Point of No Return (9 page)

Honey looked around. “Why so many cameras?”

“We video everything and replay it for instruction purposes.”

Honey nodded, determined not to say she was impressed again. “Visual makes it easier to learn from your mistakes.”
And an easy way for Cooper to get into their system.

“Exactly. It also gives us a record if we need to let a man go.”

“How are instructors chosen?”

“We select and train instructors first.” He went on to give Honey a laundry list of instructor qualifications. She noticed Bristol was not only being left out of the conversation but had little interest in it. “All our people are ex-military or police so we begin training at a higher level.”

“All? Did they leave because they were disgruntled in their jobs?”

“Not at all,” Bristol finally contributed. “We aim to get the best men. We seek them out and pay three to five times what the military and cops paid. Ex-military can make as much in a four-year contract with us as they can in twenty with Uncle Sam.”

Mac’s mouth twisted, waiting impatiently for his boss to stop talking. “We get instructors who can take basic skills to a high level of skills.” He was done letting Bristol talk. “We train for every conceivable scenario in urban, in home, at work, in transit, personal client protection. We have a simulated village, a kill house, a four-story rappelling house. A group of houses with obstacles and moving targets. A pool and a three-acre pond for water drills. The guys I send are well trained.”

“The guys
we
send,” Bristol corrected.

Mac shot Bristol a hot look.

“I’m looking forward to seeing the training.” She looked at Bristol. “What’s the employee selection process?”

“Instructors go through apps and finds. Three senior instructors and I make the final decisions on hiring.”

“Finds?” Honey said.

“We search police and military systems worldwide for potential employees,” Bristol said.

“We’re an international force, and if we have a team, say, in the Philippines and someone who can speak the local language, Tagalog, it sure makes things easier,” Mac said.

That explained why there were so many foreign nationals on the payroll.

“The process is mostly electronic. Tomorrow, the tech center director and I will tell you more about how we get into the selection,” Mac finished.

“Mac’s given us all he can,” Bristol said. “Let’s move on.”

“Pleasure meeting you.” Honey extended her hand to the man.

“Same here,” Mac said as they shook.

Honey made a note to schedule private time with him. Mac didn’t care for his boss. Bristol was oblivious or didn’t give a damn.

They moved on to the medical center, where the medic in charge gave them a tour of a well-equipped small hospital and briefly explained the training.

As they left, Bristol looked at his watch. “It’s after two. How ’bout a late lunch?”

“Thanks, but I’d rather see the control center.”

“Not a lot there, just computers and operators.”

“Then I can be in and out and on my way.”

He shrugged. In minutes they were at the partially underground control center. An array of satellite dishes taking up a good acre of land stood to the side of the building. Before entering, Bristol paused and pointed to the grass-covered roof. “Four feet of dirt over three feet of reinforced concrete. Don’t ask me why. The experts said this design was the best for what we wanted.”

Honey knew. It was aerial-bomb-safe technology. Why they had installed it was the question. Bristol swiped them into a small vestibule. A beep, another card swipe and the door on the opposite wall swished opened to a room resembling the situation room at the Pentagon. Inside the chilled room, four techs sat at ergonomic desks loaded with phones, printers and three monitors. Massive monitor screens took up three walls. The doors swooshed again and Honey turned to see an attractive red-haired women entering. The second woman she’d seen in the facility was dressed casually in jeans, the company black polo and a Blazer.

“Major, Kathryn Porter. She’s our technology chief.”

She gave Honey a bored look from almond-shaped eyes that had a feline quality. “Major, what can I tell you about the center?”

Honey offered her hand and she took it. “Why don’t you give me the standard spiel. If I have a question I’ll stop you.”

“I don’t have a spiel,” she said testily and jammed her hands into the blazer pockets. “We have few visitors here.”

“I meant no offense.” Honey looked to her left. “Start here and go around with a brief overview. I’ll be back another day for more details.”

“Certainly. I saw you were with Mac and visited the med center.”

“You
saw
I visited? Ah, yes.” She smiled. “I’ll have to get used to being watched like the NSA’s stalking me.” Man, Coop was going to have a field day hacking into all this.

