Executive: A Thriller Read online

  "Through advertising, maybe?" Alex volunteered.

  "You aren't thinking. What would happen if we advertised? We would be shooting ourselves in the foot with everyone in the American corporate workplace knowing we existed. We'd have increasing difficulties getting the job done. Any other ideas?"

  "Referrals?"

  "Yes. Mainly, yes. Business owners tend to stick together and interact with one another at a level that is most times inaccessible to their staff, no matter how high ranking." Tom paused for a second and smiled. With a complete change in the tone of his voice, he swiftly became Alex's concerned friend. "How's it going? Are you comfortable with this pace? You know, we didn't get the chance to sit down and discuss what we plan to achieve and the best way to get there."

  Surprised, Alex replied without thinking. "Yes, everything is fine, no problem."

  "See? You're doing it again," Tom said, with the tone of a parent grounding a four year old. "Relax a bit; you got the job. Now you can afford to really talk to me. You see, experience has repeatedly taught me that in order to function in our line of work, we need to know each other, trust each other, depend on each other, and help each other. I know I should have started with this instead of our client acquisition procedures, but please allow me to make up for it. So, let's start over. If you could ask three questions in the utmost confidentiality, what would those be?"

  "Well, I am wondering how come I was so lucky to come across your ad. It seems to me that finding someone for this job isn't exactly easy for you. On the other hand, you don't seem to be recruiting that often." Seeing Tom's expression, Alex felt the blood rush to her cheeks. "I don't want to sound arrogant or anything, but how did I get so lucky?"

  "You were not lucky, you were selected."

  "But—" she started and stopped, with a thousand more questions to ask.

  "Remember, three questions for today, one is already answered," Tom warned her, with amusement in his voice.

  She took a deep breath. "OK, then. Brian told me, during yesterday's training, that my car has climate control and it doesn't. Was a climate control device installed in my car?"

  "Um . . . no. There goes question number two. Such a shame to see questions go to waste like that. You need to learn to trust. What's number three?"

  She blushed, looked down, but somehow found the courage. "Is Brian married?"

  "No. Again, such a waste of a good question."

  Intrigued, she asked. "Why?"

  "You are analytical to the roof and back, but only when you want to be. My question to you is, 'Why don't you use what you have?' You had the answers to all these questions before asking. For instance, you are smart enough not to believe in coincidences, and this is as far as I'll go explaining the first question. The rest you'll figure out on your own someday. You could have avoided question number two, if you'd only asked yourself what reason Brian would have to lie to you, or to make an unsubstantiated statement. As for number three, even if he's not married today, he could have been yesterday or could be tomorrow. What's the value of the answer you got?"

  "I deserved it. I sure did, all of it."

  "Don't be so hard on yourself. The training process can be exhausting and can cause, well, questions to be wasted," Tom concluded, laughing.

  "And stupidity to manifest itself." Alex joined him in laughter, thinking what had just happened to make her feel she belonged.

  ...16

  ...Thursday, April 29, 9:25AM

  ...The Agency HQ—Corporate Park Building—Third Floor

  ...Irvine, California

  It was her fifth day of training. While waiting in the training room for the day to start, she wondered what the day's subject would be and who would be her trainer. Probably they would continue to discuss the pile of books she had read.

  Steve walked in and greeted her in a cheerful voice. "Good morning."

  "Good morning." She stood up and shook Steve's hand. She was inexplicably happy to see him. After all, he had condemned her to a weekend of reading and no sleep, followed by more homework assignments since Monday.

  He started the projector and the laptop and asked, without any other introduction, "Would you ever let that thing touch you? Crawl on your skin?"

  She turned and saw on the screen a horrible close-up image of the black, shiny mandibles of a huge bug.

  "Is that thing real?" she asked, shuddering in disgust.

  "Very real, I can assure you."

  "Alive?"

  "Alive and well, thank you," he confirmed mischievously. "So, would you?"

  "I don't think I would be able to let that happen, regardless of how much money I'd stand to make. Is this for a movie?"

  "How about this one? Do you like this one better?" he asked, ignoring her question and changing the slide.

  She looked in horror at another close-up image of insect mouths, just as terrifying as the first one.

  "No way," she answered.

  "Are you sure?" he insisted.

  "Yes. Very sure. I'd never let any of those bugs crawl on me. They are equally ugly, and I hate all bugs."

  "All right, I believe you. In reality, they are not that big, you know." He clicked his remote and the image started to zoom out. "This is the actual size of this bug, scientific classification: insect, from the order of coleopterans. Its scientific name is Onitis pecuarius, or the dung beetle. Do you like it better now?"

  "Absolutely not."

  "So you still believe you would not let any bug like this crawl freely on your skin."

  "I am positive. If I had a choice, I would not consider it," she said, without hesitation, wondering where all this was going.

  "Think again." As he spoke, Steve went back to the first image, and said. "This one, also a coleopteran and a close relative of the one before, is no other than Coccinella septempunctata, by its scientific classification." Zooming out the image on the screen repeatedly, he continued. "I am sure you are willing to reconsider for our little friend, the ladybug."

