A Covenant of Thieves

by Christian Velguth

  * * *

  Back at her desk, Estelle sent off an email to Marguerite Jameel, Chief Security Officer of Radical Dynamics-France. It was brief, only a handful of sentences explaining the situation and asking when she’d be able to swing by the security office to pick up the hard drive. Estelle was so confident in the mundanity of the whole situation, she didn’t think it warranted more effort than that.

  She dispatched it, then returned to her work on the fusion research dossier, feeling a little annoyed by the day’s events so far. Really, she was annoyed by Manuel’s reaction.

  Martin Kingston had never so much as set foot on the Radical Dynamics campus, let alone done any confidential work for them. The closest he’d come to that was his involvement in the Louvre renovation project, almost ten years back. It had been sponsored by the company, but Estelle wasn’t sure if her father had even interacted with a Radical Dynamics representative. Most of his time, she assumed, had been spent in the museum itself, acting as a subject matter consultant for the temporary relocation of priceless pieces of art.

  She hadn’t really been aware of the full extent of her father’s involvement, to be honest, because Estelle had spent most of that summer exploring the museum at her leisure. It had been closed off during the renovation, meaning she had the unprecedented opportunity to enjoy the Louvre without so much as a single tourist in her way. The museum was massive, 800,000 square feet of halls, wings, and galleries; so, even though they had technically been in the same building for much of the time, Estelle and Martin had rarely glimpsed each other during those days. It had been just her and the whispers of ancient voices.

  Well. Her, the ancient voices, and Booker. They had met a year earlier, both fresh-faced students at the University of Michigan. But it had been that summer, she visiting her parents, Booker studying abroad for his degree in art history, that they’d grown much closer. He’d been more enamored with the unrestricted access to the Louvre that she provided than he had been with her. In the beginning, anyway.

  With a bit of a start, Estelle realized that had also been the last summer that her mother had been alive. After returning to the United States in August, Estelle would see her only once more, during her Christmas break. By then the glioma had begun to advance rapidly, and…

  A soft chime brought Estelle out of her reverie. An email had just come in. She assumed it was a response from Marguerite Jameel, until she read the subject line: Just checking in.

  Great, she thought resignedly. Probably from one of the company’s in-house counselors, wanting to see if her grief was affecting her work. Estelle was considering just deleting it when she glanced at the sender’s address.

  Nasim.al.Far@Dmail.com

  Her breath caught in her throat, and for a moment all thoughts of her parents’ deaths, the hard drive, and Manuel's odd behavior completely vanished. What replaced them was a stunned sort of awe, and not a small amount of disbelief. The founder and CEO of Radical Dynamics sent out a sort of newsletter every Sunday, updating all the company’s employees on the status of Radical Dynamics and providing a bit of insight into her personal musings. But never, in all her years as a data analyst for the Futurology Lab, had Estelle ever received a personal email from Nasim al-Faradi.

  Just checking in. What did that mean? Surely it wasn’t as innocuous as it sounded. Chewing her lip, Estelle opened the email:

  Bonjour, Estelle!

  I’m in town this week, and was wondering if you’d like to grab lunch today? We can catch up.

  Nasim

  Estelle reread it twice before accepting that it really was that straightforward, and it only left her more perplexed. Nasim al-Faradi was never just “in town.” She had her own private jet, propelled by proprietary ionic wind technology and powered entirely by the sun. Her arrival in any country was treated with the same ceremony as that of a minor dignitary or a member of some royal family.

  And since when was Estelle on a first-name basis with the founder of the largest company on the planet?

  And what on Earth could the two of them have to “catch up” about? That implied a prior starting point that, as far as she was aware, did not exist.

  For a moment Estelle allowed herself to entertain the possibility that Nasim had come to Paris solely to visit her. It gave her a giddy, cheap sort of thrill, but she quickly dismissed it as preposterous. More likely she was here on business – what else? That didn’t explain why she wanted to “catch up.”

  There’s only one way to find out.

  Fingers tingling, she typed her response.

