He nodded, smiling. He had no idea where the conference room was, and pointed right. “This way?”
The woman stood up and walked around the counter. She wore tight black slacks, and high heels. “This way,” she said, and went left. The hallway was wide, white, and bright. The lighting was soft. It didn’t hurt his eyes. She stopped and opened a door. “There is coffee, water, bagels and danish. Help yourself while you wait. They shouldn’t be long. Is there anything else I can get you?”
“I should be fine, thank you.”
She nodded, and pulled on the door.
“Ah,” he said. “Do you know what this is about?”
“They’ll be with you shortly, Mr. Powell. Please, make yourself comfortable.” She closed the door.
The windows in the conference room were also floor to ceiling. He walked up to them, hands in his pants pockets and took in the view. From here he could see the football, baseball and hockey stadiums. With a pair of binoculars, games could be watched from this window.
He looked at the clock on the wall. It was a little after eight. The refreshments were on a table in the back corner. He decided he’d fix himself a cup of coffee. As good as the fruit and cheese danish look, he passed. If he’d of taken one, the minute he bit into it, Gary Brunson would open the door. With sticky fingers he’d be forced to shake hands. No. He’d pass on the pastries.
Two cream. Two sugar. He used a stir stick, and picked up a napkin.
The conference table was glass with black legs. The chairs around it looked awkward and uncomfortable. He figured he’d stand until the boss joined him. He had no idea who Ms. Warwick was.
He placed the coffee cup on the napkin on the table and pulled out his phone. He accessed the Circuitz intranet website. He typed in Warwick. Hit enter.
She was in the Legal Department, inside counsel for employee relations.
Powell sat down. He didn’t want to stand any longer. He set his phone beside his coffee, and dropped his head into his hand as he tried recalling any recent employee issues.
He’d fired employees for a number of reasons in the past. It always started with submitting the request for termination, with reasons attached. Legal reviewed the submission, and as long as there weren’t any obvious issues, permission was granted. Issues only came up if the person fit into one of the state or federally protected classes.
It didn’t mean a person couldn’t be let go, it just meant the company ensured the employee wasn’t fired because of the protected class they fit into. It became hairy at times. Powell knew documentation was key, and kept a journal recording most every interaction. The journal was discoverable, but he knew it was better covering his ass and protecting the company in a potential discrimination lawsuit, over letting everyone get burned and lose millions in paid out damages.
Currently, he didn’t have a pending termination request. Jobs were tough to find. Employees of Circuitz knew they had it good. Competitive pay and pretty good benefits made them better than most employers. People showed up, generally on time. Most worked past quitting time. When he was in the manufacturing part of the company, it was different. Supervising software engineers was a walk in the park in comparison. His people were professional. Quirky, but professional.
Was it him? Had he done something wrong?
He wondered if someone had filed a complaint. About what though?
He was single. Twenty-nine. He spent his days and evenings here, and went to bed early when home. He had zero social life outside of the job. What could he have done that caused someone to report him to legal?
If Gary Brunson and legal were involved, it must be bad. He just had no idea…what.
There was a knock on the conference room door, and then it opened.
He stood up, and ran his hand over his tie.
“Mr. Powell,” Brunson said. He held out his hand as he stepped into the room.
“Mr. Brunson, sir.” They shook hands.
“And this is Ms. Betty Warwick,” Brunson said.
“Ms. Warwick.” He shook her hand next.
She didn’t say anything, just walked around the large table, set her briefcase down on the glass top and sat in a chair by the window.
“Please, sit down,” Brunson said. “Have you tried the danish?”
“Had a big breakfast,” Powell said, and patted his stomach. He thought if he had anything to eat now, he’d vomit. This reminded him of driving with a police car behind him. Even though he hadn’t broken any traffic laws he couldn’t help feeling guilty.
“Sit, then. Please,” Brunson said.
The boss’ suit was Italian, and cost more than Powell made in a month.
“Ms. Warwick?” Brunson pointed at the refreshments.
“I’m all set, Gary,” she said.
Powell watched the dynamics. She used his first name. He’d called her Ms. Warwick. What was up with that?
Brunson snatched a bottle of water. He sat at the head of the table with the lawyer on his right, Powell on the left.
“I bet you’re wondering why we’ve called you up.” Brunson said. He opened the plastic bottle, took a long drink and set the bottle down. He smiled.
“I’m curious, yes.”
“You’ve been with us, how long?” Brunson said.
“About seven years, Mr. Brunson.”
“And you like it? You like working at Circuitz?”
He nodded, maybe a little too vigorously. “I do, sir. Yes.”
“Good. Good. That’s what we like to hear, isn’t it, Ms. Warwick?”
She didn’t reply, but worked the dials unlocking her briefcase. She depressed the snap-releases, and opened the lid.
“You have a bachelor's degree in software engineering, correct?”
“I do. Yes.”
“You had a double major, I believe?”
“Geology,” Louis Powell said. He leaned forward, not sure where the conversation was headed. Regardless, he wanted the big boss to know he had his full, undivided attention. “Just something I’ve always enjoyed. I was taking extra classes anyway. A double major was right there, so I finished taking what was needed.”
“Commendable. Very admirable,” Brunson said.
The smile made Powell a little apprehensive. “Well, I don’t know about all of that. Just a personal choice, really.”
“Did you aspire to work in the field, going on digs and the like?”
“As a kid, a young man, I think part of me did,” Powell said.
“And what changed?” Brunson said.
Louis couldn’t help watching Ms. Warwick. Her expression hadn’t changed. She was writing on a yellow legal pad. Was she taking notes on the conversation? Why would she? His degree had no bearing on his job. Did it?
“I suppose reality changed.”
“Reality?”