  "Oh," Alex said, completely taken by surprise. On the screen, the terrifying image had zoomed out to show a tiny ladybug in the palm of a little girl's hand, as she was laughing in the sun.

  "Our theme for today is the power of preconception," Steve said. "Somehow, someone decided a long time ago that ladybugs are OK, while the other bugs are not. Maybe because ladybugs are not harmful to the crops, but neither are the other bugs, and we wouldn't let them crawl on our skin, would we?"

  Alex nodded, captivated by the idea.

  "Because we are taught since early childhood not to fear these particular bugs, we accept them. We never think that these bugs are quite similar to others, which we fear in disgust. We never stop to wonder how these preconceptions came to be. We just accept them, and, most important, we act on them. When it comes to deeply set preconceptions, we don't have an open mind, and we never ask why." He turned off the projector and continued. "Alex, can you think of some commonly encountered preconceived ideas?"

  "Yes, sure. All Germans like beer; women are worse drivers than men, that kind of thing?"

  "Exactly. Those are broad examples, and they affect our judgment on a daily basis. For instance, if I had a German delegate visiting my manufacturing plant, I could assume that he likes beer, and would not ask him what he likes to drink. I could become tempted to act on my biased notion and make a decision for him, therefore offending him. Or I could be the sales manager of a company, in charge of assigning company vehicles to my sales reps. My preconceived idea of women's driving skills might influence my decision, and I might end up assigning the oldest, less-valuable vehicles to women sales reps. What do you think the consequences would be, in this case?"

  "Well, the women sales reps would notice, would become demotivated, would feel the discrimination, and this would result in lost revenue for the company. Lower morale in the sales team could potentially lead to attrition, fractures in the team, revolt, and vindictive behaviors. Lawsuits for discrimination are also possible,"
Alex replied, without hesitation. Steve was nodding his approval for each item she listed as possible consequences. She asked, "Am I missing anything?"

  "No, that's mostly it. How would you assign the company cars to the sales reps?

  "Ideally, all the cars would be of equal value and in equally good shape. If that is not an option, there are two ways to fairly assign them. Based on previous sales results or based on a draw, with all the sales reps present. I think both ways would work."

  "Perfect," Steven said, "and, by the way, statistics prove that women are, in fact, better drivers than men. Did you know that?"

  She smiled. "Yes, I did. However, most people are still biased against women drivers."

  "That is so true. You need to keep your biases in mind at all times. You have to ask yourself, every time you reach a conclusion, "Who reached that conclusion? Was it your freethinking, analytical mind? Or was it some pre-existing judgment you were not even aware of? Equally, when you see someone else's actions, decisions, or conclusions, you have to assume there could have been some preconceived notion influencing them." Steve leaned back in his chair, his body language saying he was done for the day. "Any questions?"

  "Just one. Does superstition qualify as preconception, or should it even be considered a factor in analyzing human motivations?" Alex asked.

  "What is superstition? It's a belief. Although irrational, it's widespread in its variety of forms, and it's influencing the human decision-making process, even for decisions of minor importance, such as refusing to pay a bill on a Monday or not walking under a ladder. Superstition is the preconceived belief that doom will follow certain actions. Therefore, it qualifies with flying colors."

  "Thank you." Alex stood up, ready to go. She was hoping for another lunch invitation, but that never came.

  An uncomfortable silence settled for a few seconds, ended by Tom's appearance. He entered the small office and pulled up a chair, so Alex sat back down.

  "I will need just a couple of minutes with you, Alex."

  Steve waved goodbye and left, closing the door behind him.

  "One thing we haven't yet discussed about this job is compensation. I was actually surprised you took the job without the faintest clue about compensation."

  Alex chuckled. "I am sure it's going to be a little better than what I previously earned."

  "Correct. You will be making $145,000 per year, plus a significant bonus, conditional on your successful client-case resolutions." Tom paused, waiting for a reaction.

  "Wow," Alex said in a soft voice, "that is a little better than before." It was almost three times higher, but instead of being thrilled, she suddenly felt afraid.

  "This compensation will be deposited biweekly in an account of your choosing I'd recommend that you refrain from using your regular bank account. Setting up a special account, at a different bank, would be better."

  Alex frowned, intrigued.

  "In addition," Tom continued, "you will be compensated by each client, for the role you officially hold while working with the respective client. Those amounts should be deposited in your regular bank account. In case someone investigates your financial records, they will find nothing out of the ordinary with the deposits. I trust the compensation package is satisfactory?"

  Alex nodded with enthusiasm. "And then some!"

  Tom walked out the door, and Alex followed him.

  "If you're done for the day, I'd like to walk you to your car," Tom said.

  ...17

  ...Thursday, April 29, 4:49PM

  ...Air Force Headquarters—Office of the USAF Regional Affairs

  ...The Pentagon

  Brigadier General Seth Nichols went through a heap of paperwork, turning page after page from a massive dossier. He wasn't finding what he was looking for, and he was losing his patience. He picked up the phone.

  "Jim?"

  "Yes, sir," his adjutant on the other end of the line responded promptly.

  "Get me the Kandahar Airfield commander, Colonel Sheridan. What time is it there?"