Porter’s eyes darted to Bristol. She clicked a few keys on the nearest keyboard and the biggest wall screen divided into thirty smaller screens with as many views of the complex.

“Who has access to real-time shots?”

“Obviously this room. From his office and the Hummer Mr. Bristol can see any place in the complex. A few rooms have two-way audio. Others audio monitoring. The main task for the center is contact with job staff around the world. They need equipment, supplies, whatever, they have a direct feed to us through laptops. Here, we have a four-man team twenty-four-seven. Each team has a leader and they report directly to me.” She touched the next-generation high tech-smart phone attached to the waistband of her jeans. “I report directly to Mr. Bristol.” She hit a key on the nearest keyboard and a world map displayed on the monitor. “Red flames indicate hot areas. They report daily. Other jobs report weekly.”

Honey noted the location of three flames. “Laptops are easily destroyed and worse, stolen. How do you keep information secure?”

Porter scooped a flash drive off a workspace and held it up. “This is where everything is. They’re encrypted and use the algorithm approved by the Department of Defense. They’re tamper-resistant, shielded from electronic scanning, water, shock, and dustproof,” Porter droned on, as if explaining to someone who’d dropped in from the nineteenth century. Honey and her teams were required to use the same tamperproof drives. She didn’t mind being underestimated. In fact, she preferred it. She liked flying under the radar.

“Everything we do is on the computers,” Bristol said. “We have protections and filters in place to ensure data is transferred under secure conditions. All approved by DoD. They can go right in and check up on us anytime.” He grunted and gave her a hairy eyeball look. “Which is why I don’t understand the need for you to be here.”

He had a point. “Hard to let go of old habits,” she offered. “Lots of dinosaurs who don’t want to give up their old ways.” She gave him her best smile and turned to Porter. “I’d like my swipe card and master security codes for the system before I leave today.”

“Not happening,” Porter blustered. “Master codes are for company officials and those with the highest security clearances.”

“Yes, of course. Ms. Porter, I can see my security clearance wasn’t shared with you.”

The women glared at Bristol.

“It’s in the material sent you,” Honey said. She returned her attention to Porter before Bristol could respond. “Shall we get started?”

The woman looked at her and blinked several times before she looked at Bristol, who seemed just as surprised. “I don’t . . . We never did this before.”

“Really? It was scheduled for the previous review. But then the previous review was canceled.” Porter gave Bristol a menacing look. Gawd! There were more
looks
being exchanged than in a silent movie. “If you need to review the documents, I’ll wait.”

“I can have that for you in a matter of minutes,” Porter said grudgingly. “I’ll need a handprint.” She went to a table holding a confusion of electronic equipment.

Honey followed and Porter removed a cloth from a sealed packet. “Right hand.” Porter used the cloth on her hand and the acrid smell of rubbing alcohol assailed Honey’s nose. “Spread your fingers slightly and press here.” Porter indicated a device that looked like an iPad. Honey did as told. Porter checked another screen and tapped the keyboard. “Good. You’re done. I’ll have your card and codes delivered to Mr. Bristol’s office in a few. Codes will be on a flash drive.”

“That to monitor my access?”

“Yes, it is. It will record your every keystroke and allow page views only. You cannot change or copy content. If you attempt to do so”—she paused dramatically—“you will be shut down in ten seconds and your gateway terminated.”

“Understood.” She glanced around. “I’ll spend tomorrow afternoon here. This is the heart of the company. I want a clear picture of what goes on here.”

“Certainly. One fifteen,” Porter replied, matching Honey’s authoritative tone.

“I’ll be here.” Honey extended her hand. “Looking forward to learning how all of this works.”

“Yes. I’m sure you are,” she said, ignoring Honey’s hand and shifting her gaze to Bristol. “We’re done,” she said and turned away.

Bristol’s eyes squeezed together and for the briefest moment a dark look crossed his face. Porter’s
order
chafed him to the core. Honey expected a comeback. He said nothing. Flaming fish balls, what the fuck was going on here?

