The Initiative: In Harm's Way (Book One) Read online

“Did I say anything?” an older technician with a clipboard asked.

  “Oh, fuck you and that smirk,” Eva retorted as she plopped her weary, petite frame on a bench. “Goddamn missiles. Fucking useless. That's the type of shit that happens when you don't let me take my lucky cross with me.”

  “Is that what you're going to say in debrief?” the older technician asked as he tapped a pen on his clipboard. “Superstition. Because that always works.”

  “I'll be sure to add this in,” Eva growled while giving him the middle finger. Her dark brown eyes narrowed on the senior technician. She could turn heads with her striking Portuguese beauty, but her angry scowl could cause anyone to flee.

  “Now, temper,” the senior technician replied with a calm smile. “I'd suggest a cold shower before you get dressed and head over.”

  “You don't want to know what I'd suggest.”

  “Yeah, I get it. Just remember that the boys in debrief don't appreciate your adorable charm as much as I do.”

  Eva let out a deep exhale. “I really need to hit something.”

  The young technician gave his older supervisor a nervous smile before making a hasty exit.

  Sunday, June 26, 1994

  Blanchard Corporation - Chelmsford, Massachusetts

  “So, let's finish with the list of candidates,” Merrill Drake, CEO announced to a stately conference table of twelve. The meeting had gone on for two hours and everyone was getting anxious to wrap it up. However, Merrill never rushed a meeting. He was meticulous about details and no one dared show any hint of annoyance. Despite being in his late sixties, with a head of thin grayed hair, and a worn face, Merrill was still a formidable presence. His mind was as sharp as ever and his icy glare could undermine the resolve of the most seasoned sales executive.

  His request was directed to the Vice President of Human Resources, Christine Haynes. “Tell us about your nine-o'clock tomorrow.”

  “That would be Samuel Maxwell,” Christine started as she shuffled her folders. “Our strongest candidate who we want to put into the quality assurance auditor position. Age twenty-three, and a--”

  “Twenty-three?” Merrill grumbled. “And you're certain we want this kid to take on project auditing?”

  “I agree he's a bit young, but he'll be the first screened under our new recruitment program.”

  Merrill looked around the table and allowed a faint snicker. “Hopefully, not our last. Please continue.”

  “Sam's a graduate of BPI (Boston Polytechnic Institute), and originally from Naperville, Illinois. Formerly employed at Smithfield Technology until recently--”

  “Until recently?” Merrill again interrupted as he reached for his coffee mug. “Please elaborate.”

  Christine was accustomed to his interruptions and continued in stride. “He was employed a little over a year in that position with no issues. In fact, they attempted to counter him with a generous raise after he gave his notice. They wanted to keep him, which is unusual. Smithfield's a sweatshop that tends to churn through their younger employees.”

  “But why did he leave?” Merrill asked in a more demanding tone.

  “As far as we can ascertain, it had nothing to do with his job performance or any interpersonal issues. He simply got bored and wanted something better.”

  Merrill allowed a grin to surface on his wrinkled face. “So, he's hungry. That's good. What did background and surveillance turn up?”

  Christine changed folders. She opened up a thicker file with the word confidential plastered in bold letters on the front. “Both parents are deceased, involved in a fatal automobile accident four years ago. He's an only child. No police record. No apparent drug use. Occasional binge drinking, which has been on the decrease. No health issues. He regularly exercises and is in good physical shape. Not currently in a relationship, although he ended one a while back. It was a clean break for both with no complications. He resides in Lexington in a rented house with two other roommates. Both of them are gainfully employed and have no police records. Overall, we're not seeing any red flags.”

  “What about his involvement with that church?” Merrill inquired after a pause.

  It was a question Christine expected to be asked at some point. It also didn't surprise her that Merrill was already aware of certain details of her report, particularly those that pertained to religious activity. She flipped a page and took in a deep breath because it was finally time to address a delicate issue. “He's still indirectly involved.”

  “Define indirectly.”

  “Both of his roommates are involved in that church, the Calvary Bible Church of Lexington. Despite their influence, Sam remains on the fringe. He intermittently attends their church services, plays on their softball team, and attends an occasional outing. But that's the extent of his involvement, which has been holding at its current level for the past year.”

  “Merrill,” a smartly-dressed attendee at the other side of the conference table chimed in. “His psych and personality profile indexes don't show a strong inclination to organized religion. So far, his actions are lining up with those conclusions.”

  “Our guess is that he's merely being polite, just to keep in good graces with his roommates,” Christine carefully finished and glanced around the table with a wry grin. “Hey, it's a nice rental house in an upscale town.”

  Merrill disregarded her attempt at levity and exhaled deeply. It instantly erased the smiles Christine had garnered. “And just where is he now?”

  Christine froze and exchanged a near panicked glance with another attendee. “Well, probably on his way home from a church outing, one of the rare ones he attends.”

  “And where was this church outing held?”

  Christine looked down to one of her folders with a confused expression. After shuffling through the first couple of pages, she found the answer. “At a conference center in West Swanzey, New Hampshire.”

  Merrill leaned back in his chair, slightly shaking his head. “How ironic.”

