Enemy In the Room

by Parker Hudson

  David was used to press speculation about USNet’s operations and future moves in its various markets. Such reports were usually only moderately accurate and never involved quotes or inferences from his real estate group. This article, on the other hand, was highly accurate and apparently leaked from someone on his team. And the only logical person was Kristen Holloway. His heart sank as he finished it.

  What has Kristen done?

  He called Paul Burke. The COO answered. “You read it? OK. I’ll conference in Trevor, who’s in L.A.” Instantly the three of them were on the phone together.

  “David’s on the phone with us, Trevor.”

  “David, it has to be that Holloway woman!” His anger was apparent. “We can’t have these kinds of leaks and rumors. A female reporter getting information from a female employee to help a female President’s absurd policies on adult movies. This is unacceptable. I told you to get rid of her weeks ago.”

  David responded calmly, almost quietly. “We said that we’d talk about it. She’s the most experienced person I’ve got, with a full slate of projects. I talked to her, Trevor, and told her not to make any more public statements about her work or company policies. She agreed and said—”

  “Obviously it didn’t work.”

  “David,” Burke said, “this time she really has gone too far. No company can have this kind of confidential information spread around by people on the inside.”

  “I know. But I’d like to talk with her about it. Maybe the reporter put words in her mouth, or maybe she didn’t realize that—”

  “David.” It was Knox. “Fire her.”

  He closed his eyes and grimaced.

  “Did you hear me, David? Are we agreed?”

  “Can we at least try probation? Then if there is one—”

  “David, you warned her after her last public criticism of our business. If she gets away with this, what’s to prevent others from doing the same? Actions have consequences. Paul and I have agreed. She has to go.”

  He paused then said, “All right.”

  “Good. As quickly as you can. Have a good evening.”

  Knox and Burke hung up. David put the handset in his lap and rubbed his temples.

  This is impossible.

  20

  THURSDAY, MAY 26TH

  Victor Mustafin had a special room in the middle of the RTI control center to which only he had access. He and Akbar Kamali, via a remote link, used it for communicating on their most confidential operations—ones that even their own team of duty officers had no need to know--operations that clearly broke laws or risked lives.

  Mustafin was alone in the darkened room at one that Thursday morning, with Kamali on a secure link, to observe a test being conducted east of Moscow, ten time zones away. Facing them on the large screen, standing on the bluff overlooking the firing range, were Simon North and General Yevgany Beleborodov. Kamali and Mustafin used an encrypted feed through transmission cut-outs that made it impossible for those in Russia to determine the location or identity of their new owners. The Russian side could hear Kamali and Mustafin, though they could not see them.

  Mustafin spoke. “Congratulations again, gentlemen, on your acquisition three weeks ago.”

  Their counterparts smiled, and Simon North spoke into the camera, “Yes, the General’s team did a great job. A sad accident, indeed, for auto enthusiasts. But their handiwork is now safely stored and guarded in our warehouse, waiting its first use.”

  “And that should come soon, depending on today’s results.”

  General Beleborodov spoke, his look serious. “Understood. But you’re asking us to push our system to the limits of its capability. Hitting a moving target on a battlefield is one thing. But on a city street, even in a suburb, is quite another.”

  Kamali countered. “The cars may be traveling at high speed, but certainly not too quickly for a GoFor missile.”

  “It’s not the target’s speed. This isn’t an aircraft,” said the Russian. “It’s the difficulty of tracking a specific target when it’s surrounded by similar targets, and all of them are moving. If a car being illuminated stops at a traffic light, and the car next to it leaves first, it’s possible that the satellite will mistakenly shift to the second car. The true target will be lost.”

  The general received a note from an aide off camera. “The short-range test missiles are inbound,” he read, and turned to look out across the valley. As the view shifted on the screen, he spoke. “The targets are the two red cars being driven by remote control. They were illuminated and tagged twenty minutes ago. The eight blue and green cars are simulating conditions on an urban avenue, as you have directed us. They have been running in parallel with the red cars since they were illuminated. We’ve marked ‘intersections’ in the valley, and the controllers are stopping the cars at each one as they might in the real world, alternating speeds but staying in the general vicinity of the targets.”

  Mustafin and Kamali could clearly see the automobiles proceeding along the wide valley, now green with spring grass. North’s voice said, “We should have contact any second now. We didn’t arm them with explosives because…”

  Suddenly, as if from nowhere, one of the red targets was demolished by an incoming missile. A split second later the second missile hit a blue car, two hundred yards ahead of its actual target. The general slapped his hands together and cursed in Russian. “They were together two intersections ago, but number seven pulled away more quickly, and the motion fooled the satellite tracker.”

  There was silence for a few moments while the camera focused in on the smashed blue car. North quietly asked, “Is there a solution?”

  As the camera panned back to take in the two figures on the edge of the bluff, General Beleborodov turned to face his new anonymous owners. “To hit that kind of target it will take more than passive reflection of energy from a satellite. We’ll need an active tracking device in or on the car.”

  “What do you mean?” Mustafin asked.