  * * *

  Champs de Mars was an immense park sitting in the twisting shadow of Tour d’Unité. As usual, it was packed full of people when Estelle arrived, both tourists and locals enjoying the summer afternoon as much as the heat would allow. She dodged buskers and beggars and made for the destination Nasim al-Faradi had provided for their meeting. It still seemed an odd choice to Estelle – La Bonbonniere de Marie, a small, somewhat kitschy restaurant on the northeastern side of the park.

  The founder and CEO of Radical Dynamics, richest and most powerful woman in the world, was already waiting for her beside a brightly-colored plastic carousel ride, seated in the cool shade of a large elm. She caught sight of Estelle almost immediately and waved her over with an open smile.

  Estelle took deep, measured breaths, and tried not to focus on how ridiculous the simple action of walking had suddenly become. She’s just a human; just another person. It felt absurdly like a lie. She tried to mirror Nasim’s smile. “Bonjour! Hello, I mean!”

  Oh no. A small part of her was already curling in on itself.

  But Nasim al-Faradi overlooked the awkwardness, instead rising gracefully to kiss Estelle on both cheeks. Estelle fumbled the gesture somewhat and was blushing hard when she sat at the small round table. She removed her glasses and cleaned them furiously to try and cover up her embarrassment.

  Nasim regarded her for a moment, wearing a small smile, and Estelle couldn’t resist the chance to study her idol up-close. Her hair, which Estelle knew to be raven-black with a hint of snowy white, was mostly hidden beneath a bright teal-and-gold keffiyeh. An aquiline nose, dark eyes, and faintly olive skin spoke of her Kurdish heritage, as did the faint but distinctive deq tattoos that adorned her face. These traditional Kurdish markings had been all but extinct until Nasim brought them back into vogue. Estelle, in the course of her obsessive research, had learned that the ink was made from ashes and the breast milk of a woman who had given birth to a daughter, and that they held special significance to the individual who received them. Nasim’s face bore geometric patterns, lace-like fringes, a sort of helical cross, and a crescent moon. None of the countless interviews that Nasim had given over the years had ever managed to uncover the hidden meaning behind her tattoos. Naturally, the internet had provided ample theories and speculation to make up for it.

  Estelle waited, wondering if she should say something, but not wanting to speak first either. Finally Nasim’s smile widened to a knowing grin, and she laughed, a deep, rich sound that flowed like liquid across the restaurant’s small clearing and over the shriek of children on the carousel.

  “I’m sorry. This is a bit odd, isn’t it?”

  Estelle smiled hesitantly. “Not at all. The CEO of Radical Dynamics can do whatever she wants.”

  Nasim shook her head, nose scrunched up slightly. “Nothing could be further from the truth. And even if I could, I still wouldn’t feel it up here.” She tapped her temple with one well-manicured finger. “In here I’m just Nasim, the Kurdish girl who sold flowers in this very park to help feed her brothers after we left Istanbul. I don’t think I’ll ever really feel like --” She adopted a boisterous, echoing voice. “NASIM al-Faradi, Entrepreneur and Empress of the Radical Dynamics Dynasty.”

  She laughed self-disparagingly, which gave Estelle permission to laugh as well. She was familiar with her boss’ background – everyone who had paid cursory attention to current events was
. Her rise from refugee to mogul was an inspiring story, to say the least. After escaping a violent civil war she had trekked with her two younger brothers across Europe, finally settling in Paris nearly four months later. The world first became aware of Nasim when the young entrepreneur debuted an efficient and revolutionary method of desalination, opening up the world’s oceans as a salve to global drought. Some people would be content to rest on their laurels after such a transformative contribution, but Nasim was only getting started. Under her aegis, Radical Dynamics was founded and quickly became known as the largest technological innovator in the world. She never lost her altruism or forgot where she came from, however. A sizeable percentage of Radical Dynamics’ profit still went to various refugee and peacekeeping organizations throughout the Mediterranean and the Middle East.

  Inspiring, but the story did little in Estelle’s mind to humanize Nasim. All it really did was make her that much more exceptional.

  “I suppose you never get used to the attention,” she said, just so she would be saying something. “I know I wouldn’t.”

