by Nick Thacker
But the party turned at the last minute and headed toward another table, near the back of the restaurant. He saw the lead man wave at a couple that had already been seated at the large banquet table.
He turned back to his bread, fiddled with the cold steel knife on the unforgiving piece of butter, and was about to take a bite when someone said his name.
“Father Canisius?” a woman’s voice asked.
He looked up, sucked in a breath. He had to steady his nerves as well as his reaction as he took in the sight of a very attractive woman, perhaps fifteen or twenty years his junior. Another characteristic of his line of work was not often interacting with women dressed as she was.
The woman wore what he could only describe as a “ballroom dress,” a sequined emerald-green dress that clung to her curved body. A single strap carried the dress up and over a shoulder; the other was bare. Her hair was wavy, dark-brown with streaks of red that he wasn’t sure was natural or dyed. Her eyes were quick, sharp and alert, and her entire presence screamed control.
He sat up straighter in his chair, inadvertently clearing his throat and wiping his hands on his legs.
“I — uh, pardon me,” he said, rising to his feet. “I apologize, I am waiting for someone.”
He reached out a hand, expecting her to place hers within it, daintily, as the proper women of his generation had been taught. Instead, she gripped his tightly and shook it, once, never releasing eye contact. Her smile leaned out of the side of her mouth, a corner of her lip creeping upward.
“Father Canisius,” she said again. “My name is Rebecca St. Clair. I’m with the Orland Group.”
He couldn’t hide his surprise. They sent a woman? “Oh,” he said. “I do apologize, then. I believed I was waiting for, uh…” he stopped when he realized his folly.
“For a man?” St. Clair said, pulling the chair across from Canisius’ out and taking a seat.
“Well, uh, I —”
She smiled, but he could see the fire in her eyes. “Please,” she said. “No problem. It wouldn’t be the first time.”
He put the bread back on the table — he hadn’t realized he’d been holding it the entire time — and then sat once again. “Well, I mean no disrespect. In my particular business, it is, well, somewhat of a fraternity.”
She smiled again, and this time it seemed she actually believed it. “Never mind. I am sorry I’m late,” she continued. “This entire trip has been a whirlwind of logistical nightmares. I’m supposed to be at a gala across town after our meeting — I do hope we don’t have to cut things short.”
He tapped at the corners of his mouth with his heavy cloth napkin before speaking. “Well, I have to admit that in my own logistical excitement, I was unable to read the brief detailing our meeting here.”
She waved it off. “You weren’t supposed to know. Think nothing of it — it does not speak to your intelligence or capability, Father. It is merely a precaution. These meetings can be rather delicate.”
He nodded, but knew the confusion was showing on his face. Am I truly the right man for this job? He had been given hardly any information. Mostly numbers, at what price they were hoping to close the deal, a few pointers, and then he had been told to get ready. That everything else would become clear during the meeting.
“Anyway,” St. Clair said, reaching into a small clutch she’d been holding. “If you don’t mind, I won’t be eating. Please do not let it stop you, and please know that my company will graciously accept the tab.”
“Thank you for that,” he said. “Can you… tell me a bit about what we are negotiating?”
She looked at him inquisitively, as if contemplating something. “Father, this will not be much of a negotiation. The price has all but been set.”
“Then why —”
“We are here to sign the papers and shake hands, and those two events will take place over the course of two separate meetings. As we’ve already shaken hands, I believe our meeting is now adjourned.”
“Then why did they —”
“Deals like this often have the side effect of ‘leaking,’ as I like to say. Either from one party or the other. My organization is public, which implies a certain sense of openness. Transparency.” She cocked an eyebrow, as if saying, just like yours. “But these deals always lean more to the private side of things, and I have a lot of employees working very hard to keep the details on that side. As such, it is of the utmost importance that we both conduct our business with discretion, brevity, and clarity. And, it goes without saying, our agreement is fully binding and oral in nature.”
“A contract that will not be signed?” he asked.
“Oral does not preclude a signature — it will simply happen virtually, through an encrypted digital connection that records our verbal acceptance as the signature itself once we are both satisfied with the final terms.” She pulled her hand out of the clutch and revealed a single sheet of paper, about the size of an index card. She didn’t offer it to Father Canisius. “Now, I believe the agreement our stakeholders came to was an exchange of thirty-two point two three million dollars upon successful negotiation here, and an additional amount of exactly three times that upon successful delivery of the first prototypes.”
Prototypes? Delivery? He wished he had not left his antacid medication back at the hotel. “Uh, yes,” he mumbled. “That is the number — price — my associates have prepared.”
“Very well.”
He waited.
“I believe we are done here.”
This time he didn’t even try to hide his shock. “I — I am sorry, Ms. St. Clair. This, all of this — whatever we are to call it — does not make sense to me. I traveled halfway around the world to meet with a —”
“You traveled here to do business with the Orland Group, and you are.”
“May I ask what the nature of your work is with the Orland Group, Ms. St. Clair?” He was tired of feeling beaten down — getting interrupted — by this woman.
