Cold Courage

by Pekka Hiltunen

  ‘Lia Pajala?’

  ‘Lia is a diligent foot soldier. But she’s a bit outspoken. In order to get ahead she would need social skills. And if she hasn’t developed them by now…’

  Filled with bitterness, Lia stared at Matt Thomas’ crooked smile. The AD position had just moved out of reach.

  ‘Speaking of female employees, the Level team has a conspicuous lack of women. Only two in thirteen. At other, similar publications, the proportion of women is closer to forty per cent, sometimes more. Why?’

  Matt Thomas breathed in one second too long. He was not prepared for this.

  ‘I would say it has to do with the history of the magazine. Level first emerged as an overtly political magazine. In politics women have traditionally played a smaller role, and in political journalism men make up the majority.’

  ‘You have hired five of the current employees, none of them women. Why is this?’

  Thomas forced a smile.

  ‘Just chance. But to speak plainly, we’re competing in a tough media market, and the best stories come from editorial departments with balls. If you’ll pardon the expression.’

  ‘Other publications compete in the same market. And they have women,’ Carol Penn observed.

  From the look on Thomas’ face, it was apparent that he felt the interview had just turned into an interrogation.

  ‘Could you describe your collaborative relationship with the magazine’s advertisers?’ Robert Cansai asked, changing the subject.

  Thomas latched on to the question with obvious relief. Lia, on the other hand, let loose a torrent of rage at the video display.

  ‘Male chauvinist wanker. He’s going to pay for this.’

  ‘That won’t be possible,’ Mari said. ‘I’m just sad I can’t put this online. This would be sure to go viral. Posh boss badmouths employees smiling all the while. And to top it off he implies women aren’t cut out for hard work.’

  At the conclusion of the interview, Thomas received an opportunity to share his views on the future of the media business, thus lulling him into thinking that the meeting had gone well.

  When Carol Penn announced that the interview was over, Thomas looked relieved.

  ‘What happens from here depends on our client,’ Penn said. ‘If they select you for the group of final candidates, we will be in touch within two weeks. If you aren’t chosen, we won’t trouble you any more. However, I will say that we receive similar assignments from media corporations relatively often. These interviews never go to waste.’

  Matt Thomas thanked them, seeming satisfied. Then he stood up, shook hands conscientiously with both interviewers and left.

  Mari shifted the video connection back to the lobby. They waited quietly until Thomas returned downstairs in the lift and walked to the reception desk, returning his visitor badge and exiting. His steps were faster now than when he had arrived.

  He’s hurrying back to work. He’s going to go back to the office as if nothing ever happened.

  ‘Thank you,’ Lia said to Mari. ‘I don’t know how you did this, and I don’t know what I should think about it. But thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome. You should get back to your office too,’ Mari said.

  Lia nodded.

  ‘And you can’t tell anyone about this,’ Mari said. ‘Not a living soul.’

  ‘I understand,’ Lia said.

  11

  Lia had difficulty concentrating on her work.

  The experience had been disconcerting. Hearing someone express so directly things that were usually whitewashed was rare. Suddenly the little community at Level looked completely different, and her own future was not feeling particularly rosy any more.

  Even more disconcerting was Mari’s role in all of it. She said she did this ‘for work’. What work was that – luring people into staged job interviews?

  Mari had carefully arranged everything in a perfectly planned information-gathering operation.

  Who is she really? And who are the two interviewers?

  She rang Mari.

  ‘We have to meet again today.’

  ‘Of course. Do you want to come here?’

  ‘I’ll be there sometime after six.’

  ‘Call me when you’re downstairs. The front door is locked at five.’

  Sam, who was sitting next to her, had heard Lia’s call and looked curious.

  ‘Was that the same Mari we met at your birthday party?’

  ‘The very same.’

  ‘She was a bonny lass. Do you think I could call her?’

  ‘Sorry, Sam, but she has a boyfriend. Has had for a long time.’

  Lia didn’t want Mari any more mixed up in her work life than she already was.

  It was already seven o’clock before Lia made it back to Bankside. Mari met her at the doors to the Park Street office building and again led them to the blank top-floor door.

  ‘Come right in. Now I can give you the grand tour.’

  Mari showed Lia from room to room, and Lia was astonished to realise that the place occupied almost the entire floor. The conference room they had used during the day was one of the smaller spaces. Altogether eight rooms made up the suite.

  Of these, the three smallest looked like employee offices, but the style was the same as the conference room. Lia stopped to look at the large, light orange circle on the floor at each workstation.

  They were thin rugs that served several purposes, Mari said. In addition to muffling sound, they contained special sensors that told the office security system whenever anyone moved in the room.

  ‘We call them research rooms,’ Mari said.

  ‘Who made the rugs?’

  ‘A man named Berg. You’ll meet him later. Let’s go to my office,’ Mari said and led them to the following room.

  As she stepped in, Lia stopped.

  The entire Level editorial office would have fitted in Mari’s room. One wall was entirely glass with a handsome view of the old riverside and industrial quarter of Bankside.

