Prologue

Gerry, Joe, and Alex went back a long way.

They’d been through a lot together, a helluva lot. Sometimes, in the grimmest combat and humanitarian relief operations which even the toughest characters would shudder when recalling. But they’d also shared many more positive experiences, and ultimately, those were the ones that mattered.

A camaraderie forged long ago in the white heat of military operations and subsequently honed in a rambling tour through a twilight zone that incorporated the roughest redneck gin joints, pool halls, whore houses, and backroom poker games of old faded Louisianan, Mississippian, and Texan towns, as they’d enjoyed a rollicking post service road trip together.

Doyle Brunson had spoken the truth in his entertaining yarns about the good old days of gaming in the South. Still, he’d wisely sanitized history to not alarm a modern audience weaned only on Grand Theft Auto and Black Ops video games from the comfort of their bedrooms.

“A light reconnaissance mission to gather a little intel/experience for their future business careers” was how Joe now liked to jokingly describe their x-rated youthful adventures some four decades earlier.

After the physical and psychological scars inflicted in special ops, even the most substantial characters needed a little while to transition back into civilian life. Sadly, it was a privilege that some of their late comrades would never get to enjoy. Cold turkey had to be managed wisely.

They intuitively knew then that the harrowing experience they had gained had to be put to positive use to make this dark world even a little bit better for future generations. Period. How to do that most effectively had preoccupied these three brilliant minds for forty years.

Although these three tough old men would never openly admit it nor descend into sentimental reminiscences, they were blood brothers. They had vastly different personalities but remarkably similar worldviews and mindsets and were there for one another no matter what.

The years might have added considerable wealth, prestige, and sophistication, but they were still Gerry, Joe, and Alex, three young men from vastly different backgrounds, thrown together in the heady days of youth.

Each man had his little quirks, of course. For example, Gerry and Joe always enjoyed playing along with their friend’s little game of insisting to outsiders on being called Alexander. But between themselves, he was Alex. That wasn’t changing any time soon. Gerry eloquently said, “A four-letter word is just right for you, Alex.”

‘Gerald,’ ‘Joseph,’ and ‘Alexander’ were used between them as a shorthand code to indicate that they were not in a mood to banter or idle chat with each other that day, reserving the mind for logical thoughts and hard analytic work.

Among Gerry’s many talents, he was also a high-ranking chess Grandmaster. Peculiarly, in that rarified atmosphere, he was a true amateur. Not only did he play very rarely, but he never studied either current opening theory or his rival’s latest games.

A cardinal sin in elite grandmaster chess? Gerry liked to quote the example of Samuel Reshevsky, the legendary Polish child prodigy and later US Champion, many times. An unlikeable personality on the surface, Sammy had resolutely refused to waste time following current developments in the chess world. Still, he was reputed to calculate variations better than any master ever had throughout the long and storied history of chess.

He routinely found twenty consecutive best moves in as many seconds in grandmaster tournaments, destroying any opponent. The great man had defeated many World champions, from Emanuel Lasker to Bobby Fischer. He scared the living daylights out of the professional, highly trained conveyor belt of post-war Soviet superstars.

Gerry had also given all the great masters a bloody nose at one time or another, including fabled champions like Anatoly Karpov, Viktor Korchnoi, Vladimir Kramnik, Garry Kasparov, etc.

It was known that Gerry was one of a select handful of people who had been on friendly terms and played and analyzed privately with the reclusive Bobby Fischer, though he wouldn’t talk about that out of respect for the great man’s wishes.

Rumour also had it that Rustam Kamsky, the formidable guy ex, Soviet boxing champion, and father of the prodigy Gata, had asked Gerry to arrange a chess camp, based on military boot camp, to toughen up his already ferocious lad on his way to challenging for the world title.

So Gerry knew chess as well as anyone, and he knew the great chess masters. He also knew it was just another game, not worth spending too much time on. Many top masters were dysfunctional, even completely crazy. And not in an excellent way, either.

Alex was different. Now, he was a bona fide chess genius. Unfortunately, a certain restlessness and impractical perfectionism had ensured he’d never made it in grandmaster circles. Not even close.

He knew by heart and, more importantly, could explain clearly the rationale behind every move ever played in thousands of games by his three chess heroes: Paul Morphy, Leonid Stein, and, above all, the Slovenian genius Albin Planinc. But like these gentlemen, Alex eventually grew to hate chess,  and how it flooded the mind, causing unbearable stress and disappointment.

But damn it, the game still obsessed his thoughts, so he allowed himself to partake occasionally. With that in mind, Gerry kindly indulged Alex by agreeing to pay him a ‘best of five’ mini-match twice a year. They usually played on the Lichess platform via Zoom. Three minutes each with a two-second added increment. That was how speed chess is generally played nowadays, although in truth, Gerry privately preferred a straight-up five-minute blitz as a purer skill test. They never played the currently fashionable version of one-minute ‘bullet’ chess. Never. Both men agreed that this horseshit crossed the line into babbling insanity and was an insult to the Royal Game.

Gerry sat comfortably at home in California, and Alex logged in from wherever his restless nature had taken him that day. A remote beach hut in beautiful Guadeloupe, or the clubhouse of a remote golf club in the tranquil Perthshire hills of Scotland, or on a bad day, from some back street opium den in downtown Phuket or Kyoto.

Gerry won the first game using his customary pristine technique in a complex Rook and Pawn endgame. After all, he’d studied Rubinstein as a boy, and his old dog-eared copy of Smyslov & Levenfish on “Rook Endings” – a timeless classic- was filled with his youthful scribbled corrections of the Soviet giants’ magnum opus.

Alexander had won the second game with a brilliant attack. It was not 100% sound initially, as he had a Tal-like penchant for sacrificing a Knight on any of the squares d5, f5, or e6 against the Sicilian Defence. ‘Just to make it spicier,’ according to Alex. The concluding Queen sacrifice, seen well in advance by both men but unavoidable, made Gerry smile.

Gerry didn’t make excuses, but the simple fact was that he was unavoidably distracted today. He was waiting on a couple of essential calls: personal and business.

The personal call arrived after Alex’s bold Nd5 sacrifice in game two. It wasn’t good news. Forced to make an instant decision, Gerry captured the proffered piece, fully aware that the chances of withstanding Alex’s attack after taking the bait were doubtful. But Gerry’s long experience told him that one couldn’t allow a dominant Knight to remain unopposed, wedged in the heart of his position. Better to take a reasonable risk.

He smiled and congratulated Alex as his mate duly arrived. In a combined homage to Alex’s favorite fictional character and his favorite chess player, Gerry stood up and said in an exaggeratedly theatrical voice, “My congratulations, Albin, or is it 007? A brilliant coup, sir.” A hearty chuckle came back in reply.

Games three and four were dour battles, with no quarter asked or given. Both were drawn around the fiftieth move, with the board reduced to two bare Kings on each occasion. It was undoubtedly correct, theoretically accurate chess, but somehow cold and lifeless. Like the scorched earth remains of a Vietnamese village in the wake of a surprise napalm assault. A horrible, inhuman image. One that had appalled Alex back then and still haunted his dreams in the wee small hours to this day.

The fifth and final game was in full swing, thrust met with counter thrust, daring attack parried by precise counterattack when Gerry’s cellphone buzzed again. It was Joe, confirming some expected positive developments. Alas, taking a few seconds to evaluate the position on the chessboard, Gerry realized, to his mild displeasure, that if Alex found his way correctly through the current complications, Black’s position was irredeemably lost. It was clear that Alex was enjoying a good day in life and on the chessboard. That thought made Gerry happy.

Gerry quickly played his sixteenth move, 16… Qc7, his last chance, is a clever double attack on both white’s Bishops. Simultaneously, he nonchalantly wondered whether Alexander had overlooked his opponent’s threat.

The allegedly bat-shit-crazy gentleman of Scottish descent did not hesitate. The chance to pull off a witty winning move for a rare match victory over Gerry had the adrenalin rushing through his veins like a gentle acid trip of his youth.

Playing 17. Bd5! Alex casually remarked, “Didn’t you always say a discovered attack trumps a double attack, Gerald?”

The game was up. Goddam it! Always the gentleman, Gerry immediately played out 17… Qxc1+ 18. Re1+ Rf7 19. Bxf7. Checkmate. A more churlish sequence of moves was available, which would have dragged out the game, but why deprive his friend of a stylish finish?

There was no From Russia with Love cameo on offer this time. Just cold respect.

“Great game, Alexander; you’ll make a solid International Master one day. Thanks for the games, and congrats. Joe just called; I’ve some urgent business to attend to. Catch you later.”

And the Zoom call went dead. Alexander, happy in his Caribbean beach hut, a 15-year-old Glenmorangie malt in his left hand, a fine Havana in his right (quite awkward when playing online blitz), put the cigar between his lips, then turned his two hidden cards over calmly, revealing a winning Ace high flush to the local police chief sitting opposite him.

“Sacre Bleu, Mon Ami,” his ever cheerful opponent, a kindred spirit in these exotic foreign lands, said in his best Peter Sellars Inspector Clousea accent. The chief inspector slowly rolled his King high flush while Alex neatly stacked all the chips from the pot. “Is it time for lunch, my friend? I have a nice DP76 chilling.”

Chapter 1 – The Advertisement

I first saw the classified ad as it appeared in the AARP on December 21, 2024.  It ran for just 10 days and was then withdrawn.  At that time, all further applications were ignored.

It piqued my interest.  Of course, I thought that most people would think it must be a scam, but there were no fees or costs to apply.  That would make it very interesting indeed to quite a few people.

I found out later that more than one thousand people applied.  The number was staggering in that there were so many desperate, unhappy people past retirement age who were willing to clutch at straws.  Then again, I suppose that I shouldn’t have been surprised; America isn’t known for its compassion and the elderly are often regarded as useless and just taking up space.  Sad, but true.

Quite a few tried to call the number on Signal but all calls went unanswered and those callers were immediately and permanently, blocked.  All others received a link to a secure web page where they had to fill out a detailed questionnaire to determine their eligibility.  That was the last that most heard.  No acknowledgments; no follow-up emails, nothing.  It was as if their applications had disappeared into a black hole.

The response surprised him.

He hadn’t expected all that much when he placed the advertisement.  Perhaps a dozen, or maybe a couple of dozen, people would respond slowly and over the 10-day life of the classified posting, but that was all he was expecting.  He had been wrong, very wrong.

He first knew how wrong he had been when he had woken up at his usual time and gone downstairs to make a cup of coffee.  The mobile phone with the Signal app, which had been on the kitchen counter, had vibrated itself off the counter and was lying, somewhat unhappily, he thought, on the carpeted floor, constantly pinging with new messages.  When he picked it up, he almost dropped it again in surprise, with close to 200 messages waiting to be answered.

By the time he had made coffee and sat down to drink it, the number had grown to 250, and still, they kept coming in.  He shook his head in disbelief as he stared at the display. “It’s too many,” he thought to himself.  “How can there be that many people of retirement age in such desperate straits?”

Grabbing a notebook, he started to tally the responses to see how many men and women had responded.  It was mostly men, as he had expected, but the percentage of women was considerably higher than he had guessed. Once he had done that, he went through all of them again, blocking any over 70 and then deleting those numbers.

New responses would arrive constantly for the next nine days.  In total, just over 1000 people responded to the ad; of those, he eliminated 373 immediately as they were over the maximum age of 70 he had set in his mind.  That left around 630, which staggered him every time he looked at his notebook.  He needed to whittle the number down to about half of that, and even that was too many since he was only looking for ten extraordinary people.

After two days of thinking, he devised a plan and replied to each person, asking for their occupation and a recent photograph.  The occupation would give him a good idea of their likely intelligence level, and the picture; well, that was as good a way as any to eliminate a lot of people; admittedly, it was remarkably unscientific because you can’t always judge a book by its cover, but he had to do something.

The answers and photographs came in slowly, which he was grateful for as it gave him time to enter those people into a FileMaker database he had created for the project.  It also allowed him to eliminate another 229 people due to their occupation and 54 that he didn’t like the look of.

After all the weeding out was finished, he had just under 300 people left; 32 were women.

Now for stage 2.

Chapter 2 – Official Interest

It didn’t take long for the Government to show an interest in what he was doing.  It only took three days before there was a ring at the doorbell.  Looking at the security monitors, he saw two men standing there, well-dressed in suits, and it was immediately apparent to him that they were from the world of official business.

Crossing the lobby, he opened the door.  “Yes?” he asked.  As if on cue, both men held out official police badges, which he suspected might not be correct identifiers for one of the alphabet soup agencies he had been expecting.

“Mr. Hawkins, Gerald Hawkins,” the taller two men enquired.

“Yes, that’s me.  What can I do for you, Inspector?”

“It’s Detective Sergeant Richards, but thank you for the promotion.  This is DS Kyle Richardson,” he replied.

“Not at all.  Unfortunately, I don’t think it comes with any extra money. So what can I do for you.”

“We’d like to talk to you about the advertisement you placed with the AARP.”

“Of course, do come in.  I’m having coffee in the kitchen, so we’ll talk there if you don’t mind?”

Both men nodded, and he led them across the large, expansive lobby into his kitchen, where he pointed them to stools on one side of the granite worktop.  “Would you like some coffee, gentlemen?  It’s Nespresso?”

After they had accepted the offer of coffee and he had made three fresh cups, he sat down opposite them and looked at them expectantly.  “So, what would you like to know?”

“The purpose of your advertisement, Sir?” replied the man who, so far, had done all the talking.

“Perhaps you could tell me why you are asking?” he smiled.

“The phrase ‘High risk, high reward’ caught our attention?”

“Yes.  Let me see.”, He mused, stroking his short beard.  “How best to explain this?”

“Please do,” replied the second man, speaking for the first time.

“Of course,” he answered.  “You know who I am and presumably something about me and my background.  Correct?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,  we do.”

“Good.  You might describe me as a somewhat eccentric billionaire—eight billion at the last count.  I’m looking to find some deserving people to help financially.  That is why I placed the ad.”

“Could you explain the high risk, high reward part?”

“That’s a bit of a stretch, I’m afraid, designed to discourage many people.  The high reward part is accurate.”

“What exactly are you looking to do?”

“Change some people’s lives, gentlemen. That’s the simple answer.”

“How do you intend to do that?”

“By giving those people, society has thrown away a second chance.  That’s as far as I’m willing to go regarding an explanation.”

“Why is that, Sir?”

“As you know, I’ve asked all applicants to contact me via the Signal app.”

“Yes, sir, we do know that.  That was the 2^nd thing that caught our attention.”

“Yes, I thought it might be the case. Signal is being used because it is a secure messaging service to keep everything private.  Maybe the NSA can read the messages, and maybe they can’t.  This is a confidential and private project, and I plan on keeping it that way.”

“We can insist on a more detailed answer.”

“No, you can’t.”, he replied with a smile.  “I have some very high-priced lawyers on retainer who will fight tooth and nail to prevent you from doing just that. And if you insist on taking it further and winning, I will lie to you, which I’m quite at liberty to do.  Am I making myself clear?”

“You are, sir.”

“Then,” he asked.  “Is there anything else?”

“No, sir.  Thank you for your time.”

“My pleasure.”

Both men put their cups down and stood, and he escorted them to the front door, which opened as soon as they got within 10 feet of it. “In case you’re wondering,” he said. “The door is keyed to my biometrics, which means it only opens the door when I approach it.  The entire house and grounds are full of extremely sophisticated electronics to protect it and me.”

“Why is that necessary, Mr. Hawkins?”

“When you are as rich as I am, Sergeant, you’re a target.  I don’t intend to be an easy one!”

After they had got into their government-issued sedan and driven off, he went back into the house, the door silently closing behind him.  He had told them what he could but nothing of his actual plan, and he had one of those.  He had spent months laying out a highly complex plan, figuring out all the angles, and considering all the things that might go wrong.  But he hadn’t risen to his current position by being unable to analyze and think through complicated scenarios.  Being a chess grandmaster had also helped.

Hawkins sat in silence for a few minutes after the police officers had left.  He didn’t believe for one second that both men had been police detectives; he was pretty sure that one of the two had been Homeland Security, but it didn’t concern him.  He had, after all, expected the advertisement to draw their attention.  It was all part of the plan.

“Got any more coffee?” came a voice from behind him.

“Help yourself, Joe.”, he replied without turning.

The man who had just entered the kitchen walked past him, grabbed a mug from the rack, and turned the Nespresso machine back on.  “You want another?” he asked.

“I’m good.  Already at my limit for the day.”

“You are disciplined, aren’t you!” said Joe, not expecting an answer.

Hawkins smiled. “Sure am.”

“So, how did it go with your visitors?”

“You were listening in, Joe.  You know how it went!”

“No surprises there, except I thought they would push you more!”

“With my money and influence, Joe, I doubt they’ve got the nerve.  They might pay me a second visit, but I doubt that.  I am sure that they will be investigating, and I’m equally sure that they will submit one or two applications to try and get somebody inside.”

“How will you prevent that?”

“I’ve got a few ideas, but I won’t worry about it now.”

“What’s next?”

“Hard work.  I’ve still got over 300 applicants I have to weed through.”

“How are you going to do that?

“First, I will get them to complete a questionnaire on a secure, anonymous website.  The answers will go straight into the database.”

“How does that work?” asked Joe, genuinely intrigued.

“The questionnaire is done with Claris Studio, and I have a FileMaker database connected to it.  I’ve built a ranking system into it, which will give me a score based on the answers.  High scores move forward; low scores don’t.”

“But, what if the answers are being made up? How will you tell?”

“The algorithm should pick that up.  The scoring system will flag every entry over a certain number as being ‘too good to be true,’ I’ll take a closer look at those.”

“Sounds reasonable,” replied Joe.  “How long is that going to take?”

“Probably a couple of weeks.  It’ll take some time for everybody to complete the questionnaire and then for me to analyze the results, which will get me down to 50 potentials.”

“Then how do you get down to the ten you want?”

“The first step will be to get the home addresses of each of the 50.  Then, I will have the agency run background checks on all of them.  That’ll take another two to three weeks.”

“You think they’re just going to give you their addresses?”

“They will when they know that if they do, they’ll get a check for $1,000 in the mail.  I don’t see any of them turning that down.”

“I guess not.  I certainly wouldn’t!  What then?”

“Those that pass the background check will have to fill in a second Claris Studio form, which should allow me to eliminate most of them, and those that are left, well, they’re the chosen ones.”

“What if you don’t end up with 10?”

“Then I’ll make a couple of exceptions.  Probably do a video interview with each of them.  Might do that with all of them anyway.”

“What will you use to do that?”

“Zencastr.  I’ll have my camera turned off so they won’t be able to see me, but I’ll be able to see them and record each interview.  It will also be analyzed for high levels of stress; kind of like a lie detector, but without all of the sensors.”

“You have thought all this out, haven’t you?”

“How long have you known me, Joe?” asked Hawkins.  Without waiting for an answer, he continued. “When have you ever known me not to think things through thoroughly?”

“Never, I guess.”

“You mean “Never, don’t you?”

“I guess I do,” said Joe, making another cup of coffee. “You are a brilliant guy!”

Hawkins smiled in acknowledgment of the compliment.  “Maybe I’ll have a cup of decaf,” he said.

“Coming right up.”

Chapter 3 – Board Meeting

Gerald Hawkins strode into the Conference Room of Gestalt Holdings, followed closely by his PA, Martin Williams.  Nodding to the other board members, he took his seat at the head of the table and crossed his arms.  He was not pleased to have been summoned to this meeting by his Board, but as Chairman and CEO of a public company, he was obliged to come when they called.  Fortunately, they didn’t call very often.

