"Whenever you'd like. How's 10:00AM?"
"Perfect," she confirmed. "How do I get my ticket?"
"We won't be flying commercial," Richard clarified with a wink. "Don't worry about anything; just be there at 10:00AM tomorrow."
Alex suddenly remembered how little money she had left. None of that amazing compensation package had hit her accounts yet. This guy looks like he has an expensive taste in clothing. We're going to have yet another interesting day. Crap. She frowned slightly.
"You'll be using this," Tom said, handing her a Gold MasterCard with her name on it. "We each carry one of these, and we use them for all expenses." He smiled paternally, encouraging her. "Have fun. I doubt you'll ever reach the spending limit."
"Thank you," she said, suppressing her sigh of relief. "I will follow your advice and Richard's guidance." It's Christmas time again.
…22
The footage had been taken on an amateur camera, or maybe even a cell phone. Hospital images were dancing on the screen, as the videographer walked through doors and hallways, transmitting vibrations to his handheld video device.
Stephanie Wainwright's voice overlapped the image, saying, "Eleven days have passed since tragedy struck the Canadian Combat Logistics Patrol, while on a mission in Kandahar, Afghanistan. Eleven days that have brought no answers, but took yet another life. Sergeant Ross Stevenson, critically injured in the drone attack, had been fighting for his life at the US military hospital at the Kandahar Airfield. Today he lost that fight, bringing the death toll of this tragedy to four. Two Canadians are still hospitalized, due to severe injuries, and are scheduled to return to their homeland next week. Six families are waiting to hear why this senseless tragedy happened. So far, no one is willing to answer."
Stephanie paused for a second, giving her words time to sink into the hearts of the audience.
"Live from our studio, this is Stephanie Wainwright, with News of the Hour."
…23
Alex was not a morning person. Even more so, waking up was more difficult after the late-night flight home, following the mega shopping spree with Richard. She had planned for a day of sleep indulgence, but she found herself driving toward the office soon after nine. The change of plans had been caused by an enigmatic early morning phone call from Steve.
"No time to lick your wounds, Alex. Client meeting today, new client, 10:00AM," Steve said and then hung up.
She was barely going to make it on time.
…24
The client, in his mid-sixties, a tall, distinguished man, slowly paced the floor of the conference room. Tom, Brian, and Steve, seated at the dark, glossy conference room table, were going over paperwork. Alex walked in at precisely 10:00AM, but she still felt late.
"Now we are all here, Dr. Barnaby, and we are listening," Tom said, after making the formal introductions.
"I don't even know where to start," the man said. "The entire situation is confusing to me. Bear with me; I will try to explain everything the best that I can." He had stopped pacing the floor, but he was still standing. "I founded NanoLance in 1986, in the heart of Silicon Valley. I hold several patents for programmable logic devices, encoding systems, architecture for multiple processor devices, and other such things. We have developed a number of successful technologies, some of which I am sure you must be familiar with, such as guidance chips for satellite navigation and positioning systems, guidance software, dynamic automation systems, terrain contour or elevation matching software, also known as landmark and landscape recognition software, pre-programmed flight plans, and so on.
"As I am sure you are suspecting by now, early in our company's existence we became a contractor for the United States military. It has been our number one client for all our newly developed technologies and applications. We collaborate with the US military for most of our research-and-development initiatives. NanoLance has grown nicely throughout the years and has made me, its founder, really proud." Dr. Anthony Barnaby smiled for a second, before letting worry regain control over his charismatic features. He looked at everyone sitting around the table, one by one, to ensure they were following his story and understanding every detail.
"When you are referring to the US military, who exactly are you talking about?" Steve's clarification question interrupted the brief silence.
"Everyone, including agencies, departments, and organizations partaking in the defense of our country. The Army, Navy, Air Force, Customs and Border Protection, even the CIA."
"Thank you, Dr. Barnaby, please continue," Tom said.
"Where were we…? Ah, yes. We are headquartered in downtown San Diego to be closer to our manufacturing facilities near Alpine. You see," he paused a little, catching his breath, "we also manufacture most of our components and subassemblies, and we have a complete assembly line for consumer GPS devices, both handheld and in-dash mount. Some of you might be familiar with our brand of navigation devices, the NanoGuide."
Dr. Barnaby screened his audience again, looking for signs of familiarity with his brand. Satisfied, he continued. "We've just recently launched the consumer navigation devices on the market; I am confident that, within two years, we could reach 2.4 billion dollars in sales with the help of our new brand. Last year, our revenue was a little over 2.2 billion dollars. We're publicly traded; listed on NASDAQ since 1998."
Another pause. Dr. Barnaby reached out for the glass of water in front of him and took a sip, without sitting down. "I should be happy," he continued. "Instead, I am increasingly worried that something is wrong. Here's why." He finally pulled out his chair and sat down.
Alex followed closely every move he made, the expressions on his face and the inflexions in his voice, looking to get as much insight as possible. She was taking notes, and so was everyone else on the team. She found herself wondering why no one was taking notes on a computer. She started to reach for her laptop, but stopped before completing her gesture; it might make her seem out of place with the rest of the team. She decided to continue taking notes in the old-fashioned, ineffective way, emulating the behavior displayed by her experienced colleagues.
Dr. Barnaby threw her attention back into high gear by resuming his address.
"After returning from the company's Christmas party this past December, I found this note in my coat pocket." He put a small, crumpled piece of paper on the table. Without a word, Brian picked up the paper and place it on the scanner situated on a nearby table. A screen descended from the ceiling, making a whirring noise. The projected image on the screen showed the enlarged note, revealing a few words scribbled in a hurried, broken handwriting.
As the words on the screen were becoming apparent, Dr. Barnaby's voice was following along.
"Please stop this insanity, or more people will die." He gave a long, troubled sigh. "You have no idea how many nights I tossed in bed, trying to figure out what the note is referring to. What insanity? Who died? Is this a threat? Or a warning?"
"Dr. Barnaby," Tom said, "we will elucidate these mysteries for you, I am positive about that. Have you done any fingerprint analysis on the note?"