Edge of Tomorrow

by Wolf Wootan

  The line went dead. The President looked at the strange-looking phone, then put it on the desk. He looked at Mr. West.

  “Just who is this Bob? You guys are big on deniability. This isn’t a CIA thing is it?” he asked.

  “Definitely not CIA. I don’t know who Bob is, sir. Of course, I could not tell you if I knew. I was hired to deliver this message and the phone. Two last things,” replied West. He took a small device out of his briefcase and handed it to the President. “This is a silent pager. You can wear it all the time, or only when you have an expectation that Bob may want to get in touch with you. Or you may choose to never wear it. The last point is this: when you leave the office of the Presidency, you personally should pass these devices on to your successor, and give him or her this briefing. Then you should call Bob and arrange for a new voice print to be established. Well, I thank you for your attention. I’ll be leaving now. You will never see me again. Any questions should be directed to Bob.”

  After the strange Mr. West had gone, the man in the Oval Office sat and thought for awhile. Then he took out his key ring and opened a bottom drawer of his desk. He put the phone and pager in the drawer, then locked it again. He had a meeting with the DDI that afternoon, but decided he should not mention what took place in this meeting, just in case it was all real. On the other hand, if the DDI was playing a joke on him, he didn’t want to give him an opening to rub it in, either. He didn’t like the little prick anyway. He went back to reading the documents in front of him.

  Chapter 9

  Triple Eye Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

  Friday, July 27, 2001

  4:40 P.M.

  Jane Forbeson leaned back in the tall, brown leather executive desk chair, spun it 360 degrees, then leaned forward and put her elbows on the large, polished mahogany desk. In twenty minutes this would be her chair, her desk, her office. The current owner of the office and all that it signified, Van Lincoln, sat in a comfortable visitor’s chair on the other side of the desk.

  “You look good there, Jane,” Hatch said with a wry smile. “How’s it feel?”

  “I can’t describe it! It’s close to an orgasm! Are you sure about this, Hatch? You still have time to change your mind,” she replied, breathless, beaming.

  • • •

  Downstairs, in the Triple Eye auditorium, the press was in force, the caterers had done their thing, and all the other Triple Eye division presidents nervously fingered glasses of champagne, all awaiting the arrival of Van Lincoln.

  George Granger, Executive Vice President of the Marketing Division turned to the man next to him—Allan Dexter, President of Operations—and whispered, “Where’s Jane?”

  “Probably upstairs giving him a quick blow job,” Dexter snickered.

  “That’s uncalled for, Dexter!” Granger spat back. “In twenty minutes she’ll have the power to fire your sorry ass! I hope she does!”

  Granger would be taking over as President of the Marketing Division, replacing Jane Forbeson. He was one of her staunchest supporters.

  At 5:00 P.M., Lincoln would announce that he was stepping down as CEO of Triple Eye—retaining his Chairman of the Board title—and his successor would be Jane Forbeson. Her new annual salary would be in excess of $2,000,000 and her possible bonuses could double that. Her perks would become unbelievable: control of the company Gulf Stream IV; several choppers at her beck and call; her own limo and personal driver; paid memberships in numerous clubs, spas, and most anything else she might need to keep her relaxed so she could handle the stress of running a multi-billion dollar company. It was a job Dexter coveted, but had not gotten.

  • • •

  Two crystal flutes half-filled with Dom Perignon champagne sat on cork coasters in front of Jane and Hatch.

  “Actually, I’ve already told the division presidents, and of course Granger. I didn’t want them to be surprised in front of the press. I want them to show complete support for you when I make the announcement.”

  “And will they?” she mused. “Voluntarily, I mean.”

  “Yes. They’re all very happy with my decision, except for Dexter. I don’t know how he will act. He wanted this job badly, but he still has the largest division and a hefty salary,” answered Hatch as he sipped his champagne.

  “I know how you hate these very visible press things. You could have done this by memo, but I appreciate you doing this for me this way.”