  “I mean some type of GPS repeater. It can be small. Like they use in America to track criminals’ locations. Any transponder code that we can feed into the computer to discern the true target in a sea of lookalikes.”

  “OK. Understood.”

  “We will work on this end,” North responded. “And if our new owners have input, I think that we will quickly find a solution.”

  “Mr. Knox, it’s Victor.”

  Knox was just strapping into his special seat at the control center in his jet when Mustafin called him on the secure videophone. It was that same afternoon, and the jet was taxiing out to take off for a trip to Los Angeles, where Knox had meetings with two of the last adult entertainment owners holding out against his purchase offers. With the passage of President Harper’s reform law, the time was right to make them a new, lower offer. Knox had good reason to expect, given the level of funding from USNet’s coffers, that the new laws would be tied up in court for years. So it made sense to pressure other, less informed owners.

  As the jet began to roll, Knox answered his lieutenant’s call on the monitor built above the custom-paneled control desk.

  “Hello, Victor. It may be noisy for a bit.”

  “That’s all right. This should be short. We’ve seen several messages that imply that President Harper’s summer trip to Moscow is definitely on. And it appears that it will be around July 4th.”

  “The Fourth of July in Moscow?”

  Mustafin nodded. “Yes, sir. There’s a huge celebration every year at one of the old pre-Revolutionary estates. It centers around the U.S. business community over there, but it includes everyone who wants to come. The weather is usually good, and it stays light until late—it’s a big deal.”

  “So it might be kind of historic for an American President to celebrate the Fourth of July in Moscow, particularly with a Russian President who is so committed to the same throw-back policies.”

  “Yes, that seems to be what they’re planning.”

&n
bsp; “OK. How are our plans coming together to rid ourselves of this President? Will we be ready by then?”

  “We’re close. Akbar and I saw a test earlier today. We need to refine the targeting for a moving car, but we think we have a solution. Give us another few days.”

  “Victor, this has to work. And think how great it would be if we could eliminate both the American and Russian Presidents at the same time! Europe’s economy is shambles, and China is on the verge of a meltdown. Only the US and Russia—besides the Zionists—can oppose us. To take out both of their leaders at once would be a great stroke. I’ll talk with Paul Burke tomorrow about our public plans. As soon as you’re confident that it will work, I’ll put out the bait.”

  “Yes, sir. Have a good trip to L.A.”

  “Thank you. This sounds promising. You know how to reach me.”

  As the plane leveled off, Knox opened a briefing book on the last competitors left in the adult entertainment industry. He silently thanked President Harper for making his upcoming purchases less expensive.

  It was long after midnight in Tehran, and Omid was in his chair looking out at the lights from their sixth-floor apartment. The television was on, but muted. He still had bandages on his head and hands, applied by a friendly doctor. He had been afraid to go to a hospital after the Democracy March on Monday.

  But it was not the pain from the wounds that kept him awake. He had not seen Goli since Tuesday afternoon, when she had left their office to buy some printer paper. Nothing. No trace. No cell phone call. No answer to his calls. Nothing.

  Their friend Ramin had also disappeared.

  Omid, their parents, and his close friends had used every connection they knew to find her. They had cautiously approached the mullahs who earlier had approached them. They made inquiries on the internet. One friend had even gone to the police, who had laughed. There was no trace and no news.

  Bastards was the word that repeated in his mind whenever he came to a dead end on how to find her. I should leave our apartment, but what if she comes back here? He tried her number again; it just rang.

  I should have sent her away. The route through Turkey. David offered to help once she got there. What now? Bastards.

  It was two Friday morning, and David couldn’t sleep. His mind wouldn’t shut off. He was trying to work out what to say to Kristen in a few hours.

  He was replaying Kristen’s situation yet again, when he heard a muffled thud on the floor above. He lay still and in a few moments there were more sounds. He stood up, feeling tired, and walked to the stairs in his pajamas. A moment later he was quietly listening outside Rob’s door. The sounds of Street War 2100 were unmistakable.

  He knocked and tried to open the door, but it was locked. He knocked again. The sound stopped. The door finally opened. Rob stood before him in his full VR battle gear, his visor pulled up and his microphone swiveled to the side. Rob had pulled the mattress off his bed and positioned the VR floor plate on top of them; clearly he had hoped to deaden the noise.

  “Rob, we agreed to four hours on the weekends. It’s Friday morning. What are you doing?”

  Rob hung his head, then looked up into his father’s face, and a note of defiance crept into his voice. “They need me, and USNet offered me a special deal because I’ve been playing so long. These hours are free, so I’m playing.”

  “But it’s late and you’ll be a wreck tomorrow. And, more importantly, we agreed to four hours until you bring up your grades.”

  “I know. But this is too good a deal. It’s free! I’ll sleep late and do my homework in the afternoon. I promise. It’s no big deal.”

  “I…We’ll talk about it tomorrow. With your Mom.”

  “I left my squad in a mess. I gotta get back.” He pulled down his virtual reality visor and headed back to the special floor plate. “Blue Three, Blue Nine is back. Did they go down that street?”

