“Good afternoon, sir, and welcome to WrightTech,” the receptionist greeted him brightly. He was obviously there for business, clad in a tailored dark suit and black silk tie. “May I ask who you have an appointment with this afternoon?”
“Uh, yes.” Cabe pulled out the plastic business card he’d been instructed to give the receptionist upon entering the company headquarters; it wasn’t one of his, it belonged to Elliot Wright. According to Mr. Wright’s people, the only way to walk onto the premises and actually meet with the C.E.O. of the corporation was to present one of these business cards, which you would’ve had to receive in advance. It contained information about who the guest was, where they were from, and why they were meeting with Mr. Wright.
It told Cabe that the young billionaire was security conscious, and that made the Field Agent’s job both a hell of a lot easier, and a hell of a lot harder.
The receptionist scanned the card and nodded at her WrightTech monitor. “Cabe Cooper?” Her cherry-red lips curled into an attractive smile and she handed him a plastic I.D. card with his alias (or his ‘legal name’, according to Wright Tech), a photograph, a barcode, and a large letter and number he could only assume was his security clearance code. He briefly wondered what level of clearance Elliot Wright had dictated he be given.
“This is your identification and your keycard. It must be worn visibly whenever you are on the premises or working alongside Mr. Wright.”
“Thank you,” he said, immediately clipping it to his breast pocket before he could put it down somewhere and lose it.
The receptionist was politely motioning toward the lift doors behind her with French-tipped fingers. “Ride the furthest elevator, your keycard will take you up to floor thirty-three. Mr. Wright will be waiting for you in his office.” She smiled again; it was an oddly heart-warming thing, despite the fact that he was in a more suspicious and wary mindset. Cabe’s upper lip stiffened to avoid smirking as he imagined how many girls the company had gone through to find one this… bizarrely cordial for their front desk. “I hope you enjoy your time with WrightTech, Mr. Cooper.”
“I’m sure I will, thanks,” he replied pleasantly, flashing a grin of his own that ladies tended to respond positively towards. The receptionist didn’t bat an oversized eyelash; she continued to smile at him as he walked past her and headed for the furthest elevator, hitting the button on the wall.
The mirrored doors opened up on the thirty-third floor to a large, white room warmed with gentle artificial light. The chrome and glass fixtures, leather couches, and the polished black floor matched the decor of the lobby and storefront, though the thick glass desk at the far end of the room was black instead of translucent, offering the Asian woman sitting behind it a little more privacy.
“Hello there, Ms. –” his eyes whipped across the name plaque on her desk, “– Bell. I have an appointment with Mr. Wright at three-forty-five? My name’s Cabe Cooper, I’m with Patriot Security.”
“Of course, Mr. Cooper.” Unlike Smiley Sally downstairs, Ms. Bell had a definite air of cool about her. She surveyed him with somewhat narrowed eyes, quickly up and down, as if she thought she could do it quickly enough not to be caught. It almost seemed reluctant when she plucked the phone from its receiver and dialed a single number, sitting back in her large leather office chair and folding one leg over the other beneath the desk.
“Elliot, the new one from Patriot’s here.” Ms. Bell’s voice was sharp and short; she didn’t take her eyes off of Cabe the entire time she spoke, peering at him from beneath inky bangs cut bluntly across her forehead. “Mm-hm, of course. I’ll send him in.”
A couple more words in what that sounded like it was Japanese, and the phone clicked as she placed it back in its cradle. Her attention fully returned to him, Ms. Bell continued to scrutinize him with her penetrating, catlike stare. Cabe felt like he was dealing with Bruce Wayne the morning after forgetting to feed him, wondering if his sneakers would be dry when he put his feet in them. She couldn’t have been any older than thirty, with porcelain skin that was freckled across her cheeks and nose, silky hair pulled back into a tight and serious ponytail, and a slender frame beneath her black runway-look pantsuit. But the way her eyes judged him told him she was definitely wise beyond her years.
“You can go on through, Mr. Cooper; Mr. Wright is in his office. He’ll run you through everything you need to know.”
Despite the woman’s obnoxious attitude problem, Cabe flashed his teeth at her in his friendliest, most sincere smile. He could only assume she was Mr. Wright’s secretary or personal assistant, and the last thing he needed was to make an enemy where he was supposed to camp.
“Thank you, Ms. Bell. I look forward to working alongside you.” Cabe nodded politely and stepped past her, before stepping forward and past her desk. Large double doors in a semi-glossed dark, dark espresso wood parted inward to reveal the office of WrightTech C.E.O. and Chairman of the Board, Elliot Wright.
The floor and ceiling were glossy and black, the entire furthest wall curved outward in a semi-circular shape and constructed entirely of glass. The windows mirrored the hexagonal pattern that was carved into the espresso wood-panel walls, forming the honeycomb outer-structure of the building. At the far end of the office, close to the large window overlooking the city, was an ovoid desk constructed of white and lilac glass, upon which were several manila files and a WrightTech computer. Behind the desk was a white leather office chair; it matched the couches to his right and the conference chairs to his left, which were positioned around a milky glass coffee and similar conference table respectively. At the right-angle between two couches was what appeared to be a large glass block, within which a violet fire was flickering gracefully over small black beads.
