Excited and frustrated, Paul began to pace his apartment. He lived in a one-bedroom unit in the Potomac Towers, where he paid too much for rent. But he liked being close to work, and he made the most of his space by keeping his furnishings and possessions to a minimum. He’d been in the building for eight years, since he’d landed his government job, and he felt lucky for the stability. His college roommate had never found a job and ended up living with his parents, and several of his neighbors had been forced to move when they’d lost their jobs. Not to mention the millions of homeless people.
Paul knew he was fortunate, possessing both a federal job and a partially sponsored med card, but he still had to be frugal because the price of everything had nearly doubled in the last five years while his salary stayed the same. Could he get his bank to raise his credit limit? Could he afford monthly payments at twenty percent interest?
He stopped in front of his window overlooking a small grassy area below. He wanted a new nose and he had to find a way to come up with some cash. His thoughts drifted to the replacement database and the trove of personal information it held. Could he make it work for him? Now that he finally had Camille’s attention, he had to keep her interested.
Paul put Lilly on the leash and rushed for the door. A wild idea had popped into his head and he needed to walk and think it through. He hurried past the elevator and took the stairs, as he’d been doing since his coffee with Camille. In the lobby, Mrs. Olson, an elderly woman who lived on his floor, seemed weighed down by a large sack of groceries. Paul stepped toward her. “Let me carry those for you.”
“But you were headed out and I’m going upstairs.”
“It’s okay. We don’t mind.” Paul slipped Lilly’s leash over his wrist and took the bag. His plans could wait a moment. On the elevator, Mrs. Olson chatted about the high cost of fresh produce, but Paul wasn’t listening. His mind raced with dangerous ideas. He carried the sack into his neighbor’s kitchen, then pounded down the stairs again.
Outside, the cold grabbed him like an icy glove. Yesterday had been sixty, so today’s nearly freezing weather was a bit of a shock. Temperature swings had been common for years, but Paul’s soft, indoor body never got used to them. He wished he’d put a sweater on Lilly, but they wouldn’t be out long.
He buttoned his coat and strode to a nearby park, where he could walk and think. The idea kept churning as he looked at it from every angle. With twenty-one percent unemployment, jobs were a valuable commodity and those that offered med cards were a premium. What if he could arrange for someone in the replacement database to land a position they coveted? What would he have to do? First, he’d have to find someone who was ready to retire, or hell, even needed to be fired. Then he’d have to target the neediest of the three candidates and offer them the job for a price. Would they pay fifteen or twenty thousand? Why not? Level C positions all had high-end med cards, and the savings of not paying for health insurance was worth that much annually.
The real question was: Could he pull it off? Could he arrange for someone to be fired and also manipulate a supervisor into hiring a specific replacement? As a techie in the personnel department, he had no influence on Level C positions, but he did have access to files and he could take a behind-the-scenes approach. The idea excited and frightened him at the same time. It had to be illegal and he’d never willingly broken the law before. He knew how to hack into web pages and social networking sites, but he’d only done it a few times just to see if he could. Paul suspected that posting offensive statements on someone’s WorldChat page might not be enough to get them fired, unless they were already on the edge. He might have to be more aggressive. The thought gave him a burst of energy. He could remake himself inside and out. He could become one of those people who took chances and lived life fully.
“What do you think, Lilly? Can I pull it off?”
She whined to let him know she was cold. Paul spotted a cart vendor and bought a cup of tea to sip on the walk home. Darkness had fallen and he wanted to get back inside before he got mugged. His mind turned to the mission he had planned. Twenty thousand was a lot of money, even for a federal C-Level position. He’d have to scour the database for an ambitious type, then contact them anonymously to gauge their interest.
Tonight though, he would search the net for good-looking actors until he found the perfect new nose.
The next morning, Paul passed through the body scanner in the Personnel and Payroll Management Office, where he’d worked for eight years. He’d seen a lot of changes in that time, and most involved adding security and consolidating personnel. On the other side of the scanner, the female member of the security team touched his shoulder and signaled him aside.
“Didn’t we do this recently?” Paul spoke lightly, hoping his irritation didn’t show. It had been exactly thirteen workdays since he’d been randomly chosen to be searched, and it was the fifth time in the three years since they’d increased security. Others in the building had never been selected. He doubted if they used an algorithm and he was insulted by the insinuation that he could suddenly become a terrorist.
“Did we?” The security guard was coffee-colored and beautiful, but she never smiled. “Set your briefcase on the table and step up to the iris scanner.”
Paul did as instructed, then walked behind the white-canvas privacy divider and allowed the guard to pat him down more thoroughly than the TSA did. He wanted to comment that she was the only woman who ever put her hands on his body, but any sexual innuendo would get him fired.
“Thank you, Mr. Madsen.” The security guard dismissed him, and as Paul headed for the elevator, he realized he didn’t know her name.
As he sat down at his desk, his NetCom lifted out of the flat metal surface and the screen came to life with rotating images, many of Lilly and Isabel. His touched his control pad and a login box appeared. Paul checked the time: 7:40. He still had twenty minutes before his workday started, and he was determined to conduct this arrangement on his own time. He logged in with a press of his thumb in the corner of the pad and opened the replacement file.