“Why am I here?” he asked without preamble.  He hadn’t gotten to where he was in life by engaging in meaningless small talk.

“We’re a bit concerned,” replied Adam Laurenson, his Chief Operating Officer, “about the direction you want to take the company.”

“Specifically?”

“You plan on firing our entire IT department and replacing our Windows machine with the new iMacs.  It’s a huge investment, and it’ll leave us vulnerable!”

“How so?”

‘We rely on the IT department to keep everything running and safe.”

“That’s not true.  They spend most of their time objecting to anything anybody wants them to do, and when they are not doing that, they’re installing new versions of Windows, purging viruses.”

“Alright,” replied Laurenson.  “It’s still a huge investment!”

“No, it’s not, and it will pay for itself very quickly.  We will spend $3 million buying everybody one of the new iMacs and a 27” 2^nd monitor.  We will save $500K a year by eliminating the IT department.  The other thing that you’re failing to consider is that the iMacs have a much longer life than the Windows machines we’ve been using, and the money saved there will more than cover the initial expense.”

“But we’re still going to need IT to support all of the users!” objected another of the Board members, the first time that any of them had said a word since the meeting started.

“I’ve already taken care of that.  The young man I just hired to develop and maintain our websites will also take care of that.  And before you object to that, I can tell you that one person is all we’ll need to support everybody once they’re all on Macs.”

“But all the staff will have to get used to a new operating system.”

“True, but they’ll have to remember to use the Command key instead of the Control key.  That’s 95% of the difference, plus they will enjoy working with the iMacs so that you won’t hear many complaints.”

“But we will have some complaints.  What about those people?”

“Tell them to make sure that the door doesn’t hit them in the arse on the way out of it.  We’ll replace them.”

“I still think we should delay it until we’ve discussed it further and done a feasibility study.”

“Really.  I wonder how long that would take!” replied Hawkins.  Turning to his aide, he asked, “Martin, remind the Board how much money we saved when I took over the company and eliminated all Enterprise software we were paying huge amounts for?”

“$1.2 million,” was the reply

“Was that annually, Martin?”

“Yes, sir.  It is.”

“How much did it cost to develop all of the FileMaker™ databases we now use to run the company?”

“I’m not sure exactly, Sir, but it was well under $100,000.”

“That was a one-time cost?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And what happened when I eliminated every single spreadsheet in the company and moved everybody over to using the FileMaker systems?”

“Productivity went through the roof, Sir.”

“I presume that quite a few people left when we did this!”

“No, sir.  Our staff turnover is down to almost zero due to the changes, plus you raised everybody’s pay by 30%

“Do we know the end result of all these changes?”

“We can’t exactly quantify it, but we have increased our turnover by three times since the last of those changes was implemented.”

“And our annual turnover is now?” enquired Hawkins, already knowing the answer, as he had done to all of the previous questions.

“$3 billion, sir.”

“And I presume we did a feasibility study on these changes?”

“No, sir, we did not.”

“So, there you have it, you’re concerned about the $3 million I want to spend and the direction I now want to take the company, even though the changes I’ve already made have increased turnover by $2 billion annually and which has made you and all the shareholders I might add, exceedingly rich?  Did I get that right, Adam?”

“Well, yes, but …” Hawkins interrupted him in mid-stream.

“There are no buts here, Adam.  What I do and have done increases the value of this company, and everybody who has shares in it laughs all the way to the bank.  Now, when that changes, you can question the correctness of my decisions, but until then, stop wasting my time!  Are we done here?” asked Hawkins as he stood to leave.

Nobody moved or said a word to stop him from doing that.  With a small internal smile, he noticed that two of the board members were glaring at Laurenson.  Turning at the door, he said, “Adam, I’d like to meet you in my office!”

“Now?” asked Laurenson

“Yes, now.” Came the reply.

Chapter 4 – Homeland Security

“So what do we know about Hawkins?” asked Steven Whistler, the senior of the two men sitting around the conference table.

“He’s rich, very rich.  IRS has him pegged at around $8 billion.”

“That’s rich.  What else?”

“Graduated Magna Cum Laude from Harvard.  I joined the Marines and served in Operation Desert Storm with distinction. He was retired as a Lieutenant Colonel.  Went into the private sector as COO of a small engineering company.  Within two years, he had turned it around and bought the previous owners out.  Three years later, he had taken over all the competition in that sector and rolled them all into a holding company called Gestalt Holdings.  Then he started buying into different sectors and now owns about 100 companies.”

“Sounds like a high flyer!”

“He is exactly that.  He seems to have an uncanny knack for rooting out inefficiencies and increasing profits.  He pays his employees incredibly well, so there is almost no staff turnover.  There is one interesting thing!”

“What’s that?”

“He can’t stand. Yes, men.  If you work for him, you’re expected to raise your hand and disagree if you think he’s wrong on an issue.”

“Interesting.  So I take it that no ‘Yes’ men exist in his companies.

“None.  Occasionally, he’ll float a bad idea to see how loud the opposition is.  Anybody that goes along with it finds themselves looking for a new job.”

“Does he fire them?”

“No, he’s smarter than that.  He puts them in a position that they’ll hate.  They see the writing on the wall and start sending out resumes.  He’ll give them a good reference, and companies with bad or insecure senior management will always hire them.”

“You said he pays his employees incredibly well.  How so?”

“Entry-level employees get paid $10 per hour more than minimum wage, but never less than $20 an hour. After a year, those who remain are put on a salary that is 30% higher than they would get anywhere else, and annual raises are a matter of course.  He expects everybody to work hard and pays them very well.”

“That’s pretty smart.  Gets the cream of the crop and pays them so well that they don’t want to leave.”

“Yep.  We’ve talked to a few of his employees, and they all say he’s a terrific boss and that people, not profits, come  first.”

“But the profits do come!”

“Yes, they do.  Gestalt is incredibly profitable.”

“Is he married?”

“Widowed. He married his childhood sweetheart. She was killed in a car crash while he was in Operation Desert Storm.  He’s never remarried, although he’s always being linked to some beautiful woman.”

“Social activities?”

“Not much.  He’s a chess Grandmaster and a prodigy in that field.  He occasionally plays in a high-profile chess tournament and does pretty well.  Doesn’t have many close friends other than Joe Simpson.”

“What do we know about him?”

“They served in the military together, got out simultaneously, and Joe’s been with him ever since.  They’re like family.”

“And this Simpson fellow.  What’s he worth?

“A lot; at least $100 million.  He’s paid $2 million annually, plus he always gets an annual bonus of extra shares in the company..”

“So he’s very loyal?”

“You could say that!”

“Anything else?”

“He’s very active politically.  Any time there’s a hint of corruption or impropriety from any serving politician, he makes it very public and shames them.”

“Does that make any difference?” asked the first man. “I thought all politicians were shameless!”

“It depends on who you talk to.  He hits them where it hurts and calls out the companies and people who donate to their campaigns.  If they keep donating, he calls them out publicly until they stop donating or take their money elsewhere.”

“So he is making a difference!”

“I’d say Yes.”

“Political bias?”

“He calls himself an Independent, but he leans Democrat, and he’ll go after any politician who draws his ire.”

“I think we need more people like him,” said the man with a slight laugh.

“Yes, I agree.”

“Does he fund these campaigns privately or through one of his corporations?”

“He has a political action committee that he funds personally to $30 million yearly, sometimes more.  Spends most of that money on TV and print ads.  Has a team of very slick and smart people who put together all of those.”

“Who runs it?”

“Joe Simpson, his right-hand man.”

“What did Hawkins have to say about this advertisement of his?”

“Just that he’s looking to improve some people’s lives, but nothing more.”

“Did you press him?”

“I tried, but he refused to go into more details.  He told us to go screw ourselves.”

“Do we have any leverage?”

“No.  He’s insulated and represented by very high-priced, competent firms and lawyers.”

“Do we know anything more about his advertisement?”

“Only that it was only placed in the AARPs magazine and ran for ten days.  The Signal number he uses is not responding to anything that came in after the post ended.”

“Do we know how many people responded?”

“No, Signal’s secure, and we can’t hack into it.  The best guess is a lot.  The ad would have hit a lot of retirees, but we’ve no idea who or what type of person he’s looking for.  And we don’t know why!”

“How many responses did we submit?”

“25. We thought that was a fair number, but we’ve no way of knowing.”

“Any response to them?”

“2 were asked to submit a photograph, but we’ve heard nothing more since.”

“What’s our next step?”

“We don’t have one.  He’s not done anything illegal that we know of.”

“OK.  Well, let’s keep an eye on things.  See if anything shakes loose!”

“Yes, sir.”

Chapter 5 -Feet to the Fire

Joe Simpson walked into the kitchen where Gerald Hawkins sat reading the paper.  “Morning, Gerry,” he said.

“Hey Joe,” replied Hawkins.  “What’s new?”

“Got a call from TV13 last night.  They want to do an interview with me about the SuperPAC, and I’m not sure whether it’s a good idea.  What do you think?”

Hawkins thought for a moment before replying. “I don’t see why not, Joe.  I can’t think of any downside.”

“Probably not, but what if they want to do a hatchet job?”

“Well, let’s get them to agree to submit their questions beforehand so we can have the lawyers review them; plus, they’ll have to agree not to spring any surprises.”

“And if they do?”

“Then you just remind them politely and on-air that the question was not on their submitted list and say nothing more.”

“That should work.  They also asked if you would consider being interviewed with me.”

“I presume you told them the chances of me agreeing to that were slim?”

“I said a snowball would have a better chance in hell!”

“Did you now?” asked Hawkins with a grin.

“I’m pretty sure that those were my exact words.”

“When do they want to do it?”

“The day before Congress and the House come back to work.  That’s in about three weeks.”

“Okay, so get them to send their questions to us and Bill Schumacher right away, and tell them Yes, subject to the conditions we’ve laid out.”

“Will do.  More coffee?”

“Why not?  I’ve only had one.”

With all the questions submitted and approved and the studio’s agreement to the rules, Joe Simpson arrived an hour before air time.  He didn’t know how long make-up would take and always believed in leaving plenty of time. 

`The hour passed quickly, and he was soon on stage being fitted with the mic.  While the technicians were doing that, he made small talk with the host, an attractive woman in her mid-30s named Janice Hollingsbeck, and they were soon laughing, a good sign for what was about to come.

The Director started the countdown, and within seconds, Janice had transformed into a professional TV journalist.

“Good evening, I’m Janice Hollingsbeck, and my guest today is Joe Simpson, who runs a SuperPAC called ‘Feet to the Fire.’  That’s a rather unusual Operation Desert Storme for a SuperPAC, isn’t it, Joe?”

‘Maybe, “ he replied, “But it is what we do after all.”

“Could you explain to our viewers what exactly that is?”

“Sure.  When a politician, or any public figure for that matter, does or says anything that we feel is not in the public’s interest, we publicize that, and we hold their feet to the fire until they reverse course.”

“And do they?”

“Most of the time.”

“But what about when they don’t?”

“Then we go to stage 2.”

“Which is?”

“We hold their backers’ and sponsors’ feet to the fire until they get the course reversed.”

“That sounds very political.”

“It is, but we’re not targeting one party; we’re targeting all of them.  Unfortunately, Congress is full of incompetent, inept, and, in many cases, somewhat corrupt people.  Those people see themselves as being served instead of serving the people who elected them.”

“When you use incompetent and inept words, are you saying these people are stupid?”

“Some of them certainly are.  There was a case not that long ago of somebody, I think it was Louis Gohmert from Texas, asking the Park Service if they could alter the moon’s orbit. That’s pretty dumb.  And there are lots of other examples like that.  Those people got into politics because they couldn’t find a real job!”

“Isn’t that a bit harsh?”

“Nope.”

“How do you hold them accountable?”

“We buy a lot of TV spots, Internet ads.”

“That sounds expensive?”

“It is, but fortunately, we have a lot of money behind us, and the SuperPAC can afford it.”

“And the  money comes from?”

“Janice, you know I’m not going to answer that question,” replied Joe.

Janice Hollingsbeck gave a slight laugh.  She’d known that the question was outside of the agreement but had thought she’d try her luck.

“Of course.  How many campaigns are you running at any one time?”

“Usually a couple.  Right now, we’ve got three, including one repeat offender.”

“Is that common?”

“No, but he’s going to find himself unelectable pretty soon if he doesn’t get thrown out of Congress for ethics violations.”

“You mean like George Santos?”

“Yes, exactly like him.  He’s one of our success stories.”

“How so?”

“I would have thought that was obvious, Janice,” replied Simpson, with a smile.

“Do you mind if I ask what the cost of that campaign was?”

“I don’t mind if you ask, but I won’t answer it.”

“Why is that?”

“Firstly, I don’t keep those numbers in my head; secondly, that’s confidential information. However, Janice,” he continued.  “I need to remind you of something.”

“Yes, Joe, and what is that?” answered Janice, already knowing what he was about to say, but Joe surprised her with his answer.

“Oh, you know what I’m talking about, don’t you?” he inquired.

She nodded.  She’d already asked two questions that hadn’t been approved.  She also knew that he knew she was doing it deliberately.

“Well, I think that’s all we have time for today.  Joe Simpson from Feet to the Fire, thank you for joining us today.”

“Oh, it’s been my pleasure.”, answered Joe, waiting for the red light to go off so he could remove his mic. 

Five minutes later, he left the building and drove away in his Bentley Continental.  Driving it always made him feel like a millionaire, and sometimes he had to remind himself that he was one, many times over, thanks to Gerry. That was a debt he could never repay, but he would try.

Chapter 6 – Thinning the Hard

With close to 300 applicants remaining, it was time to narrow the field down substantially, but impossible to do it by interviewing everyone, and Gerry still wanted to remain anonymous.  Logging into his Claris Studio account, he created a new Hub and built the Applicant Profile form.

Once he had finalized the form, asking the questions he wanted answers to, he sent an SMS to all the remaining applicants.  As soon as those had gone out, he opened up his FileMaker database, logged in with his ClarisID, and connected to the form results so that he could see all of the completed forms as they came in without any need to re-enter any information.  The technology was excellent, he thought.

Over the next few days, the number of completed applications kept increasing.  A simple counter at the top of the screen tracked how many had been submitted and were still waiting to come in.  Using the phone number as a key, he connected the forms to the right applicant, building up a complete profile of each.  Then, he printed each on a single page to read and make notes on each.  He knew he could have done all that in the database, but in some ways, he was old school and liked to read things on paper.  Kindle was great to read, but there was nothing like holding an actual book.

By the end of the week, he had close to 300 completed applications.  A few dozen still hadn’t come in, and he figured those people weren’t that interested, so he deleted the form, leaving just the results and a few piles of paper to wade through.   Then he deleted all of those people.

Stage 2 was done.  Now for Stage 3 of his plan.

With nearly 300 applications to wade through, Gerry separated them into two piles.  The first was the outright rejections, and the rest merited a more detailed look.  Then he went through the 2^nd pile again, moving more into the 1^st pile.  Finally, he did it for the 3rd time, but thinking about each application and taking much more time.  At the end of the process, he had eliminated 252 applications and had 45 left.  It was still a lot but much more manageable.

Returning to his computer, he marked all of the rejections; as he did so, a short SMS message was sent to each of those people, thanking them for their application and telling them they had not been moved to the next level.  He knew all those people would be disappointed, but they would at least know where they stood, which was essential to him.

Pressing the intercom button beside his desk, he said, “Joe, you got a few minutes?”

“I’ll be right there,” came the immediate reply, and a minute later, Simpson walked in holding two cups of coffee.  “I figured you might need a refill about now, so I was getting it ready.”

“Perfect timing then.”

“That’s the military for you.”

Hawkins laughed. One thing the military was not famous for was perfect timing but punctuality.  Now, that was a different matter.  “Down to 45.”, He said.

“Good start.  What do you want me to do?”

“Go through them and put any outright rejects in a separate pile.  Take your time.  I’m going to take my coffee and a quick shower.”

Simpson nodded, sat in a comfortable armchair with the stack of papers in his hands, laid them on his lap, and began to read.  He separated them into three piles over the next 20 minutes, not 2.  When Hawkins returned to the room a few minutes later, he looked quizzically at the extra piles.  “Which are the rejections?” he asked.

Simpson picked up the smallest pile and handed it over.  “Just 5.”

“Ok,” said Hawkins.  “What’s the other pile?”

“They’re interesting, but I’m not sure they’re what you’re looking for.  I want to think about them a little bit more.”

“Ok.  How many left for me to weed through?”

“28.  10 more rejections and 7 in my pile.”

“28’s a good number.”

“I think so too.”, answered Simpson as he got out of the chair, picking up and handing the 28 papers over as he did so.  He folded over and stuffed the seven he was keeping in the back pocket of his jeans.  “Got anything planned for the rest of the day?” he asked.

“Follow-up visit with the quack.”, Said Hawkins with a wry grin.

“Do you want me to drive you?”

“No.  I’m fine.  I’ve got a couple of hours, so I will schedule a Zoom conference to interview the 25 later this week.”

“Anonymously, I presume?”

“Yes. I’m not ready to let them know who I am yet.”

“When do you plan on doing that?”

“When I’m down to the 10 I want.”

“Fair enough.”

Chapter 7 – A Secret Meeting

Gerry Hawkins got in the back of his Mercedes 500.  Bill Hampshire, his driver for the past 15 years, was already at the wheel waiting for instructions. “Take me to the office, please, Bill.”

Bill nodded, put the car into drive, and smoothly pulled away.  He was an expert driver with many skills, none of which Hawks had ever needed but knew they were there.  “Keep an eye out for anybody following, please.  Let me know if you see any, but we’re not trying to evade them.  I want to know.”

Ten minutes later, Hampshire spoke up. “Two tails.  One is in a dark green Buick, and the other is in a grey Volvo.  What do you want me to do about them?”

“Nothing right now, but if they’re still there on the way home, do you think you can lose them?”

“Does a bear shit in the woods!” came the reply.

“Thought so.”

The drive to the office took another 10 minutes. Bill pulled into the underground garage, and Hawkins reserved space as CEO.  Hawkins got out of the car.  “I’ll be at least an hour, Bill. Go and get some coffee or stretch your legs.”

“I’ll just wait here.  I’ve got a great book on my Kindle, and the time will go fast.”

“What are you reading?”

“The Year of the Locust by Terry Hayes.”

“He wrote ‘I am Pilgrim’ if I remember correctly.

“Exactly right.  Best book I’ve ever read.”

“It was brilliant.  I wonder if they’ll ever make a movie out of it?”

“I sure hope so.”

“How’s the new one?”

Almost as good, but I’m only a third of the way through it yet,”

“Order me a hardback copy, will you please?”

“Sure.  Isn’t it about time you went to a Kindle?”

“Nope.  I like to hold a book in my hands.”

“Old school!”

“That’s me.”, Hawkins said as he shut the car door and headed for the private elevator to the top floor of the 50-story skyscraper. He owned the entire building, after all.

A minute later, he walked into his office.  Before he closed the door, he spoke to his PA. “Marge, I don’t want to be disturbed.  The electric lock will be on, but some people might need discouraging.”

“No problem.”, She replied.

Hawkins closed the door, crossed to his desk, and flicked a switch under the desk.  Three solid steel bolts slid into place, sealing the room off.  Now, he had total privacy, which was good because he didn’t want anybody to know what he was about to do.  Crossing to the bookcase on the opposite wall, he pulled two books out slightly.  With a hiss, the bookcase slid aside to reveal a hidden safe room that very few people knew about, and none of those worked in the building.  He had had the room retrofitted, along with a second private elevator installed when he had first bought the building and before anybody had moved in. 

