The Last Nukyi: Fear Cosmic Annihilation

  Chapter 4: HOT YET FROSTY

  Tom clutched up to the Belk Tower’s underground parking entry. Joey, the gatekeeper appeared less nosey, which was a minor but positive way to start the day; and Tom couldn’t help notice that Celia McBridle (in his rear-view mirror) inched, assertively closer to his rear bumper.

  Tuesday morning was just another typical business day as she sat unbuckled and elegant behind the exotic steering wheel, like a spoiled Egyptian goddess capable of summonsing her circus of menservants with her magnetic authority. Far from ancient, McBridle was a modern woman of the new millennium and exploited her many God-given assets to manipulate the opposite gender and to acquire monetary fulfilment.

  He suspected that she detested him. Sixty-two months ago, his initial interview with her was extremely uncomfortable; her sharp tongue outmatched her earnest poise; but, much to his surprise, he won the job.

  With minutes to spare, Tom claimed his billet and bailed out. He rushed toward the elevator with one objective: avoid McBridle. From the corner of his strained eye he spotted her as she high-heeled at a brisk pace toward the doors. He tried to deviate off course to avoid her, but it was too late. They stood at opposite sides of the elevator and waited for the doors to open. Tom gestured good morning, something he seldom did.

  She replied with a reserved smile while her cunning eyes scanned the length of his athletic frame.

  The lift system disengaged, and they entered.

  The interior boxcar was an ample space with highly reflective panelling and McBridle’s elegance radiated at him from all angles.

  He could sense an uncomfortable awkwardness building between them as he secretly dissected her refined reflection and tried to conceal his probing eyes.

  She ignored his lowly presence and proceeded to text with her smart phone.

  “It’s a treat--no rain,” he said cautiously.

  “Yes, it is,” she replied, and snapped the phone shut and stored it in her stylistic leather purse.

  The elevator’s polished chrome walls amplified the contour of her infectious figure, enhanced by her dark-blue business wear, which was high-cut and tailored to a perfect fit. She wore a long cream-colored coat over her arm and suspended an exquisite briefcase from her jewelled hand, like money was no object.

  They waited silently for the lift to reach their floor.

  A barracuda, he thought. She could definitely devour any man with one chomp. He felt extremely threatened just standing next to her, but he had nowhere to escape.

  At floor fifty-one, the mechanical jaws separated. Tom was relieved. He paused for a moment and admired her lengthy legs, curvy hips and shoulder-length, soft blond hair that bounced from side to side as she strutted toward the office ahead of him.

  Today, McBridle’s name seemed to leap out at him from the glass entrance. It made his slow pulse race, and it moistened the palms of his dehydrated hands. Just thinking about working after hours with her was enough to give him a stress-induced heart attack. Exactly at 7:58 a.m. he parted the heavy, glass office doors and entered.

  “Good morning, Stella,” he said, smiling and alert.

  “And good morning to you, Tom,” she replied in a friendly voice and warm smile. “You’re in a chipper mood this morning.”

  “It must be the fall weather.”

  “Or something like, a new relationship?”

  “No, I can’t afford that double-barrel luxury,” he said, and laughed within as he proceeded to his cubicle. Two steps into his trek he noticed that today the office atmosphere was calmer. Strangely, he had become accustomed to hearing the document printers spitting out reams of bond-twenty and the preppy associates chattering about their late-night drinking contests. He slid his briefcase on top his simulated wood-grained desk, stretched back in his squatty chair, and studied the temporary enclosure that fortified his work world.

  Last night’s crazy delusion was still fresh in his memory. The lifelike visitation preoccupied his weakened mind, and muscled out all other thoughts. Perhaps, another calling from Exsorbo would melt away more brain fat and set his spinal nerve acid levels at ease. He took a deep breath and thought--what was it going to be like working with McBridle--Tedious? Half the office feared her because her professional actions could be so painfully quick yet so desirably addictive. He could eat her with one bite but knew her regal blood was highly poisonous.

  Jant hurried past Tom’s cubicle.

  “Hey, Jant,” Tom blurted out and vaulted from the chair.

  Jant was a likeable fellow, yet a professional ass-kisser when he wanted to be friendly toward everyone in the office. Tom was itching to tell him about his new work assignment but barely sounded a word from his lips when Jant said hurried: “Sorry, pal, I’ve gotta get going. Lankenbury’s coming back from Hong Kong on Thursday, and I gotta finish preparing an asset transfer for his client or my butt’s in a cast.”

  “Don’t worry; he’s taken a liking to you.”