Despite the modern and minimalistic theme that swept through the entire building, in line with the company’s branding, the expansive room still managed to exude a certain amount of bravado and pretension. A separate, private elevator entrance was built into an alcove in the wall to his far left, while the wall to his right flaunted an, asymmetric chrome-and-espresso bookcase and a ridiculously huge plasma screen, which was currently set to display a piece by M. C. Escher.
Cabe anticipated to step into the office and be met with the mirrored view of a neatly-groomed young man in a dark suit and tie. He didn’t expect the celebrity he had seen splashed across gossip magazines in supermarkets for years now to greet him in baggy tracksuit pants and a damp, white V-neck, the cotton of which hugged the lean, tone muscles of his tan arms and sculpted chest. A periwinkle towel was thrown carelessly around his shoulders; his normally gelled and styled chocolate waves falling haphazardly about his eyes.
“Mr. Cooper, Elliot Wright.” The younger man gifted him with the same charismatic curl of his lips that Cabe had seen in the images from this morning’s press conference. He switched his water bottle to the other hand and extended his dominant one to his new ‘bodyguard’. “Welcome to the WrightTech family.”
Cabe immediately took the opportunity to make both physical and eye contact with his new charge, shaking his hand firmly and confidently. Elliot Wright probably shook hundreds of hands in a week, and no doubt judged the person attached to every single one by how they performed this simple greeting. He wanted to ensure he made the best possible impression on his new employer.
“It’s an honor, sir,” he said in a clipped but professional tone, giving Elliot’s hand one last squeeze before releasing it. “I was told you’ve been faxed my paperwork?”
“This morning. You see, that’s why I like dealing with Patriot – you know where you stand with them.” Elliot took a mouthful of water from the sports bottle and turned to walk back toward the desk. Every move he made was well-placed, deliberately-executed, and confident, without shame or apology. He place the bottle on the desk and scooped up one of the manila folders.
“These are the blueprints of the building,” he said in his smooth mid-tenor, quickly flipping through the paperwork
inside before laying the file back on the glass tabletop, a clear signal for Cabe to collect it. Several raised steps brought him level with the windowed area that housed the desk, and he reached out to claim the plans.
“Patriot told me you need to have a sniff around my personal quarters,” Elliot was saying, removing the papers from the other folder and peering through them, “which I’m going to take as a compliment. I honestly presumed most men in your line of work are straighter than a honeymoon dick, but luckily for you, I’m a tolerant kinda guy.”
The comment rattled around in Cabe’s skull for a few moments as he tried to decide how to take it – internally at least. Externally, he had very little choice, and he curled his lips with a light, easy-going huff of laughter.
“It’s purely for the sake of safety, Mr. Wright,” he explained. “I just need to map out any weak spots in the security of the building, possible entry points, that sort of thing.”
“Mr. Cooper,” the brunet said, turning his head to fix his new bodyguard with a smug, self-satisfied look. “Forgive me if I’m wrong, but you’re talking as if I have to be afraid of these… Tumblr haters and bigoted backwood hicks coming for me in my sleep.”
Cabe’s gaze was firm and unyielding. “I won’t sugar-coat anything for you, sir. The possibility of a targeted assassination is something I have been trained and told to anticipate. In the event something along those lines occurs, I am comfortable you would be safe in my hands.”
Elliot’s body turned fully, one hand slung casually in the pocket of his track pants as he travelled the few steps that brought him to the side of the desk directly opposite where Cabe was standing. A shit-eating grin was creeping its way slowly onto his lips, twisting them at the corners. His eyes, sparkling chips of unreadable ice, never left Cabe’s. The Field Agent had to admit, he would’ve given anything for the Anomaly ability to hear thoughts at that point, to find out exactly what was going through the other man’s head.
“Well, your first incorrect assumption was that I’m the kind of man who has never been a figure of public antagonism, and who needs to be spoon-fed comfort and relief.” He leaned on the edge of his desk, still smirking at the taller, fairer man.
“Please let me assure you, Mr. Bond, that I did not hire you to pamper me or make me feel ‘safe’. Or because you apparently have a delightful accent that makes me feel like I’m watching some sort of nature documentary, which is oddly calming. I hired you because your name came highly-recommended, and it was the easiest way to simultaneously shut almost every single mouth on my board of directors about this whole Anomaly business. It’s unreal how much having to work as a team can hinder a person’s progression.”
“Well then, I guess I’ll just make sure I save up all my pampering up for the video conference with them on Monday,” Cabe replied smartly, without missing a beat. Elliot’s grin spread just a few millimeters wider.
“I would, because they’re a nightmare, trust me. Anyway, I have an important business-casual meeting I need to get to, so I can’t waste anymore time here with you. The private elevator will take you up to the penthouse when you’re done downstairs. If you’re tempted to take something to remember me by when you’re gone, you can have a pair of the bamboo cotton briefs, and don’t touch any of the top-shelf bottles. Everything else is fair game if you’re bored or thirsty. I’m going to presume you know your limit and will bodyguard within it?”