  David watched for a moment as his son went back to his virtual playground. We really are losing him. He pulled the door closed and retreated downstairs to their darkened bedroom. Elizabeth was breathing quietly. He lay down beside her, another issue separating him from rest.

  Friday morning David was in his office early. He had not slept at all. The day before he had alerted Human Resources, so the paperwork was ready. He checked his screen and reread the salient points that he was required to go over. I can’t believe this. As he read through the clinical-sounding end to Kristen’s career at USNet, his mood deepened. At least most of the others are traveling this morning, so she’ll be gone before they get back.

  He had asked Julie to let him know when Kristen arrived, and her call came just after eight-twenty. Ten minutes later Kristen appeared at his door. She looked tanned and healthy, her hair a shade lighter. She held a magazine in her left hand, and her face was troubled. He motioned her to come in, but he stayed at his desk.

  She walked toward him, and as she spoke she raised the magazine. “David, I got back late last night and only looked through this new copy of Journal by chance as I was checking my mail. I know it probably looks like I told this reporter about our studio acquisitions in L.A., but I promise I didn’t. She already knew about them.”

  He didn’t smile and motioned her to take a chair in front of his desk. “But, Kristen, you must be the ‘real estate executive’ who confirmed that a ‘senior member’ of our team had been working there. Isn’t that you?”

  Her face grew red and more troubled. “I…uh, I did talk to the reporter—Ms. Coleman. But I told her that I had no comment for the record, that I didn’t make policy here or comment on it. Just like you asked me to say.”

  “Well, what did you talk with her about?”

  She was silent for a moment, looking at him. “I gave her my general views on pornography and the media, but none of that is in the article. They were my personal comments, and she knew it.”

  “But are you the ‘real estate executive’ who gave credence to her whole story by telling her that I was in L.A. working on it?”

  “I—I guess I am. Unless she talked to someone else.”

  “Not likely.”

  “I know.”

  He stopped and looked at her. She’s such a good person and great real estate exec. And she’s helping me with Callie. After some silence, as they looked at each other, he said in a low and measured voice, “Kristen, I have to let you go.”

  She sat back and put the magazine in her lap. “What?”

  “You’re leaving our real estate group. Leaving USNet. Effective immediately.”

  “Because of this?” She held up the magazine again.

  “And the earlier statements. And the problems on the Capital Tower project.”

  “What ‘problems’ on the Capital Tower project?”

  For the first time he looked down at his desk. “We had the high bid, but we didn’t buy the property.” He looked at her again. “It was your project. You were responsible. We should have bought it.”

  “David, that’s ridiculous and you know it!”

  “We still haven’t bought it.”

  “Because Bill Porter stole it!”

  “It was your project. You should have foreseen it.” This is killing me…

  “Is that in my personnel record?”

  He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “It will be.”

  She paused, her anger obvious. “So that you can always say that you fired me because I didn’t perform well. And not because of those articles.”

  “Both, I imagine.”

  She turned her head and looked out the window. “You’re really firing me over those two articles?”

  “And Capital Tower.”

  She turned back to him. “David, who’s really firing me?”

  “What do you mean?”

  She paused. Then suddenly her expression changed. “Come with me, David! Let’s quit together.” She leaned forward, excited. “We’ll start our own firm. The corporate types will hire us in a minute to outsource their proble
ms. We’ll make good money! You won’t have to worry about Knox, or anyone.”

  If only I …He stopped, deeply touched by her enthusiasm and excitement for working with him, even as he was firing her for no real reason. Finally he said, “Kristen, I can’t. I have too much invested here. And too many bills to pay to take the chance.”

  She slumped back. “Fired. Not because of what I did, but because of what I said. Or what you think I said.”

  “Kristen, I’m genuinely sorry.”

  She stood up. “I bet you are. Who’s going to do all that I’ve been doing? You don’t have enough people here now.”

  David rose to meet her. “No, I mean about you.”

  “I hope that’s true, David. But I’m not sure. This is such a scam. How can you put up with it and not quit yourself ? Don’t you have principles any more? All of this just because I spoke out once as being personally opposed to pornography? David, you of all people, ought to support me, not fire me!”

  “I understand. I’m going to try to get us to scale back our adult movies, working from the inside.”

  “Good luck. Look at me. This is absurd and you know it!” She quickly brushed her eye.

  They were silent.

  “How long do I have?”

  “You have to go now.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes, it’s corporate policy. You’re due one month’s severance and you have ten days of vacation coming. If you’ll quietly resign, I’ve prepared a memo to HR to pay you for three months, which is the maximum I can do under corporate policy. I hope you can find a job in that time.”

  “Me, too. What sort of a rec will you write?”

  “It will be very positive.”

  He could tell that she was not encouraged. “So that’s it? After all this time? After all you taught me? After all we’ve done?”

  He looked down again, then walked to the side of the desk. “Yes, I’m afraid so. There’s a security guard outside and boxes in your office. You’ll have thirty minutes to empty your desk. Please don’t call anyone or have any long conversations. We’ll issue a press release this afternoon saying that you’ve resigned to pursue other interests.”