  “Yeah, maybe so, but he needs it pronto for some Asian banking group doing business on this coast; and if I don’t get it done on time, I’m out the door with my pants down. I gotta go. I’ll catch ya later, buddy, Wednesday night bowling?”

  “Yeah, sure, I’ve got no special plans,” Tom mumbled, and deflated in the wobbly-wheeled chair and continued to sort out a client’s financial jumble of paperwork.

  Before Tom knew it, it was 11:20 a.m. Selly should be arriving any minute to pick up a report that he had dropped off early this morning. Tom peeked at his watch. Selly was right on time, just as he indicated.

  “Do you have that case study polished up and finished?” Selly inquired.

  “Yeah, it’s completed but...,” Tom was interrupted by the telephone. He let it ring a few times, but eyed it with interest while his hand inched closer. He snatched up the receiver. “Tom Bronze.”

  “How’s my favourite new office-pro today?,” Mackenzie inquired.

  “I’m fine sir.”

  “Tom,” Mackenzie’s voice was strong. “Can you come to my office if you’re not too busy?,” he demanded politely.

  “Yes sir,” Tom replied. “I’ll be there shortly, sir.”

  “I’ll take the file,” Selly said; “and if there’s a problem, I’ll have a senior auditor take care of any revisions.”

  He waited till Selly left the zone before he put the phone to his ear. “Sir, I’ll be there directly,” he confirmed, and hung up.

  Moments later he fretted in front of Mackenzie’s office with moistened palms, debating whether to knock once, twice, or not at all. He tapped once on the door and entered.

  “We’re waiting for you,” McBridle scolded. “Time is money.”

  Tom nodded, as if to apologize.

  “Good to see you, Thomas,” Mackenzie said. “Have a seat and relax your feet.”

  How could he relax? Just sitting next to her, especially when she crossed her legs with such authority, gave him an unjust impression that she was the judge and jury; and he was the guilty monkey.

  “Tom, you know Ms. McBridle,” Mackenzie said. “So there’s no need for a winded introduction. As I indicated yesterday, you’ll be working alongside Celia, whom, we all know, was the firm’s top investigative auditor before obtaining a full partnership.”

  Tom glanced over at McBridle and noticed the frosty expression on her sealed mouth, which gave him cold chills that ran up and down his spine; but he would endure this working arrangement if it meant advancing up the corporate ladder, even one rung. Although he hoped their relationship would become more informal, he anticipated working with her on this project; and he prayed that a financial promotion would follow.

  “Our client, Carravecky and Sons, has a problem,” Mackenzie explained. “Their information security was breached and we’re uncertain of the severity.” He tangled his hands together like he needed a cigarette. “This technology conglomerate recently installed an advance site protection system, which cost millions to design and implement. So far,
their new technology has been in operation for the last eighteen months without any significant malfunctions, but it’s a mystery who or what could have penetrated their solid defences.” His eyes narrowed. “Folks, what I'm about to tell you must not be leaked to anyone outside this office. Is that clear?”

  “Yes sir, perfectly,” Tom promised.

  McBridle just rolled her pretty blue eyes.

  “Over the last decade, influential organizations with monetary clout invested vast amounts of development capital into prototyping special pieces of military finesse. These projects are classified, for our information only, as miscategorised black budget.” He breathed worrisomely deep. “There were two breaches in the system, both occurring roughly thirty days apart. The last breach occurred about a month ago. Right now, that’s all we have to go on so we’ll have to wing it one step at a time.”

  “Their chief information officer, that person didn’t report any technical anomalies?,” Tom asked.

  “Carravecky’s CIO left town six weeks ago without notice and can’t be reached. It’s my gut feeling that things could get rough.”

  “How do you figure that?” Tom asked.

  McBridle mildly lashed out, “Every time Jack senses industrial peepers he gets heartburn. It’s all in his head.”

  “Celia, maybe so, but promise me, guys, follow good common sense and work smartly together.” Mackenzie focused on the dial of his gold watch. “I got to go; I’ve got an important meeting uptown. Bill Parker, who was released last week from his employment contract, screwed up one of our important accounts. I’m lunching with Vancouver Steel’s new VP of Internal Operations and, hopefully, save us some valuable business.”

  “Happy bull shitting,” she said, as if to poke fun at the situation.

  “They pay us plenty in fees so I shovel their load and wheel it where they want.” He rose from his firmly planted leather-back chair with his cell phone hooked to his hand as he donned his topcoat and left the room.

  McBridle assumed control and captained from behind Mackenzie’s desk and eyed her new recruit. She heaved forward and bluntly said, “We've got a month’s worth of auditing procedures crammed into several days.”

  “That’s a tight squeeze,” he estimated.