  Jane clasped her hands behind her head and leaned back into the soft leather as she considered Hatch’s comment about Dexter. This action pushed her breasts against the thin material of her pale green silk blouse. He could clearly see the outline of a very lacy white camisole underneath, her nipples prominently trying to escape their confinement. Her red hair was cut short and had been coiffed that very afternoon. Her makeup was impeccable, covering most of the light freckles on her oval face. Her green eyes sparkled. Hatch marveled at what a voluptuous, beautiful woman she had become, remembering the skinny, red-headed Tech Writer he had hired in 1984 when he started Triple Eye. She saw him admiring her chest.

  “What?” she asked, then noticed her nipples were making themselves known. “After all these years, I still have a hard time reading you, Hatch. Do you think the see-through and the lace is inappropriate for the meeting, or are you just admiring my breasts?”

  She giggled nervously, took her arms down and leaned her elbows on the desk again. Then she continued before he could answer, “I’ll have my suit coat on down there, for Chrissake! I will look quite CEOish; but Fortune, People, and several other magazines are down there and if they print any pictures of me, I want everyone to know that I’m a woman. A real woman! That’s important to me, Hatch.”

  “Calm down, sweetie. I’m just glad you didn’t get into that bra-burning feminism crap when you were younger. It would have hampered your progress towards that chair. Don’t start now.”

  Jane laughed and said, “I didn’t have a bra to burn back then, if you remember! I didn’t start to grow boobs until I got pregnant! Don’t worry about me going freakish on you, Hatch. I just want to look pretty for the cameras. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”

  “You look gorgeous, and I was just looking at your boobs. Don’t read a lot into that. I’m just very proud of you.”

  • • •

  Jane had married Jeremy Crow, a long haul trucker, in 1990, and they had a nine year old daughter and a seven year old son. He gave up trucking to stay home and raise their children while Jane climbed the corporate ladder. It was a relationship that suited them both. She had been a 23-year-old woman with a degree in English and very little experience looking for a place to land when Hatch had hired her. He had liked the way she handled the interview and took a chance on her. She was going to be 40 on Sunday, July 29th. This was his birthday present to her. He had been planning this step-down for some time, but he decided to do it now so it would coincide with another big day in her life.

  • • •

  “Dexter—and many others—think I slept my way into this chair, you know,” she said, looking him straight in the eye.

  “They all know the policy. Why would they think you and I broke the rules?” he wondered.

  “Jesus, Hatch! You are gone too much! Nobody gives a shit about your No-fuck Rule. The people in the ranks have been screwing like rabbits! Dexter has been fucking his secretary for two years!” she laughed, sipping her drink.

  This took Hatch aback. Could he have been paying so little attention to the people and what they were doing? Obviously, he had been spending too much time at Lincoln R & D. He should have handed Triple Eye over to Jane earlier than this. He was glad he was finally doing it.

  “Maybe that’s why Dexter isn’t looking forward to you getting this job. You know what’s going on better than I do,” he grumbled, and emptied his glass.

  “Well, Hatch. If we’re going to have the name, why not have the game? As I remember, there are a bed and a shower behind that door over the
re,” she giggled.

  “Jane! You’re happily married with two kids now! What are you thinking?” he blurted, surprised at her blatant offer.

  “Yeah. Yeah. I know. But you could have had me for the asking anytime you wanted to. I want you to know that. We could have missed a good thing.”

  “Would you trade this job for a roll in the hay with anyone?”

  “Of course not. It’s just that I’ve always had a crush on you. No, I made the right choices.”

  “At least, you know you didn’t sleep your way to the top, no matter what they think. You’re the best qualified for the job; that’s why you have it. If it will make you feel any better, there’s been many times when I wanted to rip your clothes off and …”

  He stopped and refilled his glass and took a sip of champagne, remembering long nights when just the two of them were burning the midnight oil over some document or business plan, even before she grew her current voluptuous body.

