On second thought, make that two.
The man didn’t say anything, just nodded once and waved for him to follow before disappearing back through the open door.
What the hell?
Nate got to his feet and did as he was told. The doorway led to a short corridor that ended in a large, corner office, an office almost as large as the reception area itself. A desk that looked as big as the Titanic stood in one corner and behind it sat the man in the suit. In front of the desk was a single, empty chair.
While Nate took it all in, the man said, “What can I do for you?”
“I’m here about a job? You know, for an interview?” Nate said.
The man nodded. “Of course, you are. Please, have a seat.”
Nate pulled out the chair and did as he was asked.
The man looked him over, nodding to himself as he did so. He opened the top right drawer of the desk, removed a slim file, and then closed the drawer before placing the file carefully on the desk in front of him. The recruiter — that was how Nate was beginning to think of him — opened the file and began reading.
Nate opened his mouth to say something, but the man cut him off, holding up a finger in a “wait-a-minute” gesture without looking up from his paperwork. Nate’s mouth closed with a snap.
The man continued reading for another moment, before looking up at Nate.
“You spent six years in the military?”
“Seven, actually,” Nate replied. “Is that a problem?”
The man smiled. “Not at all. Just trying to get a better understanding of your background, that’s all.”
Another quiet moment as the recruiter continued to study Nate’s file. Or, at least, that’s what Nate thought it was. He was impressed that they’d managed to assemble a file on him so quickly when he’d only just called for the appointment a few hours ago; that was efficiency, that’s for sure!
“Extremely high marks in small unit tactics, hand-to-hand combat. And an Expert Marksman with a rifle,” the man said. “Were you a sniper?”
Nate shook his head. “Long Range Recon.”
The man nodded, made a note in the file, then set it aside. “Did your friend Charlie tell you what it is we do here?” he asked.
Nate shook his head. “Just said there was work to be had, if I was interested.”
“And are you?”
“Am I what?”
“Interested?”
“Of course I am! I’m sitting here, ain’t I?”
Nate winced, instantly regretting his tone. His anger and impatience was going to cost him a shot at a legitimate job and he had no one to blame but himself.
Damn your mouth, fool!
But, to his amazement, the recruiter didn’t seem to hear. He simply smiled in Nate’s direction and said, “You seem to be particularly well-suited to our program, Mr. Benson.”
“And what program is that, if you don’t mind my asking.”
The recruiter shrugged. “We… solve problems.”
“What kind of problems?”
Another shrug. “Whatever kind need fixing.”
Nate leaned back in his chair, frowning slightly. He’d come in looking for a job. He’d asked a straightforward question about that job and instead of being given a straightforward answer, what he was getting was the kind of double-talk he hadn’t heard since the time he and his team had run cover for that pair of Defense Intelligence Agency spooks during the fall of Jerusalem. If they couldn’t tell him what the job entailed, how did they expect…
Wait a minute!
He ran through what he’d seen so far, mentally comparing each element against a checklist he’d developed after years of working in clandestine ops. From the office address in a high-class business district to provide an atmosphere of success and privilege to the unremarkable front man with a face you’d forget five seconds after seeing it, it all pointed to one thing.
Limbus was a front!
It had to be. Nate would bet his left nut it was nothing more than a shell company set up to give them a public face, a sense of legitimacy, while the real work went on behind the scenes, hidden from prying eyes.
The recruiter had said it himself, hadn’t he? You seem particularly well suited to our program. Nate had a certain specific range of skills, skills that weren’t all that useful in your typical corporate setting, and it was for that very reason he’d been having trouble finding work since being discharged. He could defuse a bomb with a paperclip and a pair of salad forks in less than ten seconds or sneak into an enemy encampment, cut the leader’s head off his shoulders, and get out again before anyone even noticed something was amiss, but he didn’t remember seeing a spot for those particular skills on the last few dozen job applications he’d filled out.
If he was well suited to their needs, that meant…
Nate let out a slow, lazy smile of his own. “Ah, I see.”
The recruiter cocked his head to one side. “Do you now?”
“I do. I really do.” Nate wondered just which agency was running the show here. It didn’t feel like the DIA, but then again, that was exactly the modus operandi that those boys used all the time. They were specialists in making it look like some other agency was responsible throughout the entire op. That way, if things went sour, they had plausible deniability and could let the other agency take the heat while their people slipped quietly away into the night.
It really could be anybody, though; the World Federated Government had far more clandestine agencies than the average citizen suspected or even imagined. From the Unified Police Agency (UPA) to the Federated Transportation and Safety Administration (FTSA), the possibilities were practically endless.
Not that it really mattered. One branch of the government was as good as any other.
“So then, are you requesting employment with us here at Limbus?”
Requesting employment? It seemed an odd way of putting it to Nate, but yes, that was essentially what he was doing, he guessed.
He nodded.
The recruiter shook his head. “I’m sorry. I need a verbal answer.”
Nate frowned. Guy was a bit of a stickler it seemed. Fine. “Yes, I am requesting employment.”
A sheaf of papers appeared and was placed on the desk in front of him.
“This is our standard contract and corporate non-disclosure agreement. Details all the usual benefits. I need you to sign here, here, and here.” The recruiter placed a pen on the desk next to the contract.
Nate glanced at it. Twenty-something pages of typical bureaucratic legalese; made him dizzy just looking at it, never mind trying to understand. No way was he reading all that crap. He was only interested in one item and he found it under subsection 21-F Compensation. He took a look at the number listed there and then picked up the pen and signed where he’d been asked.
The recruiter positively beamed. “Excellent! Welcome aboard, Mr. Benson. If you would follow me, please, we’ll get you started.”
Nate was surprised. “Now?”
“Yes, now,” the recruiter responded, his mouth twisted into a slight frown. “Or did you have somewhere else you needed to be?”
Nate heard the threat, loud and clear.
“No, no. Now is fine. Nothing like getting started right away to learn the ropes.”
The recruiter seemed to ponder that for a moment. “Quite right,” he said at last.
Nate followed him out of the office and down a hall to what turned out to be a cutting-edge medical suite. An examination table stood in the center of the room with a medibot suspended over it. Consoles lined the walls, the computer screens on them currently dark.
After the recruiter moved to one of the consoles and input a series of commands, the medibot surged into life, reminding Nate of a giant mechanical spider. It sent a chill up his spine at the sight.