He pushed the two books back into place and entered the room, pressing another button as he did so.  The bookcase slid back into place.  He always thought that this room would be an excellent mystery to solve if he ever went into his office and never came out.  He didn’t think anybody would ever find the safe room.  He sat down at a small makeup table, putting on a false beard and mustache, a wig, and a pair of dark glasses.  Then, he put a small stone in his shoe to give him a limp.  Picking up a walking stick, he pressed the elevator button and descended to the 3^rd floor, where there was a walkway to the building opposite, which he also owned.  The walkway was only accessible by a special keycard, and since nobody in the building had one, he was guaranteed to be the only person using it.

The precautions were a bit dramatic, he thought to himself, but he wanted complete anonymity for what he was doing.  With the disguise, he was just another person that nobody would give a second glance to. 

The 3^rd floor of the second building was empty.  The cost of keeping it that way was insignificant.  He took another elevator to the underground garage, got into a beaten-up old Chevy, and drove out.  His destination was only a short distance away, and he had plenty of time before Bill Hampshire would begin to worry.

Hawkins walked into the waiting room of his Doctor’s office.  The receptionist looked up, smiled brightly, and said, “Go on it, Mr. Hampshire.  He’s waiting for you.”

Hawkins smiled to himself.  He’d been using Bill’s last Operation Desert Storme as an alias for years, and the receptionist had no idea who he was, nor would she be able to pick him out of a line-up; the disguise was simple but very effective at hiding his identity.  “Thanks, Ruth’:, he said as he opened the Doctor’s door and went on in.

Harry Truman was waiting for him.  His parents had had a sense of humor and had thought it was funny naming him after a US president, and he’d endured the jokes goodheartedly for all of his life.  “Morning, Mr. President,” Hawkins said.

“Hilarious, Gerry.”

“Sorry, but it never gets old.”

“Well, it should.  Unlike my other patients, you’ve been to the White House a few times and met a President or 2.”, replied Dr. Truman as he rose to shake hands. “How are you feeling, Gerry?”

“Fatigued.  I don’t have as much energy, but I’m getting by.”

“Pain levels?”

“Bearable mostly, but sometimes I get a jolt that stops me in my tracks.”

“That’s to be expected.”

“What’s the prognosis?”

“Not good, I’m afraid.  The cancer has spread, and there’s nothing more we can do about it.”

“How long?”

“Best guess a year.  I’m sorry, Gerry.”

“Not your fault, Harry.  It’s just life.” He paused for a moment. “How long before the pain starts becoming unbearable?”

“8 months, give or take.  I’ve got some new pills for you to take when you need them.”

“Thanks.”

“Have you told anybody about the cancer?”

“Just Joe.  He’s the only one I trust with something like this.”

“He’s your rock, isn’t he?” asked the Doctor.

“Yes, he is.”

“What will happen with the company?”

“I’m selling it.  An offer on the table will get me out clean in the next few months.  I’d asked Joe if he wanted to take over and run it, but he said No.  He’s quite happy running the PAC, and I’ve told him I’m putting $200 million in an Escrow account so that he and it are well funded for the foreseeable future.”

“I bet he’s happy about that!”

“He is, but he doesn’t know that I’m leaving him a billion, and most of the rest is going into a new Foundation that I’ve set up and which he’ll run, if he wants to, that is.  He thinks it’s all going to various charities, but most are run by people who take huge salaries, and very little gets to the people who should be getting it. Joe will do a much better job of disbursing funds, and he’ll have a lot to hand out.”

“A billion is one hell of an inheritance!”

“It is, but I expect he’ll give most of it away, and that’s okay with me. I’ve also earmarked another billion for cancer research.”

“Wow, that’s a lot.  You giving it to the Mayo Clinic?”

“No, I’m not. You can if you want to, though.”

Harry Truman gave him a startled look. “What do you mean?”

“It’s going into your Foundation.  You can use it however you see fit; fund any research projects you want. You know what’s going on with cancer research as well as anybody and will know where some extra money can make a difference.”

“You’ve rocked my boat with that one, Gerry, but thank you.  I know of at least three projects that can use some extra money right now.”

“And you can help them right now.”

Again, Truman asked, “What do you mean?”

The money is being transferred to your Foundation today.  There’s no need to wait until I die; you can tell me what you’re doing with it.  I’ll be interested to hear.”

“I can do better than that.  I’ll assemble a packet of the projects I’d like to fund and allocate money to each.”

“I’d like that, but the decision on who to fund is yours, not mine.  If you need more, call Joe.  I’ll tell him.”

“Thanks again, Gerry.  That is an extraordinary gift.”

“Can’t take it with me, and I’ve no family to leave it to, so it might as well do as much good as possible.  You also have an unlimited expense account if you need to travel or anything like that.”

“Aren’t you afraid I will just take the money and run?”

“Nope.  You’ve been my doctor and friend for a long time, and I trust you implicitly.”

“I appreciate that, Gerry, more than you will ever know.’, replied Truman.

“You’re welcome.”

“You know that when the pain gets unbearable, we’ll put you on a morphine drip.”

“Easy to just turn it up a little, and I’d slide away!”

“In theory, yes.”

“Sounds good.  When do you want to see me again?”

“No medical need.  Let’s get together every couple of weeks?”

“Sure.  Come over to the house for dinner.  I’ll have Bill pick you up and take you back so you can have a few drinks with Joe and me.”

“That sounds great.”

An hour later, Hawkins had retraced his steps, removed the disguise, and left his safe room.  Saying goodbye to Marge, he took the elevator back down to the garage and, 5 minutes after that, was on his way home. “Still want me to lose the tail, Boss?”

“Not today.”, Answered Hawkins.  “Let’s just head home.”

“You got it,”

Fifteen minutes later, Hawkins was walking into his home.  Joe looked up as he came in.”How did it go?”

“We picked up a tail, both directions.”

“That’s quick.”

“Yep.  I thought it wouldn’t take Homeland long.”

“Did you have Bill lose them?”

“Not this time, but they’ve no idea I ducked out for an hour to see Harry.”

“How did that go?”

“As expected.  He says I’ve got a year.  Eight months or so before the pain becomes unbearable.”

“Is that going to give us enough time?”

“I think so.  It’ll be tight but doable.”

: Did you tell Harry about the donation?”

“I did.  He was shocked and very grateful.”

“He’ll do a lot of good with it.”

“I know,” replied Hawkins.  “I told him to let you know if he needed any more.”

“Sure, no problem.  What’s next?”

“Got to set up the interviews and get that done so I can pick the 10.  Did you have another look at the ones you picked out?”

“I did.  I think your selections were right on.”

“So what’s your plan?”

“I’m taking off for a week early tomorrow.  I’m going to be taking the Gulfstream unless you need it?”

“No, it’s all yours.  I’ve no plans to go anywhere.  When will you be back?”

“It should be within the week, but it might be longer.  Ten days max.”

“Okay.  Let’s chat regularly so you can let me know how things are going.”

“Sure.”

“Who are you taking with you?”

“Mac Smith.  I’ve put him on the payroll for two weeks.”

“How much is he costing?”

“A lot.  A hundred thousand, but he’s worth it.”

“I agree. If you want to remain anonymous, he’s absolutely the best.”

“Where are you heading first?”

“San Francisco, and after that, probably Atlanta.”

“OK.  Are you sure you want to take the Gulfstream?  I can easily charter a private jet.”

“No, the Gulfstream is fine.”

Chapter 8 – Road Trip

Early the following day, Joe Simpson had Bill drive him to the private airport just a few miles from home.  They made a slight detour to pick up Mac Smith, who was waiting at the ultra-exclusive Ritz-Carlton hotel.  Mac had two large metal cases, which Bill loaded into the car’s trunk.  “Good job, you’re not flying commercial!” he joked.

“Too true, but it gets covered under expenses when I travel for work.”, replied Mac.

When they arrived at the airport a few minutes later, Bill pulled the car up the stairway to the $44 million Gulfstream and carried the cases into the aircraft. The plane had been configured for four passengers to travel in extreme comfort, and there was plenty of room for the two passengers and all of the cases.  Joe flicked the intercom switch to talk to the cockpit.  “Take her up.”, he said.

Moments later, the gangway folded up, and the door closed.  Five minutes later, they were in the air for the short flight to San Francisco.  As soon as they were airborne, Mac unsnapped the catches on one of the two cases, opening it up to reveal a professional makeup.  He was, after all, one of Hollywood’s top makeup artists, specializing in changing characters’ appearance. 

“Who are we going to be this time?”

Joe handed him a driver’s license in the name of Pete Sampson.

“I don’t suppose you’ll tell me why we’re doing this?”

“Call it covert research.  Gerry’s interested in buying some advanced computer technology but doesn’t want that interest known to anybody until he decides.  I’m doing the due diligence for him.”

Mac nodded.  Inwardly, Joe heaved a sign of relief.  The story he had just told was a complete fabrication, and he had hoped it would be accepted at face value.  What he was doing was completely different.  What was true was that he didn’t want to be recognized, and each person he would talk to would see him as different and describe him as such.

When Joe left the plane in San Francisco, not even his mother would have recognized him.  He had been transformed into Pete Sampson, a slightly overweight guy with long blonde hair, dark brown eyes, and a gap-toothed grin.  He looked exactly like the driver’s license photograph, which was hardly surprising since Mac had done the original make-up three years ago when he and Gerry had started planning in case there was ever a need for some covert operations—that time had now come.

Pete Sampson went to the Enterprise car hire company and got into a Buick.  He did not need to go to the counter and talk to anybody.  Connecting his iPhone to Bluetooth, he pulled out of the parking lot and dialed a number.  The person he was calling was one of the seven applicants he had separated from Gerry’s pile.  He had pre-called each of the seven and arranged to meet with them regarding their application.

The call was answered immediately and crisply: “Cory Bateman.”

“Cory, it’s Pete Sampson.  I’ve just left the airport.  Where can I pick you up?”

“At my house.  You’ve got the address?”

“Yes. It’s already in the GPS, and I should be there in 15 minutes.”

“Traffic’s pretty heavy today.  I’d allow 20.”

“See you in 20.” Joe ended the call.

Eighteen minutes later, he pulled up in front of Cory Bateman’s house, a modest single-story dwelling. His research had told him that Cory was underwater on the house due to the recent recession and was having trouble keeping up with the payments.  Bateman came out of the house as soon as Joe pulled up.  He got into the car, and they shook hands briefly before Joe pulled away.

“Thought we’d take a drive and talk.”

“Sure,” replied Bateman.

Joe reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope, which he had handed to Bateman. “What’s this?” asked Bateman.

“Call it a consulting fee.”

Bateman opened the envelope, which contained ten $100 bills.  He whistled softly. “Well, that’s a nice surprise.”

“Whichever way this goes, I don’t want you to feel that the time was wasted, and this should tell you that I’m serious.  Does it?”

Bateman sat up straighter in his seat.  “It does.  Thank you.  It will come in useful.”

“You’re welcome.  So tell me why you answered the advertisement?”

“It intrigued me.  It pretty much described me to a tee, and I thought, why not?  I didn’t expect it to go anywhere, so this,” he said, pointing to the envelope now in his lap, “has changed my expectations. What exactly are you looking for?”

“I think I’ve found it, Cory, but let’s talk more before I tell you why I’m looking.”

“OK, shoot.”

“Tell me about Cory Bateman.”

“That’s easy.  I joined the Marines out of school and then moved over to Delta.  Did ten years with them.  Retired.  I bounced around and did a few things.  Mostly physical stuff.  Office work never appealed to me.”

“Were you with Delta in Operation Desert Storm?”

“Yep.”

“What did you do over there?”

“Killed people mostly, if I’m honest.”

“In what capacity?” asked Joe, already suspecting he knew the answer.

“I was with the PhoenixRising program.  We took out high-ranking targets.”

“So you were an assassin?”

“That’s what we were for sure.”

“Did it bother you?”

“Nope.  They were scum, and they were killing our boys, so we helped even the field.”

“Did you ever do any contract work after you got out?”

“I was offered a couple and some training gigs for one of the big outfits.  I turned them down; I should have taken them.  Damn good money, which I could use these days.”

“Why did you turn them down?”

“Didn’t want to do them.”

“Anything else?”

I did bodyguard work for a couple of years.  I wouldn’t say I liked it. I was bored out of my mind most of the time. I was mainly looking after celebrities, keeping the fans away.  A couple of arrogant young shits with more money than sense who thought they were God’s chosen.  Not my thing!”

“Any regrets?”

“Sure, who doesn’t have them.”

“What’s the biggest.”

“Janey dying of cancer, I’d say.  We were together for a long time and were very happy.  She got me and never tried to change me.”

“That’s rare.”

“Yep.  The other real regret is that I didn’t capitalize on my skills when I could have done.”

“Do you think you’re past it?”

“No, but who wants old guys like me!”

“I might.”, Answered Joe.

“Doing what?”

“It depends.”

“On what?”

“Let me ask you something.  What would you be willing to do for a $50 thousand payday?”

Cory thought for a few seconds, and Joe let him believe. “Pretty much anything.”, he finally replied.  “What do you have in mind?”

“That’s a conversation for another time, but I can tell you, you’re on a very short list.”

“Okay.”, He said, unable to hide his disappointment.

“Don’t be disappointed, Cory.  I’ve got some things I must take care of first, but in the meantime, this is to tell you that I’m deadly serious.”  Joe reached into his pocket and pulled out a second envelope, considerably thicker than the first. “There’s another $4000 in there. That’s yours for taking this meeting and being who I hoped you’d be. You’ll likely get a call in the next couple of weeks and need to take a trip, but that’s all I can tell you right now.  Okay?”

“Sure.”, Answered Cory, visibly surprised at the second envelope.  $5000 was already a considerable payday, answering his prayers and the potential for more.  Well, that was exciting.

Joe pulled up in front of Cory’s house a few minutes later.  He reached over to shake Cory’s hand again.  “I’ll be in touch.”

As soon as he pulled away from Cory Bateman’s house, he placed another call.  This time, it was to Bart Adams, the second name on his list, who lived about an hour south in San Jose.  The phone was answered immediately with a monosyllabic grunt, “Yes?”

“Bart, it’s Pete Sampson.  I’m just leaving Redwood City; it should take me an hour or so to get to you.  I’ll pick you up at your house if that’s ok?”

“I’m at ‘The Blue Widow’.  Can you pick me up there?”

“Sure.  I know where it is.  I’ll call you when I arrive; save me coming in.”

“You don’t like biker bars?”

“I like them just fine, but I’m on a tight schedule, and sooner have you come out so we can go for a drive and a talk.”

“Okay.”

“See you in about an hour.”  Joe disconnected the call.  He wasn’t surprised at the pickup location.  He knew from his research that Bat was a lifelong biker and a senior member of the San Jose chapter of the Hell’s Angels.  He also knew that bikers were a surly bunch with people they didn’t know, and he didn’t want to get into any conflicts.  He was not worried about the outcome; instead, he didn’t want to take any chances that his disguise might come apart in a fight.

Precisely an hour later, he pulled into the parking lot of The Blue Widow, which was full of Harley-Davidsons with 20 or so tough-looking bikers standing outside.  He recognized Bart Adams and waved a hand out the window.  Adams nodded, said something to the group he was with, and came over to the car.  Getting in, he pulled the door shut, reached over, and shook Joe’s hand.  Joe pulled away immediately.

As with Cory, he reached into his jacket and handed over another envelope.  “That’s a consulting fee for one hour of your time today.  It’s $1000 in hundred dollar bills.”

“Appreciate it,” said Adams, putting the envelope into his jacket without looking at its contents.

“So what made you answer the ad?  It looks like you’ve got lots of friends, and you don’t look like you’re running low on money!”

“True, but I am a bit bored and getting long in the tooth for a biker’s life.  I’m also thinking of getting out of California.  Cost of living is insane, especially rent.”

“You don’t own your house?”

“Nah.  Always rented

“Where are you thinking of going?”

“Vegas.”

“Not cheap anymore.”

“I know, but it will be much cheaper than San Jose.”

“True.  So tell me about yourself?”

“Not that much to tell.  I’ve been riding with the Angels most of my life.  I got drafted for Operation Desert Storm and spent two years in the country, lucky to survive. Bad memories, bad war.”

“What did you do after you got back?”

“Worked construction mostly.  I’m a pretty good carpenter; the only thing my old man taught me.”

“Married?”

“Was.  Didn’t work out?”

“Children?”

“One son.  He lives in Boston. Computer genius, so I hear.”

“You’re not close?”

“Disapproves of the biker life; never did.  He moved across the country as soon as he could.  We’re not in touch.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“Shit happens.  So what’s this job?”

“I’m putting together a team, and you might be just the type of person I’m looking for.”, Replied Simpson.

“To do what?”

“That’ll come later if you’re selected.”

“Ok.  What’s the time frame?”

“Short.  I’ll let you know within a week.  Can you break ties here quickly and get on the road?”

“Yeah, sure.  No problem.  Where to?”

“Rideable.”

“That’s good.  I wouldn’t want to leave the Harley.”

Joe pulled over into a motel parking lot.  Pulling out another larger envelope, he handed it to Adams.  “This is another four grand.  That’s to show you I’m serious and for you to keep this meeting between us.  Ok?”

“Sure, no problem.  I appreciate the money.”

“I’m sure you do.  I’m going to drop you back at the bar.  I’ll be in touch one way or the other.”

Five minutes later, he had dropped Adams at the bar and was returning to the airport.  Getting a second phone out of his pocket, he called the pilot and told him he was on the way back. “File a flight plan for Atlanta,” he said.

A short distance from the airport, he pulled into a gas station to fill the rental up.  While it was fueling, he took the burner phone he’d been using to contact Bateman and Adams, removed the sim card, which he broke in two, and tossed the pieces into a trash can.

Back on the freeway, he opened the car’s electric window and tossed the burner phone into the bushes, severing all traces of the contact he had made.  Once back on the plane, he would shred the driver’s license and credit card he’d been using, and Pete Sampson would cease to exist.

The flight to Atlanta took just over 3 hours, so by the time they landed, it was early evening and too late for the next meeting.  Knowing that would be the case. Joe had called The Ritz Carlton and reserved a suite for him and Mac and separate rooms for the two pilots.  Loading Mac’s cases and their luggage, they went to the hotel, checked in, and arranged to meet in the lobby an hour later.

The Ritz Carlton limousine took them to Kevin Rathbun Steak on Krog St, famous for its Cowboy Ribeye, which they all ordered.  It was as good as promised and was washed down with an excellent Merlot.  Both pilots limited themselves to a single glass since they knew they might be flying the next day, but Joe and Mac Smith had three glasses each.  The conversation was convivial, but the reason for the visit, indeed the whole trip, wasn’t discussed.

Returning to the hotel around 10 pm, the pilots said good night and headed to their luxurious rooms.  Mac and Joe went to the bar, found a quiet corner near a roaring log fire, and ordered two brandies.

“What’s the schedule for tomorrow, Joe?” asked Mac.

“I’ve got two meetings, one in Atlanta and one in Marietta.  It’s a short drive up there, so I’ll be back by 4.  We’re staying here tomorrow night and heading to Miami for a shortstop.  After that, we’re off to Sin City for a couple of nights and then back home.  One of the people I’m meeting in Vegas lives there, and the other is driving up from Phoenix, where he’s been for a week so that we will stay two nights.  Even if he returns early, we’ll stay the extra night.”