  “Back in the olden days, there wasn’t much of me to grab on to.”

  “You always exuded sensuality, even then. Enough of that. Are you scared?”

  “No. Should I be? I’ve been preparing for this job for sixteen years,” she shrugged. “I’ll do a good job for you, Hatch, you know that!”

  “If I had any doubts, you wouldn’t be in that chair. I should have done this sooner, but I was saving it for your 40th birthday. Happy birthday, Jane,” he said raising his glass in toast, still wondering how she would have been in bed. After her first child, she put on some weight, grew some breasts, and put some flesh on her ass. She kept her body firm and tight now with three visits per week to the gym. She tended to gain weight now if she did not keep after it.

  She raised her flute and touched it to his, saying, “Thanks, Hatch. I can never thank you enough for what you’ve done for me. You even remembered my birthday!”

  “I always have.”

  “What should I do about Dexter?” she asked, changing the subject.

  “He’s a good Operations President, but you’re the boss now. Do whatever it takes to get the job done. If you want to tell him to zip up his pants and try and work with him, go for it. You don’t have to take any sexist shit from him though. There are people standing in line for his job, too.”

  “Thanks, Hatch. I’ll handle it. Should I check with you on major decisions like firing division presidents?”

  “You can give me a heads-up, but as long as you follow the policy book, you don’t have to get my permission. I want you to meet with your presidents and create your own budget. I’ll meet with you guys sometime in August and go over it with you. Once it is approved, you’ll have pretty smooth sailing for a year. But remember, I’m always only a phone call away if you need to talk.”

  “One other thing. What about Sara Smith?” she asked, her brow furrowed. “On paper she runs the Triple Eye Data Collection Center in Florida. But unlike other Collection Center Managers, she has always reported directly to you, the CEO. I know, having been down there a couple of times, that that place shares space with Lincoln R and D, but her paycheck comes out of Triple Eye and we both know she spends 95% of her time doing stuff for you. Are you ready to tell me what that is all about?”

  “You know I like to keep my companies separate and share information only on a need-to-know basis. You know we have severe security requirements from our clients. You’ll have your hands full running Triple Eye, so you shouldn’t distract yourself with Sara’s other activities. If it will make you feel better, you can drop her from the Triple Eye payroll and I’ll pick her up somewhere else. I had things set up this way for a reason, but I can work around it,” smiled Hatch.

  “You secretive bastard! I guess you just told me to butt out. Shit, Hatch, I know no matter who has what title, this is still your company and I’ll run it the way you want me to. Can you at least tell me why you set things up this way?” she asked, giving him the big throaty laugh he liked to hear.

  “I’ll tell you this much: at times Sara’s assignments require her to request data or reports from Triple Eye. Being a Triple Eye manager makes such requests routine—no special procedures have to be put in place.”

  “That makes sense. I’ll leave that set up the way you have it, but I assume she won’t report to me.”

  “Right. Thanks, Jane. You’ll still get all the required management reports as before. Anything else?”

  “Not now.”

  “OK. I don’t want Gramble to hear about this second hand. I’ll see if I can reach him now and let him know,” said Hatch, producing his Blue Phone.

  “I hate that little fucker! I’ve never understood why you helped him become DDI,” she snorted. “He’s such an asshole!”

  “But he’s my asshole!” he chuckled as he dialed.

  Jane had often wondered what the true relationship between those two was. Gramble always did Hatch’s bidding. She wondered why. She never asked.

  “Gramble,” was the gruff reply in Hatch’s phone.

  “Lincoln here. How are you, Jim?”

  “Listen, Hatcher, I’m busy! What now?”

  “Don’t ever call me that, Gramble! Not even on a secure phone! Understand?”

  Jane smiled and thought, I love it when Hatch gives him hell! I’d love to be able to talk to him that way!

  “Sure, sure. Mr. Lincoln.”

