Executive: A Thriller

by Leslie Wolfe

  She repeated the almost dance-like approach to the third drone, which, without any delay, also locked on her. "Strange," she said to herself in a soft voice, "and creepy. Way creepy . . ." She approached, getting closer to the drone, and leaned over it to reach its modules, trying to see if any of the modules made a good candidate for a self-guidance module. There was a large, gray box installed amid the drone's modules, almost as large as the satellite dish installed next to it. She checked the gray box for connectivity, just as Josh had suggested, and found the self-guidance module. She leaned in a bit more, to figure out how she could remove the module without breaking it in the process.

  "And what exactly are you doing here?" A woman's voice, coming from behind her, startled Alex. She jumped away from the drone, turning to see whom that voice belonged to. Recognizing the face, she couldn't contain her surprise. What the hell was Audrey Kramer doing there? Alex never thought she'd run into the CFO so far away from the traditional playing ground of all accounting and finance professionals—the corporate office.

  "I am touring the plant," she said, innocently. "I was invited to visit, explore, and learn about the company's product."

  "That was two days ago," Kramer said. "Try again." Her eyes were cold as ice.

  Oh, shit, she's on to me, Alex thought. "I had no idea I was not allowed to come back. I was actually told that I am welcome here anytime. If I was wrong, please accept my apologies," Alex said in a heartbeat, hoping that would work.

  "You're a piece of work, you know that, right? Always snooping around where you don't belong. Come on, you and I are going for a walk," Kramer said, in a voice that did not allow further debate.

  "Um, actually, I have to run now," Alex said, "can we do this some other time, maybe tomorrow morning?"

  Kramer pulled a gun from her pocket and removed its safety. She didn't speak one word.

  "Guess not," Alex said, in a faint voice, turning pale. I am so screwed, she thought. No way can I fight her, not while she's got a fucking gun. "OK, I'm coming, if you insist."

  "Smart lady, you figured it out," Kramer snarled. "We'll take your car. Move it!"

  Alex started walking toward the side exit, the nearest one to her car, painfully aware of the gun barrel pressed against her ribs. They didn't run into anyone on the way; probably most employees were on their way home already.

  Numerous questions whirled in her mind. Why Kramer? What was her motivation? Pulling a gun? Really? And how did Kramer know she was here, at the plant? She would have expected Walker, or even Sheppard, but she didn't see Kramer doing this, not in a million years. The absent-minded, always-tired Kramer, with her benign, non-threatening, almost deferential attitude during meetings.

  "I am sorry I upset you so much by being here," Alex said, "I could leave immediately and never come back."

  "Oh, you won't be coming back, don't worry," Kramer said, coldly, "I'll make sure of that."

  "But why?" Alex said, suddenly changing strategies and starting to sob. "Why pull a gun on me? What have I ever done to you? I am so scared!" She was getting into the skin of the character she was trying to impersonate, to get Kramer to open up. The crying, scared, fragile girl she was playing was totally incompatible with someone digging through the insides of a drone on an assembly line. Nevertheless, she was hoping she'd get Kramer to feel overconfident and make a mistake. If this works, Alex thought, I am going straight to Hollywood from here.

  "What have you done to me?" Kramer repeated. "Are you serious? You conniving, sniveling little bitch!"

  Alex sobbed a bit louder, as if hurt by Kramer's comment. "But why? What have I done?"

  "You nose around into a lot of things above your pay grade, instead of doing your job, keeping that infrastructure department running, and minding your own goddamn business. But no, you have to look into stuff that doesn't concern you, and then prowl for more. I have millions of dollars buried in this project," Kramer said, punctuating the words with a thrust of her gun in Alex's back. "Millions! And I don't have any other millions left, in case you screw all this up for me. Move," Kramer said, pushing Alex through the side door of the plant.

  They were outside. Alex's car was quite far out in the parking lot. A couple of minutes of walk time, not more.

  "Where's your car?" Kramer asked.