“Of course,” she said. “I should have given you a card before I sat down. I am not used to being unrecognized, a feeling I’m sure you know well.”
He nodded, feeling slightly sated for the moment.
The woman reached back into her clutch and withdrew another piece of paper, this one cardstock and in the unmistakable shape of a business card. She handed it to him. The front had the Orland Group logo and nothing else, and turned it over to the back.
He could feel the smug grin he knew she was pointing in his direction as he read the opposite side.
It had her name, Rebecca St. Clair, in all capital letters on one line, then an email address.
Below that, separated by a blank line, was a single word.
President.
17
Ben
The morning flew by. In less than an hour Ben had packed a change of clothes, some bathroom essentials, and Julie’s laptop. He wasn’t sure he’d even get a chance to use the clothes or hygiene items, but he wanted to at least have another way to reach the rest of the CSO team besides his phone.
Julie’s car was gone, but no one had seen her leave. Victoria’s own rental car was missing too, leaving Ben to deduce that Julie had done exactly what he was afraid she’d do: she’d gone with Victoria Reyes to Peru. At this point, Julie would be halfway to Anchorage. His fears were confirmed when he saw a note from Julie laying on the end table.
Ben, it began. I know how this is going to make you feel. I’m sorry. I didn’t want it to start like this, but I thought it was the only way. I hope you can forgive me, but I really hope you’ll join me. — I love you, Jules.
He held the note with a trembling hand. This can’t be real, he thought. This can’t be happening.
He stuffed the note into his pocket and threw the duffel bag over his shoulder. Reggie was waiting for him in the living room.
“Ready?” he asked.
Reggie nodded, wiggling his prosthetic arm. “Yes. And Archie left a few minutes ago. Has to
take the rental car back and all that. Sorry, man. I had no idea —”
“It’s fine,” Ben said. “Not your fault.”
Mrs. E entered the room. “I spoke with Julie’s parents in the CSO wing. They are upset, but they understand that this is her job.”
“This is not her job,” Ben said. “Telling us where she’s going and discussing it with us is her job.”
“Harvey,” Mrs. E said. “I understand. We are going after her, okay?”
“Yeah, brother,” Reggie said. “She might be getting to Anchorage in fifteen minutes, but then she’ll have to get her ticket, wait for TSA, all that fun stuff.”
Mrs. E’s eyes fell to the floor, and Ben noticed it immediately. “What do you know?”
She lifted her head up. Her face was at Ben’s eye level. Back-to-back the woman was tall as he was, nearly as tall as Reggie. “I… uh…”
“Great,” Ben said. “You’re telling me she’s not going to the airport?”
“No, she is. Just not —”
“Just not a commercial flight,” Reggie said. “You got her a private plane?”
“Her and Victoria,” Mrs. E said. “But our own tickets have already been purchased. Me, Archibald, you, and Reggie. Archie is flying out tomorrow, and he’ll either meet up with us there or stay back in Iquitos and offer support from there.”
She was going to continue, but must have seen the look on Ben’s face. “Harvey, I —”
“You did this? You betrayed me — all of us!”
“Please, Harvey. Please understand that my husband and —”
Ben knew immediately. “He was behind this, wasn’t he? That little speech of his, the one-on-one conversation I had with him. He was trying to talk me off the ledge. To get me to agree that this was all a good idea. But he already had plans. He already knew Julie was going, and he helped her do it.”
“Harvey, I am truly —”
“Save it, E,” Ben said. He turned and stomped out of the living room and out into the chilly morning. He made a quick pace toward his SUV, tossed the duffel across the console and onto the backseat, then started the engine before he’d even fully descended onto his seat.
Reggie was there in another second, and he pulled the door open and slid in.
“You’re not packed,” Ben said.
“Technically neither are you.”
“I’m talking about —”
“I know, man,” Reggie said. “And I figured it didn’t matter. Mr. E has a private jet for them, ready to go. That means he’s been planning. Maybe not for a long time, but long enough that I don’t think we’ll need to worry about packing.”
“You think he’s got clothes for us, too?”
“Ben, this is going to be a military-style invasion. Surgical. Precise. Tactical. He’ll have full fatigues, in all our sizes, weapons, and a team.”
“A team?”
“Remember what I was telling you about? The contacts I’ve got?”
“You’re behind this, too? I can’t believe —”
“Ben, relax. No, I’m not,” Reggie said. “Honestly. I had no idea. But Mr. E knows my contacts. He knows how to get them onboard, and he’s got plenty of his own contacts. I have no doubt he’ll have a group of Special Forces ready and waiting in Peru.”
“Great,” Ben said. “Just great. We don’t get time to plan anything out ourselves, to think through this.”
“There’s not a lot of time, Ben. You know Garza. He’ll move as soon as he feels threatened. As soon as he’s done with whatever it is he’s been working on down there.”
“I know, but it still doesn’t give us time —”
“And, if I remember correctly, it’s a long flight from Alaska to Peru. We’ll have plenty of time to think through whatever you and I can come up and call it a plan.”