“A lot of traveling for a few short meetings,” commented Mac.

“It is, but flying private makes it nicer.”

“Oh yeah.  The Gulfstream is so comfortable.”

“It is that.”  Finishing his brandy, Joe stood up.  “I’m heading up.  How about you?”

“Going to finish this brandy, listen to some piano music for a while, then I’ll be up.  What time do you want to get started tomorrow?”

“Not too early.  I’ll have room service bring breakfast at 8.30 and then you can go to work.”

“Sounds good.  Night, Joe.”

“Night.”

Back in the Suite, Joe picked up his iPhone, ensured he was connected to the hotel’s wifi network, and called Gerry using Signal.  Gerry answered immediately.  “How’s the road trip?” he asked.

“Productive.  Two good candidates.  When I return, I’ll fill you in, but I’m confident about the others.”

“The Haven is ready.”

“Fully stocked?” asked Joe.

“Yep.  Enough food and drink for a month and plenty of things to keep them occupied.”

“Great.  How are you feeling, Gerry?”

“A bit tired, to be honest.  It’s a little pain, but nothing I can’t handle.  I’m keeping to myself mostly.  Harry came over earlier to check up on me and have dinner.  Alexander also came, and we played some chess.  That was fun.  Harry went home when we told him Alexander and I were going to play.”

“Did you win?”

“Of course, I won, but he fought well.  He played an opening for Black that I hadn’t seen in years, and it was an excellent defense.”

“What was the opening?”

“The Hippo.  Have you heard of t?”

“Nope.”

“He did try to pull a fast one on me in the last game, though.”

“Why am I not surprised? What did he do.”

“Moved one of my key pawns one square to the left when I went to the bathroom.”

“You noticed it immediately, right?”

“Of course.  He knew I would.  I just casually moved it back without saying a word.”

“He probably enjoyed that.”

“Yes, he did.  We played three games.  They were all good.”

“So you had a nice evening.”

“Other than the elephant in the room, you mean?”

“Well, it is a room big enough to fit an elephant in, right?”

Gerry laughed.  “True,” he said.  “Night, Joe,” and ended the call.  After he had done so, he played the evening back in his head.  Harry Truman arrived first and was told that Alexander was joining them for dinner.  “Does he know?” asked Harry.

“About the cancer?  Yes, he does.  As one of my oldest friends, I wouldn’t keep something like that from him.”

Harry nodded.  He had met Alexander a few times over the years and thought him quite a character.  They had had a superb meal prepared by Anton, Gerry’s chef.  Anton had been the chef at a fabulous restaurant in Laguna Beach, and Gerry had unsuccessfully tried to hire him away.  Finally, seeing that there was no alternative, he had bought the restaurant and had offered Anton an amazing deal.  “Hire the best chef and manager you can find, and you let them run the restaurant.  Be my chef whenever I need you, and I’ll sign the restaurant over to you in exchange.”  Anton had readily agreed but had insisted that he would cook every evening unless Gerry, and Joe were going to be away or going to a restaurant which, in most cases, would be his one.  For big affairs at the house, his team would prepare all the meals at the restaurant and drive them over.  It was a great deal for both men, especially Anton who had always dreamed of having his own restaurant but had lacked the capital to do so.

After Harry had left and while they were playing their first game of chess, Gerry told Alexander he needed him to do something for him.  He had then explained what it was.  Alexander was more than a little surprised; he hadn’t seen it coming, but he understood what Gerry wanted and why. After getting Gerry to confirm that he was absolutely sure about it, and Gerry had done so, Alexander agreed.  It was a secret between the two of them, and Joe was never to know.

Joe thought about The Haven that Gerry had mentioned.  It was a private estate in the ultra-private and exclusive area of Ojai on the way to Santa Barbara.  Gerry had bought it some 15 years earlier for $15 million through one of his offshore companies.  It was dead-ended in that it would be impossible to track the ownership back to Gerry and, as such, was perfect for what they had in mind.  It was rarely used and was looked after by an elderly couple who took good care of the place in exchange for somewhere to live and a salary that enabled them to live well and still save most of it.  They would be heading to Hawaii on their annual vacation in a couple of weeks, so the place would be entirely vacant when the guests moved in, and before that happened, the entire house would be swept for bugs.  Joe knew they wouldn’t find any, but he wasn’t willing to take any chances; there was too much riding on it.

Thirty minutes later, he had taken a shower and got into bed.  Within seconds, he was fast asleep, one of the most valuable skills he had learned in the Army.

After breakfast the following day, Joe sat at the dressing table while Mac transformed him into the second of his identities.  This time, he was Andrew Creighton, an older man with a shock of white hair, blue eyes, and a full but neatly trimmed white beard.  Andrew wore a new pair of Levi 501s, a white T-shirt under a black leather jacket, and a pair of cowboy boots with lifts to make him appear taller.  A pair of rose-tinted wire-framed glasses finished off the outfit.   Joe smiled as he looked at himself in the mirror; he didn’t think his mother would recognize him.

Taking the elevator to the ground floor, he left the hotel and got into one of the waiting taxis. “Enterprise Rent a Car,” he said as he settled back into the comfortable leather seats.  Fifteen minutes later, he was dropped off and driving away from the rental lot.  This time, he had taken a Tesla, once a rarity at car rental companies but now becoming more of a common sight.  They were expensive, but he had long ago stopped being concerned about the extravagances he now took for granted.  It wasn’t that he had no regard for money; it was simply that you took advantage of things that made your life easier and more comfortable in his world.  The Tesla was undoubtedly one of those things.  He didn’t care much for Elon Musk, who, since taking over Twitter, had revealed himself to be a petty and unpleasant dictator.  Joe wondered if somebody with that much money and influence wasn’t a threat to democracy, but he put it out of his mind since there was nothing he could do about that.

Connecting his new burner phone to the car wi-fi, he dialed the first person on his list, Cody Jackson, who lived on the outskirts of Atlanta.  Cody was one of the most interesting people on his list, having been a stuntman in the movies for over 20 years.  According to legend, he’d worked on all of the John Wick movies and had been killed by Wick more than two dozen times over the four films.  He’d retired a year ago but had two ex-wives he paid alimony to and four kids he supported.  He definitely had money problems.  The family ties weren’t ideal, but Joe didn’t think that would be a problem.

Arranging to pick Cody up at his house, he soon pulled outside, where Cody was already waiting. They shook hands when he got in the car, and Joe pulled away.  “Nice make-up job,” was the next thing that Cody said.

“What do you mean,” asked Joe, already knowing the answer.

“It’s top-of-the-line work,” answered Cody, “but I’ve been around the movie industry for a long time, and I know when somebody’s playing a character.”

“Does that bother you?”

“Nope, but I thought I’d tell you I’m not fooled.”

“Do you think you’d recognize me if you saw me on the street?”

“Probably not,” admitted Cody.

“Then we’re good.  So, Cody, why did you reply to the advertisement?”

“It was a bit intriguing.  I liked the ‘high risk, high reward’ part, to be honest.”

“So I take it that risk doesn’t bother you.”

“Not if it’s calculated, and I calculate everything.”

“Good.  And the high reward part?”

“Two ex-wives, double alimony payment, and four kids I support?”

“Sounds expensive!”

“It is very.”

“So, if I were to tempt you out of retirement with an offer, what would that offer be?”

“Not sure I know the answer to that,” replied Cody.  “It would depend on the job and the situation.”

“Hypothetically, would a $20K payday interest you without going into detail?”

Cody thought for a second before answering. “It would.”

“Good,” said Joe as he reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope, which he handed Cody.  “There’s five grand there just for taking this meeting and telling you I’m serious.”

Cody opened the envelope and looked at the stack of $100 bills.  “Appreciate it.”

“If I called and asked you to come to California for a month at short notice, would that present any problems for you?”

“No.  I’ve got nothing going on that I can’t escape.”

“What about your kids?” asked Joe.

“They all live with their mothers.  I see them but not all the time, and they’re teenagers.”

“You mean they don’t care if their parents are around?”

“They prefer it when we’re not.”

“I hear that,”

“So what’s next on the agenda?” asked Cody.

“You wait to hear from me.  It’ll be within a week.  I’ll want you in California within a few days if I call.  You’ll make your arrangements to get there, but all expenses will be reimbursed when you get there, plus there’ll be another five grand for making the trip.”

“But I still won’t know why?”

“No, you won’t,” agreed Joe.  “But you’ll be briefed, and if you want out, you’ll get dropped off at the airport, and you’ll have made ten grand in cash with no risk.”

“Fair enough.”, replied Cody.

After dropping Cody back at his house, Joe made his second call, this time to Harry Jones in Marietta, a 25-minute drive away, and told him he was on the way.

Picking up Harry Jones around 30 minutes later, Joe asked for directions to a nearby diner to get coffee and something to eat.  Harry told him that there was one just around the corner, and 5 minutes later, they were sitting in a booth at the back with a hot cup of freshly brewed coffee in front of them.  Joe ordered a blueberry muffin, and Harry ordered a wheat toast.

Harry Jones was a good-looking man with an impressive physique.  He had been a personal trainer since exiting the military 30 years earlier and kept himself in shape.  He wore a black T-shirt and blue jeans with Nike trainers on his feet.  Joe couldn’t see any tattoos but thought they might be hidden under the shirt.

“So, Harry, tell me why you answered the advertisement?”

“It caught my eye.”

“What part?”

“Money mostly.  Being a personal trainer is tough, especially when you get to my age.”

“How old are you?”

“66.”

“You’re still working though.”

“I am, but most people want younger trainers.  I’m as fit and as strong as anybody, but they don’t see that or probably even care.”

“Do you have any ties, family?”

“No.  My old lady moved to Hawaii to be with her family, and I was never interested in dating or finding somebody else.”

“No children?”

“No, none.  I never liked them much, so I didn’t want any of my own.”

“How about your military service?”

Operation Desert Storm, of course.  I got drafted in the last year of the war, so I only spent nine months there.  Felt like a lifetime, and it was.”

“What did  you do?”

“Combat medic.”

“You didn’t want to get into medicine when you got out?”

“No.  I saw enough of bodies torn apart for a lifetime.  It’s not that I’m squeamish, but enough’s enough.”

“Hobbies?”

“Martial arts.”

“Which?” asked Joe.

“Aikido is my main one.  I’m a 3rd Dan, and I teach it at a local dojo.  But I’m also a black belt in Shotokan karate.”

“Do you compete?”

“Not anymore.  I used to.”

“Why did you give it up?”

“I didn’t need to prove anything anymore, and it was time to stop doing it.”

Joe signaled the waitress for the check, handed her a $10 note, and told her to keep the change.

In the Tesla, he asked, “What would you like the advertisement to be for?”

“I don’t know that I care.  As long as the money’s good.”

“What if I wanted you to rob a bank?”

“Do you?” asked Harry.

“No, but what if I did?”

“I’d want to see how well it had been planned.”

“So, no moral objections, then?”

“Not really.  I don’t have much to look forward to at my age.”

“Well, that’s exactly why the advertisement was placed.  You’re the forgotten generation, which is all wrong.  You bring decades of knowledge and experience to any table, but people don’t want it.”

“That’s the truth.”

“Check the glovebox, Harry.  The brown envelope.”

Harry Jones opened the glovebox, took out the brown envelope, opened it, and whistled. “Wow.  Have I been hired?”

“Not yet.  That’s for you for taking this meeting.  If you get selected, there’ll be a lot more than that.  Are you interested?”

“You bet I am.”

“Great.  You’ll hear from me within a week.  He then told Harry the same thing he had told Cody Jackson earlier that day.

Dropping Harry back at his house, he headed back to Atlanta.  Using his regular cell phone, he called the pilot and told him they would go to Miami that evening instead of the following day.  Then he called Mac and arranged for them to all check out and meet back at the airport.  He also asked Mac to have the front desk call and reserve rooms at their South Beach location.

When Joe returned to the plane, the pilots were already in the cockpit and performing pre-flight checks.  They had already filed their flight plan to Miami-Opa Locka Executive Airport. Mac quickly removed the disguise that Joe had been wearing.  While doing so, Joe pulled out the driver’s license and credit card in the name of Andrew Creighton and fed them both into the shredder.  He had already disposed of the SIM card and the burner phone.

“Ritz Carlton South Beach was booked solidly, but they got us rooms at Bal Harbor.  Hope that’s ok?”

“Sure, it’s a nicer hotel.  Were you able to get us a suite?” 

“I got 2 of them.  I asked the guys if they minded sharing one, and they said No.”

“Great.  What did you do while I was gone?”

“Wandered around, did some shopping.”

“Did you buy anything?”

“I did,” he said, rolling back his sleeve to show Joe the watch he had bought.

“Breitling SuperOcean,” said Joe.

“You know your watches.”

“I do.  I have that very same watch in my collection.”

“I guess that means I’ve got good taste!”

“It means we’ve both got good taste.”

“How many meetings in Miami?” asked Mac, putting his makeup case away.

“Just one.  I will try to resolve that tonight so we can leave for Vegas early tomorrow.”

“Where are we staying in Vegas?”

“The Venetian.  It’s not the newest, but it’s my favorite, and its location is hard to beat.”

“I like it too,” replied Mac.

Thirty minutes later, they were airborne, and 2 hours later, they landed in Miami.  Mac and Joe stayed on the jet after the pilots took a car to their hotel.  As soon as they were gone, Joe opened a tiny hidden safe and took out another burner phone.  Switching it on, he quickly dialed a number stored in his mind.  “Jacob,” he said when the phone was answered.  “It’s Bill Walters.  I got into town early and wondered if you could meet this evening instead of tomorrow?” He listened intently for a few seconds.  “No, that’s fine.  I know it’s short notice.  I’ll call you in the morning around 9. Thanks.”

Ending the call, he turned to Mac.  “Well, that kills an early start.”

Mac shrugged.  “Nothing wrong with Miami for a few extra hours.”

Twenty minutes later, the plane was all locked up, and they were in a taxi heading for the Ritz Carlton Bal Harbor.  Checking in, they went up to their suite, dropped the bags off, and headed downstairs to meet with the pilots for drinks and dinner. Joe had made a reservation at the Artisan Beach House, which was part of the hotel and was very convenient and highly rated. 

The restaurant lived up to its reputation, and the food was fabulous, as was the wine.  After paying the $650 bill and leaving another $100 as a tip, they headed back into the hotel lobby, and Joe told the others that he was turning in.  Back in the suite, he called Gerry on Signal. “We’re in Miami.  I’m meeting Jacob Handley in the morning and heading to Vegas.  We’ll be there two nights and then home.”

“How’s the recruiting going?” asked Gerry.

“Good.  All four so far look very positive and motivated.”

“Great.  Check-in with me tomorrow night if you don’t mind?”

“Of course I will. How are you feeling?”

“The same physically.  Mentally, I’m feeling angry.”

“Did you talk to Harry about that?”

“I did.  He says it’s normal but recommended I talk to a psychotherapist friend of his.  I’m thinking about it.”

“I think it’s a good idea, Gerry.”

“Maybe.  I’ll think about it.”

“OK.  I’ll call you tomorrow night.”

“Thanks, Joe.”

The following day, he and Mac were up early, and he was being transformed into Bill Walters, a somewhat stout individual with a full, bushy beard and several tattoos.  Again, different colored contact lenses and glasses completed the transformation.  Mac opened the suite door to check that nobody was in the corridor, especially the pilots, who would be puzzled to see Bill Walters leaving Joe’s suite. Nodding that the coast was clear, Joe quickly left the suite and took the elevator downstairs.  Grabbing a taxi outside, he was taken to the nearest Enterprise Car Rental depot, picked out a Cadillac, and was soon on the road for his meeting with Jacob Handley, #5 on his list.

Jacob Handley was 66 years old.  He was tall at a shade over 6’1” with long white hair that he wore in a ponytail.  He looked like somebody you wouldn’t want to get into a fight with, and you’d have been right. He’d served in the Marines for 15 years, done two tours in Afghanistan, and competed in mixed martial Arts bouts for several years.  Despite his age, he looked youthful and moved with confidence and energy.  He was precisely who Joe was looking for.

Joe picked up Handley at his house, and they hit the road.  As with Harry Jones, Joe asked if a quiet breakfast place was nearby and was directed to a diner about 5 minutes away.  The place was half empty, and Joe took a booth at the back. While waiting for the waitress to bring their order, they chatted casually about Miami sports.  Hadley was a lifelong Dolphins fan and often went to their home games.

Once they had breakfast in front of them and the waitress had disappeared, Joe asked his first question. “So what made you answer the advertisement?”

“The high reward part?”

“What about the high-risk part?”

“I don’t mind the risk if the reward is big enough.  How much are we talking about?”

Joe slid an envelope under the table and tapped Jacob’s knee.  “Put that in your pocket.”

: Jacob reached under the table, took the envelope, and stuffed it in his jacket pocket.

“There’s $5 grand in cash for just taking this meeting.  I presume you can use it?”

“I can,” replied Handley.  “But what’s the job?”

“I’ll get to that later, but tell me about yourself?”

Jacob went over his background, which Joe already knew.  He never went into a meeting unprepared but never gave away his knowledge.  He also rarely revealed that he spoke four languages fluently.

“You have to be pretty tough to compete in MMA bouts, don’t you.”

Handley nodded.  “I’m like the Patrick Swayze character in the movie Road House.”

“In what sense?” asked Joe.

“I don’t remember the exact dialogue, but there’s a scene where he’s training the bouncers, and he says, ‘Be nice, very nice until it’s time to stop being nice and then be nasty, very nasty.’”

“I remember that bit.”

“It’s a great movie.  I’m looking forward to seeing the remake with Jake Gyllenhaal.  Man, has he bulked up?”

“Yes, he does look impressive. Changing the subject, if you get selected for this job, are you willing and able to travel and be away for a month or so?”

“Yep.  Where?”

“California.  LA area.”

“No problem.  Along as it’s not too short notice? I’d need to take care of my dogs while I’m away.”

“How many do you have?”

“Two.  Dobermans.”, answered Handley.

“You’d have at least 48 hours.”

“Then, no problem.  I can get somebody to come in and look after them.  They’ve got a big yard to run around in.”

“So what’s the job?”

“I can’t answer that right now, but I can tell you that if you’re selected and come to California, you’ll receive another $10 grand.  You’ll then be told what the job is, and if you want out, you go home having made $15 grand for pretty much nothing.  All of your expenses will also be covered.”

“OK.  Sounds fair.  Is it legal?”

“Borderline.”

Handley wasn’t phased at all by that answer.  “As long as I don’t have to rob a bank,” he said.

“No banks, I promise.”

They finished breakfast, and Joe dropped Handley back at his ranch house.  The two Dobermans were running around chasing each other.  As Handley had said, it was a big yard.  Joe shook hands again and said, “I’ll be in touch, Jacob.”

Handley nodded and opened the gate as Joe drove off.  He noticed that Handley stared after the car as he drove away, probably memorizing the license plate.  It didn’t matter though.  Like everything else, the vehicle was thoroughly backstopped, and there was no way of tracing anything back to Joe or, more importantly, Gerry.

Fishing his phone out of his jacket, Joe called Mac.  “Wheels up in 2.”

The Gulfstream landed at the private jet terminal at McCarran International in Las Vegas.  A limousine was waiting to take the four to the Venetian, where Joe had booked 4 of their ultra-comfortable and spacious suites.  After checking in, they headed to the Grand Luxe Cafe inside the Venetian for a late lunch.  The food, as usual, was superb and the portions humungous, but they were all hungry, so there was little left over.