  "There," Alex said, pointing in the direction of her 4Runner. "What millions? I don't understand," she continued, in a submissive, almost whimpering voice. The unlikely strategy was working; Kramer was starting to talk.

  "When Barnaby retires and sells his shares, where do you think that will leave me? Huh?" Kramer's voice was filled with anger. "At the mercy of some venture capitalist or another, poking and probing into everything I have done in my career. Then they'd fire me just to get someone younger and cheaper in my place. Can't let that happen, I just can't—not to me, not to any of us. We're all in the same jam, you know," Kramer said, looking tired again.

  "Who?" Alex dared to interrupt. "I still don't get it—"

  "Walker, Prescott, Sheppard . . . all of us. Only Griffiths doesn't give a fucking shit. That asshole was born rich; he doesn't care about anything. He can afford not to care."

  "I still can't understand how I upset you," Alex said, maintaining the same non-aggressive attitude toward Kramer.

  "You're a stupid, ignorant troublemaker, who thinks she knows it all. You ask all the wrong questions, stir up trouble, and draw attention. This attitude makes more people ask questions. For years, I've been preparing for this . . . I've increased our expenses and kept the stock price under control, so when the fossil finally retires we can buy him out."

  "Increased expenses? But everyone in the company is cutting costs like crazy," Alex said, not having to simulate confusion. What was Kramer talking about?

  "See? See how you just can't help asking the wrong questions? You're such an idiot," Kramer said. "We're cutting costs, so that when we take over, we'll show an immediate increase in profitability. This will cause the market to react and increase the value of our stock. On paper though, for right now, we can't show too profitable, because that would raise the price of the stock before we get to buy it, and we won't be able to gain control of the company. We actually need the stock price to be quite low, to force that idiot Barnaby to sell more of it, to ensure we have enough liquidity to buy it all. We need the money to buy the stock . . . what did you think? That if I were rich, I would put up with any of this crap?"

  Alex knew about some of this takeover strategy from the meeting she had eavesdropped on while hidden in the equipment closet. She tried to remember the details of that meeting. Kramer had not appeared to be leading the takeover conspiracy. At the time of that meeting, Alex had not even been able to fully and undoubtedly ascertain if there was, indeed, a conspiracy going on, or just an innocent plan to invest in the company's future. Now the pieces of the puzzle were falling into place, answering most of her questions.

  "But here comes Miss Smartass," Kramer continued, "and you start looking into budget cuts for infrastructure and support. Did you look into the stuff that's normally being done, such as cut staffing, training, benefits, perks, and bonuses? No, 'cause you had to do things differently than everyone else, didn't you?" Kramer's voice was filling with anger again. "Unlock the car," she said.

  Alex took out her car keys and unlocked the doors.

  "Get in here," Kramer said, pointing the gun at the passenger side door, "and get behind the wheel."

  Alex complied, keeping her eyes on the gun. She put the key in the ignition and started the engine. Kramer climbed in the passenger seat.

  "Where are you taking me?" Alex asked.

  "Out to the testing field," Kramer said.

  Alex suddenly remembered the drone that locked target on her. All Kramer had to do was launch a drone. She felt a blood-freezing chill, despite the intense heat in the car. She put the vehicle in gear, and then her eyes fell on the temperature reading on the dashboard. It was 129 degrees; the car had sat in
the blazing sun for a couple of hours. Then she remembered.

  "Can I turn on the AC?" she asked, not willing to startle Kramer with her hand movement.

  "What do you think? Jesus, you are such a moron," Kramer said with contempt.

  Alex turned the AC dial to the max, held down the fan button for two long seconds, and then hit the air recycling option. Brian Woods had thought of it all, installing the emergency paging and recording system in her car. Now she had a glimmer of hope.

  "Why are we going to the testing field?" Alex asked, hoping that someone at The Agency would listen.

  "You'll see," Kramer said, then fell silent. "Turn here," she said.

  "You know, I was tasked to cut the spending; it wasn't my idea," Alex said, trying to rekindle the conversation.

