Paul quickly called up the file for Janel Roberts, the woman who held the director of planning position. She’d been in the job only a year and a half and seemed under-qualified. She had two teenagers listed on her health plan and a warning in her file about attendance. Roberts was definitely weak, and a couple of ideas popped into Paul’s head. He checked the clock. A few more minutes before his workday started. He perused Janel Roberts’ file, memorizing the details. Occasional pangs of guilt for what he had planned made him pause, but he reminded himself that she’d get a severance package and ninety days of unemployment benefits. It was more than most terminated workers received.
As his NetCom clock rolled over to 8:00 a.m., Paul closed the files and opened the project he was working on for the Pentagon’s payroll program. He always gave a full day’s work for his salary.
Throughout the morning, his thoughts kept straying to Alan Rathmore and how he should approach the potential client. A quick anonymous message from a disposable iCom seemed safest. What if Rathmore was offended by his offer? Would he report the incident for investigation? Paul considered what he would do if someone approached him with such an offer. The old Paul would have simply ignored it. The new Paul might take the risk.
On his lunch hour, he braved the cold wind to buy a prepaid iCom from a street vendor in Triangle Park. Vendors were everywhere now, selling out of carts and backpacks, as people tried to make a living however they could. Just having the device in his pocket made Paul feel daring. After work, he fortified himself with a vegetable stir-fry from Chinatown Express, then walked ten blocks south to a different park. That was the one thing about D.C. that hadn’t changed. It still had parks everywhere, but they were filled with homeless people now.
The bitter weather kept the homeless in their tents so he had the park bench to himself. If the feds ever traced the call, he didn’t want to be near his apartment or his workplace. He practiced what he would say a few times, then finally spoke Rathmore’s number into the iCom. He followed it with the command, “Text.” He would speak his message out loud, and the iCom would transfer it to text. He didn’t want Rathmore to hear his voice yet.
“I have a proposition you can’t refuse,” Paul said, trying to sound confident. “I can arrange for you to land a Level C job in Health and Human Services in exchange for twenty thousand dollars. You’ll recoup your investment in less than a year. Let me know if you’re interested.”
Paul used the keypad to make minor corrections in the text and read the message through several times. His heart pounded in his ears with the thought of actually sending it. He’d never done anything like this in his life. Isabel had always chided him for his shyness and accused him of going through life with the brakes on. This was pedal to the metal, Paul thought, then laughed at himself.
A woman walking by looked over at him and smiled, surprising him. Was it the laughter? People never noticed him. Nor had humor ever come naturally.
The woman moved out of earshot. It was now or never, Paul thought. He brought the unit close to his mouth and said, “Send.”
Stomach churning, Paul hurried down the street to a bus stop. The wind cut through his jacket and the sky darkened. How long would it take Rathmore to answer? What if he never did? Paul decided he would give the client twenty-four hours to respond, then throw away the iCom-just in case Rathmore decided to be righteous and report the incident. Paul had no idea who Rathmore would report it to or if anyone would investigate. Law enforcement had restricted budgets and focused their efforts on violent crime, terrorists, and the drug trade. Otherwise, people were expected to look out for themselves in the new order, and frivolous lawsuits were a thing of the past.
A moment later, the iCom beeped and Paul stopped in his tracks. He touched the screen and text appeared. Who are you? What federal position? I want to talk.
Yes! Rathmore was interested. Paul started to speak, then took a breath and reminded himself to be careful. He knew he would have to speak directly to Rathmore sooner or later. Fortunately, he would always have more leverage because he knew his client’s identity.
Paul said, “Respond, voice,” and the unit connected to Rathmore again.
“Who is this? And where did you get my name?” Rathmore took an aggressive tone.
“You’ll never know. That’s the deal.” Paul kept talking, not giving him a chance to argue. “The position is director of planning in HHS. It pays twenty thousand more than what you’re making now.”
“How do you know the position is coming open? No one voluntarily leaves a job with a high-end med card.”
“You’ll have to trust me. And if you don’t want to pay for the position, I’m sure one of your competitors will.”
Rathmore paused. “Are you sure I’m being considered for the position?”
“Yes. I want ten thousand in cash up front and ten thousand when you get called for the interview.”
“I can’t get that much money together. I’ll give you five up front and five after I get my first new deposit.”
“My terms aren’t negotiable.” Paul couldn’t believe he’d just said that. It was as if some tough guy character had taken over his body.
“I’ll have to think about it.”
“You have twenty-four hours to contact me at this number. Send a text.”
“How do I know you’re not a scammer? A lot of people have been burned by phony job auctions.”
“None of those jobs were at this level, and none of the scammers had this kind of information.” Paul waited while his client considered his options.
After a moment, Rathmore said, “Give me a week to see if I can raid my retirement fund or max out my credit limit.”
“Forty-eight hours.” Paul hung up.
Once it was over, his legs shook so hard, he stumbled to the bus stop bench and sat. He was not cut out for this kind of thing. He tried to imagine himself collecting a bag full of cash and getting away unseen. His heart raced at the thought. It wasn’t too late to back out-but he didn’t want to. As terrified as he was, he’d never felt more empowered and engaged. He was finally taking control of his future. He was a player now, and there was no turning back.
Chapter 6
Mon., May 8
Lara woke to the sound of beeping. Disoriented at first, she sat up and grabbed her 9-millimeter off the nightstand. The hotel room came into focus and she remembered where she was. The beep was her six o’clock wake-up alarm from her iCom.
She heard her roommate moving around, so she put her weapon in the nightstand drawer and pushed out of bed. After splashing cold water on her face, Lara did thirty pushups and thirty crunches on the carpeted floor. Any other day, she would have completed a vigorous kickboxing workout as well or taken a ten-mile run, but the competition began this afternoon and she needed to save her physical energy. At forty-two, she was the oldest contestant, but she was also in excellent physical condition. She counted on her quick reflexes and ability to think ahead to give her an edge. The combination had served her well as a police officer…except that one time.
Out in the shared area, Lara sat at the small table and cut up one of the peaches she’d purchased. She tossed it in the blender with two tablespoons of whey protein, a teaspoon of flax seed, and a cup of yogurt. She’d forgotten to bring cinnamon for flavor.
At the sound of the blender, Kirsten rushed out of her bedroom. “What are you doing?”
“Making breakfast.” Lara poured her meal into a glass and drank half.
“You know we can order room service?”
“Go ahead.” Lara was shamefully pleased to see Kirsten was not as pretty without makeup. As she finished her meal, she remembered the cameras. Crap. Would the footage editors show her weird food habits to the viewers? Would they be amused or disgusted? Lara had stopped caring about what most people thought of her long ago, and it was unnatural for her to play to an audience. Thank goodness, the viewers only counted for a portion of the total outcome.
