Corrupting Alicia

by Tsoukalas, Evan

  And then another thought occurred to me. One that had my gut twisting painfully. I must have stiffened, because when I came out of my thoughts, I found her staring at me as if she were trying to read my mind.

  “What?” she asked in a whisper, half-afraid of the answer.

  “A thought just popped into my head, and it kinda goes along with our earlier discussion.”

  “Uh-oh,” she murmured, recognizing the gravity in my voice.

  “It’s something I don’t like to think about, but it probably doesn’t hurt if we remind ourselves from time to time.”

  Alicia took a fortifying breath, mentally preparing herself for whatever might come out of my mouth. That was a good idea; I was fairly certain she had yet to consider what I was about to say and would most likely avoid considering too much afterward.

  “I am more powerful than anyone, or any organization we may square off against, but I also have a weakness that can easily be exploited if we’re not vigilant, smart and careful.” I paused, watching revelation dawn on her rather than simply telling her what that weakness was. It didn’t take long.

  “Me,” she whispered dully.

  ◆◆◆

  After waking the following evening, Alicia and I were all get-up-and-go. The night ahead was jammed with so many crucial events that it was almost dizzying to contemplate it all at once. Alicia was having a difficult time, wondering which thing to worry about the most, and I reminded her to focus, to take it in manageable chunks like stairs and finish climbing one before looking to the next.

  The first step was a meeting with Darius Richter at our office, and we had thirty-two minutes to make it there. He attended such meetings only for his most affluential clients, usually leaving meetings to his second, Jack Porter, and though the name Jeffrey provided meant nothing to Richter, we had been talked up enough to warrant that status. Anonymous billionaires usually wielded far more affluence than a room full of Hollywood A-listers and Beltway politicians, which was often the reason for rigid anonymity.

  Alicia chose her outfit carefully, and when she was finished, she made a silent bid for my approval, which I gave with a hungry glint and comically lascivious expression that made her smile, handing her one final item that she received soberly and donned without question before putting on her leather coat.

  We made it to the office less than three minutes before Darius and Jack arrived fifteen minutes early. I took Turner aside and gave him a few last-minute instructions, which included a strict order not to enter the office at any time during the meeting, no matter what he saw or heard, and then Alicia and I rode the elevator up to the third floor.

  As Alicia took her place behind the desk, I affixed a black device about the size of a Wonder Bread sandwich to the bottom of each chair opposite the desk, facing Alicia. They probably weren’t necessary, but I like to be prepared. And no, I was never a Boy Scout.

  I finished about a minute before the call came from Brenda announcing the arrival of our guests, and a few minutes later, Turner ushered them into the office. Richter wore an expensive suit that was perfectly tailored to hide his whipcord musculature, but Porter wore a black-on-black ensemble that accented his dead, black eyes and demonstrated that Jack Porter was still a grunt. An educated grunt, perhaps, but a grunt nonetheless. If eyes were truly the window to the soul, his had fled its hard host body somewhere in Southern China.

  “Mr. Richter,” I greeted him, walking toward him with a hand outstretched. The hand that reached out to grip mine was minus its first two fingers, but the grip didn’t seem to suffer any from that. His handshake was crushing, rapid and brief, and I could feel the calluses on top of calluses that he couldn’t have shed with a year’s worth of soaking in baby lotion.

  “Mr. Thomas,” he offered in return, his voice gruff and raspy, like sandpaper on steel wool, a voice used to barking orders over the sound of mortar fire. When he used my name, I felt a quick pang about any of my aliases being associated with this building, even one that was purposely transitory, but a thorough sweep of Darius Richter’s mind told me that discretion could have been his first, middle and last names.

  “Mr. Porter,” I said, offering the same hand to Jack Porter, who shook it almost identically to his master, but the surly Porter said nothing, acknowledging me only with a nod. “Please sit,” I said, gesturing at the two chairs. When Richter and his highest minion complied, I perched on the edge of the desk, placing my body so it did not block Alicia from view. They both wondered if I was going to introduce her, but when it quickly became obvious that I would not, they got over it.

  “I assume you won’t mind if we get right down to business? We have a busy schedule this evening, and I’m sure that your time is equally valuable.”

  “Of course,” Darius said, the part of him used to being in charge warring with the part of him that had to be properly deferential to the customer. I was impressed that not one shred of this battle was physically apparent. “We have a few questions that need to be answered before the proper personnel can be assigned to your detail.”

  “Fire away,” I said with a small smile, and Richter’s mouth twisted into what some might consider a smile. Porter produced a hand-held PDA with a simple and efficient movement, and when he was ready, he cast the briefest of glances at his boss.

  “We’ve been given a few pretty specific requirements from your people, and I have to say that’s not how we operate. In all cases, we meet with the client to perform an assessment that dictates the specifics of the detail.”

  “I appreciate your methods, Mr. Richter, and I don’t presume to tell any of you how to do your jobs, but I expect the same in return. I also expect you to let me clearly define exactly what your job entails.”

  Richter bristled at my tone, the lines in his face deepening as he sought to control himself. Porter made a concerted effort to keep his eyes on the PDA. “And you believe that you’re more qualified than we are to do so?”