  “We’ll make it. Now, let’s get down to business.”

  Tom followed her up the hallway. “What did Mackenzie mean by ‘things could get rough’? Heartburn is hardly a symptom for break and entry.”

  She broke hard and looked him straight in the eyes. “Of course, Mackenzie was kidding,” she said in a half-serious and half-joking manner as she held her coat over her arm and flung her long, beautiful blond hair back away from her modelled face, as if flirting with him.

  Tom was surprised with her softened demeanour; she seemed to be warming up toward him. Perhaps that icy cold bitch Jant had described was her protective shield she wore in the office toward her subordinates.

  “Tom, hurry, get your coat, Carravecky’s waiting.”

  They rode the elevator in silence; then they entered the underground lot.

  “The drive to Carravecky’s will take about thirty minutes,” McBridle said, as she deactivated her vehicle’s security and unlocked the doors with the remote.

  They travelled with the sun in their eyes. The strong rays beamed through the windshield and warmed the cool leather interior of the German luxury sedan.

  The scenery was colourful this time of the year as the leaves had changed to yellow and red and crumpled brown ones collected at the roadside and scattered in a swirling motion with every passing transport. Tom stared blankly at the trees that grew a windbreak along the highway. Again, he reflected on Exsorbo’s infinite wisdom but was distracted by McBridle’s alluring features.

  Tom noticed that she was unable to fully conceal her shapely legs beneath her belted coat. He also observed that her neutral-coloured stockings only reached midpoint up her silky thighs, which revealed her milky skin, even though she overtly tried to close her coat over her executive lap without success. It seemed apparent she was toying with him, allowing him an opportunity to voyeur; but he didn’t participate since she commanded the utmost corporate authority and could terminate him with any fabricated cause. Sexually tortured, he tilted back and surmised about the nature of Carravecky’s contaminated security.

  “The complex is about a mile from here,” she noted.

  Her softened tone of voice had made him more comfortable; and for some unknown reason, he sensed something suspicious about her behaviour.

  “So, Celia, how did we get so lucky as to be dealing with this billion-dollar man?” he asked.

  Her eyes twitched from the pavement; the sun shone on her pure skin. “It was during a government investigation about fifteen-years ago.”

  “Oh yeah, I didn’t know about that,” he replied.

  “At that time Carravecky was manufacturing standard military bits and bites and dabbling in highly sensitive research projects, which, I assume, were jointly funded by the U.S. government and, quite possibly, an undisclosed European organization.”

  “That’s quite an industrious undertaking,” he replied, fully impressed.

  “Back then it was called technological progression for the future. Now it’s called Anti-American.”

  “So where do we fit into this mega-manufacturer’s food chain?”

  “Simply put, Lankenbury has fateful allies in Washington, DC. Our firm was silently appointed to perform its financial magic and to determine if any U.S. misclassified money was being injected into any of Carravecky’s government dealings.”

  “I remember seeing a magazine article a few years ago about a classified flight system in development at that place, you know--Area 51, that place that only exists in the minds of UFO buffs, not realizing the possibility that Carravecky’s company could be involved in any of their secret goings on.” He looked over at her. “But I’m sure any truth to the good old doctor’s involvement with this famously secret Nevada facility was squashed by the military’s highly polished and efficient propaganda machine as crazy thinking,” he said calmly. “So, in reality, whom do we trust when it comes to love, war, aliens, and everything else that snaps you in the butt?”

  She twitched another glance at him and added, “It’s not as bad as you think.”

  “Sorry, I have a habit of exaggerating the truth surrounding the government’s invisible activities,” he admitted seriously.

  She reassured him with a dull expression and continued, “For months we investigated Carravecky’s tangled maze of operations; then handed over our findings to a special congressional subcommittee. Their conclusion was that Carravecky was clean, but if they planned to partner and secretly develop any such advanced weapons technology, then they’re obligated to disclose all developments related to any such new developments to the appropriate government agencies.”

  “So, what’s another friendly neighbourhood killing device waiting to blast through town--amongst a party of well-compensated, senile politicians who can’t agree on the time of day and don’t really give a damn about the general public?”

  She replied sympathetically, “It goes well beyond your friendly neighbourhood politician.”

  “And I’m sure you know how high this rock climbs.”

  “All the way to the top, and you never heard this from me, understand.”

  He stared at her with growing concern.

  “The Oval Office feared, if a weapon of such magnitude was created and fell into the wrong hands, World War Three would soon be on the horizon. This was the President’s biggest concern when this suspected weapons project first came to light. Now, here we are, caught in the middle with nowhere to run.”

