Harold and the Angel of Death

by Gary McPherson

  Chapter 3

  Parabolic Defense Systems sent a car and driver to pick up Harold at nine o’clock. Harold was not a fan of being driven around in a black town car with tinted windows. His father had been a man who preferred to take care of things himself, including his driving, but the board insisted. It seemed pretentious, but he went along with the request.

  Other than a cordial good morning, neither the driver nor Harold spoke much to each other. The driver’s dark sunglasses and broad shoulders led him to believe the driver was more than simply a courier, but he could not imagine why the board felt he needed such protection. After all, most people moved out of the way of his broad six-foot-five-inch frame.

  The company car wound its way through the hills to the entrance of the Parabolic Defense Systems. The large logo hung proudly at the private road’s entrance to the company. Harold beamed with pride. What was it his father had said to him as a child?

  “Harold, do you see the angel with her wings sheltering the globe? That’s what we do. We guard God’s creation from those who would harm all free men and women. The sword in her right hand and the missile rising up between the globe and the angel represent the weapons of the past and the present that we use to protect mankind from evil.”

  A mournful thought passed through his mind, Dad, why did you use a weapon to take your own life? That didn’t protect us. It exposed us. His eyes misted up, and he turned to look out the tinted window at the surrounding hills to clear his mind.

  The car pulled up to the gated entrance. To his surprise, the guard checked the driver’s ID instead of his own and then waved them past. He noticed two extra men in suits at the guard shack and wondered why security had increased. The driver pulled him up to the main entrance then opened his door. Harold closed the laptop he had absently left opened on his lap the last few minutes of the ride. He walked up to the door to find a doorwoman with her blond hair tied into a bun. She wore dark sunglasses and a navy-blue dress suit.

  “When did you get hired?” inquired Harold.

  “Good morning,” she replied with a broad smile.

  Harold guessed she was in her early forties, but based on the tight clothing, she appeared to work out often. As he walked through the door, everything appeared to be business as usual. Photos of politicians and generals lined the walls with pictures of his father and other company members. He had expected the images to evoke more emotions than he felt, but the thought of the boardroom just beyond the security desk was forefront in his mind. It was time to put his game face on.

  “Mr. Brown, it’s so good to see you.” Isabel’s voice broke through his thoughts. She was a sight for sore eyes. Isabel had been a long-time family friend. She had been among the throng at his father’s funeral when his mother collapsed, and her sympathy card arrived with tear stains. Although she was in her late fifties and had strands of gray hair among her black mane, she was still a stunning woman. Isabel and his mother often met with other women from the company for tea once a month to discuss working conditions and areas for improvement.

  “Thank you. I assume the board is already waiting on me.”

  Isabel’s face took on a solemn expression, and she spoke softly, “Yes. Don’t let them bully you in there.”

  Harold rolled his eyes and then whispered back, “Nobody bullies me.”

  She grinned at his wink, and he walked across the marble flooring to the elevator. After passing his card key over the reader, he hit the elevator button and the doors slid open. He entered the familiar wood and chrome lift and placed his thumb on the fingerprint reader to access the restricted level. The doors slid shut, and he headed for the second floor.

  The elevator doors opened, and Harold stepped out. He had never been a fan of the second floor. The mahogany paneling and red carpet made everything feel stuffy, dark, and antiquated. Although the executives’ offices were on the fourth floor, the boardroom and the accountants’ offices were on the second, and they liked the throwback office décor. He turned right and headed to the boardroom, which took up the center back of the floor. The glass exterior wall gave everyone a nice view of the mostly sunny weather and surrounding hills. The glass interior wall was supposed to show transparency, but nobody ever really knew what silent conversations were going on behind the glass.

  Walking towards the room, Harold could see the board of directors. Abigail Perez was among his father’s first ten hires and the only board member to have risen internally to her position. She was not only an exceptional engineer but had shown the rare ability to manage people and costs effectively. Her insight into keeping a diverse workforce content while keeping company costs down had been invaluable.