Ben sighed, for the first time that morning taking a deep breath. He needed to do that more often — to just stop and breathe. Julie was gone, but he knew where she was and where she was heading. And this time she had the backing of her team. The CSO was on the offensive, planning to move against a known enemy who wouldn’t know they were coming.
That enemy had bested them before, but now they would also have the help of another trained force — Special Forces, actual Green Berets, working with them.
He hoped.
18
Edmund
Edmund sat in his chair, knowing the shock and incredulity were still registered on his face. He was broadcasting uncertainty, insecurity. He did not like that feeling, nor did he appreciate another person causing him to feel vulnerable.
“Wait,” He said.
Rebecca St. Clair had begun walking away, but she turned a few feet from the table and looked down at Father Canisius.
“I must say… I did not expect someone like you.”
“A woman?”
“Someone so confident. It threw me off.”
“I get that a lot,” she said. “Although it is unfortunate there are not more people so confident in your line of work.”
Canisius smiled, ignoring the slight, then continued. “I just felt as though I have been woefully underprepared for this interaction. And it is not for lack of trying — I was not briefed by my supervisors or subordinates, and the research I attempted to do on your company personally turned up next to nothing on your company.”
“The Orland Group has been famously vague,” St. Clair responded. “And that is on purpose, to protect our interests as well as our shareholders.”
“Which tells me that the deal I am brokering here today requires a bit of finesse.”
“A bit, yes,” she said with that same smile that had first thrown him off.
“And your confidence, your entire persona, tells me that this deal is not entirely reliant upon your willingness to negotiate with me.”
She walked back over and took a seat once again. “An astute judgement, Father. You are correct — this deal is all but finalized.”
“Then I must ask, again — why send me to shake your hand? If the papers are all but signed already, and my being here has no purpose, then —”
“That’s just it,” she said, cutting him off. “Your being here is the purpose. The deal will be done, but having a man of your stature sends more of a message than what the deal alone could — and the message your presence sends is, believe it or not, one that will be received faster than the news of the deal.”
Canisius was still very confused, but he tried not to show it. A deal that requires a cardinal to fly halfway across the world, just for appearance? A negotiation that is already finished before I arrive?
“Publicity,” he said, almost under his breath. “They need my name — my face. This is for the publicity.”
“Correct,” she said.
“Then why not just tell me? Why keep this all a secret? If Orland Group needs to parade my face and name in public to help with branding, then —”
“Not Orland Group, Father,” St. Clair said. “The publicity is needed for your side of the negotiation.”
Father Canisius shook his head, still not understanding. “And you cannot tell me what it is, exactly, we are ‘negotiating’ for?”
“No,” she said. “Not exactly.”
His ears perked up. Not exactly. Perhaps, then, subtly? “Orland Group, from what I can gather based on the minimal information on your website and some of the information gleaned from a few other public deals, works with defense contractors?”
“We work with many contractors, in many different sectors.”
“Yet one of your largest customers last year was the Australian military.”
“Yes, we do business throughout the world.”
He smiled. She is not going to make this easy, he thought. “Right. Well, we are in Peru. Ostensibly to present ourselves at this conference — a conference intended to promote security for parish environments and communities.”
She nodded. “I am attending a gala in a few minutes, one put on by the
conference hosts.”
“So then this deal — an exchange of a lot of money for… something, is between a company that works with foreign militaries and governments and an organization that has long been interested in improving their own security.”
“That is not inaccurate,” she said. Father Canisius watched as she plucked her phone out of her clutch and checked the time. “I must be leaving, Father. I’m sorry we can’t continue this discussion.”
He stood, extending his arm to the side as if allowing her to leave. He had more questions, but for now there was too much to think about. Too many variables that required assumptions he wasn’t prepared to make. He needed more information, but he wouldn’t be getting it from this woman.
“Of course,” he said. “I have kept you long enough. Please enjoy your evening.”
She left him alone at the table, and the waiter appeared at his side. He ordered a Peruvian snapper entree the restaurant was world-renowned for — pescado sudado — as well as a glass of red wine, and he calmly sat and thought about the exchange while he waited for the food.
He considered what he knew. Orland Group was a conglomerate that was, essentially, a defense contractor. In one of the only articles he could find that disclosed any detail of the business’ operations, he had discovered that Orland Group had brokered a deal between the Australian Navy and a supplier that promised them an operational railgun defense system for its fleet within three years.
In another press release, the details had been withheld but the Orland Group had again acted as broker, linking up an unnamed buyer with a weapons supplier in Prague.
He had no knowledge of defense contracts, military strategy, or weapons supply logistics, and he knew that his office back at the Vatican knew that as well.
Further, he had no idea what the Vatican — the Catholic Church, essentially — wanted or needed with weapons or defense of any sort. He was unaware of any looming threat to the Church, and he was absolutely positive that there was no physical threat nearby that would require any sort of military maneuvering. Certainly not any actual prototypes of anything related to defense.