  Tom sat back and exhaled, “Sounds like a real cesspool of lies and deception created to whitewash the truth from us, unsuspecting taxpayers.”

  “I’m sure we’ll get through it. It’s not as bad as you think it is, but I’d suggest, holding your breath till the stench blows ove
r. That way, if we’re dealing with trouble, it won’t kill us as fast.”

  Carravecky’s compound was visible in the distance; and by its defensive appearance, Fort Knox wouldn’t have tighter security for its gold vaults.

  They approached the main gate at a controlled speed. “I‘ll do the talking,” she said, and powered down her window. “You just sit there. I’ve been here plenty of times; and, believe me, these goons at the gate could eat a zoo at break time--so, mind your p’s and q’s.”

  They stopped at the main steel barricade. Two armed guards immediately appeared. One approached the driver's side window; the other one blocked the gate about ten paces away. Each guard was equipped with flak jackets, side arms and automatic weapons slung over their combat-ready, blocky shoulders.

  “Ma’am, what’s the nature of your visit?” the female guard asked with a masculine grunt.

  “I’m Celia McBridle, and this is Tom Bronze. We have an appointment with Doctor Carravecky,” she said politely.

  “Ma’am, one moment please. Entry-one to post-control, McBridle and Bronze for Doctor Carravecky, verify,” she called into a handheld communications device. Then she hulked in a manly pose while waiting for a reply.

  Seconds lapsed, “Confirmed, cleared for access,” a distorted voice crackled.

  The thick-legged guard trudged back to the guardhouse and issued two security passes. Then she directed the other guard to activate the barrier and allow the visitors passage.

  Carravecky’s was visible--a massive industrial empire. The main office tower stood twenty floors, the tallest structure under Carravecky’s control. They turned into the lot where a sign indicated: VISITORS PARKING. McBridle ignored the signage and parked in a section marked: EXTERNAL ~ LEGAL & FINANCIAL REPRESENTATIVES.

  They vacated the vehicle and teamed toward the main entrance. The polished glass doors of Carravecky’s seemed to extend a warm welcome to registered visitors.

  Tom pictured the complex to be more threatening as he viewed his own distorted reflection in the black marble steps and followed McBridle’s graceful advance from the corner of his eye as she entered the complex ahead of him, but he hurried to catch up.

  Two security officers in a visitors-reception area manned the main guard post.

  In her elegant tone, McBridle said, “Will you please inform Doctor Carravecky that Celia McBridle and Tom Bronze are on the way up,” and proceeded toward the executives’ elevator.

  “Yes, of course, Ms. McBridle,” the guard immediately acknowledged and sent the message upstairs.

  The elevator doors opened and revealed the poshness that only excessive wealth could produce. Tom scanned the interior, especially the intricate hand-knotted Persian floor decor and the mahogany Native American wall designs. Tom stood still as he and McBridle ascended to the penthouse.

  They stepped from the private lift compartment.

  Doctor Carravecky was there to greet McBridle with a fatherly hug; he immediately noticed the well-mannered gentleman standing behind her.

  “Excuse me,” she said. “Doctor Carravecky, this is Tom Bronze. We’ll be working together until we resolve your dilemma.”

  The corporate doctor approved. Then he greeted Tom with a firm handshake. “Celia, I’m extremely pleased you’ll be delving into this matter, but how long do you expect this probe to last?”

  She ignored the question, clutched his suited arm and escorted him to his stately suite.

  The Doctor’s corporate domain was bright with thick, milky-coloured carpet and an old western motif-styled desk that stretched more than fifteen feet--ten times more elaborate than Mackenzie’s--complemented the decor. Additional pieces of antique art, which sat on their marble pedestals, were positioned at various placements surrounding the professionally arranged interior.

  There were also other artworks shelved around the suite, but the piece that caught Tom’s eye was a modest-size blackened ironwork, which depicted two futuristic-type fighters engaged in outland combat. One long-haired soldier was impaled through the chest by a long sword while the bigger and more stronger-looking fighter triumphed over his opponent’s death.

  Tom could imagine the ferocity of such combat and brute strength of each battler. The thought of such brutality sent an unpleasant shiver through his body and a taste of the victor’s blood in his mouth.

  After all the friendly chitchat was exhausted, they settled into the meeting with McBridle doing most of the talking. “This breach of security could have a substantially negative effect on your company’s share price. I think if any of your shareholders, especially your European ones, get wind of this security dilemma, we could have an irreversible problem.”

  Doctor Carravecky scribbled some notes on a pad. “None of us want that headache.”

  She locked her hands out front. “Your classified project security system cost plenty of dollars and was designed to be impenetrable, so we definitely have a cancer growing here. And we’ll have to work quickly to cure this decease before it spreads.”