  "Yes, you were. All department heads were. All of them did the same old budget-cutting dance, except you. You had to challenge every systems and software vendor, especially those offshore. You had to audit every contract we had in place, for hundreds of thousands of dollars per month worth of development costs, or outsourced R&D, or off-shored software development. You didn't think of terminating a single employee or cutting a single bonus, but you damned well thought of doubting the judgment and investigating the decisions of all the leaders who signed off on those expenses.

  "In the ten days since you were hired, you found a less-expensive vendor for outsourced R&D—not somewhat more inexpensive, but 89 percent, no less! And you had to advertise your big achievement in cost cutting, making us all look like a bunch of clueless idiots with too much money on our hands! Do you know how hard I worked to get these contracts in place, to keep the goddamn stock price under control? Do you know what I am risking if I get caught? Twenty years in prison, because of you, an ambitious little nothing!" Kramer was livid again.

  This was not going well, especially considering how far into the testing field they were heading. Alex changed strategies again, hoping to buy some time.

  "Why don't you cut me in? I'd be happy to start minding my own business, for even a little bit of the dough," Alex said. "After all, I had no idea I was doing any harm. It was not intentional," she continued in her apologetic tone. "We could become partners, you know, instead of having to hold a gun to my head."

  "It's too late now," Kramer said. "You've asked too many questions and spoken to too many people. Now they're asking questions. You've created quite a movement. If you go away in a little accident, they'll know to forever keep their peace. I need to make an example out of you. You deserve what's coming to you, but don't worry, you won't even know what hit you. Pull over there," she said, pointing at one of the concrete bunkers with white letters on it. "Get out of the car," she said, pushing Alex with the gun barrel against her shoulder.

  Alex realized her legs had turned to rubber. Her courage seemed to have left her. This was it, and no rescuers were in sight. They're too far away, she thought, they won't make it on time. Irvine to Alpine was an almost two-hour drive. She didn't have two hours.

  "Move it," Kramer yelled. She leaned down, stacking a couple of rocks on top of each other, and setting a small object on the top rock.

  "What's that?" Alex asked, in a trembling voice.

  "Laser spot. It will paint a laser mark on the side of the concrete bunker you'll be occupying. All drones respond with fire on painted targets."

  "Why not set the drone to go for this bunker, by giving it the bunker code? I learned that that's why they have letters on them," Alex said, desperately trying to buy some time.

  "You're being a smartass again," Kramer said. "It would require me to log into the drone management system, and that would leave a trace of my access. But you already knew that, and that's what you're trying to achieve, aren't you?" She scoffed. "Unbelievable! I don't know what's more infuriating about you, the fact that you're such an arrogant bitch, or the fact that you think all of us are idiots."

  Alex felt a wave of hopelessness hit her. Kramer's laser pointer projected a clearly visible spot on the side of the bunker, in glimmering red. There was no way a drone would miss that.

  "I'm not an idiot," Kramer continued, grabbing Alex and pushing her toward the bunker door. "I'll leave you to contemplate your miserable, worthless existence, while I walk out of here and get into town, in a crowded restaurant that will provide the alibi I need. A drone is set to take off at precisely 6:30PM in a test flight, in preparation for the self-guidance software launch. The drone operator will be expecting the UAV to acquire targets on its own, and other laser spots are already in place, everywhere in the field. He won't even react to the drone's attack on this bunker. Meanwhile, I'll be enjoying my dinner, miles away from here."

  "People will know I'm missing; they'll come looking for me," Alex said.

  "Not much will be left of either you or your car. Have you ever witnessed a Hellfire missile hit a target? Not even a whiff will be left of you. You'll be listed as a missing person, maybe some random sex offender will be nailed for your disappearance. Who cares? But the idiots asking questions at the office will draw the right conclusions, and think twice before asking the tiniest question again." Kramer shoved Alex into the bunker. "Enjoy the rest of your life; you have about fifty minutes left of it. I suggest you spend this time reflecting on how you brought this all on yourself," Kramer said with a wicked smile, and slammed shut the heavy door, leaving darkness to take over the bunker.

