“Hold on,” Kate said, stopping.
Michael stopped. For a moment — just a moment — his stolid demeanor cracked. “Sure. What's wrong?”
“I just… I want to know what's going on, here.”
“I'm sorry,” he said, moving his hand to her arm. She didn't want to feel comforted by it, but somehow, she did. “I didn't want to put so fine a point on it, Kate, but the truth is, we have a bit of a crisis on our hands. I would love to stop and talk to you about long-term company goals, and maybe we'll get a chance later, but this comes first. I apologize that this is all happening so quickly.”
“All right,” she said.
“Good. Now, we only need to stop at the security desk down here for a moment, then we'll go in.”
“The security desk?” Kate had never been to this floor, and moments later, she found herself face to face with another receptionist with a pen in hand.
Five minutes and three non-disclosure agreements later, Kate walked into a meeting room, this one large enough to accommodate forty people or more. It looked just under half full when she and Michael walked in.
For the umpteenth time that morning, Kate found herself flummoxed. The room was littered with heavy hitters from the company's executive board. Marie Sinclair, the senior vice president of the D.C. office. Larabe Johnson, the director of security. Talia Stroikavich, the reputed computer genius who headed VO's internal engineering department. Several others were clustered around the room's long meeting table, and she noticed that one man in particular didn't look like he belonged. Chiseled and square-jawed, his cut Valentino suit looked more like a disguise than a piece of wardrobe.
Once they were seated, Kate leaned over to Michael. “Who's that?”
“That's Mister Bruhbaker. He's one of the reasons we're here.”
“Does he work for Valley Oil?”
Michael shook his head. “He's from Black Shadow.”
Kate recoiled. Black Shadow was the second largest mercenary group operating in the U.S. With fingers branching into Afghanistan, Iraq, and the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy, they were a multimillion dollar firm with a dozen government-sponsored contracts. And who else besides the government could afford a private military group with the best hardware in the world? Big oil, of course.
Her father had supported the private military in his days as a senator, but since the Nisoor Square massacre in Baghdad and the reports of civilian casualties in Iraq, he and the president had only used them when absolutely necessary. “It's a sad thing when your own National Guard isn't enough, sweetie,” her father told her when they were watching the Katrina disaster in New Orleans on T.V. “But there's so much red tape. Sometimes it's faster to send in someone from the private sector. And they have skills. As much as I hate to say it, ex-Navy SEALs and Rangers kick the tar out of the weekend warriors we have in the Reserve. But I wouldn't send them anywhere they have to make moral judgments. Some guys would, but not me. Money clouds things, and that's why these guys do what they do: money.”
A skinny man in a white suit jacket pulled down a projector screen at the end of the room and waved his hands at the congregation. “Please. Ladies and gentlemen, if you can take your seats, we can get started.”
Kate watched as the remaining staff found their places at the oval table. She got a few puzzled looks, but no one questioned her. No one, that was, until a female executive sat down next to her. “Who are you?” she asked rudely.
“McCreedy. Katelyn McCreedy.” She realized she had used her proper name and wrinkled her nose.
“Are you new to the company?”
“Why?”
The woman cocked her head. “I'm just not used to seeing junior executives at a board meeting. You must be someone special.”
She was about to say something else when she was interrupted by a laugh.
The big man with the square jaw had taken a seat within earshot and was chuckling to himself. “She's the vice president's daughter, Nina. Don't you recognize her from T.V.?”
The woman looked at the big guy, then back to Kate. “Which vice president? Oh, you mean… oh, well excuse me,” she said. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”
The big man switched to an empty seat directly across from Kate and leaned forward, showing off the size of his arms. Kate put his age somewhere between thirty-five and fifty but couldn't be any more accurate. His beard stubble was gray though, his face carved with wrinkles. “Kate McCreedy,” he said. “I knew your daddy back when the hunt for Bin Laden was still on. Almost found him ourselves a couple of times. Good contracts to be had back in those days. Not so many once he took the high office, but I guess business ain't the same when there's no war on. No official war, anyways.”
“So you're Black Shadow, right?”
“You've heard of us, huh? That's good. I'm glad to know you. I liked your daddy in spite of our differences.”
“Uh-huh. And what might those differences be?”
He smiled. It revealed a scar on his upper lip you couldn't see when his face was composed. “Oh, they're not important now. Bygones are bygones, that's what I say. From the look of you, I reckon you have his brains. Your mom's looks, though.” He paused, giving her a look she found rather disquieting, then said, “I'm Mason Bruhbaker.” He reached across the table and offered to shake.
Kate reached forward, but instead of taking his hand, grabbed a cup of water that had been set out for the meeting attendees and took a drink. The big man smiled and sat back, amused. His jaw worked as if chewing gum, but she was quite sure he didn't have any in his mouth. A big guy like that, he's used to chewing people up and spitting them out, she thought.
“Well, I'm glad to make your acquaintance anyways.”
She nodded. Though she'd only known him for a few minutes, she could not say the same.
“Excuse me, excuse me!” The skinny man was still trying to call the meeting to order. He waited until the murmur quieted, then began again. “Thank you all for coming. I know this is short notice. I know some of you were called in as early as four o'clock this morning, but believe me when I tell you that we have a situation on our hands, and it warrants your full attention.”
“What's all this about, Geoff?” someone asked.
He pulled a remote out of his pocket and flicked a button. Instantly, a satellite image of The Aeschylus shot up on the projector screen. Kate gasped; it was uncannily similar to the ones in her father's envelope.
“As you know, The Aeschylus is the largest of our deep-sea drilling rigs, a spar platform employing two hundred and thirty-eight workers on its present shift. It's been operational for almost five weeks without a hitch. As of yesterday, that all changed.” He looked towards his audience. “Most of you know by now that drilling has ceased entirely. However, most of you don't know why.”
“What, are they striking again?” someone else asked. “Do they have a little first sunset tribal holiday down there we don't know about?” The man did a little chicken dance in his seat, but Mason shot him a look, and the man shut up in a hurry.
“No,” Geoff said cautiously. “They've disappeared.”
Murmurs went around the table. Geoff pushed his glasses up on his nose and put his hands on his hips, waiting for the deluge of questions. Marie Sinclair, the D.C. V.P., was the first to speak.
“I'm sorry, Geoff. You're going to have to explain that.”
The man took a deep breath. “Yesterday morning, The Aeschylus failed to respond to a routine radio probe. Since then, we've been unable to establish any contact with the platform whatsoever. Short and long wave radio transmissions have failed, and satellite images confirm there is no activity on the platform itself.”