  “I want this sickness eradicated, silently,” the doctor stressed.

  “Yes exactly. We definitely don’t want front-page press, do we?” she said, fully committed to the cause.

  “I heard recently, the Starp Corporation was in really deep water with the Federal Securities Exchange Commission?”

  “Up to their armpits and still sinking, and we don’t want to be dealing with that crew. They’ll definitely expose our bad manners and Carravecky will be left standing with rotten egg on its historically clean face.”

  “That’s what concerns me the most,” Carravecky admitted.

  “Well then, we’ll keep the investigation under lock and key until we determine the nature of the intrusion; then we’ll work toward the appropriate actions.”

  “Then our mission objective is mutual,” the doctor agreed.

  Tom’s mind was zoned out of the conversation but was freed when the telephone rang.

  “Pardon me, folks,” the doctor said before accepting the call.

  McBridle swung around toward Tom who appeared to be studying the doctor’s art collection. Mackenzie said: “You were interested in his antiquities?”

  “Yeah, it’s a secret hobby of mine. I don’t reveal that little part of my life to many people.”

  She looked surprised, “I didn’t know that.”

  “Oh yeah, my father was the same, an antiquarian in private,” he admitted.

  “So where’s he today?”

  “He passed away four-years ago.”

  “I’m sorry to hear.”

  “Don’t be, he died somewhat happy,” he surmised. “He lived a good life and made money as fast as he spent it. Just over six years ago we travelled to Egypt with a team of American Egyptologists. It was his last goodbye to the world; and I suppose to me, his only son.”

  She sensed his pain, “I’m sorry I brought up old memories; I didn’t mean to do that.”

  His mind was lost as if in thought. “It’s quite all right. I’ve recovered from any loss. Anyway, he gambled and racked up too much useless debt, had a bad heart, high blood pressure and sometimes a weak hand for the bottle,” he concluded regretfully.

  Doctor Carravecky finished the call and refocused on McBridle.

  She touched Tom’s knee, and offered her emotional support, then swung back to face the doctor and continued with the meeting.

  “Whatever you require, just ask my personal assistant, Sandra,” the doctor said. “She’s very good; she’ll make any arrangements you so require.” He rose from his antique wooden chair and accompanied them to the private elevator. “Celia, keep me posted on your progress;” and he gave her a big hug.

  They descended in the elevator; the doors withdrew at the main level.

  “Well Tom, what do you think of Doctor Carravecky?” she asked.

  “His expensive taste for worldly possessions is as stiff as his corn-starched corporate demeanour,” Tom said bravely.

  She pau
sed, as if in thought. “Hmm, that reminds me, I want to tour you around some of the facilities to make you feel more at home.” McBridle now seemed more pleasant. She escorted him to one of the fabrication lines, where sheet metal stamping and assembly was being performed. An overhead sign instructed: ALL VISITORS MUST WEAR HARD HATS.

  She smiled playfully, “Here, pop this on,” and tossed him one.

  He caught it like a top hat, a show of confidence.

  They proceeded to an open area where production workers and automation machinery could be viewed. The work in process moved down conveyors and robotic arms assembled and welded seams. An overhead sign indicated: FOR MILITARY VEHICLES TO BE SHIPPED ABROAD.

  “An interesting fabrication exhibit,” Tom said, and observed her well-defined mounds of womanhood peeking from her blouse.

  She was unaware of his casual line of vision since she was explaining the details of the production process. “A computer system controls the automatic functions,” she laughed like a schoolgirl, “and even with all this advanced technology, humans are still necessary.”

  He looked over at her, “The two hairy goons standing down there amongst the robotic limbs don’t look too happy.”

  Her expression turned overly defensive. “Doctor Carravecky respects his workers and compensates them very graciously.”

  “I’m sure he does,” he said, and defused an argument.

  She casually fastened the top two buttons of her blouse. “Tom, if you look down the line, you can see robotic equipment loading the machines with rolls of steel.”

  He leaned closer to the safety rail’s edge.

  “Once the raw material falls below the programmed feed and inventory levels, the system reloads or places the order either by conventional technology or by way of the company’s own satellite sky terminal although I believe that system is used mostly for ordering special classified goods, rarely for ordering standard materials.”

  “It all sounds fascinating,” Tom commented. He was beginning to see her in a slightly different light. She wasn’t that cold arrogant bitch he envisioned working with. She had a gentler, more tamed personality.

  She surveyed the time. “We’d better be leaving. They close down this observation area at two-thirty for security purposes, and it’s just about that time.” She buttoned her long coat and then led the way out.