"Still hate the goddamn things, man," Ryan continued. "Objects were not meant to fly like that and blow things up. Jesus, what the hell?"
"But the robot we send into the mine field, you don't mind, do you? It's just like that, you idiot. It's just a flying robot, with a remote control, so pilots don't get killed or captured. You're too much of an idiot for me to keep explaining shit as simple as that." Jimmy waved away Ryan's ignorant concern.
However, no one really felt safe. The UCAV changed its heading and started descending, approaching them. The men were able to distinguish the onboard sensor array cameras, rotating in search for targets.
"Take cover!"
The yell could have come from anyone. A couple of men crawled under the Nyala, whose blast-resistant belly had the potential to provide some protection from air strikes. Lenny was still crouching by the boulders, weighing his chances to make it back to the vehicle.
From under the Nyala, they could hear the captain's voice. "Bravo One, Bravo One, this is Charlie Three, over. Bravo One, Bravo One, this is Charlie Three. Come in, damn it!"
The UCAV took a position and launched a Hellfire missile, aimed at the group of sheepherders. The explosion followed shortly, among the men's screams.
"Charlie Three, this is Bravo One, go ahead."
Lenny crouched tighter, getting closer to the ground. "Oh, God…"
"Bravo One, we're taking fire from an American drone, over."
The UCAV slowly circled the area, scanning for more movement and heat signatures. It found a target. Taking position on the new object, it launched another Hellfire.
Lenny's blood sprayed the Nyala's right front tire. His engraved lighter rolled into the ditch, reflecting the sunlight.
The UCAV was scanning again for new targets. It had two more missiles left.
…11
Page 26 of the recruiting form was loading on the screen. This last page began with a paragraph of instructions.
Please read each question carefully, and reply truthfully. There are no wrong answers in this section.
The first question came as a shock.
Would you consider doing these things in order to reach your goal?
Alex replied out loud, "Well, depends on the damn goal, now, doesn't it?"
Lie?
She started typing—Yes.
Steal?
She thought, Hmmm. Maybe—Yes.
Kill?
"What?" — No.
Get someone physically intoxicated?
Alex laughed, "Buy them beers until they drop? Why not?" — Yes.
Use false identification?
Yes.
Blackmail?
"Am I going to get arrested, based on what I say on this damn form? Um" — Yes.
Cheat?
"I'd rather not cheat on Mr. Right when I find him." — No. "I'll try intoxication first, then blackmail, and if that doesn't cut it, then I'll reconsider this."
She chuckled, as she continued to fill out the form's numerous fields.
Finally, a field marked Comments concluded the form.
Alex looked at the digital clock on the wall. Four hours and 25 minutes had passed since she had started. It was already late, and she had just wasted more than four hours of her time on one single potential employer, instead of applying to at least 50 jobs during this time. She suddenly felt cheated, tired, and completely exposed. Why did I go through with this insanity? What was I thinking?
She typed a question in the Comments field.
Who are you people?
Then she clicked on the large button at the bottom of the page marked Submit Questionnaire.
A new page loaded on her screen.
Meet us for an interview tomorrow, at 10:00AM, and you'll find out. The address is 8 Corporate Park, Suite 300, Irvine, California 92606.
She suddenly felt she was not alone in the room anymore. Shivering, she copied the address on her notepad, turned off the computer, and poured herself a large Martini on top of the coffee leftovers in her mug.
…12
Alex inhaled the aroma of her freshly brewed coffee.
"Thank God for caffeine," she sighed. She was tired after tossing and turning most of the night, thinking about the 10:00AM interview. She felt awkward at the thought of meeting a prospective employer to whom she had already admitted she was willing to steal, lie, and what not, and she had admitted it in writing too.
Getting behind the wheel of her car, her confidence started building. What do I have to lose? Her car was much like her apartment, with a variety of objects scattered on the seats and floor. It was a red convertible Suzuki Vitara, the only convertible SUV available for her budget. It suited her personality, and although the Vitara was a small-size SUV, the sporty feel of a four-by-four, manual-transmission convertible was able to bring her spirits up, every time she took it for a ride.
Taking I-5 north toward Los Angeles, she reached the address in just over an hour and a half. It's not so close to home, but what a ride, she thought, still enchanted by the spectacular views presented by the scenic drive along the Pacific coast. She pulled into a parking spot marked "Reserved — Visitors." Looking up, she saw a three-story building, appearing crisp, clean, and dignified in its white finish, sparkling in the morning sun. Here we go. Good luck, young lady, you're gonna need it, she encouraged herself, while stepping into the elevator.
The elevator stopped at the third floor and the doors silently glided open, allowing Alex to step directly into the reception area of The Agency. So they have the whole floor. Or floors. Good. She stepped up to the reception desk.
"Good morning. I have a 10:00AM appointment—" She abruptly stopped her introduction, realizing she didn't have the name of the person she was supposed to meet. Damn. The receptionist didn't seem to mind.
"Yes. Please take a seat; it will only be a few minutes."
She sat down on a comfortable leather sofa and began looking around. Written on the wall above the reception desk, in golden letters with a shadow effect, the company name, The Agency, made quite an impression, despite its upright, neutral font. The reception area was spacious, decorated with a lot of taste and a lot of money. On the left side was an incomplete wall made of glass bricks, masking what could have been the corridor leading toward offices. Discrete spotlights were placed here and there to emphasize the effect of the sunshine reflections on the glass bricks. On the right side, large windows allowed the sunshine to light up the room, while offering a spectacular view of a park.
The reception desk was a piece of furniture like no other Alex had ever seen. It appeared to be custom made, because it followed the shape and angles of the wall behind it. Three receptionists could sit at this monumental desk without even being able to touch one another. The entire visible surface had an impeccable dark oak, glossy finish.