  “Mmm. No, and it’s exhausting.” Nasim waved a hand, indicating the park as a whole. “Places like this are where I come to try and get a break – I know, escaping into my past, my therapist has taken pains to point it out – but even here…”

  As if on cue, a group of young women came timidly to their table, gushing praises in French. Estelle tried to become invisible while Nasim signed a few books and napkins, even posing for a selfie with each of them. It wasn’t hard; nobody was here for her, after all. To keep herself busy, Estelle tried to locate the bodyguards surely hidden among the crowd. To their credit, she could not, but there was a distinctive black X in the sky that probably marked a security drone. When the admirers had gone, even more excited than before, Nasim turned her attention back to Estelle. She was smiling, and Estelle thought it looked genuine, but there was a tight look of exhaustion in her eyes as well.

  “Are you hungry? The food’s rather cheap, but greasy enough to hit that certain spot.” She waved, calling over the waiter, and ordered coffee and a crepe with ham, tomatoes, and goat cheese. “And for my friend…?”

  “Just a lemonade, please. I, um, already ate.” I’m lying to Nasim al-Faradi. But it was better than admitting she was still too hungover to eat.

  The waiter bowed and disappeared. Nasim sighed. “Well, enough of all that. It’s good to finally meet you in person, Estelle. I remember when we first took you on as an intern in Detroit, and I knew then that you would have little trouble finding success in my company.”

  The knowledge that Nasim had been aware of her first day with the company left Estelle slightly winded. “Th-thank you. It’s been – well, the best experience of my life.” And that was true enough. Estelle didn’t know where she’d be without this job, and didn’t care to wonder.

  A sudden, sickening thought struck her, as they tend to do in moments like these: I’m being fired, this whole thing is just to let me down easy. But that made no sense. She’d done nothing wrong.

  Nasim’s smile fell slightly. “I wanted to offer my condolences. I’m sure you’re tired of hearing it, but I am truly sorry about your father’s passing. I know what it’s like to lose family so suddenly.”

  No kidding. Nasim and her brothers had made it out of Turkey relatively unscathed. Their parents and extended family had not.

  “Thank you.” In truth, Estelle was surprised Nasim even knew about her father – then again, it wasn’t surprising in the least. There was probably very little in the world she didn’t know.

  The waiter returned, bearing their drinks and promising Nasim’s crepe un moment. Nasim sipped from her iced coffee, eyes closing momentarily as she savored the chill. Estelle’s lemonade was a bit too sweet, but still a cool balm against the Paris heat.

  “How are you holding up?”

  The question, and the concern behind it, seemed genuine, so Estelle decided to be honest. “I’m managing. As best I can.” She put on a brave smile. “One day at a time.”

  “That’s about all we can hope for, isn’t it? Still…I won’t presume to know the real Estelle Kingston. But from what’s reached my end of the grape vine, you are something of a workaholic. It’s appreciated,” she said quickly as Estelle blushed again. “Don’t get me wrong. I am running a business, and our business is saving the world.” Nasim flashed a quick smile. The phrase had been coined by the media, but it wasn’t far from the truth. “But Radical Dynamics was built upon the value of people. Which means I care for my employees as much as I do for my company. If you need time, don’t be afraid to take it.”

  Estelle’s first reaction, though she barely wanted to acknowledge it, was a sinking disappointment. Is this really why we met? To evaluate my state of mind? She was grateful for any chance to meet Nasim al-Faradi, of course, and truly touched by the woman’s concern. But a part of her had been hoping for (expecting) a promotion.

  “Thank you. But – well, time off wouldn’t really make things any better. I need to feel useful, otherwise it’s just me and my thoughts.” She realized how unhealthy that sounded and quickly added, “And my cat!”

  Nasim’s smile was knowing again, but she nodded. For a moment they sat in silence, not quite companionable, but more comfortable than Estelle ever would have dreamed she’d be sitting across the table from this woman. She stirred her lemonade, the ice clinking softly.