Joe’s meeting wasn’t until early evening, so with a few hours to kill, he and Mac decided to talk a walk along the Las Vegas Strip. Constantly reinventing itself, Vegas was always changing, with new hotels such as the Fontainebleau springing up.  They stopped in front of the Bellagio and watched the fountains dancing to classical music.  “Did you know,” he asked Mac, “that it cost $10 million to put that on, and that was around 20 years ago?”

“It was longer than that, Joe.  It was opened in 1998.”

“Do you know the date?”

“Sure.  October 15.”

“How do you know that?”

“I was here for the opening.”

“And you remember the specific date?”

“You know I’ve got a weird memory for things like that.”

“Yeah.  I bet you can remember the date you first got laid.”

“I do, Joe, but a gentleman never tells!”

Joe laughed, and they carried on walking.  They walked up as far as the MGM Grand, which was the 1^st hotel to have cost a billion dollars to build and which had since been eclipsed by the Bellagio at $1.6 billion and the Wynn at $2.5 billion.  “Did you know that MGM sold Bellagio for $4.25 billion in 2019?”

“Yeah, I read about it.  The money that changes hands in this town is astonishing.”

“Isn’t it just.  I’m not sure if it’s still there, but when the Wynn opened, it had a Ferrari dealership in the hotel, and they were selling one car a day.”

“That’s insane.”

“Isn’t it just!”

“Here’s an interesting piece of trivia I heard.  I can’t guarantee it’s true, but I heard that the Wynn must make three million dollars daily to service its debt load.”

“That’s a billion a year.”

“Yep,” replied Joe, “and that’s before they make a profit.”

“I’m glad I’m not in that business,” said Mac.

“Me too.  Let’s return to the hotel, and you can work magic.”

“Who are you going to be today?”

“Trevor Ratcliffe, I think.  Do you remember him?”

“Of course I do.  I remember all of my jobs.  That’s why people pay me so much.”

An hour later, Trevor Ratcliffe walked out of Mac’s suite.  Wearing blue contact lenses, with a shock of white hair and a goatee, he looked nothing like Joe Simpson, but that was why Mac got paid so much.  His memory was one thing, but his skill in transforming actors into somebody else was unparalleled in the industry.

Trevor picked up another car at the Enterprise counter and was soon driving to Henderson, where he had arranged to meet Kevin Waite, the 6^th person on his list of 7.  Of all the people on his list, Kevin was the most interesting.  He was certainly a character.

Kevin Waite was 67 years old.  He’d lived in Vegas for most of his life, his parents having moved there when he was two years old, and Vegas was still a relatively small gambling town run by the mob.  His father had been a Pit Boss originally at Binion’s Horseshoe but had then moved from property to property.  Unfortunately, he had developed a bad gambling habit of his own and had been caught stealing chips on the graveyard shift. His body had never been found, which was hardly surprising since the desert had a habit of covering up Vegas’ worst sins.

Kevin had grown up fatherless and with a mother who had alcoholism.  Unsurprisingly, he’d run wild and had had numerous run-ins with the law.  He’d been given the option of going to prison for 18 months for stealing a car or joining the military.  He’d chosen the military, and it had saved his life. 

Leaving Kevin Waite at the diner, Marcus Wellbeck called Rufus Black, the last name on his list.  Like Kevin, Rufus was a lifelong Vegas resident; like Kevin, he’d been a Ranger.  He also had linguistic skills and was fluent in 6 languages, including Urdu, Hindu, and Pashtu.  After getting out of the service, he’d lived in Asia, mainly in Thailand, but he’d traveled the entire region writing articles for various travel magazines.  He’d also published a few books that brought him a small passive income, but none would ever make the best-seller lists.

According to his research, Rufus was writing a new book, but Joe had no idea what it was about, whether fiction or nonfiction.  He didn’t know, but he was going to ask.

He’d arranged to meet Rufus in a small park on the outskirts of Summerlin.  It was a lovely day, but he kept his jacket on, mainly because there was an envelope for Rufus in it but also because it concealed the handgun he wore in a Bianchi shoulder holster.  He had a CCP (Concealed Carry Permit) for most states and rarely went anywhere unarmed.

Walking into the park, he followed the directions that Rufus had given him over the phone and soon spotted him sitting on a bench reading the Las Vegas Chronicle.  He appeared engrossed in the newspaper, but as Joe approached, he said, without looking up, “Take a seat, Marcus.”

As Joe did so, Rufus closed the newspaper, folded it neatly, and laid it on the bench beside him. Only then did he reach over and shake hands.

“Nice park,” Joe commented.

“It is.  I come here most days to read the paper.  Usually, I bring a coffee with me, but not today.  So what can I do for you?”

“Tell me why you answered the advertisement?”

Rufus thought for a second and then gave the same answer.

“You’ve had an interesting life, Rufus.  What made you leave Asia and come back here?”

“I kind of got stuck,” he replied.  “I’d been living in Phuket in Thailand and had come home to take care of my father’s estate after he’d passed away suddenly.   Then the pandemic hit, and I couldn’t get back.  After a while, I guess I got used to being here and put going back on the back burner.  So here I am.”

‘Tell me something about your time over there.  A story of some kind.”

Rufus nodded.  “I was in Nepal and hiking up to a village that supposedly had a well that the water had great healing properties; people in the village lived well past 100.  I’d been hiking alone for a few days and ran into a local tribesman heading in the opposite direction.  I asked him in Nepali if I was on the right road, and he answered me in Hindu, which I also speak.  I asked him another question in Nepali, and he replied in Hindu.  This continued for a few minutes until I finally asked him why he was replying in Hindu when I spoke to him in Nepali.  You want to know what he said back, in Hindu, of course?”

“Sure.”

“He said it was well known that no white man could speak Nepali.  They can only speak Hindu.”

“That’s funny.  What did you do?”

“I switched to Bhojpuri, the language of Bihar, which is closer to Hindu than Nepali.”

“That’s weird.”

“It happened a lot.  The locals there can’t comprehend that non-Asians can speak their languages as well as they do.  Sometimes, they get confused because their mental block prevents them from understanding what is being said to them even when it’s in their language.”

“That is strange.  I hear you’re writing another book?”

“Yes, I am.  A novel this time, a spy story.”

“How’s it coming along?”

“Slowly.”, He said, laughing.

“Hand me the newspaper, please.”

Rufus did so and watched as Joe slid an envelope from his pocket into the newspaper folds.  “Handing the newspaper back to Rufus, he said, “There’s five grand in there in cash, and that’s just for meeting me today.  In a week, you’ll get a call and be given an address in Ojai near Santa Barbara.  Pack for a month.”

“What am I going to be doing?”

“Meeting the others I’ve selected and finding out what the job entails.”

“And if I’m not interested?”

“Then you’ll leave with ten grand for making the trip, plus all your expenses will be covered.”

“Sounds too good to be true!”

“It does,” agreed Joe, “but I can assure you it isn’t.  I’ve got something in mind that I think you and the others will find intriguing and want in on.”

“Okay.  I can do that.”

After a few minutes of casual conversation, Joe stood up, shook hands with Rufus, who had also risen to his feet, and headed back to his car.  Soon, Marcus Wellbeck would cease to exist, and Joe would be heading home.  It had been a successful, albeit exhausting, trip, and he had found the people he sought.  The only problem was that he had seven equally talented people and only needed 6.  He’d thought that one of the seven would prove wrong for what he had in mind, but that hadn’t been the case.  He’d have to run it by Gerry and see what he thought.

Although it was still early, and they could have flown home, Joe had given everybody an extra night in Vegas to enjoy some of what it had to offer. He had bought tickets for the 4 of them for the early Ka show at the MGM Grand and made dinner reservations at Bobby Flays’s Amalfi restaurant afterward.  He hadn’t eaten there before, but he’d heard good things and wanted to see if they were true.  He didn’t quite understand why they had closed the very successful Mesa Grille and spent millions changing everything in it, but that was Vegas, constantly reinventing itself. It would only take about 10 minutes to walk from the MGM to Caesars, and he’d allowed an hour between Ka ending and the dinner reservation.

He’d told the others they could do whatever they wanted during the day and charge anything they did in the Venetian to their rooms.  He was happy to cover the cost of the R & R and suspected that the Spa would be doing quite well.  He’d also made an appointment there for a 90-minute deep tissue massage, and once he’d got rid of Marcus Wellbeck, he would grab a late lunch and then head to the Spa.

But before he did any of that, he had to talk to Gerry.  Pulling into a strip mall just off the Strip, he called Gerry on Signal using his phone.  Marcus’ phone was in a ditch somewhere, and its SIM card, which was currently in Joe’s jacket, would soon be destroyed along with the Wellbeck license and credit card, neither of which had been used, but Joe wasn’t taking any chances that any of this could be traced back to him.  Sure, he’d been in all the locations, but making the connection back to him would be pretty much impossible.

“Hey, Gerry.”

“Hi, Joe.  Are you done?”

“Yes.  I’ve just left the last one.  There’s a slight issue that I wanted to run by you, though.”

“Go ahead.  We wanted 6, but all seven are exceptional, and I honestly don’t know who I’d leave out.”

“Then take all 7.  The money doesn’t matter; maybe one or two will drop out once we get them to Ojai.”

“That’s possible.”, admitted Joe.  “How about yours?”

“I’ve got a Zoom conference set up for all of them the day after tomorrow. I want you here for that.”

“Sure.  No problem. Did you think any more about talking to the psychotherapist?”

“I did, and I’ve arranged a video conference with him for the day after tomorrow.”

“I’m glad you decided to do that, and I hope it helps.”

“Me too.  What time will you be back?”

“Around lunchtime tomorrow.  I’m taking everybody out tonight.”

“Good.  Have a good time.  See you tomorrow.”  The line went dead.

Joe’s massage was just what he needed.  He had fallen asleep for most of it but had enjoyed what he remembered, and he certainly felt loose and relaxed.  After going back to his suite and showering, he found that he still had several hours to kill before Ka started, so he headed over to the Bellagio’s poker room, where there would always be a No Limit Texas Holder game going.  He bought in for $100K and sat down to play.  The table was complete, and he ended up sitting between Daniel Negreanu and Phil Hellmuth, two of the most successful poker players ever. Negreanu was always jovial and seemed intent on having a great time, but Joe knew much of it was an act designed to lull his opponents into making big mistakes.  On the other hand, Hellmuth was in a foul mood, which was nothing unusual for him.  While he was a great tournament player, he wasn’t that good in cash games and hated being drawn out on, which was happening quite a lot.

After one hand where Hellmuth had flopped trips and then been beaten by a straight, he stormed off the table and, probably, went to drown his sorrows in the bar.  A TV actor took his seat on one of the soaps, but Joe couldn’t remember his name and didn’t care.

For the next couple of hours, he played quite a few hands, mixing up his play and bluffing on a couple of big pots, one of which he won and the other he lost to Negreanu, who sensed that he was bluffing and had called with a feeble hand but it was good enough to win the pot.  “Nice call, Daniel.” 

Negreanu smiled.  “Thanks.  I knew you were bluffing.”

“I’m sure you did.”

When Joe left the table, he did so, having won $20K.  It wasn’t a big win, but he was pretty happy with it and enjoyed playing.  He’d played a lot in the Army and had supplemented his military salary quite nicely but never wanted to play professionally.  Two or 3 hours playing every once in a while was fun, but he couldn’t stand playing for hours day after day as the pros did.  He didn’t quite understand why Negreanu, who’d supposedly won more than $45 million, kept playing, but what else would he do with his time if he wasn’t at a table?

Ka was fantastic, and all four of them thoroughly enjoyed it.  On the walkover, the pilots kept talking about the tremendous stage.  Mac, who seemed to know everything, said, “When they built that theatre,” he said, “They spent $168 million on it, and that was some 20 years ago.”

“Holy shit,” said Pete, the senior of the two pilots.  “That’s unbelievable.”

“Not really”, replied Mac.  “That’s Vegas.  When Michael Crawford agreed to perform in EFX, he was asked why he would work in Vegas when he could perform in London or Broadway.  He told the reporter that Vegas was the only place they would spend $45 million to put on a show and not care if it succeeded.  These guys are the ultimate risk-takers, but they’ve always got an edge.  I mean, look around you.  There are untold billions on display everywhere you look.  Down at the Horseshoe, they’ve got a million dollars on display inside a glass horseshoe.  In the old days, that was a lot of money, but now it’s chump change, and many people will bet that on a single hand of Blackjack.”

“We’re in the wrong business.”, Pete replied.

“No,” said Joe.  “You’re in the right business.  You get paid a lot, you get to travel first class, and the only risk you take is if the plane crashes.”

Both pilots nodded in agreement; they knew he was right.

Dinner at Amalfi was excellent, but Joe thought the meal, especially the wine, was overpriced. He also knew that was true of every gourmet restaurant in Vegas.  If you cared how much it cost, you couldn’t afford it.

It was midnight by the time they got back to the Venetian.  Joe had told the pilots that Wheels Up would be at 11 am so they could all sleep in and that they should order breakfast from room service.

By 11 the following day, they were taxing onto the runway, and a few minutes later, they were in the air. “Successful trip, Joe?” asked Mac.

“Very.  All the meetings were good, and only one person spotted I was wearing a disguise.”

“Hollywood guy?”

“Yep.  He called me on it immediately but also admitted that he probably wouldn’t recognize me without it.”

“That’s good,” replied Mac.

“By the way, Mac, I will need you for a couple of days in about a week.  You got anything that would get in the way?”

“No, not right now.  The next film I’m working on doesn’t start shooting for almost a month, so I’m free as a bird until then.”

“Terrific.  I’ll let you know when as soon as I know.”

Mac nodded.  He liked working with Joe and Gerry; the money they paid was always good and always in cash; the work itself was interesting.  He didn’t know where Joe came up with the driver’s licenses and credit cards for each character Mac had created for him, but he suspected a very well-paid forger was involved.  Not that he cared.  Compared to what he did in Hollywood, this work was much more interesting, not that he ever really knew what was happening.

Chapter 9 – Homeland Catch-up

“So what do we make of this questionnaire or application form that Hawkins sent?”

“We honestly have no idea,” replied the man identified as DS Kyle Richardson at Gerry Hawkins’ home. His real name was Kyle Richardson, but he wasn’t in the police.  Instead, he was an agent with Homeland Security.  “The questions are all over the place as far as we can tell, and we’ve no idea who or what he’s looking for.  We only know that one of our candidates received an invitation to a Zoom video call the day after tomorrow.”

“And that’s it; that’s all we know?”

“So far.  We know that Joe Simpson took the Gulfstream, and he’s been flying all over the country.”

“Where’s he been?”

“San Francisco. Atlanta, Miami, and now Las Vegas.”

“What’s he been doing?”

“Absolutely no idea.”

“So he could just be on a joyride in a $40 million private jet!”

“Yes, he could.  We haven’t got any reason to put him or Gerry under constant surveillance, although I have a floating tail on Gerry, but that’s a waste of time.  He hardly ever leaves his house, and when he does, it’s a quick trip to the office for a couple of hours, and then he’s back home again.  He’s got a private chef, so he rarely goes to restaurants anymore.  We’ve got nothing other than our suspicious minds.”

“Can we record the Zoom session without them knowing it?”

“Only if we put a camera on the screen.  As far as I know, only the host can initiate a recording session.”

“Ok.  Let’s do that.  Who have we got on the invitation list?”

“Doug Carmody.  He retired a few years back, so he is old enough, but he likes to keep his hand in.”

“Good guy.  Is he logging from home or here?”

“He’s coming in here.”

“Good.  Let me know how it goes.”

“What about the tail on Gerry?”

“Pull it.”

“Will do.”

“Is it time for another visit and talk with Mr. Hawkins?”

“No, I don’t think there’d be any point.  We’ll keep a quiet eye on what he’s doing until we find out.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, what leads you to believe he’s up to something?”

The senior man leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “I’m not sure.  Just a niggling feeling in my gut that he’s up to something, and when people have the sort of money and influence that he does, you want them to be on the straight and narrow, but you don’t get to be that rich by not being ruthless.”

Chapter 10 – Meeting the applicants

It was mid-morning.  Gerry Hawkins and Joe Simpson sat in comfortable armchairs facing a roaring fire.  On the table between them were two fresh cups of coffee, a notepad, and a Montblanc fountain pen. They sat next to companionable silence while both of them drank their coffee.  Gerry finished his first, put it on the table, and picked up the pen and notepad.

“The interview session is at 2 pm.  I’m not sure how many of the 25 will turn up, so it will be interesting, but of course, the fewer that turn up, the easier it is to pick the ones I want”, said Gerry Hawkins.

“Do you know what you’re looking for?”

The number one thing is obvious intelligence.  They’ve all got to be very smart.”

“That’s not always obvious,” replied Joe.

“No, it’s not, but there are certain indicators.  That’s one of the things I want you to monitor, Joe.  Look for the ones who sit quietly but are paying attention and listening to the others talk.  Also, make a note of anybody who jumps in and interrupts while somebody else is speaking.  I’ll notice that, of course, but I don’t want to be writing anything done while I’m conducting the session.”

“Are you going to be on camera?  Will they know who you are?”

“Yes, I’ve decided not to play any games of subterfuge here.  I’m going to tell them who I am, but I’m not going to tell them the specifics of what I’m looking for.”

“When will that happen?”

“When I’ve made my final selections, with your help, of course.  I was looking for 6, but now that you’ve got 7, I think I’ll settle for 5.”

“You don’t want a baker’s dozen?”

“No, I’m avoiding the unlucky 13.”

“I didn’t know you were superstitious!”

“I’m not really,” replied Hawkins, “but on this occasion, I’m going to play it safe.”

“Fair enough.  What else are we looking out for?”

“Punctuality.  I’m opening the meeting up 10 minutes before it’s due to start.  If somebody is late, then put a line through their name.  I have no patience for people who can’t be on time.”

“That’s something the world knows, Gerry,” replied Joe.

“True, but you’re the same way, Joe.  I think it’s part of our military training.”

“Maybe, but I think it’s also something you’re born with.  What else?”

“I’d like to pick at least two women.”

“How about minorities?”

“We didn’t get many of those applying strangely enough.  There’s only 2, I think, in the group. I’m hiring on merit, nothing else.”

“And yet you just said you’d like to pick two women?”

“I would like to, but they’ve also got to fit what I’m looking for.”

“Fair enough.  Is that it?”

“I think so.  I will record the whole session so that we can watch it back afterward and make notes.  Hopefully, we’ll be able to pick 5.”

“And if we can’t narrow it down to 5?”

“Then I’ll set up a second session for those we haven’t eliminated.”

“Are you planning on any compensation for those who turn up but who don’t get selected?”

“Yes.  I will get each of them to set up a Venmo account, and you’ll send them $1,000 each.”

“That should come as a nice surprise,” replied Joe, who wasn’t surprised.  He knew Gerry was incredibly generous with his money and never took advantage of people, no matter the circumstances.  It was one of the reasons that his employees so loved him.  “Have you informed the Board that you’re selling the group?”

“Not yet.  I have a board meeting on Monday when I will break the news?”

“Do you think you’ll get any resistance or backlash?”

“I don’t think so.  They’ll all do exceptionally well out of it.  I’m also offering each of them a $25 million golden parachute to step down.”

“That’s quite generous.”

“Not really.  It makes sound business sense.  Even if I had to pay $200 million for them stepping down, I’d still have a hefty profit.”

“How much do you expect to clear?”

“Around $2 billion after taxes.”

Joe whistled.  “I didn’t realize it was going to be that much.”