  Cameron Green and Samantha Torres both helped fund the company at its founding. Their business savvy had aided his father and enabled him to create government contracts at costs lower than his competitors.

  Fred Powell was the outsider. He had joined the board from John Richmond’s company two years ago. Harold had him investigated in the aftermath of his father’s suicide as a possible corporate mole. Fortunately, the investigation found no link to his old company.

  Harold walked into the meeting room, and all the conversations stopped. Although the large table could easily accommodate at least twelve people, all the chairs had been removed except those the board members sat in, his father’s chair at the head of the table, and two more chairs at the far end that sat empty. Samantha pointed to Richard’s seat. Harold hesitated for a moment. The thought of replacing his father sent a wave of unexpected grief through his body. For a second, he was unsure he could take the next step.

  At that moment, the door opened behind him, and Tom stepped in. He put his hand on Harold’s shoulder. “Hi, buddy. I’m glad you’re ready to take the reins. Let’s get this party started.”

  Harold mumbled, “Yea.”

  He took his father’s seat, and Tom took the other seat at the far end of the table. Harold looked around the room. Everyone appeared to wear the same dark suits or dress suits. Ties and other accessories were used in a desperate attempt to exert some sort of individuality. Harold’s own suit included a suicide prevention ribbon lapel pin in memory of his father.

  Harold made a point of projecting his voice around the room. “Ladies and Gentlemen, we all know the company is in trouble, but we need to get our house in order before we can address the elephant in the room. I do hope you have come up with a solution for the large void left by my father’s sudden absence from this world.”

  Everyone turned their attention to Abigail. Harold took their cue and also looked to the company’s resident management genius. Abigail rose and walked over to the whiteboard behind Tom, who slid to his left so he could watch her.

  Abigail cleared her throat and began. “Harold, as you know, your father held two roles in PDS, that of chairman and CEO.”

  Abigail turned around and wrote the two roles side by side on the whiteboard and drew a short vertical line under each. “The board has looked at the challenges ahead for the company and has decided to split these two roles. The CEO needs to work closely with the chief operating officer to ensure our production costs remain low and employee morale high. In addition, the CEO will need to make sure that daily interactions with our clients are occurring without hiccups. Our chairman’s role will take on a more strategic focus. That person will work closely with the board to direct the company’s future business and help us bring the new clients we desperately need to maintain our operating capital. In other words, the chairman is going to be key to saving your father’s company.”

  Harold doodled on the pad in front of him as he listened and began to think through how he would talk the workers into doing more with less. Abigail turned back to the board and wrote in two names. Under chairman, she wrote Harold Brown, and under CEO she wrote Tom Hudson. Harold’s eyes grew wide. Abigail finished writing and turned around. Everyone looked at Harold. The room was uncomfortably still for thirty seconds.

  “I�
�m not sure I understand. I have the business background, but I don’t have my father’s vision for defensive systems. I would have thought you’d want me as CEO.”

  Harold noticed Tom’s eyes glance towards the door, and his head gave ever so slight a nod. The boardroom door opened, and Harold turned to see who was coming in.

  “Hi, everybody, has our boy been filled in?” It was sunglass-clad CIA agent Garcia Hernandez.

  “We are just getting started,” Tom said. “Why don’t you have a seat over here near me, Agent Hernandez?”

  “Please, call me Garcia. Harry, good to see you.”

  With that, Garcia slapped a piece of paper in front of him.

  “Sign this,” said the agent.

  Abigail cleared her throat. “Harold, it’s a nondisclosure agreement. We have all signed one promising not to reveal anything discussed with Agent Garcia, as it is considered confidential.”

