CHAPTER NINE
One World Trade Center, NYC
“SO, DO YOU THINK you’ll go?” Simon asked, while on the phone with Rose. They were both still at the office, working well into a Friday evening. Rose’s UNESCO Liaison office was located within New York’s UN Headquarters, and although her organization promoted international peace and universal respect for human rights the world over, she was currently considering matters closer to home.
“At the moment, I’m leaning toward, yes,” Rose admitted. She looked at the stilled image on her laptop and then to the display of white lotus flowers on her desk. The recent delivery was obviously a peace offering ˗ white signifying purity and the lotus representing the national flower of India. Having signed for the unusual aquatic arrangement, the deliveryman must have activated an electronic confirmation to the sender, because a pre-recorded video message arrived on Rose’s computer soon thereafter. It was her brother’s latest attempt at reconciling their differences.
Rose stared at the on-screen bust of her brother. His dark hair and manicured three-day beard only partly concealed his striking, yet severe face. A cream-coloured blazer further buoyed his contrite demeanour. She recognized the video’s backdrop as being consistent with the stately luxury to which he was accustomed. “I’m in town to complete the Gen Tech deal,” he suggested, during his short monologue. “I was hoping to discuss some family matters with you personally before I return home. Our Hindu faith teaches us to free ourselves from passed transgressions. I am truly sorry for the hurt I have caused you. I am not asking you to forget, only forgive. Please, Roshnie, time is of the essence. We need to talk.”
Rose looked out her west-facing window and saw the world’s slimmest high-rise off in the distance. Despite its daring street-level footprint, the thirteen-hundred foot tower knifed through the diminishing Manhattan sunset. Simon’s residence was located on the eighty-fourth floor. Even the sight of it sent shivers through her spine; subsequent impulses raced toward her amygdala, the lobe of the brain associated with fear. With each floor representing the sum of only a 100-foot square, Simon’s two levels seemed to tempt several laws of nature. Rose swung around in her chair; she had to look away. The memory of taking in the Central Park view from Simon’s flat revived the distinct feeling of swaying in the wind.
“I think you should go,” Simon said. He touched his glass composite computer screen and enlarged a picture he had taken of Rose. “I thought I’d never say it, but I think I can relate to your brother on this one.”
Rose remembered the look on Simon’s face when he told her that he and Jennifer were back on speaking terms. She put her cellphone down on the desk and switched to hands-free. Her black dress bore the familiar designer cut and was equally fitting to the responsibility she was accruing at UNESCO. Their conversation was relaxed, almost intermittent. “He’s sending a car for eight o-clock.”
“He’s expecting you, then?” Simon said, glancing at the beautiful photo of Rose on his computer screen. The bottom right corner of the monitor caught his eye next. It was almost eight o’clock. Simon’s attention was further diverted to his office door. It was Derrick Landry. Seeing his boss on the phone, he stood at the doorway until Simon waved him in.
Rose sat back in her chair. “I can still send the car away.”
“He’s confident … but wise enough not to take you for granted,” Simon said, simultaneously acknowledging Derrick’s arrival at the side of his desk. Derrick glanced to his right, at the frozen-in-time scene within Sophia’s holographic space. He recognized the figures as those who made up Simon’s favourite rock band, U2. Simon had obviously paused the three dimensional concert when Rose’s call came through. It didn’t bother Derrick that his presence had reduced his boss’s conversation to a few polite agreements. Simon was letting Rose do most of the talking.
Derrick imperceptibly shook his head. He never understood his boss’s penchant for retro technology, his bulky record player, his love of 1970s, 80s, and 90s music, as well as grainy black and white movies. But what he did appreciate was Simon’s taste in women.
Simon noticed his DO’s eyes were glued to the picture of Rose. In any pose, she appeared very striking. Derrick was disappointed when his superior leaned forward in his chair and minimized the on-screen photo. It wasn’t that Simon felt possessive, it’s just he was acutely aware of his second-in-command’s notorious past.
Derrick Landry was recruited by Simon several years back, having risen to some prominence at one of Wall Street’s top brokerage houses. Derrick, a brilliant mathematician himself, developed groundbreaking encryption solutions for his employer more than a decade ago. Although the financial rewards were incredibly lucrative, Derrick found himself immersed in a lifestyle that ultimately led to addiction and divorce. The intervening years represented an arduous journey for Derrick, but they allowed him to overcome his past and become sober for more than five years. Simon’s present concerns, however, had less to do with Derrick’s conquered demons and more to do with those which simmered on; his DO’s weakness for beautiful women, those who flowed freely with every known intoxicant through the highest levels of Manhattan’s financial elite.
While Simon waited for an opportunity to interject, Derrick passed him a memory device, an update, most likely, to a file on which he was working.
Unaware she was carrying the conversation, Rose continued. “You know, he reminds me of …” she stopped mid-sentence. Her office phone rang out. She hesitated, then asked: “Do you mind if I take this?”
“No, go ahead,” Simon replied.
Rose pressed the speakerphone button. “Yes,” she answered.
The voice was from the front gate security checkpoint. “Ms. Gill, were you expecting a car this evening?”
“Yes, I was. Sorry for not informing you earlier.”
“That’s quite alright, Ms. Gill,” the officer stated. “I’ll let him through, then?”
Simon detected an extended pause.
“Ms. Gill?” the voice asked again.
“Yes, tell him … tell him I’ll be right down.” She reached for her office phone and terminated the call.
“I’m sure everything will go fine,” Simon offered.
Rose seemed unconvinced. “Promise?”
“Would you like me to pick you up afterwards? We could go for a drink.”
“If you’re trying to get me back up to that apartment of yours, I’ll need more than one drink.” Rose got up from her chair and readied herself to leave.
Simon smiled. “That can be arranged.”
SOPHIA - Age of Intelligence Page 9
