Devil's Move

by Leslie Wolfe

  “Jeez! I care because it’s wrong. There’s no room for error in this contract. I’ve worked with offshore vendors enough to know how deadlines are missed, quality is not respected, promises are not kept, and products are substandard. In the end, it costs you double anyway. We just can’t screw up this particular contract, and if we send it offshore like we’re doing everything else these days, we’re screwed.” She stopped talking for a while, concentrating on driving the curvy, slippery mountain road. “Plus, there will be a lot of media involved.”

  “Media? So it’s that kind of strategic, large project, huh? I think I might have an idea what project you’re talking about.”

  “No, you don’t; you’re not supposed to, shush,” she silenced him. “But yes, it is that kind of strategic project. We’re all going to look like absolute idiots—no, even worse, like traitors—giving such a contract to an offshore company when this country’s labor force has still not recovered after the last depression. Reckless, deluded idiots, that’s what they are.”

  “Baby, I know how you feel about this entire offshoring business, and trust me, I feel the same way too. Everyone knows this is one of the things that has robbed us of our standard of living and our jobs and everything. Politicians and business leaders are the only ones who don’t wanna see it, because they make more money putting everyone else into the ground. But this is old news. Why get so angry now? What changed?”

  “It’s just this particular contract, that’s all. I cannot agree to send it offshore. I can’t tell you what this contract is about, can’t even confirm your guess, but trust me: for this specific contract, offshoring is terribly wrong. I have a very bad feeling about it.”

  “Are they forcing you to accept it?”

  “My boss has a very balanced way to select vendors. The entire team weighs in; it’s not top-down driven.” She corrected her approach on a tight, descending curve at the last moment, making the Jeep’s wheels squeal.

  “Then?”

  “My team is filled with idiots too, just like the rest of this shortsighted world of greedy fools. They only see the apparently low prices of offshore outsourcing. They don’t, or won’t, see beyond that. They don’t think, and they never learn, even from their own bad experiences.”

  “OK, I get it, or I think I do. Listen, baby, here’s what I think. Unless you are very calm and relaxed about this situation, you cannot persuade anyone of anything, You’ll just throw spaz attacks like you did with me on the plane. No one will take you seriously. You have to let go and stop caring before you can begin to care effectively.”

  “Huh...What line of business did you say you were in? ’Cause you definitely do not talk like a biologist.”

  Bo laughed, relieving the tension in the car. “I’m full of surprises, baby; we’ll explore a few in just a little while.” He put his hand on her leg, right above the knee, and squeezed playfully.

  She squealed, then touched him on his arm to get his attention. “Hey, what’s that?” She pointed at a red flicker, coming from the woods ahead of them.

  “Where?”

  “It’s gone. No, here it is again. It comes and it goes.”

  “Looks like a signal, or maybe a laser. Maybe someone is playing.”

  “It’s brighter; now I see it all the time.” She squinted, as the red laser beam started to blind her. She slowed down, but it wasn’t helping. “I’m pulling over,” she said, worried.

  “No, keep going,” Bo said. “Step on it. I really don’t think stopping now is such a good idea.”

  She hit the gas, partially covering her eyes with her hand to escape the blinding glare of the red laser. Then she felt the Jeep hit the railing and plunge into the darkness, ripping through tree branches and brush. She heard herself shriek. Then nothing, just silence and darkness.

  ...Chapter 8: Thank You Dinner

  ...Saturday, December 26, 5:16PM PST (UTC-8:00 hours)

  ...Tom Isaac’s Residence

  ...Laguna Beach, California

  Alex loved going to Tom and Claire’s place. Following the gentle curves of Cliff Drive and passing by houses decorated for the holidays, she let the Christmas spirit invade her. It had been more than ten years since she had left her parents’ home, and she had never looked back. She couldn’t look back, even if she wanted to. Many Christmases had been lonely and sad since that day in her past, but not anymore. She had a new family now.

  Pulling up in front of Tom’s perfectly landscaped front yard, she noticed a black Bentley stopped along the curb. Oh shit, the client is here already, she thought. Sucks to be late. She entered through the side gate, going straight for the backyard.