Cabe wondered for a moment or two if the other man was testing him in some way, pressing at various buttons to see whether or not they existed. Not that he could blame the Anomaly; he was spending this meeting performing a more passive, subtle form of the exactly same judgment.
That, or he doesn’t think he needs me, thought Cabe, tossing up between the two possibilities and deciding the second was probably accurate. He legitimately thinks I’ll spend my time pottering around here alternating thumbs in my ass. Maybe he genuinely doesn’t know how much trouble he’s caused for himself… or how much danger he might be in.
Outwardly though, he simply nodded. “Of course, sir.”
“Atta boy.” Elliot slid off the desk and picked up his water bottle, taking the second manila file with him. “Well, Hair Gel, that concludes this extremely riveting meeting of ours. You can check out the building and the blueprints first, then upstairs. You met my P.A., Emiko? She pretty much lives at that desk, so when you’re done tainting my abode, let her know, and she’ll… I dunno, give you to the mailroom boys, or something.”
A muscle beneath Cabe’s left eyebrow twitched. Yes, either he was deliberately being an asshole, or he really had zero idea that he had probably bitten off more than he could chew here. Whether you were a junkie hobo on the streets or the C.E.O. of a multinational corporation, there are some laws social status simply couldn’t protect you from.
And the heavily biased Anomaly laws of America, which existed to make its people feel safer in the presence of peers with mostly unregulated ‘superpowers’, happened to fall quite firmly under that banner.
“Yes, sir,” he responded, stepping aside so that Elliot could breeze past him on his way down the steps and toward the door. A part of him wondered if that was it for their first meeting, or if perhaps the playboy extraordinaire had a few more parting quips for him. When it appeared Wright was in fact done, Cabe fought back a smirk and decided to allow his big mouth to open, just the once.
“Sir?”
Elliot paused, craning his neck back, waiting for Cabe to speak..
“I was just wondering, since you never said… what was my second incorrect assumption?”
The dark-haired man chuckled, shaking his head before throwing his new bodyguard a cool look which either said you’re not as bad as I thought you would be, or you are going to rue the day you found out you would be forced to spend an extended amount of time with the infamous Elliot Wright.
The answer was simple, cut, blunt, and tossed carelessly over the C.E.O.’s shoulder as he continued on his journey toward the door.
“That I don’t like the things I own to be coated in sugar. Later, Peaches.”
And with that, he was gone.
◉
As uncomfortable as Cabe usually was beneath all the layers of a suit, he was grateful for it today. The entire building was oozing with raw style and professionalism. Every man he saw was clad just as smartly as himself and, given Elliot Wright’s somewhat misogynistic reputation, Cabe saw a lot more well-dressed women of all shapes and sizes working in various departments around the company building than he expected to. Not everyone looked like Supermodel Sally at the front door.
And he noticed the people, because it was his job to notice the people. A man as publicized as Elliot Wright, as Flint had already stated, was liable to exist on three separate levels at once: his public life, his professional life, and his personal life. Even before meeting the man in person, Cabe had predicted that all three of these personalities, for Elliot Wright at least, were all vastly different from one another, with very, very little blurring at the edges. Who he was with the media, with his business associates, and with people he truly cared about (if any such people existed) would likely vary from one another in a way that was strikingly obvious to a team analyzing all three attitudes at once.
From there, they could better predict whether or not revealing W.A.R.D.’s presence to their charge or target would help or hinder the job at hand, or at least how their target might react once approached.
It wasn’t always a foolproof methodology, but their Division was only four years old. Their strategies would be tried and tested, and they would keep whatever stuck and toss out whatever didn’t.
Blueprints in hand, the first thing Cabe did was assess the building, level by level. The floor-to-ceiling honeycomb windows that bordered the entire outside of the high-rise was probably the most obvious weak point in its structure; it made sniper assault from most of the surrounding buildings a huge concern, as well as the fact that anybody could be posi
tioned in one of them to survey the inside of WrightTech round the clock. There were three main elevators, only one of which was extended to service the C.E.O.’s office on the thirty-third floor; the singular one was enclosed, but the other two were glass and travelled outside of the building in full view of the city. An employee or guest keycard was required for any of the elevators to operate, and they could all be jammed from the security station on the thirtieth floor. The security station was equipped with C.C.T.V. surveillance of the entire building’s interior and exterior (with the exception of the inside of Elliot’s penthouse condo), the sub-level parking lots, and two of the three elevators.
The ground floor was the easiest entry-point into the building, via either the large storefront or the business lobby. The storefront’s staff rooms did not directly connect to the rest of the building, except for through the ventilation shafts, which were possibly large enough to allow a person Ronnie’s size to crawl through them if they weren’t at all claustrophobic. There was a security guard stationed at the business entrance twenty-four hours a day, even throughout the holiday season. The lobby’s front desk and the store’s sales counters were equipped with tiny panic buttons that triggered a silent alarm, and both the security guard and receptionist were also required to wear panic buttons on their person. Throughout the building, department heads and other key figures were also mandated to carry them at all times.
Black Tie: Book One of the Sparrow Archives Page 6