  “Well, I suppose I should be straightforward,” Nasim said abruptly. Estelle looked up at her. The smile was gone, but her face wasn’t unkind. Merely…open. “I know you like to keep busy. It’s how you’ve been keeping busy lately that I felt we should talk about.”

  For an absurd moment Estelle thought Nasim was referring to last night’s bender. Don’t be stupid. She gave her head a half-shake. “I’m not sure I follow.”

  “Your father’s hard drive.”

  The sweet aftertaste of the lemonade suddenly turned sick and cloying in her mouth. Impossibly, she had forgotten all about the damn drive the moment she saw Nasim’s email. Estelle realized her jaw was hanging open and closed it with a snap. “I –”

  Nasim raised a hand, silencing her before she could babble on. “You haven’t done anything wrong, Estelle. I want to make that clear right away. It’s…well, it’s my fault, really. I’ve been a bit conflicted, you see.” And indeed, she looked it, her brow pinched, eyes narrow.

  “Conflicted?” Estelle squeaked.

  “About how to…proceed.” Nasim took a breath. “Your father was working for me, Estelle.”

  This time the silence wasn’t even in the same solar system as companionable. It lasted as the waiter returned with Nasim’s crepe, and a while after he had departed. Nasim didn’t touch her food, was instead watching Estelle closely, gauging her reaction, as if worried she might faint. Estelle couldn’t honestly say she wouldn’t -- there was a loud roaring in her ears. She sucked down half her lemonade so she’d stop gaping.

  Manuel was right. Somehow, impossibly --

  “I didn’t know that,” she finally managed, the words coming out in a half-gasp. A brain freeze was rocketing through her skull, making her eyes water. “I mean, there was the Louvre renovation project, but -- but that’s not what we’re talking about, is it?”

  “No,” Nasim admitted. “Though they are connected, in a way. It was your father’s expert handling of the renovation that inspired me to bring him aboard, shortly after the renovation was complete.”

  Nearly a decade ago. That long? “I -- I never knew.”

  “I assumed as much,” Nasim said regretfully. “It was a small project. Personal, in a way. Martin signed the usual contracts, an NDA, signing away all research and data as IP of Radical Dynamics. To be honest, I expected him to tell you anyway, but he did have a very strong sense of nobility…” She smiled in a sad way. “I’m sure you know that, of course.”

  Estelle nodded, hardly aware that she was doing it. My father worked for Nasim al-Faradi. And she
had never known. How could she not have known? Had he really been that honor-bound by his NDA, or had she simply been too wrapped up in her own life to ever ask?

  She shoved through the fresh wave of guilt. “What was the project?”

  “Cultural preservation,” Nasim said, as if that explained everything. She must have caught herself, because she smiled sheepishly and went on. “Istanbul is one of the oldest cities in the world. It was a crossroads for the greatest civilizations of both the east and the west, where cultures could meet and exchange and create something even more beautiful than their parts. Yet, when I left, much of that history was being destroyed by war and hatred. Later, I saw the same happening around the globe. The stories of our species, written into art, lost to violence and a climate that no longer wants us around. Even before I started Radical Dynamics, I wanted to do something about it. Then, once I did get the company going, I didn’t have the capital or the free time to make it happen. Only recently, with the help of your father, was I able to bring my dream to life.”

  “Oh,” Estelle said, not yet ready to say much more. “So my -- my dad was helping with this cultural preservation project?”

  “We called it the Pharos Initiative. And yes; in fact, Martin was Lead Investigator. He guided Pharos, researched those bits of history most threatened by the current state of the world, and figured out a way to help us save them.”

  “Save them,” Estelle said slowly. “How?”

  “Either by funding local efforts to preserve the sites and artifacts, or by temporarily relocating them to a safer location. Like the Louvre. It was slow-going in the beginning. By necessity, Pharos needs to deal with the bureaucracies of the world, and many of the world’s governments are less than eager to allow their culture to be appropriated by Radical Dynamics. Your father played an important part in allaying their fears. He was a sort of diplomat, making contacts in government and facilitating a partnership between them and Pharos. Helping us navigate the webs of red tape that encircle the globe.”