  “There she is.” Steve cheered, raising his beer bottle to greet her.

  “Women love to make an entrance,” Richard announced humorously. He gave her a hug, clumsily, so he wouldn’t disturb Little Tom, hanging around his neck. Alex wondered how this relationship had started. Little Tom, the resident Siamese cat, had eyes for no one else but his owner, Tom Isaac. Yet, whenever Richard was around, the cat jumped and wrapped himself around Richard’s neck like a scarf, letting his paws hang loose on both sides. Looking at the two of them, Alex couldn’t decide which one of them enjoyed the relationship more.

  Richard Fergusson, financial and business genius, was a key asset to The Agency. He stepped in whenever clients needed a strong hand taking over on an interim basis. He was comfortable leading in any C-suite role, and still looked classy and distinguished while wearing a Siamese cat around his neck, on top of his Versace suit. As for Little Tom’s choice of venue, that remained a mystery. Maybe Richard is wearing catnip cologne, Alex thought with a silent giggle.

  “Hello, dear.” Claire Isaac gave her a warm hug. “Merry Christmas!”

  “Merry Christmas to you too, Claire. Are you having a good time with this invasion?” Alex pointed toward the rest of the guests, scattered in the Christmas-lit backyard. Most of them had gathered around the barbecue, where Tom was making large gestures with his tongs, generating waves of laughter. It was a rare occasion to see everyone assembled. It had to be Christmas, or the end of a client engagement. Today it was both.

  “Loving every minute,” Claire said, and then took a sip from her drink, a tall glass filled with a clear liquid, small ice cubes, and herbs.

  “What is that you’re drinking? Always wanted to ask.”

  “It’s an angry mojito, dear,” Claire said with amusement.

  “Why would a mojito be angry?”

  “’Cause it doesn’t have anything sweet in it. It’s just Bacardi, mint leaves, lime juice, Pellegrino water, and ice.”

  “Interesting,” Alex said.

  “Would you like to try one?” Claire offered.

  “I’ll stick to martinis for now, but later,” she said, dropping her voice to a whisper, “after the client leaves, I’ll take you up on that offer.”

  “Deal,” Claire said, wrapping her arm around Alex’s shoulders and giving her a quick side hug.

  Alex relished Claire’s affection. As the only female on the team, she had sought Claire’s advice many times. Her balanced manner, resourcefulness, and wisdom had helped guide Alex’s development from the young, ambitious, and vulnerable kid who had taken a dangerous job just a year before into the driven investigator she had become.

  Alex went over to greet Steve. He was leaning against a retaining wall and holding a beer bottle with one hand and a cigar with the other; his demeanor reflected calm and satisfied accomplishment. It was a feeling the whole team was sharing, except maybe for the calm part. Alex felt more enthusiastic, more energetically satisfied with their latest accomplishment, rather than calm.

  Steve Mercer, however, a veteran with The Agency and a psychologist, would definitely be the one to remain calm about things, no matter how things evolved. He helped everyone on the team understand motivations and analyze social and organizational processes that broke down within organizations. Steve was the profiler, predicting behaviors and narrow
ing lists of potential suspects. Steve was also the one who assisted clients through the stressful, many times afflictive, unfolding of events that usually followed most of The Agency deployments. Alex had Steve’s number on speed-dial; he was her closest friend, the first to become her friend when she had joined the team.

  “Hey,” Steve said, giving her a quick hug.

  Alex blushed slightly. Their relationship could have been more. She had wanted it to become more, but she had withdrawn, afraid to ruin their friendship and impact their work together. It was complicated.

  “Hey to you, too.” She smiled warmly.

  Just a few feet away, there was Brian, engaged in a four-way conversation with Tom, Lou, and Blake Bernard, their client. Brian stepped sideways, allowing her to approach the small circle. Lou, still the shy new guy when everyone else was around, waved briefly to say hi.

  “Good evening, young lady,” Tom greeted her ceremoniously, waving his tongs in a mimic of a hello.

  “Miss Hoffmann,” the client greeted her with a head nod.