“I’m not one for writing grants. Digs need sponsoring. I work for everything I have. If I’d been independently wealthy, maybe I’d have explored the option after graduation. Sooner or later though, I’d have come to the same decision,” he said.
“Same decision?”
“Software engineer. It’s what I’m meant to do,” Powell said.
Brunson laughed. “You think telling me what I want to hear, is what I want to hear.”
Powell offered up a thin smile. “I’m really not sure what is going on, sir. And I’ll admit, I’m a little apprehensive.”
“Apprehensive? Louis, you have no reason to be. Trust me.” Brunson nodded at Ms. Warwick.
She reached into her briefcase.
“Do you know what this is, Mr. Powell?”
Louis. Mr. Powell. The boss was all over the place. It caught him off guard.
Ms. Warwick produced a blue velvet cloth. She unwrapped it. A rock was inside. She set it down on the table.
Powell pointed at it. “May I?”
He pulled the rock close. He turned it over in his hands, and looked at it closely.
“Do you know what it is?” Br
unson said, again.
Powell set the rock down on the velvet. “It looks like coal, the dull, black part embedded in the rest of the sediment.” He ran a finger over it, looked at his finger tip. “But I don’t think it is. I’m not sure what it is.”
“It’s your paycheck, Mr. Powell.” Brunson said. “It is our paycheck. The black rock in there is coltan.”
Coltan. He should have known. He picked up the rock again and studied it more closely. “I’ve never seen it in raw form like this before. It’s a dull, metallic ore.”
“You know something about it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell me what you know,” Brunson said.
“Well, I know that it is often referred to as the blood diamond of the technology world. It looks just like gravel, which was why I said coal. Only because, I guess I couldn’t see you calling me up here to show me a piece of gravel.” Powell set the rock down again. “The parts of this metallic ore are used in circuit boards, cell phones, video game consoles, e-readers, missiles, jet engines…”
Brunson sat forward, his arms on the table. “Exactly. It’s used in capacitors, and tiny components that are essential in managing the flow of current in just about any and every electronic device that exists. The bigger question is, do you know what it is worth?”
Powell shook his head. “I don’t.”
Brunson dropped a finger on a corner of velvet and slid the rock over. “The Tantalite, and Niobium content, as well as radioactive levels are what is looked at when it comes to pricing.”
“Radioactive?”
“This particular piece has low, low radioactive levels. No worries,” the boss said.
Powell was worried. He absently rubbed his palms over his suit pants. “I see,” he said.
“A thousand a pound. If we’re lucky. We pay one thousand dollars for every pound of coltan delivered. Do you know how many pounds of coltan we purchase a year? A month?”
Powell shrugged, and arched his eyebrows. “I don’t, sir.”
“A lot. Astronomical amounts. If Circuitz was a person, this ore is the lifeblood,” he said, holding the rock up as a prop.
Powell was at a loss. He still had no idea why he was here. The only lines he could draw were his degree in geology, and the fact the company used coltan. He kept his mouth shut, and waited.
“We want to promote you, Louis. We want to make you a project manager. How many people do you supervise currently?”
“Seventeen,” Powell said, without hesitation. He knew his staff as well as he knew most of his family. They were also equally as dysfunctional. Like family, though, they were his.
“Wonderful. Wonderful,” Brunson said. “Ms. Warwick has the legal documents for you to look over and sign. There is a fifteen percent raise involved, if that is acceptable?”
“Ah, fifteen percent? Yes. Fifteen percent is acceptable,” Powell said, running numbers inside his head. What clogged the thought process was legal. He’d signed confidentiality and non-compete clauses when hired. He knew what was expected of him as an employee.
“That’s what I hoped to hear.”
“And the legal documents?” Powell pointed at Ms. Warwick.
“We have an additional life policy form, compensation package, and enhanced confidentiality releases that require your signature,” Ms. Warwick said, she stood up and walked over. She set a manila folder down in front of him. There were pages and pages of contracts, and supporting documentation. Sticky arrows were affixed anywhere his signature or initials were needed.
“What is the project?” Powell said, his eyes blurred looking over the paperwork. He couldn’t concentrate on reading what was in front of him with Brunson staring.
“You are going to be in charge of our coltan supply,” Brunson said.
In charge of the coltan supply? Could the geology degree really be paying off? His father would never believe this. “In charge of it, sir?”
“We know you are not married.”
“I’m not.”
“No kids.”
“True.”
“And your parents are retired and living in Florida.”
It was kind of creepy. “You are right,” Powell said.
“Based on everything, we believe you are the best company candidate for the project manager position. I mean if you aren’t interested, we can go to the next person on the list,” Brunson said.
They had a list? “I’m interested. I am,” he said, picked up a pen and started signing and initialing as Ms. Warwick turned pages and pointed.
Brunson stood up. “Congratulations, Mr. Powell. I’m excited to have you on the team.”
They shook hands. He excused himself, leaving Louis alone with the attorney.
Powell stopped when he noticed forms on traveling and Visa application. “Work Visa? Am I going somewhere?”
“We don’t mine for coltan in Pittsburgh, Mr. Powell,” Betty Warwick said.
“So, ah, where am I headed?”
“To where the coltan is,” she said. “Sign here.”
He signed. “Like a process factory? Where is it, Mexico? China?”
“You’re not going to a factory, Mr. Powell. You are going where the ore is mined.”
Where it is mined? “I don’t know where it’s mined from. Where am I going?”
He took the papers from the attorney and flipped through the pages, scanning them more closely. He saw his destination just as the lawyer explained.
“You have agreed to go to central Africa, Mr. Powell. For three months. You will be stationed in the Democratic Republic of the Congo.”
K-Rex is available from Amazon here
Lost World II: Savage Patagonia Page 22