“It’s a big business, Joe, but it won’t make any difference to me, will it? And before you answer, that’s a rhetorical question.”

Joe nodded.  “More coffee?”

“Yes, please, and then we need to get everything set up.”

Joe stood up, grabbed the two empty coffee cups, and headed into the kitchen.

Gerry called out after him, “Joe, We’re going to the club for dinner tonight.  Can you let Pete know to be ready at 7?”

“Sure.”

At 1.45 pm that day, Gerry and Joe were in Gerry’s office.  It looked almost like an Apple Store with three different Macintosh computers, including the latest Mac Studio with the M2 Ultra chip, with 4 of the new 32” Apple Pro Display XDR monitors connected.  They were state-of-the-art technology and cost almost $5,000 each.  The desk that held all this equipment was enormous and needed to be.  Joe always admired the setup, but two monitors were enough for him.

On the other hand, Gerry swiveled constantly between all four, with different programs running on each. The Mac Studio was also top of the line with 192Gb of unified memory and an 8TB SSD.  It was complete overkill, but when you’re worth billions, spending almost $29,000 on a computer and monitors was a minor expense.

“Joe, swivel the end monitor to face you at the end of the desk.  I’ll mirror the display so you can see and hear everything, but nobody will know you are there.”

Joe did as asked. “Okay.”  A moment later, his display changed so that he could see Gerry’s desktop.  Gerry then opened a new Zoom meeting and looked at his watch.  “They should start coming in in a few minutes.”

Sure enough, the 1^st of the 25 invited applicants appeared, asking to be admitted.  By 2 pm, ten had logged in, were connected to audio, and were waiting for their host to start the meeting.  It was less than he had hoped for, but 10 was a manageable number, and he had decided that any latecomers would not be admitted.  Sure enough, there were five, but he ignored all of their requests, and each disconnected within a minute or two.

Gerry turned on his video display so they could finally see him.  “Good afternoon,” he said, “and thank you for turning up and, more importantly, being on time.  My name is Gerald Hawkins, and I’m the chairman of a company called Gestalt Holdings.  Before I tell you more about why you are here, I’d like to hear about yourself from each of you.  Additionally, I’d like to know why you answered the advertisement.  Let’s start with Don Walker. 

“I’m Don Walker, a Las Vegas, Nevada resident where I’ve lived for the past 20 years.  I’m 68 years old and originally from Albuquerque, New Mexico. I went to Berkeley University in California and earned a Business Studies degree.

After graduating, I joined the Marines and spent ten years with them, rising to Marine Sergeant.  After retiring, I returned to Albuquerque and met my wife, Josie.  We were together for 22 years; she passed away from ovarian cancer several years ago, and I still miss her every day.  We didn’t have any children; she couldn’t, and now that she’s gone, I have nobody left to share my life with.

I’m a retired insurance agent and am okay financially, so that’s not why I answered the advertisement.  It was the other aspects that resonated.  In truth, I don’t have anything to look forward to, and I’ve often wondered if there is any point in going on.

I’m open to a challenge, something different.  I’m in good health and willing to travel.  I have a current passport.  I also speak fluent Spanish.”

“I’m Karen Childress.  I’m 69, and I live in Missoula, Montana.  I’m unmarried and unattached.  I have worked in Insurance for all my working life.  I’m not a very social person, so I never really made any friends, either at work or outside.  They called me ‘Childless’ behind my back in the office, but I heard it one day.  It hurt a lot.  I would have liked to have children, but it is what it is.  I had a sister, but she died five years ago from cancer, so I’m alone in the world.

I’m a keen archer who tried out for the US Olympic Archery Team but missed the cut, which is one of my great regrets. I used to go bow hunting for deer every year but have developed calcification in my shoulder, so it’s impossible to pull the string back anymore, and I’ve had to give up archery as a sport.  I coach a number of students at a local high school, and one of them has the potential to be an Olympic champion.  I like to read spy novels and mysteries.

I have a pension, a small one, from the company I worked for.  There’s not much to show for 45 years of loyal service.  I get by but don’t have much spare money after paying all my bills.  I’d like to leave Montana; I wouldn’t say I like the winters and always have, but it costs money to move, and I don’t have it.  Plus, I don’t know where I’d go or what I’d do when I got there.

I don’t have hobbies other than reading, which I love.  I occasionally watch a show on Netflix, but I’m not a TV person.  My life is pretty dull.

I’m just marking time and that my entire life has been wasted.  I want to do something now, especially if I can make a difference. 

I hope I get chosen, whatever it is that’s being offered.  I’m ready.”

“Thank you, Karen. Barry?’

“I’m Barry Thomas.  I’m a retired bank manager.  It’s not a very glamorous or fulfilling job.  Mainly just dealing with people at their worst who, like me now, have hit a run of bad luck and need money to move forward.

I’m divorced with no children.  My ex-wife got the house and half of my pension. She was having an affair with my best friend, which meant I had lost my wife, my home, and my friend all in one fell swoop.  They got married eventually, but it didn’t last; she probably got his house as well. Bitch!

I live in a small one-bedroom apartment in Santa Fe, New Mexico.  Santa Fe’s okay if you don’t mind the tourists, but it is expensive.  It’s cold in the winter, which I don’t particularly care for.

I don’t have any marketable skills, but I am a hard worker. I have a few friends and acquaintances at the social club, where I go to play Bridge 3 times a week, but I’m not close to anybody.  I get lonely, but I tell myself to suck it up.

I replied to the ad out of desperation.  My life is miserable, to be perfectly honest, and I need to do something different, challenging even, to give it any meaning. I hope I get accepted.”

“Thanks, Barry. Bob.”

Bob Smith was one of the only two African Americans who’d applied and turned up.  He began speaking.

“I’m Bob Smith.  I’m 66 and live in Burbank, California, where many movie studios are.  I worked for Warner Bros. for 36 years, creating database programs to keep track of different things the studio used: props, scenes, and actors.  This was all done in FileMaker™ Pro, and I guess you could say I’m an expert.

I like to bowl, play chess, read, and watch movies.  I was married, but my wife died suddenly a year ago from an aneurysm.  She just dropped dead while we were having dinner.  I don’t think I’ll ever get over it.  We never had any children; neither of us wanted them, but I sometimes think it would be nice to have one or two and maybe some grandkids.

I keep in touch with some people from work, but I don’t have any close friends.  I’m pretty cerebral and spent a lot of time in my head, lost in thought. 

I am developing a universal application for the studios; it might make me some money when it’s finished, but it might not.  Still, I’m going to keep plugging away.

I’m pretty fit and healthy.  I’m ready for a challenge, for something different, which is why I replied to the advertisement.  I know it’s probably a con and unlikely I would get chosen, but who knows!”

“Thanks, Bob.  I’m more than a little familiar with FileMaker myself.  Perhaps we could chat about it after the meeting if you wouldn’t mind staying online?”

“Sure.  Happy to.  It’s a great program, and I love it.”

“Great. Joe.”, said Gerry, speaking to Joe Phillips, the other African American who had applied.

I’m Joe Phillips.  I’m 70 years old and from Detroit, and I worked for General Motors on the assembly line, mostly putting together the big SUVs.  I don’t know why people drive those things, but I made a pretty good living.

It was a union job. We did okay, and my pension’s fine.  Unfortunately, I’ve got a bit of a bad habit: horse racing.  I’m really good at picking losers!  Everybody at the track watches to see who I’m betting on, and they immediately do the opposite.

I ain’t married, never was.  I’m not sure that anybody would put up with me.  No kids. I never wanted them, either.  I got a few friends, none of them I’d call close, but we meet up at the track and have a few beers afterward.

When I’m at home, I play a lot of online chess.  I’ve got a decent rating.  Nowhere near Grandmaster level, but higher than most.  I like chess; it’s a fantastic game.  I don’t go to a club; I probably would if there was one near me, but the nearest one is 20 miles away, and it’s too far, plus I can play any time on the computer, and I don’t have to talk to anybody.

Why did I reply to the advertisement? The money, if I’m honest.  I could use a chunk of money.  I’d probably lose it all at the track, but you know what they say. “You only live once.”  The kids say ‘YOLO,’ which I think is funny.”

“Thanks for sharing, Joe.  I’m also a bit of a chess player. Steve.”

“I’m Steve Richards. I’m originally from Germany and speak five European languages fluently. I’ve lived in Hollywood for more than forty years.  I started as a stuntman but got severely injured when a stunt went wrong, so I switched to being a character actor on TV and appeared in many TV commercials.  You know, the ones where they needed a rugged type of man who looks good on a horse or smoking a cigarette.  I never made it big; the TV parts I got were steady, and they paid decent money, but I didn’t have any breakout roles, just one of the bit players.

I’m still working, but I don’t get many roles.  Maybe two or three times a month, I get a call and go in for a few hours.  I have decent-paying gigs that help to supplement my meager pension, but nothing of any consequence.  I do like doing them, though; there’s a camaraderie on a set among the actors, but you don’t make close friends in this business.

I was married twice; it didn’t work out either, and it’s been 25 years since my second divorce.  One son, but he lives on the other side of the country, and we’re not close. I keep to myself most of the time.  I started writing my memoirs, but I don’t know who would like to read them. Maybe I’ll finish them, perhaps I won’t.

Hobbies? No, not really.  I watch a lot of TV, primarily British murder mysteries.  The Brits do that so well.  Once in a while, I find a show I was in and watch it again, mostly out of nostalgia.

When I read the advertisement, something resonated with me and I had a feeling that you might be looking for people who have led more than just an ordinary life, who perhaps belong to a minority rather than the mainstream, and who also allow for unusual thoughts and ideas and think outside the box. One of my favorite quotes is from Frank Zappa: ‘A mind is like a parachute. It doesn’t work if it is not open.’ I’m a very fast learner and am able to cross-read books and capture their content in a fraction of the time someone else would need. I have an ability to imitate voices and dialects, along with a photographic memory.”

“Thank you, Steve. Brian.”

“I’m Brian Arness, a retired accountant from Boston, where I’ve lived all my life.  I was born and grew up on the South Side.  I went to college there, then joined the Army.  I went to Kuwait for Operation Desert Storm.  I’m lucky to have survived that debacle, but the memories haunt my dreams, and I often wake up from terrible nightmares of that place.

After the war ended, I returned to school and got my MBA.  I like numbers, playing with them, and seeing patterns.  I worked for an accounting firm, mostly doing tax preparation.  It’s pretty tedious work, but it suited me.

I was married and divorced and had two children.  Unfortunately, I’m estranged from both of them.  It’s a long story, but when I got divorced, they blamed me for it and cut me out of their lives.

I’ve got three grandchildren I’ve never seen and am never likely to see.  I wish things were different, and I was part of all their lives, but it’s been ten years.

I get by with my pension and some savings, but it’s not easy, and I can’t afford to go away on vacation, or even if I could, not knowing where to go or what to do.

I don’t know why I replied to the advertisement.  I’m not very adventurous, which is probably why I became an accountant.  Part of me wants something different, but I don’t know what that means.  Maybe this opportunity will result in that!”

Thanks, Brian.  Daphne.”

“I’m Daphne Stevenson from Tampa, Florida.  I’ve lived here for 35 years and still hate the summers; the high humidity wipes me out, but I can’t afford to leave. I’m a spinster, what a terrible word that is, so I’m used to being alone.  I’ve had odd relationships, but none of them lasted, and to be honest, I think I’m better off on my own. Obviously, or maybe not, I never had any children, and I don’t have any regrets about that.  I don’t have any maternal instincts and never have.

I was a secretary all my life; I’m a whiz on a typewriter and very good at taking shorthand, which I studied in college.  My last job was as a private secretary, which I liked a lot.  I had a great boss, and we got on well, but we’ve lost touch now that we’re both retired.

I’m a national bridge champion and an accomplished tournament player.  I had a brother, Jim, who played at an International level.  We played together as partners but I almost always felt like killing him afterwards; he probably felt the same way about me.  I was a track star at school and I keep fit by running most days.  In my younger days, I took Karate lessons and got a Black Belt, but I haven’t kept it up.  I sometimes think I’d like somebody to try and mug me. I’m confident that I could make them regret it.

You could say that I’m not ambitious.  I don’t know if that’s good or bad, but I was content with a simple life.  I like knitting and am a knitting club member here in Tampa.  We meet once a week to knit, have coffee, and chat, but none of the people there are what you’d call close friends.

Why did I reply to the advertisement? I don’t know why is the answer.  Perhaps it just sounded completely different from my life as it is now. We’ll see.  I’d say my chances of being chosen are slim, but somebody has to be.  Maybe it will be me.”

“Thanks, Daphne. David, you’re next.”

“I’m David Hartley, a machinist by trade.  It’s a highly skilled profession, and I was pretty good at it, even if I say so myself.

I’m divorced now.  I got married when I was pretty young, 18, way too young to be a husband and responsible for someone else.  We had a kid, a boy, Jason, but he was killed in a hit-and-run accident when he was 7.  He was playing in the road outside our house, as he always did, and a car came through driving too fast.  He never stood a chance. 

They caught the driver; a neighbor thought fast enough and got the plate number.  He went to prison for 20 years, but it didn’t bring Jason back.  The grief destroyed our lives and our marriage.  Janie moved away after the divorce, and we lost touch, not that there’s any reason to do so.  Life goes on.

I never re-married.  I never wanted to, and I have no regrets about that.  I think about Jason sometimes, how he might have grown up, what he might have become, but it’s all wishful thinking, pointless, and a waste of time.

I go to my local bar and have a couple of drinks most nights.  I chat with the other regulars, but we never socialized outside the bar.  I don’t have any friends or hobbies, but I like to settle down with a good book.  I like thrillers.  I’ve just finished the best thriller I’ve ever read. ‘I am Pilgrim’ by Terry Hayes.  It’s an incredible story.  His second book ‘The Year of the Locust’ came out a while back, but I haven’t read it yet.  I’m going to, though.

I replied to the advertisement just because.  I’ve got nothing to lose.”

“Thanks, David.  ‘Year of the Locust’ is on my bedside table.  It’s the next book I’m going to read.  Everybody tells me that it’s incredible.”

“I hope you’ll love it.”

“I’m sure I will,” replied Gerry. “Doug.”

Doug Carmody was the last of the 10.

“I’m Doug Carmody.  I sold shoes for a reasonably high-end shoe store for a living, which meant I wore a suit to work, had impeccable manners, and was good at persuading people to drop a thousand dollars or more on a pair of shoes.  Most of our customers were men, executives with a  lot of disposable income, so perhaps I didn’t need to be as persuasive, but once a salesman, always a salesman.

Married twice, divorced twice.  I’ve been single for 20 years, which will never change. I have lady friends.  I had one for 15 years, but she wanted to get married, and I didn’t, so that was the end.  Oh well.  No kids; that I don’t regret.  Most of the people I see around seem self-entitled and badly behaved.

I go to the gym three times a week and work out seriously, and I like to run.  You’d never guess that looking at my body shape, but I do. I even ran a marathon once, but I’ll never do that again.  I hurt for weeks after it.  That’s just too much punishment for the human body to take.

I like movies, but I don’t like going to the theatre.  There were too many people and popcorn, which I wouldn’t say I like the smell of.  I’ve got a big screen TV at home.  The prices finally got low enough to justify the expense, and I’m happy I spent the money, although I probably shouldn’t have.  I get by financially, but I have to be careful and only go out to eat a few times a month.

When I saw the advertisement, I thought, ‘Now this is something different!’ I took a chance and replied.  I’m probably not going to get accepted, but I certainly qualify based on the description.”

“Thanks, Doug, and everybody.  Let me tell you a little about myself; if you want to know more, you can Google me or Gestalt Holdings. First, you will be sent $1,000 just for turning up today.  I’m looking for five people; the five who don’t get selected will each receive an additional $1,000.  I’m a very successful businessman with many different interests and companies.  I’m looking for people to work on several exciting projects in one of those companies.  I don’t want smart-ass youngsters who think they know it all; I want people who’ve been around the block, have a wealth of experience, and whom society has put on the back burner just because of their age.  Does anybody have any questions?  Raise your hand if you do.”

Several hands went up immediately.  “Yes, Don?”

Don Walker cleared his throat before speaking. “What does the job entail, exactly.”

“That’s an excellent question, which I won’t answer now.  The exact nature of the job will be revealed to the selected five, but I will tell you this.  Each of the five will receive $9,500 on selection.  They will have to move to California, where they’ll be working out of, and they will receive a net salary, after taxes, of $75,000 a year.  They will be provided with their own house and will have a company car.  They will also have an expense account, so they should be able to save most of their salary.  The work will be interesting, completely legal, and above board; the only condition of employment is that you don’t talk to people outside of the group about what you are doing.  That is grounds for instant termination.  I hope that’s quite clear?’

Everybody nodded in agreement.  Gerry noticed that Joe Phillips was more reticent than the others. “Joe,” he said, “You seem to be, shall I say, somewhat suspicious.”

“To be honest, I am,” he replied.  “What you’re offering is a fortune to most people.  How can you do that?”

“Hmm”, said Gerry.  “If you Googled me, it would tell you that I’m a billionaire many times over.  I’m offering an insignificant amount, but it is sufficient to get the type of people I want to work with.  Does that make sense?”

“When you put it that way, absolutely,” replied Joe Phillips, now looking interested.

“Now, I’m going to ask the group a few questions. I want everybody to answer them in an orderly way, so please don’t interrupt or jump in until you are called on.  The first question is, how do you think the US is doing under the Biden administration?  Before you answer, I don’t want to hear partisan comments.  I want actual considered answers.”

He went around the group, listening intently to the answers.  Two of them said they thought Biden was too old, to which he replied, “Aren’t we all in this meeting?  I’m 72.  I don’t feel old or past it.”  There was a chorus of agreement.

“Next question.  What do you think of the state of politics in this country?  Why is there always resistance to what the other side wants to do?

Don Walker was the 1^st to speak up.  “It’s total gridlock.  Nobody’s willing to listen to the other side or compromise.  Ideology is everything, and both sides regard the other as the enemy instead of working together for the country, which is what they were elected to do.”

“That’s a good point”, answered Gerry.  “Show of hands, who agrees with Don?”  All the hands went up. “Ok, who believes that term limits should be implemented so that any Senator or Congressman can only serve two terms, the same as the President?”  Again, every hand went up immediately. “Moving on from politics, what would you do about the homeless?”

This time, Brian Arness answered.  “The States should set up places for them to be housed and looked after.  Not everybody who’s on the street would move in, but enough would; those that are there due to bad luck and not the addicts.”

Karen Childress raised her hand.  “Yes,  Karen”, said Gerry.

“The problem with that is who pays for it?”

“That’s a good point.  Who’s got an idea how to do that?”

Steve Richards raised his hand.  “Yes, Steve.”

“I think the money is already being spent on them but incorrectly.  Instead of law enforcement and providing emergency services, use the money budgeted to get them off the streets.  It would cut down on a lot of petty crime.  The US is the richest company in the world.  It ought to be able to do something.”

The conversation continued for another 30 minutes before Gerry decided it was enough for the day.  “Well, I’d like to thank all of you for turning up today and for your time.  I’m now going to consider the five that I want seriously.  I’d like each of you to note the email address I’ve put in the chat.  Please email me your Venmo account details or PayPal if you don’t use Venmo.  I’d also like you to write a short paragraph explaining why you are a good candidate for this position.  Bob, I’d like to talk to you about FileMaker, but I’ve run out of time today.  Perhaps we can do it another time?”

“Any time.  You know how to get hold of me.”

“I do,” replied Gerry and ended the meeting.  “Well, what do you think, Joe?”