  “It’s Alex,” she said, extending her hand.

  “Blake,” the client responded. “I guess we can drop the formalities; we’re off the record here, aren’t we?” Blake was wearing a long, black cashmere scarf that gave him an air of stylish elegance; the scarf matched his black eyes and raven hair. What was it with rich men and their scarves?

  “Yes, we are,” Tom confirmed.

  “What are you grilling?” Alex asked. The smell was awesome.

  “Tonight’s special is flank steak, with mushrooms and some grilled veggies on the side. We can do burgers, if you prefer.”

  “Oh, no, I would never trade down from your steaks, Tom.” Alex laughed. “They’re to die for.”

  “Hear, hear,” Brian Woods seconded.

  Claire approached with a bottle of champagne, followed by Richard holding a tray with tall champagne glasses, cat scarf still on. Tom grabbed the bottle and asked, “Who wants to do the honors?”

  Steve started to move toward the bottle, but the client was closer.

  “I’ll take care of this,” he said, grabbing the bottle and proceeding promptly to uncork it. It popped loudly and ceremoniously just seconds later, in a wave of applause and laughter.

  “Cheers,” they all said, taking their glasses and clinking them together in a toast.

  “Cheers, my friends,” Blake said, putting the empty bottle down and raising his glass. “Please, let me take a few minutes and thank you all for saving me, for saving my bank. You are the most incredible group of people I have ever had the privilege of working with. You are the textbook illustration of what a good team can be and how a team can work.” He stopped briefly and grinned. “You know, at first, when I heard about you guys and what you do, I was very doubtful. I thought to myself, ‘how are these people going to figure out what’s wrong from the outside when I’m in the office every day and still can’t figure it out?’ But you held up to your reputation and then some. I guess when you are too close to the trees you really can’t see the forest, after all.”

  He smiled bashfully and continued. “Now it’s over, and I have my peace of mind back. Thanks to you, to all of you,” he said, gesturing widely with his glass. “Thank you, Tom, for taking my case when I had very little information or proof to get you started. Thank you, Brian, for all your tech savvy and all your sleepless nights deploying the tools that we needed to figure things out. Thank you, Steve, for your patience and diligence in managing my expectations and keeping me from going crazy at times. Thank you, Lou, for hacking into our bank’s systems and figuring out where the money went.”

  He looked at Lou as his smile widened and turned into laughter. “Hell, I never thought I’d ever thank a hacker,” he said, raising his glass in a salute to Lou. “You found out where the money was going, tracked it across countries and continents, and you also proved that our system’s security wasn’t worth much, right?”

  “About twenty-two minutes worth of effort, sir,” Lou said, blushing slightly. Everyone laughed.

  “Yep, we got work to do in that department. Thank you, Richard, for agreeing to be my right hand until we clean up this mess and for smoothing things over with the authorities. Your diplomacy and negotiation skills are second to none.”

  Richard nodded, thanking Blake for his appreciation.

  “Do you guys realize,” Blake said, “what a big achievement it is to have a money-laundering investigation conducted so discreetly that no one was the wiser?” He turned to Alex and continued. “Thank you for your courage and intelligence, for having the guts to join my organization in such a challenging role, and for figuring things out without disturbing operations or alerting anyone of your actions. Your success and your discretion kept the reputation of the bank intact.”

  Blake took another sip, continued speaking, and extracted an envelope from his pocket. “This is for you,” he said, handing Tom the envelope. “I wanted to give this little speech before formally closing our accounts. Well, what can I say? I am a banker, so I think like a banker.” He laughed. Everyone joined in on the laughter. “Moreover, please accept the unrestricted use of my company jet, for any one of you, for whatever reason, for as long as you need it, as many times as you need it. Please take advantage of it. Impress a girl.” Blake winked in Lou’s direction. “Or take a vacation in style.”

  A brief silence indicated how overwhelmed they all felt for a moment. This was unexpected, even coming from one of the richest people in the United States.

  “Wow,” Lou whispered.

  “Thank you, we will,” Tom said, “if your team members won’t need it at the same time, or something.”