  "They're eight and a half hours ahead of us, so that would make it 2:15AM, sir."

  "Get him anyway."

  "Yes, sir."

  A minute later, the phone rang.

  "I have Colonel Sheridan for you, sir," Jim advised, then put the call through.

  "This is Sheridan, sir, good morning." The colonel's voice was almost covered by the background noise of roaring jet engines.

  "Good morning, Sheridan. I got your report on the friendly fire mess on the 20th. I've read the reports you sent me, but I see no conclusions were drawn yet. What's the delay? Do you know what happened out there?"

  "Not yet, sir. We're still working on it. The reports I've sent are covering everything we know so far, but there are still questions to be answered."

  "Well, how hard can it be? Did we fire on the Canadians or not?"

  "That's exactly it, sir. Our ground systems do not show any record of a missile launch. But, as far as we know, we were the only ones flying drones in the area, and the Hellfire signatures have been confirmed—they were ours."

  "I've seen you debriefed the pilots. What are they saying?"

  "They are not saying much. They maintained their original statements, that it was an uneventful drone deployment, which was completed without anything out of the ordinary to report."

  "Sheridan?"

  "Sir?"

  "You need to get to the bottom of this and fast, do you read me? We have to issue a full report as soon as possible. We can't delay this any further. The media is already on this, as you would expect."

  "Yes, sir, we're on it."

  "Keep me posted," Nichols said, and then hung up. "What a mess," he said to himself, closing the thick file that held no answers.

  ...18

  ...Thursday, April 29, 5:25PM

  ...The Agency HQ—Corporate Park Building—Employee Parking Lot

  ...Irvine, California

  Tom and Alex exited the elegant, white building, walking side by side. Alex started turning left, heading for her car.

  "This way, please," Tom said, "follow me."

  Intrigued, Alex followed, without asking anything. They must have worked on my car, she thought, that would explain a few things. Tom stopped between two rows of parked cars and handed her a set of car keys, attached to a simple, triangular keychain without any markings.

  "Here you go. Come on, open it up," he said.

  Alex was still trying to locate her car, but it was nowhere in sight. She pressed the remote button and a silver Toyota 4Runner flashed all four hazard lights. Confused, she looked at Tom.

  "Go on, get in. This is your car from now on, at least for a while. I hope you like it."

  Alex was speechless. Wow. Moving like in a dream, she opened the door and sat inside, taking in the exquisite, unmistakable new car smell.

  "The only downside," Tom said, "is that you can't use your old car for a while. That one will remain parked here, or somewhere else at your discretion. Or we could sell it for you." Tom smiled. "This is the new you. Enjoy. You'll find this car has all the accessories you might expect: navigation, CD player, satellite radio, and, of course, air conditioning. I am sure you remember Brian and his words about air conditioning," he said, continuing to smile.

  ...19

  ...Friday, April 30, 9:16AM

  ...The Agency HQ—Corporate Park Building—Third Floor

  ...Irvine, California

  "Where were we?" Tom pulled out a chair and sat down. "Ah, yes, client acquisition procedures." He opened a drawer and pulled out a few business cards. The business cards were simple, black, raised ink on white stock, reflecting his name and phone number—nothing else. "Well, yesterday you reached the conclusion that our clients find us mainly through referrals, and you were right about that.

  "Usually, after the completion of a project, we hand out a few of these business cards to our clients, and ask them to give the cards to other business owners in need of our s
ervices, but to use discretion before handing them out. We aren't letting ourselves be involved in turf wars within companies; therefore, the owner of the business, or the majority of the shareholders (confirmed by a secret vote in our presence), can sign us up. No one else can use our services. Any questions so far?"

  "In case of a vote, how can you be sure of the results? I mean, what if the result is not in favor of using The Agency's services? How do you make sure information regarding our existence does not leave that boardroom?" Alex stated her question in a trembling, unsure voice, but, as the words started coming out of her mouth, her confidence built, and she finished the question sure of herself. After all, her question made sense.

  "That's a good question. Part of our client acquisition procedure for larger corporations, for those with more than one shareholder, is to have them sign an NDA, just like this one. If there is only one shareholder, we use a different NDA, a more straightforward one."

  "NDA?" Alex interrupted.

  "Nondisclosure agreement." Tom reached in another drawer and pulled out a few printed pages, stapled together, on The Agency's letterhead. "Homework. Read the NDAs thoroughly and understand them in detail. Clients have to sign these agreements before they even learn our names. If you have questions, we will discuss them tomorrow. You will find this document to be quite comprehensive." Tom looked at his Breitling watch. "Moving forward, what would be our second source of business? Any ideas?"

  "Repeat business?" Alex asked, again not sure of herself. She wanted so much to make a good impression; but felt uneasy every time she spoke. She was usually assertive and sure of herself, but in the presence of these people, she felt she needed to brush up to live up to their expectations. This was new to her.

  "Yes, repeat business," Tom confirmed. "Currently it amounts to almost 40 percent of our revenue. Our former clients find it easier to call us at the first sign of trouble, than to hope the issue will get fixed on its own. And they find us to be the lower cost out of trouble, anyway."