  Garcia stood there tapping his leg with one hand and pointing at the paper with the other. Harold looked down and scanned the contract. He saw he could go to jail if anything were leaked, and surrounding the threat was a lot of legalese. He tapped the table with his index finger, picked up his pen, and then signed his name at the bottom. Garcia snatched up the paper and slid it into an unseen pocket inside his jacket.

  Harold crossed his arms. He had a feeling he knew where this was going. Garcia sat down next to Tom. Fred subtly tapped his face with his middle finger just below his right eye.

  Garcia mouthed, “Oh” and removed his sunglasses.

  “Harold, Agent Hernandez approached me with an offer to help the company,” Tom said. “I brought him to the board, and they all agreed that his plan has the greatest chance to save PDS. Agent Hernandez, the floor is yours.”

  Garcia cleared his throat, stood, and stepped smoothly to the whiteboard. Harold could not help but notice Garcia’s outfit blended in perfectly with the rest of the board members, although his frame was clearly in much better shape than the other men sitting around the table. He wondered if Agent Hernandez could always fit in that easily with a group of people or if office espionage was his forte.

  Garcia erased what Abigail had written and began his presentation. “Harry—”

  “Harold!” the board and Harold replied in unison.

  “Please, I’ve known our new chairman since he was first brought home. My apologies though. Harold, as you know, the company is currently under several investigations by Congress. Although you managed to stop John, he was savvy enough to know that any hint of trouble would trigger the defense department slowing, or stopping, business with your company until their investigation was completed. Given the scope of corruption within the other two companies, and former Senator Jones—may he rest in peace, the investigations are going to drag on for a while. I’m afraid Parabolic is guilty by association for the time being.”

  Harold mindlessly rolled his pen around his fingers, and his shoulders slumped a bit. John’s taunting from his nightmares murmured in the back of his mind.

  Garcia continued, “But all is not lost. Fortunately for all of us, the CIA has its own budget, and we even managed to pull a few million dollars out of the black budget for top secret work. There’s still political oversight, but as I told the board, everyone involved on that committee is a Parabolic Defense Systems supporter.”

  Harold raised a finger and Garcia stopped. He looked around at the board as he spoke, “So, are you all saying we’re going into the spy weapons business?”

  Garcia jumped in before anybody else had a chance to answer. “Forgive me, Harold. The CIA doesn’t get involved in weapons creation. Sure, we still make top-of-the-line gizmos and gadgets to gather intelligence, but weapons are the responsibility of other acronyms. In fact, we prefer to allow the military, or mercs, handle that end of things. We may just borrow them from time to time. However, your company does offer us a unique opportunity. Several foreign terrorist organizations would kill for access to your equipment, if you’ll pardon my choice of words.”

  A voice inside his mind spoke, Your father never allowed his company to do anything illegal. What if they lose track of the weapons like the Fast and Furious operation? Harold asked, “What if the weapons get away from the CIA? Then our company’s weapons really will be in the hands of terrorists.”

  Garcia responded, “Please, we’re the CIA. We don’t give criminals real weapons. We plan to put trackers into anything we sell. We’ll also render most of the weapons inoperable. The few that we need to make the sale with will be so small in number as to be insignificant.”

  “But what if they reverse engineer what they buy?”

  “Harry…I mean Harold, you need to quit getting on the internet and reading anti-government propaganda. Besides, many US weapons are already in the hands of some of the terrorists. They found them on the battlefield or ISIS took them when they pushed their way into Iraq. If they had the capacity to reverse engineer equipment and mass produce them, they would already be doing it.”

  “If they already have some of our weapons, why do they need more?”

  Garcia chuckled. “They have a hard time keeping any weaponry when a five-hundred-pound bomb is dropped on their heads from a drone. The opportunity here is not in the traditional theatre though. It’s in northern Africa and some factions in the south Pacific. Much like the often-rumored Nazi reformation in South America after World War II, many of the terrorist leaders have abandoned the Middle East for other parts of the world. Unlike the Nazis who went into semi-retirement, these people are spreading their hate and fear and building new armies of terrorism. They need weapons, good weapons, to complete their vision.”

