Chapter Sixteen #2
“The computers that could scan through the data, cull the static images, and make a nice neat binder of names and faces are all privately owned. We could contract to use them. That is possible. The problem is that then the data would be added to the AI database. Since that database is privately owned, we would no longer have control over who sees that data and how it’s used. ”
Rylee instantly thought of Casey Andrews and how much danger it would mean to him to be out in the field when some rogue actor paid a fee to name him as a CIA field officer.
“So, for example, the bad guy could ask for instances when his face was searched and who had that information?” Rylee asked, her face flaming red with warning.
Langley told Neesa that Iniquus was safe. Thank goodness they hadn’t risked Casey’s image in a private security supercomputer.
“Exactly.” Dakota flipped on his turn signal and moved onto the on-ramp toward the highway. “I live in Alexandria.”
“Me, too. That’s nice.” She waited until he’d navigated past the accident on the right before she spoke.
“This counterfeiting mess is potentially devastating to our organization and can have international ramifications. We serve over a hundred thousand people every year. People who are in the worst circumstances of their lives when money and prestige are meaningless as they deal with what is thrust upon them, volcanic eruptions, fires, droughts, deluges, all manner of catastrophe. If the public didn’t trust us with the stewardship of their donations, thinking we were a con, the funding would go away, and our expertise would no longer be available to the world.
Thousands, even tens of thousands of people could potentially die. ”
He turned to catch her eye, then focused back on the road.
From the way he held his face stoic and thoughtful, Rylee knew he was taking this in and fully understood the seriousness of the situation.
“Right now, there are charities that function the way we do with our specialties. We’re unique in the world because of our scope.
We have one of the best records for the percentage of donations that go directly to those in need, versus big salaries and schmoozing.
Believe me, as co-director of operations, I have a comfortable—not exorbitant—salary, and I’m not required to do any schmoozing.
” She looked out the passenger-side window, with a sorrowful shake of her head, and whispered, “This is incredibly dangerous.”
“Rylee,” Dakota said, his voice pulling her focus to him.
“We’ll do everything in our power to keep the circle tight to protect your reputation.
But you’ll agree that the sooner the counterfeiter is identified and caught, the better.
Working hand in hand with me—with us, I mean—will make for a better explanation afterward.
You say something like, ‘It came to our attention, and we worked very closely with the Secret Service.’”
“Yes, of course. I’m not saying that we don’t trust you to help us navigate our proximity to these crimes.
Our CEO said to go ahead and do whatever is needed to rectify this.
And this falls under Neesa’s and my jurisdiction.
We don’t have a lot to offer. So I’m very hopeful for the data that we can get from those videos. ”
“Iniquus is doing it for you, right?”
“Fortunately, yes,” Rylee said. “We have a good working relationship. Often show up at the same emergency events. After their team saves their contracted protectees, they often stay to lend a hand. But also, one of our best logisticians, Hailey Sterling, moved to Iniquus when she married a Cerberus Bravo operator. After speaking with Jasper yesterday, Neesa reached out to Hailey to see whether Iniquus could help us. It’s a bit of a long shot that we’ll get anything, but their commander gave his thumbs up.
Actually, they were grateful to learn about this issue because Iniquus, like us, uses the same cash system, and they’re worried, like we are, that their reputation will be tarnished if they inadvertently spread counterfeit money.
” Riley shifted in her seat to face Dakota.
“Neesa said she couldn’t tell the correct bill from the fake when you were looking through our safe, that the bills were that good.
” She wrapped her hands around her knee.
“I know we’re trying to help by allowing the Secret Service to find the guy.
I’m wondering if, in helping you, we’re ultimately hurting ourselves.
I wonder if we should just come clean on the news, tell people what’s going on, and what we’re doing to thwart it.
Maybe by bringing in a little sunlight, it will disinfect the situation. ”
Dakota didn’t answer, didn’t try to dissuade her, didn’t work to convince her that their way was the right way.