  Mari’s personal office held so many unique details and pieces of furniture that Lia didn’t know where to start inspecting them. There were two large, stylish sofas. The desk was enormous, at least ten metres long, with two computers and storage space for papers and other things. The arching shape of it made it look like a piece of art.

  The most startling sight was a floor-to-ceiling shelf full of books and files. In front of them was a large, translucent piece of fabric fixed at the corners to large hooks and at the centre to various shelves. Thin slashes cut through the fabric, making it possible to remove the books. From the sides of the room, beams of light fell on the fabric, highlighting its beautiful texture.

  That is the most beautiful wall I have ever seen.

  ‘The same Mr Berg?’ Lia asked.

  Mari nodded.

  ‘We’ll come back here when you’ve seen the other spaces.’

  Nothing could have prepared Lia for what awaited her in the next room she saw. Nearly as large as Mari’s office, it had special lamps whose light seemed to change as they moved. The space was like a combination of computer manufacturing R&D workshop and small instrument laboratory. At least twenty computers littered the room. Some had their cases removed, and custom peripherals and bundles of cables bristled from them all.

  The equipment in the room would have been a valuable haul for burglars, but strong locks, surveillance cameras and other security arrangements protected the office, Mari said.

  ‘What is this place?’ Lia asked.

  ‘Rico’s kingdom. He’s our CTO.’

  ‘Where is Rico?’

  ‘Today was a short day. Everyone was concentrating on Elevate, and after that it was time for a break.’

  ‘How many people work here?’

  ‘It varies, but usually four or five. But let’s go and look at the Den.’

  The Den was an open space of a couple of hundred square metres.

  ‘A cosy little den?’ Lia asked.

  �
��Berg named it. This is his den.’

  The Den would have looked like an industrial hall, but moveable screens of different colours and the same patterns painted on the walls as in the conference room made it interesting. The workstations had various work surfaces, drafting and printing equipment, and even a small press with an endless assortment of tools and materials scattered around. Someone could probably have assembled a small house with the tools and supplies sitting there.

  At one side of the Den was a beautiful kitchen partitioned off by more screens. The enormous hooks hanging from the ceiling were the only unique thing about it. Berg loved hammocks, Mari explained.

  ‘I’ve never seen a better kitchen. You can cook practically anything you can imagine here,’ Mari said with pride.

  Next to the refrigerators was a wine cooler, from which she retrieved a bottle of white wine and two glasses.

  ‘Let’s go to my room.’

  Once back in Mari’s office, they sat on one of the two sofas.

  ‘So what is this place really?’ Lia asked.

  Mari poured the wine and offered Lia a glass.

  ‘This is my studio. And that’s what we call it, the Studio. Artists and musicians and designers call their workspaces studios. We also create things.’

  ‘Things like that meeting with Matt Thomas?’

  ‘Things like that too. Actually, what I do doesn’t have its own name,’ Mari said, looking thoughtful. ‘At least I’ve never come up with a single word to describe it. We usually just talk about jobs or gigs. When a job comes up that needs handling, I handle it.’

  ‘Like my troubles at work?’

  ‘That thing we did today probably felt like overkill. And it was. But it worked. Now you know what Matt Thomas thinks of you, and you can decide for yourself what to do.’

  ‘Let’s not go there now,’ Lia said. ‘Too many things are happening at once here.’

  Mari told her that the Studio had only been in operation for two years. She had worked for much longer to get it set up and staffed with the right people: an IT professional, a detective, an actor and a carpenter, who could also pull off magic tricks from time to time.

  ‘Here we fix things that are on the wrong track. Or which I wish were different.’

  Lia listened with furrowed brow.

  ‘You plan… operations to help people?’

  ‘That makes it sound like we’re some kind of do-gooders. But in most cases, we do what we do because I want something for myself.’

  Whether the job was large or small, first they investigated the background – better than most police detectives or journalists did. When the plan was ready, they did trial runs, practising everything before taking the operation live.

  This way they could prepare for any eventualities that might crop up. For example, if Matt Thomas had thought to demand that he not be videotaped, the interviewers would have flipped a switch on the camera that made it look as though it were shut off.

  ‘We thought through every detail.’

  On the table before Thomas were a notebook and pen. If he had looked more closely, he would have seen the firm’s name and logo printed on them. In the WC and coffee alcove of the office suite where the interview took place were paper cups sporting the same insignia.

  ‘And what if he had looked the firm up online?’ Lia asked.

  ‘He probably did. You can go and look at what’s there too. Elevate has a website, and you can find references to the firm on headhunting sites and other places around the web.’

  That was Rico’s field. Within half a day he could produce a website and online history for anything. If necessary he could also blot out information, although of course he could not completely erase history on the internet.

  ‘And the receptionist? You said she was a real worker. What if Thomas had asked her about Elevate?’

  ‘Also researched and tested.’

  The Mayfair office building leased space to dozens of companies, and tenants changed frequently. Elevate had come to the building a week and a half earlier, and the building staff had already received several visitors for the firm.