  I leveled a sober and frank gaze on Darius Richter, which he met with unblinking eyes the color of broccoli stems. “Mr. Richter, may I call you Darius?” He nodded once in assent, the muscles cording in his neck. “Darius,” I began gently, “I don’t want to get into a pissing match with you. Our needs are simple, and the specifics you’ve been given ensure that your assistance meets those needs exactly. We need your people to augment the security currently in place, not replace it entirely.”

  Darius’s snort indicated that he had come to the end of his customer service rope. “Mr. Thomas, may I call you David?” he replied condescendingly, a superior look on his face. I nodded smoothly, no tension on my face. “David, our procedures are tried and true, and we employ them for a reason. From what I’ve seen of your current security to this point, it may be in your best interest to rethink your needs.” His tone was oozing with a deference exactly counter to his harsh words, as if he hadn’t just insulted me.

  “For example?” I asked, a smile growing at the laundry list of things that flashed through his head in an instant.

  “For starters, no experienced security detail would allow a principal to sit in direct line of fire of a window, especially at night.”

  I turned my head to look at the window as if it were a prized piece of art, standing and walking to it with an easy, relaxed stride. Pulling back the folding blinds, I rapped sharply on the window, which thudded dully. “ArmourLite IV, guaranteed to stop a .50 BMG dead, if you’ll pardon the expression.” Richter hid his shock well, but I caught a hint of it flicker across his face anyway. Lowering my knocking hand, I tapped gently on Alicia’s chest just below her breasts. “Body armor, which she wears at all times in public.” That was obviously a lie, but he had no way of knowing that, and it would be truth from this moment on. “On top of that, according to every written office layout of this building, the executive offices are two floors above this one. I firmly believe in security through obscurity.”

  Richter’s mind said he was a bit impressed, but his face f
ailed to show it, and since I was moving the chains, I went for the end zone. “You were identified by photograph before being escorted up here, and if I wasn’t here, the elevator wouldn’t have moved until you surrendered the three firearms and two knives between you.”

  Touchdown. Richter looked as if Randy Moss had just blown by him like a purple blur, and even Porter looked up briefly at this revelation.

  “And then, of course, once you’re inside, there’s me,” I said with a small smile, holding up a small electronic device similar to a keyless entry fob for a luxury car. “There is a shaped explosive charge attached to each chair that will clear each of you out better than a high colonic,” I remarked, unable to resist going for the Two-Point Conversion, and my visitors had no prayer of keeping me out of the end zone today...

  Both Richter and Porter bolted from their chairs as if they’d just had a sudden attack of the piles. Richter reached out and tilted the chair back enough to see the device I had attached to the bottom earlier, setting all four legs back to the floor with a shake of his head.

  It was my turn to be condescending. “’We can’t control people, but we can control the situation.’ Isn’t that something you tell your clients?” I asked lightly, stowing my smile. Porter looked like he wanted to kill me with his bare hands, but since that particular demonstration of my skill wasn’t necessary, I ignored him.

  Darius Richter looked at me with a combination of incredulity, awe and respect. I’d bet vital parts of my anatomy that he rarely underestimated people, and he probably never had a client like me before, either. Of course, I can’t take credit for any of the security measures I’d just demonstrated, having been given a few tips by the same revenant who supplied me with all the goodies.

  Richter let out a sharp bark of laughter, shaking his head twice while looking at his empty seat. His thoughts said that he was only half-convinced I was telling the truth, and I decided to address that once the meeting was over. I watched him teeter between belief and disbelief, and then he lowered himself back into the chair boldly. Porter looked at his boss as if he’d just sprouted another head, but a hard look from Richter put him back in his seat immediately. “Okay, David. You have my attention.”

  “Good,” I said, staying at Alicia’s side and tossing the fob to Richter, who caught it easily without fumbling. Porter watched it fly through the air as if it were a mob of angry bees. “As I was saying, we only require your services when I can’t be present. During those times, she will follow the instructions of the detail to the letter, without hesitation or complaint.”

  Richter looked to Alicia for confirmation, and she nodded solemnly, without hesitation or complaint. I continued, “It’s my assessment that we require three details rotating in ten-hour shifts, an active detail consisting of five members – two with the principal, two in perimeter surveillance, and one at the door. We’ve leased a suite in the city where we’ll be staying for the foreseeable future. All the information on that location is in the top folder on the desk in front of you. If there’s anything missing, let me know, and my people will get it for you.”

  Richter reached out to retrieve the folder, flipping through it quickly and then handing it to Porter, who pored through it more deeply, making notes in his PDA. “This will do. We’ll also need an approximate list of any other locations she might want to visit while under our protection. Each location must be checked out in advance.”

  “Understood, but not necessary. She will only be your responsibility when she’s in that building, and while I’m away, she won’t leave that building unless she requires immediate medical attention.”

  Richter’s eyebrows went up to complete his stunned expression. “Ever?” he asked, looking to Alicia again. Alicia nodded.

