turning to the panel of buttons to request a floor. But no buttons were to be found; just a smooth, glass surface.

  Before he could ask about it, the elevator doors closed and the clear walls were entirely swathed with the now familiar azure light.

  “We are now ascending to the 67th floor,” came the bodiless voice. “We will arrive momentarily.”

  James could hardly feel a thing as the elevator lifted, and found himself grateful that the soft but opaque lighting prevented him from being able to see through the glass at how fast they were actually moving. It seemed only moments before a minute nudge signaled that they had stopped and the door opened into a large space with vaulted-ceilings and lots of natural light.

  “Ms. Pale’s office suite is straight ahead, Mr. Mode,” said the invisible host, “shall I direct you?”

  “No, I think I can manage it.” Inwardly, James grimaced a little. He didn’t mind advanced technology; but he didn’t enjoy talking to the air.

  “Very good, sir,” came the automated reply. “If you need anything else, just let me know.”

  Sonya and James started their trek across the floor. On either side of the main walkway of extra-cushy industrial carpet, hedges of glass and polymer partitions seemed to zig-zag endlessly back to the farthest reach of the room, which, from here, James could not see. Nestled within the labyrinth of dividers were a plethora of desks, computers, and phones - almost all of which were occupied by well-dressed office personnel. As they passed near the center of the room, one working space, in particular, stood out from among the rest. Its partitions surrounded it in a large complete circle, rather than the narrower rectangle and square shapes enclosing the majority of the other desks. It had its own door, locked—James assumed—and inside were several desks and tables upon which sat, at least, twelve computer display monitors. As they walked by this circular station, a large head plastered with thick, black spectacles moved out from in front of one of the computer screens and stared through the heavy glass at him. James couldn’t be sure, but he thought he noticed a condescending smirk leering at him from the guy’s face.

  “Who’s that?” James nodded his head in the direction of the enclosure.

  Sonya rolled her eyes slightly. “That’s Gerald Packard, head of I.T. He's got a real tyrant complex. But, to a point, he’s kind of entitled to it. Without our computer mainframe, GED would be dead in the water.”

  They reached the back of the floor and met another set of doors.

  “This is where I leave you,” Sonya said. “Here is the number you can reach me at if you need anything.” She handed James a small neatly-printed card.

  “Thank you.” James took the card and tucked it in the pocket of his suit jacket. “I appreciate your showing me around.”

  “Not at all. Good luck,” she offered before turning away with a smile and heading back toward the elevators.

  James turned back to the doors and pulled the handle, but nothing moved; they were locked. Taking a second to look around, he noticed a familiar silver pad on the wall. Unhesitatingly, he ran the back of his hand in front of the smooth surface. The doors opened and he stepped into a wide, sunlight office. For its size, there was scarcely any furniture—a modern-looking stainless steel and glass desk, a cream leather office chair, a small silver-colored document shredder, and one steel-legged chair in front of the desk with hardly any padding, suggesting that whoever did work here was not in the business of often entertaining guests. And whomever that was, James couldn’t be sure of, as there was no one sitting at the desk, or anywhere in the room at all. Then, from the corner of his eye he caught a flash of color through the windows. Stepping closer, he observed that it was a woman in a tight-fitting coral dress pacing across the outside balcony. One of her hands was up next to her ear.

  “You told me they weren’t going to run that story for at least another week!” Her harsh but not altogether unpleasant tones came through the open balcony doorway and quickly died out in the expanse of the lonely room. “What about my public statement?”

  She paused for the reply.

  “End of the day? No, I needed it yesterday, Paul…Well that’s not good enough…You bring me something in ten minutes or you’re through, capisce?”

  She shouted the last word into her phone before forcefully
hurtling it over the side of the balcony.

  James quickly removed any traces of shock from his face as the woman turned and stepped back into the room. Surprisingly, her smooth, lithe movements spoke of such a degree of elegance and poise that he wondered if the display of temper he had just witnessed had only been in his imagination.

  “Hopefully, that hit a fake news journalist,” she stated nonchalantly, as she gracefully sat down at the desk. She didn’t glance at him, and her face gave away no hints of whether or not she had known he had been there the whole time. With her entrance, the sparse room suddenly seemed to fill with inflexible strength, a silent power; and James could sense that this was no ordinary woman. This was not a playful, personable Sonya nor a strong, compassionate Sarah. Every movement of her slight figure exuded intelligence, confidence, sophistication, and dominance. Instinctually, James’ head rose a little higher and he stood a little straighter.

  “And you are…?” She didn’t look up at him as she began typing something on her computer. The styled curls of her silky brown hair hardly moved at all as she turned her head and snatched up a folder on the desk.

  “James Mode. Pleasure to meet you—”

  “Of course, you are.” She turned from the screen and finally looked at James, her evergreen eyes silently appraising him. “And do you know who I am?”

  James felt a slight lump in his throat and was embarrassed to find that he had no idea who he was talking to. He quickly racked his brain in an attempt to grasp a name that, maybe, Sonya or Derek had mentioned, but came up with nothing.

  “Actually, I wondered if you could help me out on that one,” he chanced. Maybe she had a good sense of humor.

  The woman’s eyes seemed to flash before she dryly answered. “Oh, so you're GED’s new comedian? What other talents do you wield, I wonder?”