by Jaz Primo
I looked at Sanders with a curious expression but she merely shrugged.
A lady dressed impeccably in a crisp-looking business suit stepped into the office.
“Good afternoon,” she greeted. “I’m Betty Haskins, Director of Personnel Services. How can I assist you?”
“We’re here to meet with the local director or administrator. Would that be Max Feinstein?”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible as Mr. Feinstein is no longer with the company,” Betty Haskins said.
“Since?”
“Earlier today, in fact,” she said.
Sanders and I exchanged curious glances.
“Then who’s in charge here?” Sanders pressed.
The woman’s former confident-looking composure faltered slightly, so I closed my eyes and tried to clear my thoughts.
“I’ll have to inquire further,” Haskins said.
…runaround from these people, Sanders projected.
…asked that we not refer anyone to Mr. Bernard, thought Haskins.
Guy’s gotta cute butt, came a passing woman’s thoughts.
I opened my eyes and turned to gaze at the curvaceous brunette who looked in at us as she passed by the open doorway. When I turned back to look at Sanders, she glared at me before turning to Ms. Haskins.
“No need. We’ll speak with Mr. Bernard then,” I interjected.
That seemed to catch the director off guard, and she stammered, “I see. Well, I’ll have to check first.”
Minutes later, we stood before another desk that was part of a far more elaborate wing of the floor. Everything surrounding us screamed money.
However, it struck me as peculiar that the entire area seemed new, as if recently remodeled. I also noticed a fellow in a crisp business suit following behind us as soon as we entered the area. His bearing hinted at a military background.
The lady at the desk before us, Sandra Yalesin, was a petite woman with long blonde hair and blue eyes. Yet, she carried herself with the air of someone who bore some authority; evidently somewhat higher in the pecking order than Ms. Haskins.
I focused on clearing my thoughts as much as possible.
“Mr. Bernard is a very busy man, I’m afraid,” Ms. Yalesin hedged. “Perhaps I could arrange an appointment for him to meet with you another time?”
Before Sanders could reply, I said flatly, “Please tell him that Logan Bringer is also here to meet with him.”
Now, what’s he up to, Sanders thoughts passed across my heightened awareness.
The woman’s eyebrows arched slightly.
“And are you acquainted with Mr. Bernard?”
“Not as such, but he’ll likely still want to see me,” I replied.
I was playing poker on a whim, hoping that Maria’s corporate conspiracy theory was prevalent upward through Nuclegene’s leadership.
An intercom abruptly activated.
“Ms. Yalesin, please invite our visitors in, won’t you?”
“Yes, sir,” she replied.
The silent fellow who’d been shadowing us opened the large oak door leading into an expansive corner office with two glass walls looking out onto the city. A tall, barrel-chested fifty-something-looking man with graying hair walked around an oversized desk to greet us. He sported a dark suit that must’ve had a better thread count than most any Arabian prince had in his closet.
“Welcome, Agent Sanders and Mr. Bringer,” he offered with an outstretched hand. “I’m Clive Bernard, President of Nuclegene Corporation.”
As we shook hands with Bernard, the quiet man who’d been following us closed the door behind us and stood at semi-attention.
“It’s a pleasure to meet both of you, but particularly you, Mr. Bringer. I believe you’re one of our company’s most recent cancer success stories,” Bernard said.
…is why Bringer would be here, came a stray thought from him.
“I hope so,” I replied.
“Yet, such a horrible tragedy about our Wallace Building center; all those wonderful staff and patients,” Bernard added. “I hope the FBI brings good news of progress.”
“As a matter of fact, we’re here concerning the investigation,” Sanders said.
“Please, have a seat,” Bernard gestured to a set of regal-looking leather chairs before his desk. “May I get you something to drink? Coffee, perhaps?”
“Thank you, no,” Sanders replied. “For the record, Mr. Bernard, are you the chief authority within Nuclegene Corporation?”
Bernard sat in an oversized leather chair behind his desk that threatened to engulf the man. I opened my thoughts and waited to listen in on anything useful.
She’s very direct, came a stray thought.
“Essentially, I’m the company’s head of operations,” he replied. “However, Nevis Wallace, the company’s founder and chairman of the Board of Directors, remains in hierarchical control of the company.”
“So, Mr. Wallace would essentially be the Chief Executive Officer, which means that you work directly for him,” Sanders speculated.
“Precisely,” said Bernard. “Although Mr. Wallace rarely presides over the company’s day-to-day operations.”
“Isn’t it unusual for the company’s president to be presiding here when your corporate headquarters are based in New York?” Sanders asked.
“I temporarily relocated here due to the Wallace Building disaster in order to preside over corporate affairs and the rebuilding effort,” he said. “It was at the request of Mr. Wallace, you see. Many are unaware that, as one of the Nevis Corners’ principal founders and city namesakes, Mr. Wallace has more than a passing interest in what takes place here.”
Too close to home this time, I silently eavesdropped.
“Do you know Ms. Maria Edwards?” Sanders asked.
I should’ve anticipated that,” Bernard thought.