Rylee honestly didn’t know how to navigate this.
It was a chess game with an unknown opponent.
Dakota pulled into the driveway of a neat, mid-century modern with a flat roof and wide chimneys. The bushes out front were neatly trimmed to mimic the house's geometric symmetry. The glow of the lights through the plate-glass windows was inviting.
She’d been expecting a condo or townhouse.
“Nice,” she said.
Dakota pulled to a stop so that when she exited, her feet would be on the sidewalk.
She unbuckled then reached down for her bag. When she was upright again, Dakota was already at her door, opening it and extending his hand to assist her out.
Only then did he round to the back to release Tank.
“Go potty,” Dakota commanded, and Tank trotted over to a three-sided space with a substrate different from the lawn.
As Tank did his business, Dakota shut the hatch.
“Iniquus taught him how to use a toilet, and he seems to prefer that. But he still has to practice his outdoor skills. I can’t let him get prim about these things.
” He whistled. “Come on, Tank, dinner time.”
Tank raced to the door, plopped his butt down, and waited.
After tapping in a lock code, Dakota opened the door wide for Rylee. She walked into an open floor plan with natural elements of slate and wood. The colors were neutral with splashes of bright contrast. Elements here and there brought welcome moments of surprise to the geometric serenity.
“Did you design this?” she asked, wandering over to the bookcase, taking in the titles that ranged from history to philosophy to finance and government. There was a good number of fiction that were heavy on the classics with mysteries and thrillers thrown in for good measure.
“My little sister did it as her senior interior design project at the uni.”
Dakota steered toward the kitchen, where he washed his hands, then pulled out the ingredients for dinner.
“Can I help?” Rylee asked.
“How about you sit at the counter and have a drink? Wine, cider, beer, water, soda.”
“Cider would be nice. I was in Normandy on vacation last year, and I became a big fan.”
“Co-director of operations for a major NGO, tell me a bit about that job.” Dakota popped the top off the cider. “Bottle or glass.”
“Bottle, please.”
He set the bottle in front of her as he began prepping the food with a deftness that said he was comfortable in the kitchen and cooked well.
“My role is to deal with operational challenges both in logistics and personnel. We run into a lot of issues when we put teams into play. I coordinate not just with my team but also with local governments and other international NGOs to ensure the right team shows up and that we aren’t duplicating efforts while other aspects are overlooked.
The same kinds of things that happen in the military.
Critical infrastructure is often damaged, making on-site arrival difficult, especially in remote areas where access is already limited.
The supply chain is a challenge, and one of the reasons we take stacks of cash into an area.
And, of course, we need to be sensitive to and work within the local population's framework. So that means developing meaningful relationships with local leaders, listening to their priorities, and explaining possible roadmaps we can support. But yeah, I’m responsible for the training and management of all the personnel in the field and the success of their operations. ”
“Big job,” Dakota said as he moved the ingredients to the stove. “This is one of my quick-fix meals. I’ll have it on the table in a few minutes.” He opened the fridge. “While the pasta is cooking, I’ll do a salad. If you see anything I’m pulling out that’s an allergy or a dislike, please tell me.”
“Yes, thank you.” Rylee took a sip of cider and felt the alcohol ease into her bloodstream.
“I imagine you run into issues with politics and security,” he said as he washed the vegetables.
“Yeah, I like that least. My people face armed groups and sudden conflict over limited resources.”
“And they’re not armed, right?”
“We have no weapons. On occasion, we might hire local groups to protect us, but we don’t get involved in physical conflicts.
Where the local government sends us is often political rather than strategic to the disaster.
It’s important that we remain neutral in everyone’s eyes.
Right now, we’re facing significant issues with attrition.
Globally, attacks on aid workers are on the rise.
Especially for women, it’s a risk. Kidnappings are up, weapons attacks, and harassment.