  “I just wanted to give you a heads-up. In ten minutes, I’m stepping down as CEO of Triple Eye and I didn’t want you to read it in the press. I’ll still be Chairman of the Board, so I’ll keep my hand in. Your new day-to-day contact will be Jane Forbeson.”

  “That bitch? Thanks a lot, Lincoln!” snapped Gramble.

  “She feels the same way about you, Jim. However, it is in the best interest of the Company and Triple Eye that you two take care of business in an efficient and seamless manner. I would hate to have to break in a new DDI,” said Hatch softly, menace in his tone.

  Gramble felt fear grab him, the first time in a long time. Things had been going so well. Lincoln had used his considerable influence to help him get the DDI job. This was the first implied threat in quite awhile.

  I’d better force myself to get along with that cunt! She’s not worth dying over!

  “I agree, Lincoln.”

  “Here she is. She’d like to say hello,” said Hatch as he handed the phone to Jane, winking at her.

  Jane eased back in her chair, kicked off her green pumps, and swung her silken legs up on the desk and crossed her ankles. This action hiked her short gray-green skirt up her legs above mid-thigh. She winked back at Hatch.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Gramble. I’m sure we’ll get along just famously,” she cooed into the phone while Hatch took in the beauty of her perfect legs, wondering if her pubic hair was really red, as he reassessed his no fraternization policy. Then he shook his head.

  No. I was right. She can never doubt that she got this job on her merits. If I’d given in and screwed her, she would always have doubts. So would I.

  “Yes, we will, Ms. Forbeson. Just famously. At least, you are prettier to look at than Lincoln,” chuckled Gramble. Jane could hear the sarcasm in his voice.

  “Why, Mr. Gramble. It’s a good thing this is a secure line. I would hate to think that sexist remark was overheard,” teased Jane, enjoying herself. “But I’ll let it pass and assume you were just trying to pay me a compliment.”

  After another minute of similar patter, Jane hung up and handed the phone back to Hatch.

  “It’s hard not to needle that little prick. I’ll have to concentrate now that I’m the boss and I have to deal with him all the time. Shit! That sounds good! ‘The Boss.’ You’ve been training me for this job for a long time, haven’t you, Hatch? Sent me to school to get my MBA. A stint as president of every division. Why? It obviously wasn’t for my body.”

  Hatch continued looking at her legs as he said, “I did the same for the other division presidents, too, if you remember. You never got any special treatment.”


  Her face started to feel warm as she saw where his eyes were, but she did not move her legs. It pleased her that her soon-to-be forty-year-old legs still looked good enough to hold a man’s attention.

  He went on, “Besides, it was your idea that made Triple Eye what it is today. I owe you for that.”

  They both thought back to the momentous event, though, at the time it did not seem so earthshaking. Triple Eye had started out as a service company, processing intelligence data supplied by the CIA and the DIA. The speed, efficiency, and presentation of the results had been their main product. Triple Eye tried to portray itself as a “value-added” company, but the claim was weak. One day in the coffee room, Jane had mused that if they could gather data which the CIA did not have—say, data which would improve a political or economic profile report—then they could really claim that they had added value, and charge more for the reports which included the new data. Hatch agreed, but said that getting new data to the system in any meaningful volume would be prohibitive: he needed a global network of computers and communications to achieve that. That’s when Soup Campbell had told him about the network which one day would become the Internet. Now, Triple Eye was the largest intelligence gathering organization in the world, thanks to Jane’s passing comment years ago, and the process which had handed Triple Eye control of the world’s intelligence functions had happened so slowly and smoothly that the intelligence communities were unaware of what was happening until it was too late. Their budgets were gradually cut back and redirected so that the major portion of their budgets were pre-allocated to go to Triple Eye for needed intelligence functions.

  “You’ve repaid me for that a hundred times over—even before this,” replied Jane softly.

  She looked at her watch and saw that it was 5:55 P.M. He nodded.