“Yes. Ms. Edwards is a physician’s assistant who formerly worked in the Wallace Building,” he replied. “I believe the poor woman has gone missing, according to a news report I saw this morning.”
…still waiting on our team to report back, came another fleeting thought.
I honed in on Bernard’s thoughts, hoping to glean as much information as possible about Maria.
“Do you know anything concerning Maria’s whereabouts, Mr. Bernard?” Sanders asked.
“No,” he smoothly replied. “Although I wish I did, for her sake.”
…Continuance Corporation outmaneuvering us, he thought.
“Really nice office, Mr. Bernard,” I said. “Too nice for a local administrator. Mr. Feinstein’s wasn’t nearly so nice, I noticed. Yours is much more presidential-looking. Are you considering relocating your corporate headquarters here on a more permanent basis?”
Sanders frowned at me with a look of stark disapproval. However, Mr. Bernard seemed momentarily unsettled by my question.
What does he know? Bernard projected.
“Although this topic isn’t currently public, I’ll confide to you that the company is preparing to undergo some restructuring,” he replied. “Quite naturally, companies reorganize from time to time, which occasionally involves relocation of assets or changes in staffing.”
“Like Max Feinstein?” Sanders asked.
“Precisely,” Bernard said.
“Have you chatted with anyone recently about a reduction in staff? Say, perhaps, a tall fellow with red hair,” I asked.
Dammit, Bringer, Sanders projected.
Bernard’s face turned to stone.
…maybe not the FBI after all, came a gruff voice in my head.
I flew out of my chair just as the man behind us started moving forward. I half-imagined punching him, even as my fist was propelling forward, and he flew back against the wall with a thud.
My fist never even impacted him!
His right hand snaked inside his suit coat under his left arm as Sanders kicked her chair aside and drew her pistol in one smooth movement.
“Freeze!” she
commanded, her pistol pointed directly at him.
“Wait!” Bernard ordered, still seated behind the desk. “Scott, these aren’t the enemy.”
Bringer’s abilities manifested, came a stray thought.
“Slowly remove your weapon and place it on the floor,” Sanders ordered. “Now, move slowly to stand behind your boss with your hands where I can see them.”
Sanders remained standing with her weapon trained.
“Bernard, you’d better give me a damn good reason why I don’t arrest you both for attempted assault and obstruction.”
Wow, what a fireball of a lady.
She looked over at me and frowned. “You okay?”
I quickly wiped the smirk from my face.
“Agent Sanders, events are transpiring behind the scenes that are well beyond the destruction of a building, dozens of innocent deaths, or a missing employee,” Bernard calmly stated as he slowly folded his hands on the desktop before him. “Frankly, an agency like the FBI is in way over its head here.”
“Go on,” Sanders prompted.
“Governments rise and fall, politicians come and go, but in the past two centuries, corporations continue to thrive,” Bernard continued. “The struggle between such entities reshapes not only the business landscape, but the development of the world’s cultures and societies.”
Great, this guy turned all Gordon Gecko on us all of the sudden. Even his thoughts mirrored his words.
Concentrating only on his speech for the time being, I righted our chairs. Sanders perched on the edge of hers with her pistol balanced in one hand.
“And your point is?” she pressed.
“You’re not investigating a terrorist act, or a kidnapping,” Bernard said. “You’ve delved into the middle of nothing short of a small, clandestine corporate war.”
Something Bernard had thought about earlier popped into my head, so I played a hunch.
“Mr. Bernard, talk to us about Continuance Corporation,” I prompted. “And don’t worry; I think you’ll find I’m pretty good with wars.”
Admittedly, an understatement.
Wars of foreign religions and ideologies, as well as disease. Wars in my head that I’d only begun to reconcile.
I’d already had my fill of both Islamic militants and cancer. Fortunately, I’d survived both.
So far.
Sanders spared me a look of approval that was nothing short of spectacular.
“I’m intrigued to know what you’ve heard about Continuance Corporation, Mr. Bringer,” he replied.
I inclined my head in acknowledgement. “I’m sure you are. However, I think what you have to say would be much more enlightening.”
“Very well,” he said. “Continuance Corporation, or Bestand Gesellschaft as it was known in Germany when it was founded in 1953, was born during the early days of the Cold War in collaboration between the U.S. government, medical researchers, and powerful businessmen with interests in the paranormal.
“However, their ventures were often fruitless, and in 1977 the U.S. government severed its ties with, and subsequent interest in, the company. By 1982, Continuance Corporation had teetered into complete bankruptcy.”
“What does Continuance have to do with your company, Mr. Bernard?”
“An excellent question, Agent Sanders,” he replied with a nod. “Actually, everything. We are Continuance Corporation’s primary worldwide competition.”
I noticed Sanders was frowning. I wondered why until I replayed what Bernard just said. Then it hit me.
“Wait. You just said Continuance went bankrupt in 1982,” I said.
“Officially, the company did,” Bernard replied. “However, that hardly means they ceased operations.”
“I’m a little confused,” Sanders interjected. “How does a bankrupt corporation manage to successfully continue operations? Receivership?”
Bernard’s features hardened. “The company went underground, actually. They’re not listed on any international stock exchange, nor have they filed any operational documents with any nation since 1982.”