  Alex heard Kramer lock the door, using the reinforced deadbolts that made the door just as impenetrable as the walls. She paced the bunker floor. It was a ten-by-ten foot structure, completely empty—no windows. Faint light leaked through tiny vents, situated at the junction between the walls and the ceiling. She looked at her watch. It was 5:38PM. She took out her cell phone, with a glimmer of hope. No signal. No bars. She texted Tom's cell for help, just in case the signal gain a little strength and would allow a text message to make it through.

  She went to the door and pushed, throwing her body weight against it. It wouldn't budge. She crouched in a corner of the bunker, memories of her night in prison vividly coming back. That night she had hoped for help to come, and it never did. Would this time be different? She felt chilly, despite the afternoon heat that persisted in the bunker. She put her hands deep in her pockets to warm them. In her right pocket, she felt an unfamiliar object. She took it out and felt it—not realizing what it was at first. It was the bomb-dismantling robot's remote control.

  The glimmer of hope started to shine again. She opened the remote and activated the robot's camera. She could see inside her car. She started operating the remote, trying to get familiarized with the robot's capabilities. She made it extend the claw and look out the car window. She rotated the camera, to get a 360-degree view of the surroundings. No Kramer anywhere. Good, she thought optimistically, maybe there's a way out of this mess.

  Alex settled on the floor more comfortably, crossing her legs. She took the robot's claw lower and tried to unlock the car door from the inside. It was a tricky move, requiring a firm grip, a pull-out movement against the handle, and a push-out movement to open the door, all synchronized. Her first attempt failed, the robot claw losing the grip on the car handle before it could pull it out. Her second attempt also failed; better grip on the handle, wrong movement altogether. The third attempt didn't work either. Alex was biting her lips, concentrating hard to get the door opened.

  "Shit, this is hard," she muttered. "Common gestures we do every day and take for granted." She tried again, this time splitting the complex maneuver into multiple components. Grab the handle with the claw. Good. Lock grip. Done. Pull out the handle to unlock the car door. Complicated. There was a dilemma here. If she wanted the robot's arm to push open the car door, it would have to first release the door handle, which would lock the car door again. Unless . . . Unless she could pull the handle with the claw, and push the door with the entire arm, by flexing it.

  "Yes," she yelled, the moment she saw the car door open. "You are the robot!"


  The car door was wide open. Now she had to safely get the robot on the ground. Careful not to tip the robot upside down, or damage it in the process, she made it tightly grab the door handle, lock the grip, and then she moved the robot forward on its tracks. It made it over the edge of the car door with ease, pulling itself against the handlebar, and barely making it out from between the car seats. Hesitating a bit, it dropped to the ground, undamaged.

  "Yes, great!" Alex stood up, ready to proceed to the next phase. She moved the robot's camera around, looking for the laser spot. There it was, just a few feet away. She pushed the controls and moved the robot closer. Then she grabbed the laser spot with its claw and crushed it to pieces. She stepped the robot back a foot, rotating its camera to look for any other signs of a laser beam—none in sight. Now it was time to set herself free.

  She rotated the robot's camera to bring the bunker into view, and then "drove" the robot to the bunker door. Extending its arm fully and tilting it, she was able to see the door lock. A massive handle that would have to be moved sideways to get the door unlocked. That wasn't the worst part, though. The handle seemed to be really high. Alex frowned. Would the robot arm be able to extend that far?

  She set the robot in the closest, most direct position against the door, and extended the claw arm straight up, full length. The camera didn't capture anything but a dark gray door background—no door handle in sight. She pulled and tilted the claw backward, to get an upward view. The door handle appeared to be at least six inches higher than the robot claw could extend.

  Tears of frustration burned her eyes. She looked at the time; it was 6:24PM. In six minutes, a drone looking for a target would be cruising above. While the laser spot was gone, there was no telling whether the drone operator would not suddenly decide to whack this bunker, as opposed to any other available bunkers. Why not this one?