It’s my job to figure out our policy to keep everything running smoothly so those swept up in the disasters are safe and well cared for. ”
“What’s the plan?”
“I’ve started participating in training evolutions with our fast response teams. I’ll go on their next call-out to get my own boots-on-the-ground, first-hand view of what we’re asking our people to do. I’ll engage them in conversations about what changes can be made to help them do their job.”
Tank wandered over and sniffed her, then lay at her feet. And that just felt nice, welcoming.
Rylee didn’t want to talk about or think about work. “I get a free question.”
“Okay,” Dakota said without hesitation.
“Anything?” She took another swig of cider.
He looked over his shoulder at her and sent her an easy smile. “You can ask anything. Now, whether I’ll answer or not … Kidding. I’m brave. Go.”
“How did you make it through Coronado?”
“Easy enough.” He poured oil and vinegar into a small bowl and whisked them together as the base for a dressing.
“I got out there, and I thought they weren’t there to hurt me.
They were there to apply a test to me. It was the same test that everyone who wanted the job that I wanted went through before they were hired.
The problem was that it was fucking hard. ” He caught her eye. “Sorry.”
“Cussing is a sign of intelligence. There are lots of scientific studies supporting that assertion. It was fucking hard?” She raised her brows, so he would continue.
He reached into the spice cabinet and started adding a pinch of this and a pinch of that.
“I mean, harder than I could ever have imagined. At some point, I thought, Hey, you know who they’re trying to weed out?
Men who don’t make the mark. Men who shouldn’t have the job.
What if that’s me? What if I don’t measure up?
” He flipped a piece of carrot in the air and caught it in his mouth.
“Oh man, that switched everything in my brain, and then it was a competition.” He moved over and set a little pile of sliced carrots by her bottle, calling out, “Tank,” as he flipped some through the air so Tank could catch them and nibble, too.
“You’re competitive, you’d have to be to streak across the finish line with the Cerberus crew.”
“I’m going to draw a distinction there. There are places to be competitive—on the field of battle, in a race, coming up against a problem that requires a solution—that does indeed flip that toggle in my brain.
But walking around on the day-to-day? I’m not that guy.
I don’t need to beat my chest and constantly prove myself.
” He drizzled the salad with the dressing and leaned over the stove to stir his pots before turning off the element.
“But the toggle was switched on in Coronado.”
“Oh, it was on. You think you can make me cold? No way. You think I’ll drop from fatigue. Psh.” He pulled dishes from the cupboard and set them on the counter.
“I can see you now.” She smiled, then popped a carrot into her mouth.
“My turn – how did you drop the guy in the bar?” he asked, pulling cutlery from the drawer.
“Upper cut to the diaphragm. As he collapsed forward, he grabbed me – not for the second grope but stability as his brain did a little freak out. So I used his grip hand for the arm bar. Then Erica dropped onto his back. That wasn’t necessary, but a little whipped cream on the cake.
He was on the ground, catching his breath.
Because his biggest injury was probably his male ego—"
Dakota set the platters of food between the plates and added serving utensils. “Yeah?”
“I figure better to get his thighs apart and bend his legs, so he couldn’t get up. I like that move because if there’s any struggle, I can swift kick his nuts.”
Dakota lifted his bottle so it clinked with hers. “Badassery.”
“All day, every day.” Rylee felt perfectly content in that moment, as if everything wrong with the world existed on the other side of Dakota’s front door.
He sat on the stool across from her, suddenly looking serious. “Can I ask you for something?” he said softly.
Rylee stilled. She didn’t want Dakota to say some shit something that would force her from this lovely cocoon.
“I feel unreasonably connected to you for having just met.” He moved a hand to his heart. “I need you to promise me that, if my comfort around you makes you feel uneasy, you’ll tell me so I can adjust. I would never want my sense of ease to impact you by shifting a boundary that you want in place.”
“Fair enough.” She exhaled.
Okay. It wasn’t just Rylee then; Dakota was feeling it, too.