  “Until further notice,” I offered, “and if that were to change, the list you require would be provided at that time. Obviously we can’t predict our exact comings and goings, so we must have a detail on duty around the clock, but they will be notified a minimum of thirty minutes in advance of arrival or departure, which by the way, will always happen during the night hours.” I paused for a moment to let Porter keep up. Whenever I spoke, he abandoned his perusal of the folder in his lap and paid direct attention to me. When he finished making his notes, he glanced up at me for a fraction of a second. “While under your protection,” I added, “everything she needs will be brought in.”

  I paused again, this time to gesture to another folder on the desk. “In the second folder is a comprehensive list, including photos, of people on the approved visitors list. Any additions will be provided with forty-eight hours’ advance notice. Anyone on that list should be checked for weapons, but you shouldn’t be alarmed or surprised to discover them. Simply ask the person to surrender the weapon for the duration of the visit and pick it up on their way out.”

  Richter raised one eyebrow, but he wasn’t all that surprised. In the circles of extraordinary wealth, armed escorts were not uncommon. In some cases, even principals packed heat, though that was certainly not the norm. “And if an approved visitor should refuse to surrender his weapon?” Richter asked nonchalantly, reaching out and retrieving the second folder.

  “No guns. Period.”

  Richter nodded as if he already knew the answer. “And if there’s an event?” he asked, flipping through the second folder, and his tone made it sound as if he were just being thorough. Despite everything he’d heard to this point, he did not believe there would be an event because he’d been specifically told that there had yet to be one. More than half of his client base solicited his help after an event occurred; the rest (the smarter clients as far as he was concerned) recognized the early warning signs and came to him beforehand. Like any good security contractor, Darius Richter believed that the ability to prevent crisis events was more important than the ability to survive them.

  “If there’s an event, your primary concern is to move her to the alternate location also listed in the first folder. Aggressors should be engaged only to facilitate evacuation. Once your team is safely able to send secure communications, I’m to be contacted immediately. After that, you may contact the authorities at your discretion. The alternate location then becomes the primary and a new alternate will be designated.”

  Despite himself, Richter had developed a grudging respect for my thoroughness and methods. He flipped through the third folder and stopped on a set of photographs, as I suspected he would.

  “What’s this?” he asked.

  “Seeing one of those faces constitutes an event. The tabs are color-coded according to severity, least to greatest – blue, yellow, orange and finally red. I don’t expect this added precaution is necessary, but I’m thorough.” After much thought, I’d included pictures of Octavian, Gisele, and Martin (the only red tabs in the bunch) in that stack of pushers and other thugs I’d become familiar with since the takeover.

  Suspicion clouded Richter’s eyes. Despite my words, we just jumped beyond thoroughness, and his sharp mind quickly assembled all of these precautions in order, a red flag rising at the picture they created. I wasn’t lying about being thorough - I didn’t really expect an event - but Richter’s people would be at enough of a disadvantage being left in the dark about the types of people in that collection. I moved quickly to put him at ease a bit.

  “Darius, no one in that stack has done anything as of this moment, and I don’t expect you’ll ever see their faces. We don’t regard them as aggressors; however, their presence anywhere near your perimeter could indicate the beginning of a problem and therefore must be treated as such.”

  Richter did not look at all convinced, and he flipped through the pictures again, this time scrutinizing each picture with knowing and learned eyes. Eyes that had seen a lot of bad people. After he went through the stack twice, he pinned me with a direct look. “On the surface, it appears that some of the pictures are marked wrong.”

  “They’re not,” I replied pointedly, and Richter read between the lines. Appe
arances can be deceiving.

  “What sort of people are you mixed up with?” he asked at length, his eyes locked hard on mine. I’d anticipated this question and was actually surprised it took him so long to ask. I gave him my rehearsed answer because nothing would have made Darius Richter run out of the office faster than knowing he was interviewing a drug dealer.

  “Today’s technology sector often employs methods, and people, that can be every bit as ruthless as the Gestapo or the KGB. In fact, I’m sure it wouldn’t surprise you to know that many of the spooks who lost their jobs after the collapse of the Cold War have brought their black bag of tricks into the private sector.”

  “All that’s very true,” Richter replied, “but some of these characters don’t finger for former spooks. They look more like hardened criminals.” Richter had been staring at me so long and so hard at this point that I half-expected to have two neat holes in my face.

  “That’s because they are hardened criminals,” I said matter-of-factly, drawing gasps from both our visitors. “I can’t go into any detail, but I’ve heard you have extensive government sources. If that includes someone within the DEA, you might ask them about Operation Poisoned Trough. Don’t ask too loudly, though; they’re touchy about it.”

  Richter tried to hide his reaction, but Porter gave it away easily when his gaze shot to his boss. Richter knew very well about Poisoned Trough, the DEA sting operation that made Javier clam up when I’d revealed my knowledge of it. Richter also knew that my knowledge of the operation put me into one of two camps: Barrera’s or the DEA’s. As I’d hoped, he automatically grouped me into the latter because he thought that no sane person would enlist his aid for an illegal enterprise. He had the connections and the compunction to hang such a person out to dry, and no one was capable of generating enough fear to stop him.