Sipping green tea, he began to search for the key elements he’d mentally listed for his target as he lay in bed the night before, unable to sleep: 1) more than three dependents, 2) a salary less than a hundred thousand a year, 3) rapid job changes, and 4) alimony payments. He hoped to find at least several candidates, check who they were listed to replace, then pick the one connected to the most vulnerable federal employee.
Within ten minutes, Paul was surprised to find two prime targets: Darren Fredricks and Alan Rathmore. Fredricks was CFO of MobileTech, a company that produced a line of communicators worn on the wrist. He was a replacement choice for director of technology and innovation. The government job might pay less than what he currently earned, but the medical benefits and networking opportunities would be too good to pass up. Paul opened the federal HR database and uploaded the current technology director’s file, only to find an impeccable service record. Getting him fired would be challenging, even if Fredricks was willing to pay.
Paul moved to his second potential client. Alan Rathmore was a manager for E-Med, a company that created and maintained software for transitioning patients’ medical records into digital files. Government funding for that effort had dried up after the first debt crisis, but hospitals and clinics were still struggling to make the transition. Rathmore was in line for a position in Health and Human Services. Paul’s pulse quickened. The position would be a huge career move for Rathmore and very tempting bait.
Paul quickly called up the file for Janel Roberts, the woman who held the director of planning position. She’d been in the job only a year and a half and seemed under-qualified. She had two teenagers listed on her health plan and a warning in her file about attendance. Roberts was definitely weak, and a couple of ideas popped into Paul’s head. He checked the clock. A few more minutes before his workday started. He perused Janel Roberts’ file, memorizing the details. Occasional pangs of gui
lt for what he had planned made him pause, but he reminded himself that she’d get a severance package and ninety days of unemployment benefits. It was more than most terminated workers received.
As his NetCom clock rolled over to 8:00 a.m., Paul closed the files and opened the project he was working on for the Pentagon’s payroll program. He always gave a full day’s work for his salary.
Throughout the morning, his thoughts kept straying to Alan Rathmore and how he should approach the potential client. A quick anonymous message from a disposable iCom seemed safest. What if Rathmore was offended by his offer? Would he report the incident for investigation? Paul considered what he would do if someone approached him with such an offer. The old Paul would have simply ignored it. The new Paul might take the risk.
On his lunch hour, he braved the cold wind to buy a prepaid iCom from a street vendor in Triangle Park. Vendors were everywhere now, selling out of carts and backpacks, as people tried to make a living however they could. Just having the device in his pocket made Paul feel daring. After work, he fortified himself with a vegetable stir-fry from Chinatown Express, then walked ten blocks south to a different park. That was the one thing about D.C. that hadn’t changed. It still had parks everywhere, but they were filled with homeless people now.
The bitter weather kept the homeless in their tents so he had the park bench to himself. If the feds ever traced the call, he didn’t want to be near his apartment or his workplace. He practiced what he would say a few times, then finally spoke Rathmore’s number into the iCom. He followed it with the command, “Text.” He would speak his message out loud, and the iCom would transfer it to text. He didn’t want Rathmore to hear his voice yet.
“I have a proposition you can’t refuse,” Paul said, trying to sound confident. “I can arrange for you to land a Level C job in Health and Human Services in exchange for twenty thousand dollars. You’ll recoup your investment in less than a year. Let me know if you’re interested.”
Paul used the keypad to make minor corrections in the text and read the message through several times. His heart pounded in his ears with the thought of actually sending it. He’d never done anything like this in his life. Isabel had always chided him for his shyness and accused him of going through life with the brakes on. This was pedal to the metal, Paul thought, then laughed at himself.
A woman walking by looked over at him and smiled, surprising him. Was it the laughter? People never noticed him. Nor had humor ever come naturally.
The woman moved out of earshot. It was now or never, Paul thought. He brought the unit close to his mouth and said, “Send.”
Stomach churning, Paul hurried down the street to a bus stop. The wind cut through his jacket and the sky darkened. How long would it take Rathmore to answer? What if he never did? Paul decided he would give the client twenty-four hours to respond, then throw away the iCom—just in case Rathmore decided to be righteous and report the incident. Paul had no idea who Rathmore would report it to or if anyone would investigate. Law enforcement had restricted budgets and focused their efforts on violent crime, terrorists, and the drug trade. Otherwise, people were expected to look out for themselves in the new order, and frivolous lawsuits were a thing of the past.
A moment later, the iCom beeped and Paul stopped in his tracks. He touched the screen and text appeared. Who are you? What federal position? I want to talk.
Yes! Rathmore was interested. Paul started to speak, then took a breath and reminded himself to be careful. He knew he would have to speak directly to Rathmore sooner or later. Fortunately, he would always have more leverage because he knew his client’s identity.
Paul said, “Respond, voice,” and the unit connected to Rathmore again.
“Who is this? And where did you get my name?” Rathmore took an aggressive tone.