“I think you’ve got some good candidates.  You’ll find it hard to whittle it down to five.”

The following day, after drinking their 1^st cup of coffee and glancing at the morning newspapers, Gerry and Joe sat down in his office and watched the recording of the Zoom session the previous day.  As they did so, they made their own set of notes on each of the candidates.

“Any outright rejections?” asked Gerry.

“Barry Thomas, I think.”

“Yes, I agree with you about him.”  Gerry scratched her name off the list.  “Anybody else?”

“Joe Phillips.  He didn’t seem too sharp to me.”

“Again, I agree with you.”  Joe’s name was struck through. “Any more?”

“No.  I like the rest of them.”

“Would you disagree with me on occasion?”

“Only when you’re wrong,” replied Joe.

Gerry snorted with amusement.  “So we’ve got 8.  Who do you like best?”

“That’s trickier.  I’m not sure you and I will agree on this.”

“Let’s do this, Joe.  You write them down in the order you like them, and I’ll do the same.  Then let’s compare and see how close we are.”

“Okay.”

Five minutes later, they had each come up with their list of favorites, which they compared.  Both lists were almost identical, with Don Walker at the top and Brian Arness at the bottom.  Joe had listed Karen Childress as his #2 pick, but Gerry had Steve Richards.

“I told you it would be tough to whittle it down to 5, Gerry.”

“You did.  Oh, screw it.  I’m going to take all 8.  The extra cost isn’t a factor.  What do you think?  After all, they are all going to be working under you.”

“Works for me.  I think they’ll be a good team.”

“It won’t be too much to manage?”

“No”, answered Joe.  “What about housing?”

“I promised each of them their own house and have already bought 5 in preparation.  I’ll call the agent and tell him I need three more.”

“Do you want me to do that?”

“That’s a great idea, Joe.”

“Which account do you want to use?”

“The general household one.  At this point, it’s not worth worrying about.”

“Consider it done.  I’ll call in a few minutes and set it up.  I’ll need to look at each of them before I say Yes, but that shouldn’t take too long.”

“You can do that while I’m at the Board Meeting.”

“That’ll work.”

“There is one thing that we haven’t discussed: do we care if one of them isn’t legitimate?”

“I don’t think we need to worry about it.  If so, I suspect they’ll pull out quickly once they realize what we’re doing.”

“Probably right.”

“I’m going to get ready.  Ask Bill to bring the car around at 1.  I will have lunch at the golf club before the office.”

“Will do.”

Chapter 11 – Selling Out

All Board members were seated when Gerry strode into the conference room.  Taking his seat at the head of the table, he said without warning, “Gestalt has been sold to a Japanese consortium.”

The Board erupted with a chorus of angry voices talking over one another, trying to be heard.  It reminded Gerry of dinner in a restaurant full of Spaniards, all talking louder than the others but with none listening to what anybody was saying.

After a minute of this, he spoke in a loud voice that cut through the chatter. “May I be heard?”

Everybody in the room immediately looked at him, and you could have cut the silence with a knife; it was so still.

“The Japanese are paying a $10 premium over the current share price, which means you are all incredibly, unbelievably rich if you decide to sell your shares.  Additionally, if any of you choose to resign your seat, and I encourage all of you to do so, you will receive an ex gratia payment of $25 million. Who would like to resign?”

There was a brief delay while everybody thought about the offer they had just been given.  Andrew Coppe was the first to speak. “Gerry, that’s an extraordinary offer, and I’m pretty sure all of us will accept it, but may I ask a question?”

“Yes, of course, Andrew.”

“Why?  The business is immensely profitable.  You’ve recently implemented significant changes in our operations, the benefits of which we already see.  Why sell now?”

“I’m dying, Andrew.  I have terminal lung cancer, and I have maybe a year to live.  I decided to take a clean break from everything, which meant selling out.  It’s a quick sale.  They’re forgoing months of due diligence, and it’s a cash deal.  It gets me out, it gets all of you out, and the company will continue, but not under my auspices.”

Everybody at the table was shocked, but Gerry noticed no sadness on anybody’s face except for Martin, his assistant.  Martin had been with him for some 15 years and had always been loyal, but Gerry hadn’t realized how close he had become.  He would be speaking to Martin about his future after the meeting.

After the ‘I’m sorries’ chorus ended, he spoke again.  “So, who would like to resign their seat on the Board?  Please raise your hand.”

Every hand went up. “Good.  I hope you will make yourself available to the new Board if they want counsel.  Other than that, you have 18 days before they take over.  It’s a completely English-speaking takeover team, so there won’t be any difficulty in communication.  All operational staff are being retained, and I’ve made it very clear as well as a condition that they make no changes to how the business operates for two years.  I told them they need to see how well it operates before they change things and possibly ruin it.  But after all is said and done, if they decide to run it into the ground, it’s their decision, and I won’t be around to see it.”

He took a deep breath as a wave of unbearable pain hit him.  After it had passed, he continued speaking. “I would ask that you do not reveal my illness to anybody.  Just say that I’ve decided to retire and sold out.  Once the takeover has been completed, the Street won’t worry, and life will continue.  Not mine, though,” he added with a wry smile.  “Thanks, everybody.  Enjoy your retirement.”

Gerry got up from his seat and left the conference room.  Behind him, he could hear quiet conversation, and he smiled.  He’d dropped a bombshell that morning, and the dust would take a while to clear.

Back in his office, he motioned for Martin to take a seat. “Martin, please arrange a transfer of $25 million to each Board member.”

“Yes, sir.  Which account do you want me to use?”

“My personal one.”

Martin looked at him with surprise etched on his face.  “But I thought you said the Japanese were making the payment?”

“Well”, answered Gerry. “That was a slight exaggeration.  I wanted them all to accept the offer without hesitation and figured that $25 million was enough for them to do so.  It’s not going to bankrupt me, is it?”

“No, sir, it’s not”, agreed Martin.

“There is one additional $25 million transfer that I want you to make, Martin.”

“Of course.  Who is this to?”

“To you, Martin.  You’ve been an exemplary assistant for a very long time, and you deserve the same as the others, albeit you’ve actually earned it.”

Martin Williams was visibly shocked and started to stammer, “But, but …”

“No buts, Martin.  I’m happy to be able to do it.  What will you do now that you’re rich?”

Martin thought for a minute. “I think I’m going to leave the US.”

“Where do you have in mind?”

“Paris, “he said.  “Every time I’ve gone there with you, I’ve loved it, and it has always been Janice’s favorite city.  I also love your apartment on the Champs Elysee.  I don’t suppose I’d be able to afford to buy it from you and still have enough money left to live there?” he asked, not expecting anything other than a wry smile.

“You could if it was for sale,” replied Gerry, smiling inwardly. “I’ve left it to someone close to me in my will.”

“Would they sell it to me?”

“Well, it is rather hard to sell something to yourself.”

“What?” asked Martin as the news that he was inheriting the apartment on top of the $25 million bonus sank in.

“I think you heard.  I’m leaving it to you, Martin.  I know how much you love it, and I had an inkling that you might choose to live there.  After all, you and Janice speak fluent French, and why wouldn’t you live there if you had enough money to do so? You also won’t have to pay any taxes or maintenance on the property; that’s all taken care of in perpetuity.”

“Oh, my god.  That’s unbelievable.”

“No, you deserve it, and it’ll make me happy thinking that when I go wherever I’m going, that is if I can do so.”

“Well, thank you from the bottom of my heart, and Janice’s too.  She’s going to … Well, I don’t know how she will react.”

“My advice.  Take her to Paris for a week’s vacation.  Travel first class on your company card, stay in the apartment and break the news to her there.  Stay longer.  I don’t need you to be here anymore.”  Gerry rose and extended his hand.  Martin took it, and they shook warmly.  “Good luck to you and Janice, Martin.  I hope you’ll be very happy.”

“Thank you, sir.  Thank you so much.”

“You’re very welcome.  Now, go and make those transfers and get out of here.”

“Yes, sir.  Right away.”

Martin left Gerry’s office to return to his own and carry out his last instructions.  He could hardly wait to tell Janice they were going to Paris.  He’d tell her it was on company business, which wasn’t untrue, and he would break the unbelievable news to her when they were in the apartment.  What an incredible, unbelievable day it had been.

Chapter 12 – The Planner

Alexander Munroe was of Scottish descent and could be very testy, especially when anybody tried to call him Alex.  He was Alexander to everybody who knew him, and nobody would ever dare to call him Alex more than once.  He had served with Gerry and Joe and had maintained close ties with them since leaving the military.

To people who didn’t know him well, he came across as batshit crazy.  He always had a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other and would wax lyrical on any subject, but he didn’t suffer fools gladly and would occasionally use his superior intellect to belittle them.  This had led on more than one occasion to a fight breaking out when some ‘idiot took exception’ as Alexander put it.  The ‘idiots’ in question always regretted it.

The ‘batshit crazy’ persona was a creation Alexander had come up with to diffuse or hide his exceptional brain.  He had graduated Magna cum Laude from Harvard and had multiple degrees to his name.  His genius was in planning and logistics, and that talent had been recognized very early on by the CIA.  Before he left the military, the Agency had already recruited him and had planned multiple successful infiltration operations in diverse areas.  Most of these operations had been to take out high-value targets that drones had been unable to take out due to them surrounding themselves with women and children as ‘human shields.’

Alexander was also a hyperglot and spoke 14 languages fluently; he was semi fluent in a dozen more.  He could listen to somebody speaking a new language and immediately comprehend nuances in that language that would take others years to master.  From there, he would grab a book on that language, learn a massive amount of vocabulary, and then listen some more to native speakers.  From there, his remarkable brain would extrapolate everything that he had learned and heard, and within a very short period, he would be speaking the language as quickly as most people spoke their own.  This skill was really what the CIA prized him for, as he could listen to audio recordings, understand what was being said, and use that knowledge to plan an operation to take the target or targets out.

After retiring from the CIA, he turned his skills to fundraising for several worthwhile organizations and was very successful.  He had written three best-selling crime novels, all of them under the pseudonym of Richard Head, which privately amused him greatly.

He had also helped Gerry with strategic planning for Gerry’s businesses and had proved remarkably adept in that endeavor.  He had recommended that Gerry remove all the PCs at Gestalt and replace them with iMacs.  He was a natural choice for the next part of Gerry and Joe’s plans.  When they had explained to him what they were planning, he had loved the idea and had readily agreed to be part of it.  It was him that the team Joe had recruited would be working under and who they would see in their time at the Haven.  Alexander had suggested bringing another person to the operation, a young man named Damian Anderson, who was like a second son to Alexander and a genius-level hacker. However, both Gerry and Joe had nixed the idea, albeit temporarily.  There might come a time when they would need Damian, but that time was not now.

Chapter 13 – Bringing Them In

Having selected the 8, Gerry emailed them, asking them to fly into LA for a meeting.  He didn’t tell them they had already been selected, just that he wanted them to come in for a face-to-face meeting. Included with the email was a round-trip airline ticket from their closest airport and a hotel reservation.  He instructed them to take a taxi to the hotel and keep the receipt to be reimbursed.  The meeting would occur the following day at Gerry’s home, and cars would pick them all up at 11 am to take them the short distance to Gerry’s house.  He had also made reservations at a restaurant for a party of 8 so they could meet and get to know each other.  He hoped there wouldn’t be any friction among them, as if there was, he would have to eliminate somebody from the group.  What he wanted was a cohesive group that could work together closely.

As each person checked into their room at the hotel, the duty manager made a short call to let Joe know who had checked in.  By 5 pm, all eight had arrived and were settled in.  Joe went to find Gerry, who was at his computer.  “They’re all checked in, Gerry.”

“Good.  Everything is set up with the restaurant?”

“Yes, it’s a 5-minute walk from the hotel, and they’ve all been given instructions to meet at the restaurant. The table is booked under my name, and I’ve left a credit card to pay for it all.  I might have to go down and sign the slip, but I doubt it.”

“What do you think about going down and joining them?”

“Me, you, or both of us?” asked Joe.

“You, I think”, replied Gerry.

“I thought you wanted them to get to know one another?”

“I do, but I’m wondering if it might be better if you were there.   You’d be able to recognize any tension, and more importantly, let me know if we need to send somebody home.”

“Sure.  I can do that.”  He picked up the phone, called the restaurant, and changed the reservation to 9 people. “Done.”

“I also need you to pick out the person who will be the team leader.  I think it’ll be Don Walker, but it will be your decision.”

“I agree that, on the surface, Don looks like the best choice, but I’ll give each of them careful consideration.”

“Good.  I also want you to tell me if you sense there’s anything off with any of them?”

“You mean an infiltrator?”

“I do.  We have always known that Homeland might try and get somebody inside.”

“True, but do we care?”

“Not really, but I would like to know so we can keep an eye on them.”

“Will do.”

“What’s happening with your group?”

“They’re arriving next week.  They’re each going to make their own way to the Haven.  Alexander is already there setting things up and planning a training regimen.”

“God help them”, said Gerry, laughing.

“I think they’re all in pretty good shape, so I doubt any of them will have too much difficulty.”

“I agree, but the main idea is to identify anybody who doesn’t fit in.  I’m concerned that we might have one or two who are too angry with how their life has turned out.”

“I don’t think so.  I didn’t get that sense from any of them.  They’re all frustrated and directionless, but I don’t see anger.”

“Well, you’re the best judge of character I know.  Next to me, of course”, he added.

Joe laughed.  There was a great deal of sadness in his heart about Gerry’s illness, and he was going to miss him greatly, but he had to put all of those feelings aside.  What they were doing was too important to be distracted from.  Grief would come in due course.

Dinner that night was a convivial affair.  Everybody seemed excited to be there, and the freely flowing wine helped everyone relax.  At 10.30, Joe cleared his throat. “Well, thanks everybody for coming.  As you know, you’ll be picked up at 11, and the meeting starts at 11.30.  I recommend that you all get a good night’s sleep so you don’t have to deal with exhaustion or a hangover tomorrow.  It’s a big day.”

Everybody murmured their thanks, and the table emptied.  Joe got the check, added a substantial tip, and left.  Bill was waiting outside in the Mercedes to drive him home.  It was nice not to have to worry about drinking and driving.  As usual, Joe sat in the front and chatted with Bill on the short ride home.  Walking into the house, he found Gerry sitting in the kitchen reading.  He had a glass of brandy in his free hand.

“How did dinner go?”

“Great.  No tension.  Everybody seemed to get on with everybody else.  They’re a pretty good bunch, and I think they’ll be great.”

“Any sense of what we talked about?”

“No, none”, he replied.  “If there is an infiltrator, they’re pretty damn good at being undercover.”

“Well, it’s not exactly like they’re trying to infiltrate the cartel, is it?”

“True, but undercover work is undercover work, no matter how dangerous the operation.”

“Do you want to join me in a brandy, Joe?”

“Thanks, but not tonight, Gerry.  I’m fairly beat and am going to turn in.  See you in the morning.”

“Night, Joe.”

By 11.30, the eight selected applicants along with Gerry and Joe were seated in Gerry’s large living room.  There were plenty of comfortable chairs and sofas, so everybody fit in without feeling cramped.  A coffee urn had been set up on a table in the corner, and almost everybody had a cup in their hands.  Gerry tapped the coffee table with his spoon to get everybody’s attention.

“Thank you all for coming”, he started.  “Today, Joe and I will tell you what you’ve applied for.  I’m sure you each have ideas, but I’ll be shocked if you get anywhere close to what we have in mind. As I mentioned in the Zoom conference, this is a legitimate opportunity, and everything is above board and completely legal.  Now, you’ll be ruffling some feathers, but that’s not something any of you need to worry about.  But before I get into the details, there are some housekeeping issues that Joe will go over.  Go ahead, Joe.”

Joe cleared his throat. “Right.  The first thing I must tell you is that all of you have been selected, not just the five we said we were looking for. That was not a lie.  We were looking for just five people, but Gerry and I agreed that we couldn’t agree on who would make up the five, so Gerry decided to accept all of you.  Congratulations.”

There was a murmur of excitement when he had finished speaking.  “The next thing is that we’ve already purchased the extra three houses.  They are all within a 10-minute drive of here.  They are not all identical in layout but are very similar in size.  Each house has cost around a million dollars. Only one of them is furnished right now, and we will look at it after lunch.  Each of you will be able to furnish your house as you would like it.  We have a corporate account at a big furniture depot nearby, so you can go and pick out what you want and move in as soon as it is delivered.  While that happens, you’ll be free to return home and pack what you need or stay at the hotel.  It’s completely up to you.  Gerry owns the hotel, so there won’t be any charges for rooms or meals at its restaurant.  You’ll also have a $100 per day per diem for any meals out that you want to take.  As to the furnished house, I’m hoping that one of you will like it enough to take it as it is, so if you do, please let me know.  Does anybody have any questions?”

Nobody did.  They all felt they had won the lottery and couldn’t wait to hear what they’d do in exchange.  “Good”, continued Joe.  “Gerry is now going to explain what we want you to do. Gerry.”

“You probably don’t know,” he started, “But I have a SuperPac called Feet to the Fire. You probably haven’t heard of it, but you might have seen the work it does.  In simple terms, we keep an eye out for politicians who misbehave.  That could cover many sins, but it is when they get caught doing something that they shouldn’t or is not in the general public’s interest.  As you probably already know, most politicians these days are fairly corrupt in that they are only interested in lining their own pockets. Many of them are also foolish people, and it’s a wonder they could get a job as a dog catcher, let alone become a member of Congress.  Feet to the Fire takes those people to task.  We publicize their sins, and we keep doing so until they change their behavior or are drummed out of office.  George Santos was one of those people.  We held his feet to the fire, and he’s no longer a member of Congress. We aim to do that to every politician who steps out of line.”

“What sorts of things do Feet to the Fire do?” asked Don Walker.

“We run both TV and print ads; we get stories placed in certain newspapers, mostly the ones I own,” said Gerry, “but sometimes other markets.  We get the TV stations to run with the stories on the basis that we’re doing ad spends along with the stories being featured. We keep the pressure on until they can’t bear it and their name is mud. Sometimes, if the pressure we put on isn’t enough, we will pick and fund somebody to run for election against them. So that’s what we do.  As for what we want you to do, it’s very simple.  We want you to be the team investigating the bad behaviors and recommending to Joe, who runs Feet to the Fire, if we should initiate a campaign.  If we do, you’ll be involved in creating that campaign and seeing it through.  We have a top-notch team of designers and videographers, but they’ll work under your direction.”

“Do you fund all of this?” asked Doug Carmody.

“I do.  Feet to the Fire has an annual operating budget of $30 million, and I’ve added additional money as needed.  However, that is about to change.  You won’t have heard this yet, but I’ve just sold my company to the Japanese.  The profit I’ve made on this deal is going straight to fund Feet to the Fire for the foreseeable future.”

“If you don’t mind me asking,” said Don Walker.  “How much are we talking about?”

“Two billion dollars.”

There was a low whistle as each of the 8 took in the enormity of what they had just heard.  “Most of that money,” continued Gerry, “will be in interest-bearing accounts, and the interest should be sufficient to fund all campaigns.  However, Joe can withdraw from those accounts if he needs to.  Does anybody have any questions?”

“So we report to Joe?” asked Don.

“Not exactly, Don.  You’ll report to Karen, who I’m making team leader, and the others will work under her direction.  However, and I cannot stress this enough, you are a team and need to work together as such.  Nobody is more important than anybody else.  If you can all work together as a team, you will accomplish a lot, and with this job, you will eventually be responsible for cleaning up Congress.  We will ensure they know we’re watching over them and can’t be bought off.”