  “Merrill, he's by far the strongest Initiative candidate we've had in a long time,” Christine tactfully asserted. “We've spent a lot of effort evaluating him. All his rankings are at the top of the scale. He's exactly the type we want to use to test our new recruitment program.”

  After a thoughtful pause, Merrill rose from his seat. “You have a green light for the interview. Reel him in with the offer, and then we'll toss him in the deep end to see if he can swim. But I also want you to keep a very close eye on his involvement with that church. We don't need another religious screwball to contend with.”

  “We'll keep full surveillance in place,” Christine replied, holding back a strong sigh of relief.

  “That concludes our meeting. I'll see you all again next week.” Merrill picked up his briefcase and exited the room. Christine lingered in her seat as all but one of the attendees filed out.

  “He's still skeptical of the new program,” Christine commented after the door closed.

  “What did you expect?” Walt Thompson asked with a smirk from the other side of the table. “He was overruled by director-board majority, so he's forced to implement it. I'm not totally sold on the methodologies of this new program, either. Auditing a large-scale project is something a seasoned veteran should be handling. Instead, we're going to shove a twenty-three-year-old kid into the job because this new testing protocol told us he'll be able to handle it. After a few weeks in that blender, and assuming he steps up to handle the responsibility, we put him in a five-year candidate program he'll never know he's a part of until it's over. There's got to be a better way to do this.”

  “You know it's all about Gen-X.”

  Walt rolled his eyes. “Hey, I tried to tell them it's nothing a few new perks wouldn't be able to solve.”

  Christine snickered. “Spoken like an old-timer.”

  “Old-timer?” Walt protested with a chuckle. “I'm not that far past forty.”

  “Hey, I'm still a couple years shy of the big four-oh m
yself, but I might as well be fifty in the eyes of the kids I interview these days.”

  “Not even close,” Walt rebutted with a gleam in his eye.

  “Let's face it, Walt, we're old-timers now. Our legacy recruiting methodologies don't work as well with this new generation. We have to change things up to better screen for Initiative candidates.”

  “The process seems awfully radical.”

  “Walt, these kids would rather stay teenagers than grow up. They call it Peter Pan syndrome. Trust me, it's a bitch to deal with. We're facing a critical growth period and we need to groom more qualified candidates.”

  Walt sighed. “I hope your team of terribly expensive HR consultants are right about this.”

  “So, what was Drake going on about West Swanzey for?” Christine asked as she gathered her folders. “Not that I'm surprised he knew where Sam was, or that he'd make a snide remark about it. I just got the feeling there was something more to it than him reminding us of how big an asshole he can be.”

  “You didn't hear?”

  “Hear what?”

  Walt grinned. “There was an intercept right over that area last night.”

  “No shit, really? Why didn't it come up during the meeting?”

  “Still too early for a postmortem, but I think Drake's still pissed that we whiffed again.”

  “Again? No wonder he's in a foul mood.”

  “Look, I'm more concerned about this anti-religious garbage we have to put up with. It's bad enough dealing with the new recruiting protocols, but we're tasking a lot of additional resources monitoring something I think is a pointless concern.”

  “You don't need to sell me on that, Walt,” Christine seethed, finally allowing her frustration to show. “It's one of those things Drake won't ever let go of, no matter how many employment laws he's violating. We'll just have to continue to deal with it the best we can.”

  “Deal with it? I've counted three level-one candidates he's summarily bounced from the list over the past six months. It was all because of their religious affiliations. Do you know how much effort it takes just to vet people for that list?”

  “Yes, I know,” Christine bluntly concluded as she shoved a pile of folders into her briefcase. “It sucks and there's bound to be more, so get used to it. We're all trying to cope the best we can. Drake just can't get himself to move past McLarin.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Monday, June 27, 1994

  Lexington, Massachusetts

  Laura Mayfield. Sam couldn't get her off his mind as he finished shaving. Despite his looming interview for a high-potential job that morning, the missed opportunity to spend time alone with her over the weekend consumed his thoughts.

  Laura joined the Calvary Young Adult (CYA) group a year earlier after she moved back into the area with her best friend, Emily. She and Emily recently graduated from a college on the north shore of Massachusetts, moved back home to Pennsylvania, and soon returned in search of employment. She was smart, sensible, and attractive in an understated way that normally wouldn't have drawn Sam's interest. He typically pursued girls who were more curvacious and promiscuous. His interest in Laura was an enigma. Something about her always seemed to throw him off balance. He could give a concise presentation to a room full of senior managers without a second thought, but always labored to find a suitable start to a simple conversation with her.

  Sam took one last look at his boyish reflection to make sure he hadn't missed any spots. Everything needed to be flawless although he was handsome enough to easily get by with a less than perfect appearance. Finished with the bathroom, he went downstairs to the kitchen for breakfast. He found Ron sitting at their butcher-block table with a local newscast playing on a small television in the corner.

  “Anything left for breakfast?” Sam asked.

  “Cereal,” Ron grunted, picking up a box of corn flakes without looking up from the newspaper he was reading.

  “Milk?”