“Would you take me to your office? I’d like to retrieve my briefcase,” she said.

“Yeah. Sure. We can walk. There’s a connecting tunnel.” He swiped his card and led her to another corridor. “What did you think of the place?”

“Well, all these corridors are as confusing as the Pentagon.”

He laughed. “That was the plan.”

“I have to tell you, what I’ve seen is excellent. First class.” It was. Which made her wonder why they’d consider doing anything as fucking crazy as selling arms.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

“This is a big operation for one man to handle. Why no team, or at the very least a second in command?”

“I have good people. McKenzie and Porter have everything under control. Verna does a damn good job helping me keep office stuff straight.” He stopped to swipe his card and Honey gave him a questioning look. “Yeah, I know . . . but, she’s a hard worker.” He held the door open, partially blocking the way, and rested a hand on her arm.

“Let me buy you a drink before you go.”

She shook her head. “No time. I have a lot to review before tomorrow.”

“In my office. While we wait for the card and codes.” His hand went to her hip.

“Thank you. But, no, I’m on the job. Perhaps another time.”

“No one will know.” He leaned closer.

She held steady. “I’ll know. You’ll know.
And . . .
” She glanced up at where she perceived a camera to be.

His eyebrows drew together and his eyes narrowed as his tongue passed over his lower lip then the upper. If this was his attempt to be sexual, he failed. Miserably. He looked more like a socially inept man who was having a bad night. “All right.” He shifted his body, opening a space between them. She held his gaze, waiting for the hand to lift. The hand slid low to her backside then lifted. “This way.” He flashed a cheesy smile and moved past her. “Want to show you my trophy case.”

Honey followed silently until he stopped beside a twenty-foot glass display case. His ego wall.

“All the weapons we train with and use, along with letters of appreciation from our clients.”

Close to two dozen framed letters were interspaced with handguns, rifles and knives. She listened politely as he pointed out his favorites. All knives. She twitched.

Bristol snorted. “Don’t like knives?”

“I don’t mind knives,” she said without taking her eyes from the blade. She didn’t. Quite the opposite. She loved the way a well-crafted blade felt like an extension of mind and body in her hand. The way an exceptional blade sang slicing the air. The way an opponent looked when they saw a blade in her hand.
She didn’t like being cut
. She resisted placing her hand low on her belly over the now almost invisible scar an Afghan woman had given her with a blade longer than anything in the case.

They moved down the corridor to his office.

“Sure I can’t tempt you with a drink?” he said as she gathered her case.

“Thank you. I’m sure.”

“Mr. Bristol,” Verna said, waving a small manila envelope. “The major’s system entry code, key card and flash drive.”

“That was quick. How did . . .”

Bristol laughed. “We have one of those things like drive-up windows at the bank. Takes seconds to send paper docs, things not on computers.”

After testing her entry card Bristol walked her to the door, where she stopped to put on her garrison cap and glasses.

“Don’t forget to wear
MARPATs
tomorrow,” Bristol said. “Wouldn’t want you to get your Charlies messed up following my men around.”

“Yes.” She shouldered her way out the door into the bright sunlight. “Although I won’t exactly be following them around. More like, shall we say, imbedded in the training to get a good feel of what’s going on.”

“Whoa.” Bristol followed her out and grabbed her arm, pulling her up short. “Wait a minute. We can’t have you participating in training and slowing things down.”

“Participating? No. My orders are specific. I cannot advise or participate. I am to imbed and observe. Attend, keep up,
not
interfere.” She shrugged from his grip. “I’ll do my best to keep up.” She headed for her car. Bristol’s boots clumped on the blacktop as he double-timed to catch up.

“How many women work for Global?” she said when he reached her side.

“You saw ’em.”

“Two? And none in the field. DoD is okay with that?”

“Haven’t mentioned it to us. You have a problem with that?”

Honey used the key fob to unlock her car. “No. Being a woman, I’m curious.”

“If you’re asking why”—he gave her a grin that was pure lip service—“like I said, it’s not the kind of job a woman can do and I don’t like women in the workplace. I like them in other places, in less clothes.” A skeezy smile spread across his face.