SOPHIA - Age of Intelligence

by Mike Donoghue

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  One World Trade Center

  THREE SEVERE LOOKING MEN emerged from the elevator, stepping onto PurIntel’s ninetieth floor. Their collective demeanour represented a familiar blend of self-importance and authoritative overindulgence. They wore dark suits, white shirts, non-descript ties and two of the three were carrying black briefcases. Samantha spotted them from an adjoining hallway and recognized their type immediately: obviously government. She politely broke off the conversation she was having with a female colleague and began making her way toward the main reception area.

  Why do they do this? She asked herself. Travelling in packs diminishes their presumed stature. Her polite smile caught the attention of one of the men immediately, but what he couldn’t have noticed as readily was a confidence more appropriately concealed. It awaited deployment, throughout her purposeful approach. Sara and Haley were behind their expansive reception desk, however, they were both were busy on the phone. The pleasantries associated with introductions therefore fell to Samantha. And while her appearance offered an enchanting portal to the undiscovered world of PurIntel, Sam effortlessly exceeded expectations on every level. Her style was self-assured and flexible, this time reflecting a need to be formal and to the point. She stopped in front of the trio, glancing between the three gentlemen. “I’m guessing IRS. Am I correct?”

  “We’re here to see Simon Taylor,” one of them stated. He looked a decade older than the other two, and he presented an aura of being measurably wiser.

  “Mr. Taylor is presently in a meeting,” Samantha announced. “Is he expecting you?” She glanced further to her left and noticed Sara offer a subtle shake of her head. They had obviously not made an appointment.

  “My apologies for the intrusion, Ms. …”

  “Samantha will do for now.”

  “As a rule Samantha, we don’t preannounce our arrival. Is there somewhere we can wait until Mr. Taylor is available?”

  There was a thread of honesty in the man’s expression, and Samantha sensed a willingness to discard the pretense associated with their sudden appearance. “Of course. Please follow me.”

  Within moments, Samantha ushered the three men into Conference Room One. “Please make yourselves comfortable,” she stated, as the two younger men each took a seat. “Is there anything I can get you while you wait? Coffee, tea?” Samantha held onto the door, allowing it to almost close. The appropriate level of discretion had not yet made itself clear.

  “We’ll be fine. If you wouldn’t mind informing Mr. Taylor of our arrival, we’d very much appreciate it,” the man in charge said.

  Samantha came to a conclusion and closed the door. “You’re not from the IRS, are you?”

  “No, we’re not. But thank you for the clever pretext.” The man took a step closer to Samantha. “Would you mind giving Mr. Taylor this?” A business card was passed to Samantha to which she took an extended glance. Colonel Gerald Dynes, she read. His department acronym was markedly longer than most.

  Dynes stated: “From the outset I sensed you were a woman I could trust. Am I correct in that assumption, Ms. Banks?”

  Sam realized she wasn’t the only one who felt comfortable with being direct and to the point. She watched the Colonel turn and take several paces toward the far side of the room. They were alone now, and, as expected, perceptions maintained in public spaces were no longer necessary. She was, however, somewhat unnerved by the fact that the man knew her last name all along. Nevertheless, her poise remained undiminished. “If you must know, my unwavering loyalty belongs to my employer.”

  “And your country?” he asked, turning toward her.

  “My country?” she repeated. “Of course.” Samantha didn’t actually recognize the agency on Dynes’s business card, but surmised it represented an organization that moved in secretive circles.

  “Then I am obliged to inform you that from this moment on our relationship will require a considerable measure of discretion.”

  Samantha stood and listened, all the while maintaining a stoic, respectable disposition. The moment seemed almost surreal, like something out of a comic book. Who are these guys? she wondered. Her eyes widened with the expectation of what would come next.

  “I like you, Samantha Banks,” Colonel Dynes stated, smiling. “The liveliness of our first encounter couldn’t have been more fortuitous. If you wouldn’t mind continuing with the IRS cover story, I would be forever in your debt. Can we count on you … Ms. Banks?”

  Samantha had fully recovered to her former self; that indubitable spirit rose to the surface again. She glanced once more at the card still in her hand. “Should I call you Colonel, Mr. Dynes, or just Gerald?”

  “Gerry, if you don’t mind.”

  “Well, Gerry,” Sam repeated. “Your secret is safe with me!”