“Thank you,” said a shocked Karen Childress. “Are we going after Democrats or Republicans?

“We’re going after any politicians who misbehave.  We don’t care what their party affiliation is.”

Joe spoke up. “One thing that is very important is that we are never going to do any lobbying to the people we help.  If we choose somebody to run, it is made very clear to them that we will never call in any favors.  And I should add that lobbyists and lobbying firms are legitimate targets for Feet to the Fire.  They play dirty, and we ensure everybody hears about it.”

“If anybody has any moral or philosophical objections to this operation, you are welcome to leave.  If you do, you will get a $50,000 payment in thanks for your time and consideration.”

Karen raised her hand to speak.  “Yes, Karen.”

“I think what you’re doing is admirable, and I’m in for sure, but may I ask your motivation to do all this?  You’re laying out several million to bring the 8 of us on board, and all of us had resigned ourselves to just living out our lives without much to look forward to. Why are you doing this?”

“That’s a good question, Karen.  Honestly, I’m sick of the dysfunction of the political parties.  The partisanship, the corruption, the stupidity, all of it offends me to my core.  The government is meant to serve the people, but it doesn’t.  It serves those who are supposed to be serving others, and I’ve had enough of it.  I aim to make a difference and have the money to do so.”

The room erupted in spontaneous applause.  Tears came unbidden to Gerry’s eyes.  Hoping nobody had noticed, he turned away towards the coffee machine and quickly wiped his eyes.  Filling his cup with coffee that he wouldn’t drink, he turned back to the room.  “Let’s have lunch.  We’ve got a barbecue set up out on the terrace.  Follow me.”

After they had all helped themselves to food from the grill and salad, they all sat around the table.

“Gerry,” said Steve Richards.  “You explained your motivation with Feet to the Fire, but I have a couple of other questions, if you don’t mind?”

“Not at all.  Steve. Go ahead.”

“The ad said this was a high-risk, high-reward opportunity. The reward is certainly high, but I don’t see where the risk comes in.”

“Ah”, answered Gerry.  That’s a very perceptive question, and I wondered when somebody would ask it.  Haven’t you all taken a considerable risk, firstly by answering the ad and then by coming here?”

There were murmurs of agreement around the table, and Gerry continued.  “I put that in the ad to discourage those unwilling to take risks.  Now, you might be surprised to know that I received more than one thousand replies to the ad, which showed me that many more unhappy people fit the criteria I laid out than  I would ever have guessed.  By the way, when I use the word unhappy, I don’t mean chronically depressed; I just mean dissatisfied with their lives.”

“How did you get down to the small number you had in the online meeting?” asked Brian Arness.

“It wasn’t easy, Brian.  I had first to set a cut-off date of age and eliminate all those over 70.  That was a hard decision, but it had to be done, and then I systematically eliminated others.  Many never responded to the 1^st request for a photo, and people kept dropping out.  Even at the meeting we all had, 25 people were invited, yet only ten turned up.  Well, that’s not exactly true.  Five people turned up late, which I won’t tolerate, and they weren’t admitted.  Joe and I chose the best of you.”

Karen asked, “I still don’t understand why you were looking for people like us, retired old folks. Not that I’m complaining, but wouldn’t you be better off with young people who have lots of stamina and can work much harder than we’ll be able to?”

“Well, you might be right, but I’ve found in my businesses that while the young have lots of energy, they spend most of it on enjoying themselves. Their work ethic is rarely what your generation has, and their attitudes aren’t always the best. And, as an old fogey myself, I felt that this opportunity would bring out some talented and dedicated people, and I think it has.  Joe agrees with me, don’t you, Joe?”

Joe finished his mouthful before replying.  “I do.  I think you will all be a great asset to Feet.”

“But the expense of doing this is colossal,” piped up Doug Carmody.

“Yes and no.  It is a lot of money, but it isn’t for me.  I’ve spent around $9 million on your houses, but they’re all good investments, and I’ll be able to sell them all at a profit if and when you leave.  By the way, I hadn’t mentioned this before, but if you stay with Feet for two years, those houses are yours to live in for the rest of your lives.  If you decide to relocate somewhere else, I will have you relocated at my expense, and you’ll be able to pick the house you want to live in, which I’ll buy.  I’ll pay for that by selling the house here.  If there is any additional profit after paying for the other house, that profit will be deposited into your bank account.”

“That’s incredibly generous,” said Doug Carmody.

“I don’t think of it that way, Doug.  I’m making a small investment in all of you and believe it’s worth it.  Anyway, let’s move on to another subject.  Who owns their own house back where you come from?”

Four hands shot up.  “It’s up to you what you do, but if you feel that you’re going to stay with Feet for at least two years, I would put those houses on the market and sell them.  Presumably, you’ll have some equity in them.  Or you could rent them out, which is also a viable idea, but it isn’t easy being an absent landlord, so you would need to hire an agency to handle things, and they take about 10% of the rent, which is something to consider.  Joe will organize movers to pack your houses up and bring everything here, or you can return and decide what you want to bring.  In either case, I’ll be covering your moving costs.  The same goes for those who are renting.”

”When do we start working?”

“I’d like everybody settled and ready to jump in on the 1^st of next month, 28 days from now.  That should give you enough time to take care of loose ends.  After you’ve picked out the furniture this week, I want you to go car shopping.  I highly recommend Kias, but you’ve got a $50K budget, which gives you many choices.  Joe will give you a couple of his business cards.  When you find the car you want, give the sales manager one of his cards and tell them to contact him to take care of payment.  We’re not buying them but leasing them, and you’ll get a new car every two years when the leases expire.”

After eating and having a final cup of coffee, Joe stood up to get their attention. “We’re now going to go and see the furnished house.  We can look at a couple of the others if you like; they are all within walking distance of one another.  However, since they are all very similar, I suggest we look at the model, so to speak, to get an idea of the size and how much furniture you’re going to need.  You don’t have to get all your furniture right away.  If you need something else later, you’ll return to the warehouse and pick it out.  Also, if you order something, and when it’s delivered, it just looks wrong, or you don’t like it, send it back.  As I said earlier, Gerry owns the company, so there won’t be any issues.”

“What else do you own, Gerry, that we can take advantage of?” asked Steve Richards jokingly.

“Oh”, replied Gerry.  “A pro football and a pro basketball team, so if you like either of those games, you can use the Owners Box.”

Everybody laughed.  They were all in a good mood with the incredible good fortune that had landed in their laps, plus the internal joy of feeling wanted and valuable again.  Nobody knew what the future would bring, but they would deal with it when it happened.

Everybody liked the house and was excited about choosing furniture and moving in.  Karen took one look at the model and said, “I’ll take it.  This is perfect.” Joe had everybody driven over to the furniture store and left them there with a van and driver to shuttle them back to the hotel when they were finished.  He arranged for them to all meet at Gerry’s house the following day and left them furniture shopping, expecting that was the last he would see of them until the following day. He was off by a few hours.

It was 1 am when his mobile started ringing.  He usually set it to Do Not Disturb but had forgotten to do it, so the dining woke him up.  Immediately alert, he picked it up and answered.  “Joe Simpson.”

“Joe, it’s Keith at the hotel. I’m sorry to wake you up, but one of your guests has died.  It looks like a massive heart attack.”

“Who?”

“Mr. Hartley.”

“What happened?”

“He and a couple of the others were in the bar, chatting, and he just keeled over.  Died instantly.  We tried to revive him, but it was a no-go.”

“Do you need me to come down?”

“I don’t think it’s necessary.  The ambulance has taken him away, and the police have just left.”

“Thanks for letting me know, Keith.  What a shame.”

Joe ended the call and thought about waking Gerry to let him know but decided it could wait until he was awake.  That would be a sad conversation.  It wasn’t that either of them knew David Hartley, but he was already a team member, and that meant something.  Joe turned the light off and was instantly asleep.

Early the next morning, he walked into the kitchen to find Gerry already up and drinking coffee. “I got a call from the hotel early this morning,” he said.  “David Hartley died.  Massive heart attack.”

Gerry looked over him, shock etched on his face.  “Poor David.  He wins the lottery and doesn’t live long enough to enjoy it.  Do the others know?”

“Almost certainly.  He was with a couple of them when it happened, and I’m sure they’ve told the others.”

“Well, that’ll put a damper on the day, won’t it?”

“It will,” agreed Joe.  “Do you want to keep it at seven or get one of the two we rejected back?”

Gerry thought for a minute.  “Let’s offer the spot to Barry Thomas.”

“Fine.  I’ll give him a call.”

“Do you remember where he lives?”

“Not off the top of my head.”

“OK.  Call him and tell him that he’s been accepted.  See how fast he can get here.  There are usually plenty of flights.  It’s just a question of how long it will take him to be ready.”

“Will do.  There is one other thing.”

“What is it?”

“Alexander is going to need Damian.  He’s a very gifted hacker, and we need those skills.”

“Okay.  Let Alexander know, and he’ll make the arrangements. I don’t know whether Alexander will want him out at The Haven, but that’s his decision.”

Chapter 14 – The Haven

Joe had sent texts to each of his 7 picks with instructions to make their way to The Haven the following Wednesday.  While Alexander was waiting for them to arrive, he had installed some extra security around the property; motion sensors and infrared cameras.  There were also some nasty little surprises around the perimeter wall which had broken glass fragments embedded in the concrete.  That would deter most intruders and those who got over it successfully would soon regret it.  The motion sensors would automatically notify Alexander’s mobile if they were triggered.

The Haven itself was a large property with almost a mile between it and the nearest other properties of which there were just 2.  The wood that encircled the house and which started 200 yards from it was so dense that it would muffle the sound of gunfire.  The one thing that could get through the security measures was drones.  Alexander had already blasted two out of the skies with his shotgun while he was outside walking the grounds and he would instruct the team to do the same.

The 7 arrived separately and over a single day with the first of them arriving just after lunch and the last early evening.  Alexander introduced himself as ‘Alexander, not Alex or Alec’ and showed them to their rooms.  In each of them was a Benelli shotgun with a box of cartridges.  “When you’re out walking the property, if you see any drones flying over, shoot them out of the sky.  They’re trespassing and we have every right to destroy them.  I’ve already shot down two which might be enough for the word to spread that it’s a bad idea to be flying them over here but keep an eye out.  There’s also an automated clay pigeon range on the west side of the house.  Feel free to go out and practice shooting any time you want.  I usually go out in the morning for an hour.  It’s good to keep the eye in.”

Each one of them thought Alexander was batshit crazy but interesting.  In return, Alexander thought each of them was perfect for the job that he, Gerry, and Joe had in mind.  Using his old contacts at the CIA, he had obtained the files on each of the 7.  What the CIA and NSA didn’t know about anybody wasn’t worth knowing.  Alexander had read every file thoroughly, committing it to memory, so by the time they arrived, he probably knew more about them than they did themselves.  He was looking forward to chatting to Rufus Black who spoke 6 of the same languages that Alexander did.  It should be an entertaining conversation.  He hadn’t yet decided whether that conversation would take place privately or when the group was all together

That evening he had them all come into the kitchen and help themselves to the meal he had prepared.  It was Spaghetti Bolognese with garlic bread and was his favorite go-to meal when he was cooking for others,  He had made two huge pots; one of which had lots of onion, and the other didn’t have any; that was for him mostly as he hated onions but he might not be the only one and wanted to make sure that everybody could eat. 

The conversation around the table was muted while they ate.  Alexander noticed that there was some tension between Rufus Black and Kevin Waite that he would have to address privately.  They had both served in the Rangers, and he thought it was probably related to that. When they had all eaten their fill, and the dishes had been put in the industrial-size dishwasher, Alexander led them into the large lounge.  Like everything else at The Haven, it was rustic but very comfortable and a log fire was roaring in the corner.

“Okay”, said Alexander.  “I know who all of you are but none of you know me other than my name is Alexander, not Alex or Alec.  I know that’s kind of a foible but I’m serious about it.  Let’s all introduce ourselves; just who you are, where you’re from, and what your background is.  You’ll all be getting a briefing sheet with this information on it but I’d like to hear it from your mouths.  Who’s going to start?”

Rufus Black raised his hand.  “Go ahead, Rufus.”

Over the next 15 minutes, each of the 7 spoke about their life and experiences.  After they had finished, Alexander gave a brief potted history that didn’t include his time with the CIA, his linguistic ability, or his success as an author.  When he had finished he looked around the group.

“So you must all be wondering why you’re here.”  Without waiting for an answer, he continued.  “The political system in this country is completely hopelessly lost and corrupt.  There is an organization called Feet to the Fire that publicizes the worst offenders and does an excellent job of publicly shaming them, but it’s not enough to deter some of these shitheads.  What you’re going to do is run surveillance operations on the worst of these offenders.  I want to know what they’re doing, who they’re sleeping with and shouldn’t I want to know everything and then I’m going to plan something that will screw up their miserable lives in a big way.”

“Are we working with Feet to the Fire?”, asked Cody Jackson.

“No,” lied Alexander.  “They’re finding the bad apples and we’ll be going from there.  They won’t know we exist or what we’re doing.”

“What sort of operations will you be planning?”

“Whatever presents itself.  If somebody leaves themselves open to blackmail and I can use that as leverage for them to change their behavior, then that’s what I’ll do.  But each case will be different and subject to what the 8 of us find out.  You’ll be working in teams of 2 and I’ll make up the 4^th team.  “We’ve got an unlimited budget and I can obtain any equipment that we need.  Some of this work is going to be boring; surveillance always is, but I can promise you there will be some excitement.  You’ve all taken this job on faith so let me explain how you’re going to be compensated.  I assume that everybody is interested in the money side of it.  Please raise your hand if you don’t care about that.”

Not one hand went up. “I didn’t think so. 20K a month plus expenses; that’s what you’re getting and you get to live here.  Now there is no staff so each of you is responsible for looking after yourself.  The kitchen will always be fully stocked so you can prepare your meals.  If there is anything you want that we don’t have, write it down on the whiteboard next to the stove, and I’ll get it brought in.  We’ll also be bringing in a truck each week with fresh food, meats, lots of vegetables, and some wine.  I don’t want anybody drinking hard liquor or getting drunk.  A couple of glasses of wine or a couple of beers is fine but that’s it.  Anybody got a problem with that?”

Again not a hand went up.  “I’m going to be putting you through some fairly intense training.  You all look like you’re fit and strong but we’re going to make sure of that.  There’s a fully equipped dojo in the big shed to the left of the main house so feel free to go and train with each other on your unarmed combat skills.  Teach each other if you can.”

“Are we going to need those skills?”, asked Cory Bateman.

“Probably not”, replied Alexander “but I want to make sure that if you do, you have them tuned up.  Some of the people you’re going to be working on will have close protection teams.  I want you to avoid them as much as possible, but handle it if there is trouble.  You must, however, let me know immediately because I may need to pull the teams on that person for a while and let the heat die down.  Oh, and don’t kill anybody.”  He then added “At least not yet.  I’m joking about the ‘not yet’ part.

There was some light laughter.  “OK, we’ve got an early start in the morning.  We’re going for a five-mile cross-country run around the estate.  I want to see how fit you are as well as have you familiarize yourself with the grounds.  We’ll meet here at 6 am for coffee if anybody wants it and we’ll be outside at 6.15.  “Don’t be late.  Sleep well.  Rufus, would you and Kevin stay behind for a few minutes?”

All the men but Rufus and Kevin left heading back to their rooms for a few hours of sleep. 

When there was just the three of them, he spoke “OK, you two have obviously got a beef with one another.  I presume it’s related to your Ranger days but it needs to be resolved, or I’ll have to send the two of you home. Now why is it?”

Rufus was the first to speak.  “Kevin fucked up on a mission, and got two of my guys killed.”

“I did not” replied Kevin hotly. “The mission was a fuck-up from the beginning, and we were lucky we weren’t all killed.  THE CIA screwed up with bad intel.”

“That’s not the way I see it” replied Rufus.

Alexander held up his hand before Kevin could reply.  “Okay.  There are two choices here.  I will either send you both home, or you settle your differences in the dojo tomorrow morning while the rest of us go for a run.  What’s it going to be?  Fight, or go home?”

Both men immediately said, “Fight.”

“Good,” said Alexander.  “OK.  Non-lethal.  I don’t want either of you dead.  Is that clear?”

Both men nodded.  “Now, go and turn in.  You’re going to need your energy tomorrow.”

Alexander waited until they had left, then locked the door into the room so he couldn’t be disturbed.  He had a call to make to Joe.  Even though the big room was virtually soundproof, he wouldn’t make the call from it or use his cell phone.  Crossing to the big bookcase that was on the wall opposite the roaring fire, he pulled out two books and revealed the hidden room behind the bookcase.  “Gerry loved these hidden rooms he thought, smiling to himself.  Once inside, he pressed a button, and the bookcase slid back into place.

Inside the completely soundproofed room, he sat down at a table and picked up one of the dozen or so burner phones that were sitting there.  Opening Signal, he called Joe, who answered on the first ring.  “Everything alright?”, asked Joe.

“Fine.  They are a good bunch of people.  I think they’ll be perfect.  Rufus and Kevin have some bad blood, but they’ve agreed to settle their differences in the dojo tomorrow.  I’m hoping it will clear the air, but if not I’ll have to send them both home.”

“It’s your call, Alexander.”

“Thanks.”

“What have you told them so far?”

“Just what we agreed.”

“Do you think they suspect there’s more?”

“I’m sure they do but it’s nothing to worry about.”

“OK.  Anything else.”

“The two properties nearest us.  Do you know anything about them or their owners?”

“Sure.  They’re both holiday homes for Hollywood people.  One’s a producer and the other’s a soap opera star.  They are hardly ever used and then mostly in the summer.  If they are going to be up there, we’ll hear and I’ll let you know.  They’re both pretty isolated from you so I don’t think it’ll matter.”

“Fine.  I’ll check in tomorrow.  How’s Gerry?”

“He’s okay, some pain but he says it’s bearable.”

“Is he telling the truth?”

“Well, that’s a different matter.  You know Gerry.”

“Night, Joe”, said Alexander as he ended the call.  He immediately dialed a second number.  Gerry Hawkins answered on the 3^rd ring. ”Yes, Alexander.’

“Just checking in.  Everybody’s here; all settled in.  Seems like a good bunch.”

“Great.  Have you been working on our plan?”

“I have.”

“And?”, asked Gerry.

“And you don’t want to know about it!” replied Alexander.  This was the part of the plan that Joe wasn’t part of and, with any luck would never find out about.”

Everybody was in the kitchen before 6 the next morning. Most had coffee, but a couple stuck to water to make sure they were properly hydrated.  Rufus and Kevin came in, grabbed a bottle of water each, and headed over to the dojo.  Alexander waited until they had both left and then said to the others, “Rufus and Kevin won’t be joining us for the run this morning.  They have something they need to work out.”

Nobody raised an eyebrow or said a word.  They had all picked up on the tension.

At 6.15 exactly, Alexander put his coffee cup down and headed out the door, closely followed by the other 5.  Alexander set off at a blistering pace but all of the others easily kept up.

Thirty minutes later they all appeared out of the trees.  Rufus and Kevin were sitting on a bench talking quietly.  Both had a beer in front of them and both of them were bruised.  Kevin had a black eye, and Rufus’ nose was bleeding. Alexander sat down on the bench.  “Are we good?”  Both men nodded. “When you’ve finished your beers, hit the showers. Meet us in the living area in 45 minutes for a briefing.”  They nodded again, took a last pull of their beers, and headed inside to their rooms.