22. Double-Oh-Seven
double-oh-seven
Mirren
The flight to Taiwan is long, and I do what I can to get some rest. That is after I become an expert on chips, electronics components, tech manufacturing, and the like. I have proper ID and received a new laptop and handbag prior to my flight.
Some women would say it’s the best part of the job. My problem is I’m not one to carry it the way it’s meant to be carried. I’m a phone-in-my-back pocket kind of girl. I’m camping and flip flops.
This thing may be the staple of luxury among women of a certain class, but I don’t qualify to buy it… Not just in cost, but because the company rarely allows anyone without status to buy one without first developing a relationship. I shit you not.
I’m toting around the equivalent of several months’ worth of my salary when I first enlisted.
It’s so odd that I watch three videos of heavyweight Hollywood stars carrying it so I’m not swinging it around like a bag from Target.
I like a good Target find, mind you, and I’d be way more comfortable. It’s a shame it would blow my cover.
The agency has set up a full fake company, web site and all, along with my credentials, bio, etc.
Tanzi is a tech badass, even if it was built on the back of her recently-deceased father.
Nepotism isn’t the problem. We needed him dead, because dealing with her wouldn’t be done if her father were alive.
By the time I land in Munich at noon the next day, I’ve become her.
I move through the airport as a woman who has money, who is used to being catered to, who accesses the first-class lounges as if it were second nature.
After nine hours of flying time, I’m tired, but Miss Shackleford never shows it.
I’ll need to sleep on the next leg. Jet lag sucks, and I want to avoid it, but I also want to be rested enough to be on my game.
We were wheels up long before Strider should’ve received my text. I wish I knew what happened. But, one thing I know about myself, thinking about Strider Anderson would be the fastest way to ruin my focus on the job.
I need him out of my mind for just a few days, or this op will go sideways fast.
Twelve hours after another takeoff—this time I’m in first class—I land in Taipei.
While I won’t argue that first class is way better than how I got to the Middle East during my time in the Army, Tanzi deserves a private jet.
Daxton will laugh his ass off if I suggest it, but let’s be real, I’m carrying a twenty-thousand-dollar purse and I flew commercial? Yeah, no.
A besuited man meets me at the bottom of the escalator holding an iPad that says Ms. Shackleford, Prime Electronics and whisks me away via limousine. He navigates morning traffic—the likes of which I’ve never seen—and delivers me to my hotel.
“I’ll return in two hours,” he says in crisp, accented English.
“Thank you,” I return as if his service is expected. I guess for Tanzi it is.
Once in my room, I brush my teeth, dump my travel clothes, and connect with my handler. He’s in a casual Georgetown tee, and I try not to look perplexed. “Casual Monday? Tuesday? I don’t know what day it is where.”
“There’s an app on your desktop to let you know time, date, and day for your Chicago headquarters and your current location. And it’s after ten here. Get your glasses. Let’s make sure I can see the feed.”
From the ridiculously expensive bag, I slide on the eyewear that makes me more robot than double-oh-seven. When I set them in place, I’m amazed that on my screen is my screen, meaning I can see from Brody’s perspective everything I’m viewing.
“It’s high-density resin,” he starts. “Should be undetectable with how little metal is in it. No more than the screws that hold the arms to the lenses. Metal detectors and scanners shouldn’t pick anything up.
Still, if you have any concerns, wipe your bridge or remove and destroy.
But have a damn good reason for destroying government property, Jones.
I’ll need a good reason when they investigate. ”
I give a thumbs up in front of the lens. It’s caught on the camera as well, giving me double vision.
“I’m dark until you’re back on the plane unless things go south. Then reach out.”
My screen goes black, and I move to the window, looking out over Taipei and its hustle and bustle, its mountains, and its greens and reds.
I exhale a huge breath and bounce on my feet, shaking my fingers out. “Okay, Shackleford, let’s do this thing.”
Strider
Here I sit, between a rock and a hard place. Times two.
Margie’s right. The crew working under Price O’Neill is definitely skimming. Six guys plus Price since he gets the overtime when they do. Or, in his case, comp time. So his vacation bank is full to bursting and all with stolen time—thirty minutes here, an hour there.
The question is whether he brought the scheme to his crew. It’s really not. They’re all stealing. It’s straight-up theft from me and from the rest of the team. We run from a place of honesty and integrity.
Margie wasn’t lying when she said it impacted her bonus. Staff bonuses are based on company profitability. We’re not a charity. We don’t run at zero sum. And O’Neill’s team impacts every person at this company.
It’s also employees we can’t afford to lose with our backlog of work.
Human resources says cut all the fat, no severance packages, pay out unpaid vacation, and offer no unemployment.
I countered with allowing them to come clean and resign with no legal ramifications.
It’s the worst time of year to take away someone’s financial security.
My brain swiftly reminds me that each did it to themselves.
But still, I hate the idea of being the guy who terminates or forces a man’s hand this close to the holidays.
An idea forms, but I need to sit with it.
It’s more aggressive than I usually play things.
I have no problem being the nice guy. I know that means being taken advantage of at times.
I also know I sleep well at night, treating people with dignity and respect and with the integrity on which this company was founded.
The bad apples have always worked themselves out since character is touted here. It seems O’Neill is planting an orchard.
I shoot an email out company-wide, reminding them of our Thanksgiving potluck next Wednesday. The company provides the turkeys and ham. Everyone else brings something to share.
I flip to a new tab on my browser and book an early Thanksgiving morning flight to Denver. There’s no reason to even think about Wednesday travel when I can be there by breakfast.
The office is closed, and barring any big emergency, I’ll have a couple of days in the shadows of the Rockies with my sister and soon to be brother-in-law.
Flight booked. I’ll be there on Thursday.
I send the flight details.
Lolo
I’m so excited. I’m baking all the things!
I’ve had Lorien’s baking. How she can mess up a recipe is beyond me, but she does and with gusto.
Let Mom help. You know she’ll be disappointed if she’s relegated to the side.
Also, if she has to eat your terrible attempts.
For sure. I can’t wait to show you my place.
Can’t wait to see the place where it all started.
Don’t breathe a word of that to Mom and Dad.
We’ll see.
Taunting my brilliant baby sister is one of my favorite things on the planet. She’s so smart that she misses the obvious. She keeps texting me, but the message that haunts me is the one from Freckles two days ago. Two days.
I need some time to get my head straight.
I hate that comment. I want to know what it means. But I focus on the other. She misses me. She sleeps better with me at her side. She knows me.
My response was simple.
Take whatever time you need. I’ll be here when you’re ready. And holding you was one of my top three favorite things from my extended vacation.
I waited for her to ask what the other two are. I waited for a thumbs-up. I waited for it to say read. That’s the one that claws at my gut. It says delivered but not read. What the hell?