  ‘We went there ourselves, playing various roles,’ Mari said.

  ‘And what if Thomas suddenly decides to go back? What if he’s dropped his handkerchief or something?’

  Mari laughed.

  ‘You’re just as exacting as I thought. Yes, we also took that into consideration. Elevate will still be there tomorrow, and the signs will stay up for another month.’

  Studio staff had been through the Elevate office suite after Thomas left. One of them would still drop in from time to time. The reception desk had received notice that the staff were out doing customer visits now, and if anyone came asking about Elevate, they would notify the Studio immediately.

  ‘We’re professionals, Lia. And I have my gift to help me. I went to have a look at Matt Thomas so I could know how he might react to different situations.’

  She’s so good it’s scary.

  To Mari Lia said, ‘I like the firm’s name. Elevate. It promises upward movement.’

  ‘I thought that was a good one too. Part of the joy of work like this is in the details.’

  Mari asked whether Lia’s curiosity was satisfied now and would they still have time to go out.

  ‘Don’t count on it,’ Lia said. ‘I still have plenty of questions. Like, how can you afford this? Just paying for the office space must be crushing, and then there’s the equipment and all the people.’

  That Mari was unwilling to discuss.

  ‘Not even with you,’ she said. ‘What I can say is that I’m well off.’

  Mari said she had created many good relationships over the years. There were people who were very grateful for the assistance they had received and wanted to thank her for her expertise. That had allowed her to make wise investments and acquisitions.

  ‘You’re rich,’ Lia said.

  Really she was saying it to herself. Mari had never thrown her money around.

  ‘I’m not ultra-rich or anything like that. I just have assets invested in enough ways that I don’t have to think about them.’

  Lia started laughing.

  ‘What now?’

  ‘I just remembered what you said about your relatives. That they combined a sense of social responsibility with the desire to make money. Social democrats with big houses.’

  Mari laughed, and suddenly Lia felt better.

  She’s still the same woman I’ve come to know.

  Gradually Lia tired too much to continue asking questions. This felt like the hardest working day she had had in ages.

  The wine relaxed her mood. When Mari talked about the Studio, Lia felt as though she were listening to stories about any old workplace.

  ‘They’re smart,’ Mari said of the employees she had hired. ‘People with opinions I want to listen to. They have life experience. And the ability to analyse things.’

  The Studio staff enjoyed a special solidarity.

  A thirty-year-old Brazilian computer geek who had come to London to make more money, Rico had been the first paid employee. Growing up in the slums of São Paulo, Rico learned early on how to crack open old, cast-off computers, fix them and soup them up.

  ‘I’ve never seen anything he couldn’t do with a computer if you just give him a few days.’

  Hacking into other people’s machines was child’s play – Rico was more interested in things like taking control of entire communications systems. At the Studio he had also learned precision mechanics.

  Berg, the head of the Den, was sixty years old and from Sweden, but he had lived most of his life in England.

  He was a carpenter, but also so much more. He could create anything out of wood, fabric, plastic and metal. And when they needed things printed, for example to create the illusion of a long-established company, his handiwork was flawless.

  ‘You’re going to like him. He’s sort of a tinkerer,’ Mari said.

  Carol Penn, the woma
n Lia had seen on the video feed, had been played by Maggie Thornton.

  Maggie had attended RADA, the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art, and had once performed in theatres all across the country. Even in her acting career she had been in the habit of researching every possible detail related to her roles. Maggie also did background research at the Studio and was quick at deciphering information and summarising it for others. Due to the lack of demand for ageing actresses, she had been unemployed for several years. Mari frequently used other actors as jobbers, such as the man who played Robert Cansai earlier in the day.

  The Studio’s fifth permanent employee was Patrick Moore.

  ‘We just call him Paddy. He’s the one who spends the least time here. He also does work for other people, on his own account.’

  Paddy Moore was a private investigator, who handled everything for the Studio which had to do with physical security systems and anything requiring police experience. He had also trained the Studio employees in background investigation and human tracking.

  Paddy had attended a police college and worked as an officer in London for two years. However, after losing patience with the slow pace of career advancement, he shifted to working for private security firms and developed expertise in escorting VIPs.

  ‘Paddy looks rough, but you’d have a chore finding a more reliable bloke. He either finds you a safe route or he makes one.’

  Paddy’s past also included a jaunt onto the other side of the law. With two other men, he had robbed a Thomas Cook security van in Manchester. After being caught, he did two and a half years of a six-year sentence and was now out on parole.

  ‘That’s one reason he’s such a good employee for us. He can’t qualify for any of the big security firms, and he’s too good for any of the small ones. He’s been satisfied with the work we’ve been able to give him. And I am extremely satisfied with him.’

  As Mari spoke about Paddy, she also provided the answer to one of the questions that had been bothering Lia. Everyone else at the Studio seemed like experts in creative fields, and Mari was a psychologist. Perhaps Paddy Moore’s police and security experience explained why their work seemed so focused and purposeful. The Matt Thomas interview had looked like the work of a precise military machine.