“That’s amazing.” Exclaimed Tara.
“It is,” Dr. Barrett sighed, “Miss Samuels, we need you to fly out to Los Angeles, retrieve the pieces and escort them back here. You will drive them from California to New York. You'll be given a corporate credit card to track and cover your expenses. A private security agent will accompany you. You'll meet him at LAX when you land, and he’ll be with you every step of the way until the artifacts are safely in MoVA’s possession.”
Tara’s pulse skyrocketed, “You want me to transport priceless artifacts after everything that just happened with the incident?”
“Yes,” he stated, “That’s correct. The museum hired Whitestone Security. It’s the best private security firm in the country.”
“I’m grateful for the opportunity, but can I ask why?”
“To be honest, Miss Samuels, the staff, security, and our insurance adjuster would prefer to have you out of the museum while we bring in the rest of the exhibit to prevent any more … accidents.”
Tara sat silently to take it all in. She went to speak, opening her mouth and then shutting it to make sure she had the right words. There were too many questions, so she spat out the first one to pop into her head. "Is my job on the line with this?"
“Of course, it is,” Dr. Barrett said matter-of-factly, “If you want to keep your job, you must complete this assignment successfully. If you cannot complete it, or if anything happens to these artifacts, consider yourself unemployed and unemployable at any art institution. Be mindful, Miss Samuels, you’re on the payroll, this isn’t a choice.”
“I don’t understand why the security agent can’t just bring them back on a flight or something,” Tara said to herself more than to her boss. She caught the scowl from Dr. Barrett, making her want to retreat further into herself.
“The Board insists on the physical presence of one of our own people. Despite your recent gaffe, you’re more trustworthy than a complete stranger. The agent will be responsible for the artifacts and your safety.”
It’s also easier to blame me if something goes wrong, she thought to herself. “Okay, Dr. Barrett, I’ll get myself ready. When do I leave?”
He nudged his chin toward the folder in front of her, “You leave in three days. Your plane ticket, credit card, and all other essential documentation pertinent to this endeavor are inside that folder. Don’t lose any of that! We’re giving you the next two days off, paid. Prepare yourself. This is considered short notice. Given the political climate around the pieces, we need you back here within the next two weeks.”
“What does that mean?” Tara asked him with concern.
"Everything you need to know is in the folder. That will be all," Barrett dismissed her deliberately turning to his computer monitor.
Tara wanted to ask him a million more questions but took her cue to leave. The rest of her day flew by while she tried to wrap her mind around the idea of taking a trip across the country. Even as her best friend, Danielle, served her drinks at her Manhattan bar, nothing about this excited Tara.
“This is amazing, Tara! Take it as an all-expense paid vacation!” Danielle told her, sliding a strong drink across to her. Danielle’s sunny disposition rivaled hers on most days, but as of late, she’s been the only bright spot in Tara’s daily routine.
Tara gulped the drink down, “This really hits the spot. I don’t have a choice but to take the assignment. I can’t lose this job. There’s just so much pressure riding on this. I feel like I’m being crushed with expectations.”
“Take a deep breath and remember that you’re amazing at what you do. You’re not the only person in history to make a mistake and be forced to do grunt work to pay for it. It’s a part of life and the working world. You’ll be fine. Focus on what you're doing, transporting pieces of ancient human history. That’s amazing in and of itself. Dwell on that and worry about your job when you get back. Tonight, on the other hand, you don’t have to worry about either since you have tomorrow off. We’re getting drunk!”
2
Benjamin Reynolds stared at the dossier in front of him with the picture of a stunningly beautiful woman clipped to it. Her pale blue eyes sparkled from her professional portrait, with her dark shiny hair falling straight around her shoulders. He eyed the notes carefully, adding his own as he skimmed the briefing of his latest assignment.
Rork Calhoon, Founder of Whitestone Security, stood in front of the conference room whiteboard scribbling for the morning meeting of the agents. Benjamin tried to focus, but he’d been out of commission for nearly three months, and it’s taking some time for him to get back into a work routine. Looking at the file in front of him, he thought that this assignment was something a novice could do. What was Rork thinking?
When the meeting wrapped up, Ben waited for everyone to leave before approaching. Calhoon matched his 6’2 height and muscular build, having both come from tactical law enforcement backgrounds and elite military service specially trained for high risk and violence. Ben was a legend and not for his chiseled features and rock-solid torso. Rork, on the other hand, had a much better grip on the responsibilities of assignments and keener emotional intelligence. While Ben had some lingering doubts about his readiness for duty, he didn’t want to be held back either. He was exploding with energy and felt like a caged animal while waiting for his next assignment.
Benjamin’s deep brown eyes locked onto Rork’s as he jammed his index finger onto the file, “What the hell is the meaning of this, Rork? Seriously? Babysitting?”
Rork tilted his head to the side with a playful smirk, “Isn’t every job babysitting in its most basic form?”
Benjamin sighed and shook his head, "No, no, it's not! This is literally