  “Should be a little left in the fridge. My turn to grocery shop this week. I'll try to get it done before everyone comes over tonight.”

  “Good,” Sam replied as he went to the sink to retrieve the cleanest looking bowl from the pile of dishes. “Did you make coffee?”

  “We're out. I was going to make a Dunkies run on my way to work.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Sam replied as he sat and poured himself a bowl of cereal.

  “You're looking nice and polished,” Ron said after he lifted his head from reading. “Ready for the interview?”

  “Hope so.” Sam pointed to his head. “Anything out of place?”

  “I can't speak for your mind, but your hair's all in place.”

  “You think the red tie is overreaching?”

  “Nope, it looks very smooth and professional.”

  “Thanks,” Sam replied as he rose to get the milk he forgot.

  “Hey, got a minute to talk?”

  “Yeah. What's up?” Sam asked as he opened the refrigerator and reached in.

  “It's about Laura.”

  Sam stopped as the refrigerator door closed. He allowed a perplexed expression as he stood holding a carton of milk. “What about her?”

  “Are you, um, planning to make a move on her?”

  “Why, is someone else interested?” Sam asked as he returned to the table, sat, and poured some milk into his bowl.

  Ron chuckled. “Do you want that list sorted alphabetically?”

  “Yeah, I know. Lots of desperate guys around here with dreams, but is anyone planning to make a move?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “So, what's the problem?”

  “It seems pretty sudden. I didn't know you were that interested.”

  Sam snickered as he chewed on a spoonful of cereal. “Was this something I needed to clear with you first?”

  “Of course not,” Ron backpedaled with a nervous chuckle.

  Sam paused and lowered a spoonful of soggy cornflakes back to his bowl. “You don't think I have a chance with her?”

  Ron hesitated. “Honestly, not really. Hey, don't take it personally. It's just that she's not really interested in anyone in our group.”

  “Maybe someone she works with?”

  “No, I think she's just picky.”

  Sam grimaced and then tightened his gaze on Ron. “Are you sure this isn't about you being interested in her? If it is, I'm cool with backing off and letting you ask first.”

  “No, Sam, I'm just trying to wave you off before you try something that's probably not going to end well.”

  Sam nodded and quietly pondered as he continued to eat his cereal.

  “Hey, it's just advice,” Ron asserted, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “Really, you can do what you want. I'm just trying to save my buddy from a crash-and-burn.”

  A polite smile emerged on Sam's face. “Thanks, I'll keep it in mind.”

  “You're still going to make a run at her, aren’t you?”

  “I think it's worth a try.”

  “Well, good luck with that.”

  Sam finished his breakfast, brushed his teeth, and gave himself another quick look-over in the mirror before heading to his car. A hot and humid day was building as he walked out the side door to the driveway. He carefully put his suit jacket on a hanger in the back seat of his Honda. Before opening the driver's door, he looked back at their house.

  It was their jewel; an extremely rare find. Quality rental properties, especially houses, were difficult to ferret out in a market brimming with dilapidated prospects situated in shabby neighborhoods. Then there was always the question of affordability. Cost disqualified many rental possibilities before a visit could be considered. After the affordability factor came credit-worthiness, assuming a suitable homestead could be found. For three single males in their early twenties, lack of credit history was not always the biggest obstacle to overcome. Most landlords thought it too risky to rent to this age group. These tenants possessed a strong potential to wreak hav
oc on precious and expensive income properties. Owners would make tactful excuses, most often involving a reference to credit unworthiness to dispatch undesirable tenant candidates. This occurred often, despite stringent rental laws to prevent this type of discrimination. However, two years ago, three recent college graduates managed to acquire a prize: a nice rental house in Lexington.

  It was an elegant three-bedroom colonial in an affluent town, and they even managed to negotiate an obscenely low monthly lease rate. They thought it crazy that a landlord who seemed so shrewd would allow such a thing to happen.

  Whatever the cause for their good fortune, it was a house they took exceptional care of. Rental payments were always made on time, and occasionally a couple of days early. The yard was spotless and meticulously mowed on a weekly basis, despite a standing offer from the landlord to take care of it. Landscaping upkeep was rarely neglected and carried out with an attention to detail that impressed the neighbors. The possibility of losing their jewel hung over them like the threat of losing their jobs. As a result, the landlord was pleased and never neglected his responsibilities. He promptly took care of any repairs that his faithful tenants couldn't handle. The driveway was even widened to accommodate three cars whose owners had overlapping work schedules.

  The landlord fully appreciated that he had dream tenants. His property was well looked after, and best yet, no wild parties. He soon found it was well worth conceding a lower monthly rate. His only dread was that the day would soon come when they would move on, and he'd never be able to find a group of highly motivated renters again.

  To everyone in the CYA group, it was known simply as the Bridge House, named after the street. It was an epicenter of activity where they often held their cookouts, Bible studies, or just hung out to watch a Red Sox or Celtics game. The quaint three-bedroom colonial, built thirty years earlier, was treated like a precious stone by three young men who appreciated what they had.

  Blanchard Corporation - Chelmsford, Massachusetts