“You’ll never know. That’s the deal.” Paul kept talking, not giving him a chance to argue. “The position is director of planning in HHS. It pays twenty thousand more than what you’re making now.”
“How do you know the position is coming open? No one voluntarily leaves a job with a high-end med card.”
“You’ll have to trust me. And if you don’t want to pay for the position, I’m sure one of your competitors will.”
Rathmore paused. “Are you sure I’m being considered for the position?”
“Yes. I want ten thousand in cash up front and ten thousand when you get called for the interview.”
“I can’t get that much money together. I’ll give you five up front and five after I get my first new deposit.”
“My terms aren’t negotiable.” Paul couldn’t believe he’d just said that. It was as if some tough guy character had taken over his body.
“I’ll have to think about it.”
“You have twenty-four hours to contact me at this number. Send a text.”
“How do I know you’re not a scammer? A lot of people have been burned by phony job auctions.”
“None of those jobs were at this level, and none of the scammers had this kind of information.” Paul waited while his client considered his options.
After a moment, Rathmore said, “Give me a week to see if I can raid my retirement fund or max out my credit limit.”
“Forty-eight hours.” Paul hung up.
Once it was over, his legs shook so hard, he stumbled to the bus stop bench and sat. He was not cut out for this kind of thing. He tried to imagine himself collecting a bag full of cash and getting away unseen. His heart raced at the thought. It wasn’t too late to back out—but he didn’t want to. As terrified as he was, he’d never felt more empowered and engaged. He was finally taking control of his future. He was a player now, and there was no turning back.
Chapter 6
Mon., May 8
Lara woke to the sound of beeping. Disoriented at first, she sat up and grabbed her 9-millimeter off the nightstand. The hotel room came into focus and she remembered where she was. The beep was her six o’clock wake-up alarm from her iCom.
She heard her roommate moving around, so she put her weapon in the nightstand drawer and pushed out of bed. After splashing cold water on her face, Lara did thirty pushups and thirty crunches on the carpeted floor. Any other day, she would have completed a vigorous kickboxing workout as well or taken a ten-mile run, but the competition began this afternoon and she needed to save her physical energy. At forty-two, she was the oldest contestant, but she was also in excellent physical condition. She counted on her quick reflexes and ability to think ahead to give her an edge. The combination had served her well as a police officer…except that one time.
Out in the shared area, Lara sat at the small table and cut up one of the peaches she’d purchased. She tossed it in the blender with two tablespoons of whey protein, a teaspoon of flax seed, and a cup of yogurt. She’d forgotten to bring cinnamon for flavor.
At the sound of the blender, Kirsten rushed out of her bedroom. “What are you doing?”
“Making breakfast.” Lara poured her meal into a glass and drank half.
“You know we can order room service?”
“Go ahead.” Lara was shamefully pleased to see Kirsten was not as pretty without makeup. As she finished her meal, she remembered the cameras. Crap. Would the footage editors show her weird food habits to the viewers? Would they be amused or disgusted? Lara had stopped caring about what most people thought of her long ago, and it was unnatural for her to play to an audience. Thank goodness, the viewers only counted for a portion of the total outcome.
She headed for the shower. Orientation started in less than two hours and she still needed her daily fix of online news.
Outside the hotel, Lara waited with a group of contestants for the shuttle to arrive. She pulled on dark glasses against the bright sun and felt a layer of sweat form on her skin. Across the road stood a small grocery store/pharmacy. In the distance to the right, brown fields and chunks of old tarmac surrounded the massive arena buildings, with the Potomac River on one side of t
he property and greener suburbs on the other.
The shuttle arrived and Lara boarded it, even though the arena was only a half mile away. Her digital instructions that morning had told her to take the shuttle and she complied, not wanting to get herself in further trouble. Other contestants boarded, wearing bright smiles and carrying shoulder bags but saying little. The first round of competition, the Challenge, was the toughest, and half of them would go home by the end of the next day.
They passed through giant iron gates and Lara had the sense that her life was about to change.
Her first stop was the orientation room, which looked like a campus lecture hall with a sloped floor and flip-down seating. Lara grabbed a spot near the back on the end of a row, one of her reasons for arriving early. She hated being trapped in a crowd and needed access to the exits. Remembering the hotel clerk’s revelation that a man had called and asked about her, Lara scanned the room, looking for someone out of place. Attractive contestants filed in, wearing snug athletic clothing over shapely bodies. Media people carrying cameras or Docks stood around the perimeter, occasionally stopping a contestant for a quick interview.
A young female newscaster spotted her and strode over. “I’m Jessie Stark from CNC Broadcasting,” she said, motioning the cameraman to move in. “Are you Lara Evans?” The petit redhead shoved a mic toward Lara’s face.
“Yes, and I’m proud to represent Oregon.”
“How does it feel to be the oldest contestant here today?”
Lara had prepared for the question, but it still stung. “I don’t think about it very much. I’m as physically fit as anyone here, and I’ve trained for this event for two years. I’m ready to compete.”
The Arranger Page 4