  Harold’s eyes widened and he sat up. “So, you’re going to pay us to create the bait to pull these groups into the open.”

  Garcia smacked the whiteboard, and everyone jumped. “You got it. Trust me when I tell you that there are plenty of fish in the sea, so we’ll be buying plenty of bait.”

  Harold slid his chair back so he could give his legs more room and considered Garcia’s proposal. It was certainly a good plan. The company could remain solvent between their few working contracts and the CIA’s offer. He only had one question left. “Why me?”

  “Excuse me?” responded Garcia.

  “Why did you have me put in as chairman of the board?” Harold quickly held his hand up towards the murmuring board. “And please, nobody attempt to tell me that isn’t the case. Tom has the military background, not me. He would be better suited for my role.”

  Garcia answered, “Okay, you caught me. Harold, I need somebody whose reputation precedes them. You have name recognition due to who your father was. If I have you involved with me when I meet with these scoundrels, they are more likely to believe the sting.”

  Harold leaned forward, and his chair squeaked under the strain of his weight. “I’m no spy. What if something goes wrong? Are you planning on using me for a human shield?”

  “Please, Harold, we both know better. You’re a big boy and can take care of yourself. That’s why you’re the perfect choice.”

  Harold leaned back into his seat, and the chair squeaked again in protest of its burden. “This sounds more like you want me with you to help take these guys out.”

  Garcia flipped the whiteboard pen back and forth in his hand. “Potato, potato. Either way works for me.”

  “That’s not who I am, and I don’t intend to become that person.”

  Garcia walked over and sat on the edge of the boardroom table between Harold and everyone else. He spoke barely above a whisper. “Harold, I don’t want you to become that person either, but you are the best man for the job. I need your help. The people in charge won’t give me the time of day if you aren’t involved.”

  “Excuse me, Agent Hernandez,” said Samantha. “The rest of the group would like to be involved in the conversation.”

  Garcia turned around. “Of course, please excuse my rudeness.” He walked back and took his seat next to Tom.r />
  Harold slid his chair forward and rested his large forearms on the boardroom table. He looked around the room until everyone focused on him once more. Pros and cons rolled through Harold’s mind. What would his father do? Would he inadvertently pull the company into a real scandal? Handing over fake weapons was not the same as arming the world’s enemies, and it would protect the homeland. “Okay, I’ll do it. I expect to be informed on how operations are going. Tom, I know you can do the work, and Abigail, I expect you to make sure he does.”

  “That’s the plan,” responded Abigail.

  “Good. Okay, let’s move to the next steps.”

  Harold could not help but notice the smiles on Cameron and Samantha’s faces.

  “I’m forming a team who will manufacture dummy versions of advanced weapons,” Tom said. “Abigail and I will handpick this group, and we are going to secure part of our warehouse to create a separate facility inside it.”

  “What sort of advanced weapons?” questioned Harold.

  Tom raised his hand towards Harold as he spoke. “The CIA is giving us the specs. Our engineers will be researching how to improve them as a side benefit. The weapons we are producing for the CIA are well beyond the prototype stage, so there is little to no R&D for us to absorb.”

  “Excellent,” said Harold. “What other business does the board have?”

  “Money,” responded Samantha. “Agent Hernandez, please explain our agreement to Harold.”

  Garcia stood up, faced the whiteboard, and began to scribble letters and numbers Harold had trouble reading. He turned and spoke to the group. “As you can see here, ninety percent of all money the CIA retrieves will be funneled back into PDS via a shell company I’ll be setting up. Harold, I’ll give you more details about this one-on-one later. In addition, we are going to pay you full price for both real and dummy weapons. We also will be giving you access to the patent on our GPS tracking technology. This will enable you to not only manufacture it for our purposes but implement that technology into products of your choice and sell them to a CIA-approved corporation list.”