“Then how do they compete with Nuclegene?” I asked.
“They steal our research, sabotage our operations, and counter-develop our innovations for sale on the black market, of course,” Bernard said as if he were explaining to children why the grass was green.
Sanders remained silent but I could almost see the wheels turning in her head. My own mental wheels were turning, as well.
“Continuance blew up the Wallace Building just to sabotage Nuclegene’s operations. More to the point, they sabotaged your company’s latest development,” I said.
Except for me.
It was a rather cold epiphany on my part.
“Precisely,” Bernard replied.
“Why didn’t you come forward to the authorities with this already, Mr. Bernard?” Sanders demanded.
“Because it’s not as if the U.S. government would be of any great assistance. Do you believe they could track down a shadow company? How do you expect them to freeze assets or shut down operations of an organization that doesn’t officially exist?” Bernard explained.
He had a point.
“Rather, you wouldn’t want to release information about your company’s interests in research that isn’t sanctioned by the FDA,” Sanders suggested. “More to the point, you’d probably hate to acknowledge the successful achievement of your research until it could be properly marketed.”
Bernard’s expression appeared pleasant yet cool; much like a practiced chess player who’d reluctantly conceded a match.
“You’re a very perceptive investigator, Agent Sanders,” he offered. “And as has just been displayed, it would seem that our research has resulted in a successful development.”
Sanders alternated looking between Bernard and me with an expression of incredulity.
“Do you mean that Nuclegene Corporation is developing a drug to create paranormal abilities in humans?” she asked incredulously.
“What you’re referring to is psychic abilities,” Bernard corrected her. “Instead, our company is focused on empathic and telekinetic abilities. We’re not dealing in vampires, werewolves, ghosts, or magic here, Agent Sanders.”
I noticed Sanders’ jaw clench.
“If this is such a secret, why are you telling us this now?” she asked coolly.
Bernard gave a rueful sigh. “Alas, the benefits currently outweigh the risk. Now that I’ve confirmed Mr. Bringer’s abilities, I’m afraid I’m going to need to ask for your, and his, assistance. And I do hope that I can secure your discretion in these matters.”
Sanders and I exchanged curious expressions.
“You do realize that I work for the FBI, Mr. Bernard,” Sanders clarified. “I’m not for hire, and I have an obligation to report any developments related to this case.”
“That’s your purview, Agent Sanders. I’m merely asking that you continue your investigations, and hopefully locate who’s behind the destruction of our facilities and death of our employees and patients, as well as the disappearance of Ms. Edwards,” Bernard equivocated.
“But you’d like for me to leave out the part about Nuclegene’s sensitive research,” Sanders baited. “I’m afraid that’s not entirely possible.”
“Naturally,” he agreed with a shrug. “However, you should carefully consider what you share. You may find there are those within our own government who may have a mutual interest in curtailing that same information, no matter how well-intended or duty bound you consider yourself to be.”
Bernard alluded to something else dark and disturbing.
Were some government officials already aware of what’s going on?
Although it wouldn’t have surprised me in the least if a cover-up might already be in the works. I’d been in the Army, after all, and I recognized how seemingly overt events could suddenly be declared clandestine.
“And what about you, Mr. Bringer?” Bernard asked.
“Right now,
my primary concern is finding Maria Edwards,” I replied evenly. “And I don’t give a damn who gets in my way.”
“Admirable,” Bernard replied. “Not that I disagree with you in the least, please understand.”
“Mr. Bernard, I suggest you turn over any additional information that you have at your disposal that might be related to this case,” Sanders said.
“As a matter of fact, I do have some things that may prove helpful,” he said.
Bernard reached over to his phone and activated the intercom.
“Ms. Yalesin, would you please bring me a copy of the list of names that we discussed earlier this morning?”
“Of course, Mr. Bernard,” Yalesin crisply replied.
* * *
By the time we left Nuclegene’s offices, though notably sans any arrestees, we at least had a list of names to investigate. Bernard thought any one of them might be related to our investigation, as they were individuals that his own intelligence assets had associated with Continuance Corporation operations.
Hell, it seemed as if we were tracking a terrorist group rather than some underground corporation.
“Nice work back there,” Sanders complimented as she drove us back to the FBI office.
“Thanks,” I replied. “But tell me something; why is Bernard still sitting up in his office instead of accompanying us to your office?”
“Admittedly, it’s against my better judgment. But something told me that someone in Bernard’s position wouldn’t be in custody long enough for us to ask any questions,” she replied. “At least he’s not openly hostile with us, and that’s something helpful.”
I rubbed my temples with my fingertips. One of my throbbing headaches was coming on. I suppose I’d already expended some efforts with my abilities that morning.
Telekinetic abilities, no less.
It sounded surreal to put a name like that to what I could do.
“Does your head always hurt after you use your abilities?” Sanders asked.
I nodded, which didn’t help the growing throbbing.
“Yeah, but it usually goes away when I hydrate,” I said.
She looked over at me with a concerned expression.
A few minutes later, she pulled in front of a nearby convenience store.