  “Even if they do, they can fly commercial. I can fly commercial if you need the jet. I owe you that much.” He suddenly thought of something and, almost startled, looked at the thick smoke coming from the grill. “Did I talk too much? Can the steak still be salvaged?”

  Roars of laughter broke around the grill.

  “We will have to investigate the matter, discreetly,” Tom responded, gesturing with his tongs.

  ...Chapter 9: Devastating News

  ...Monday, December 28, 8:22AM EST (UTC-5:00 hours)

  ...DCBI Headquarters, Sixth Floor Conference Room

  ...Washington, DC

  Robert Wilton’s morning brought a whirlwind of mixed feelings. He closed the door to the conference room and walked slowly to the window, taking in the early morning city landscape. A partly sunny sky, sunrise colors still playing in the clouds. A tough day ahead of him.

  It was his first day back in the office after taking time off to be with his wife, Melanie, as she underwent heart transplant surgery in Vermont. The surgery had been uneventful, and Melanie was accepting her new heart well. She was resting comfortably at their home, on her way to making a full recovery. He was happy for her, for both of them. Every new day they had together now seemed so precious.

  Yet almost every night he thought of the deal he had made, and that thought kept him awake, tossing and turning, afraid to think what could be asked of him in return. Almost every night he’d anguish, then reach the same conclusion over and over again. His wife’s life was worth whatever sacrifice he was going to have to make when that Mr. Helms came calling. Robert had no doubt he would come calling soon. Very soon.

  He walked along the windows of the conference room, mentally preparing for his staff meeting at 9:00AM. It felt good to be back; he had missed the office, but he was coming back to sad news. Laura Roberts, his right hand and main resource on vendor assessment, had died in a car accident during the Christmas holiday. She had only been thirty-seven years old. He leaned his forehead against the cold windowpane. What a shame.

  It was hard to deliver bad news to a closely knit team such as theirs. Five people on his team, now only four left. He had been their leader for twelve years and had seen some of them develop from young and enthusiastic college grads into professionals he could trust and rely on. Laura had
been the youngest of the team. Robert felt a sense of personal loss; she had been more than just an employee. All of them were more like family. He was invested in their careers just as much as they were. He was an open-minded, empowering leader, focused on delivering value and performance to the organization by building value and performance in his people. That had been his goal all along, and his team had embraced it and soared. It was hard to tell the team about Laura.

  After a sequence of rapid knocks on the door, Ellen Butler’s head popped in.

  “’Morning, boss, welcome back!”

  “Thanks, Ellen, good to be back.”

  Ellen was a very bright young analyst in charge of Vendor Metrics and Performance. Her job was to measure the results of all vendor processes or projects and report anomalies. She partnered closely in her work with Jimmy Doherty, director of Vendor Quality, and with Brad Cooper, the senior project manager for Strategic Initiatives. Whenever numbers were subpar, she worked with the offending vendor to make sure the numbers got back on track. The three employees managed vendors and held them accountable for executing and delivering projects, on time and on budget.

  Other divisions and business units in the company were routinely involved in these projects. The sourcing team referred to them as the “internal clients.” DCBI was quite large, with more than 14,000 employees worldwide.

  The team members managed their vendors through straightforward processes that made sense and were easy to maintain and drive. At the front end of the vendor management lifecycle stood Laura, in charge of Vendor Assessment. Had stood. She had been the one assessing the competing vendors and evaluating their capabilities, reputations, solvability, quality standards, and overall suitability against specific requirements set forth in each project plan. She made recommendations, and the rest of the team brainstormed and prioritized vendors.

  Then, with input from their internal client (usually the project or program manager for the respective initiative), a decision would be made and a vendor would be awarded the contract. Once the contract had been awarded, Eddie Swanson’s role would start. He was director of Vendor Engagement. His role was to make sure the vendors engaged smoothly and the work started flowing per specification and without incurring delays. Eddie’s team built the relationships between DCBI and the vendor and was responsible for educating the vendors regarding expectations, DCBI culture, values, and commitment to quality.