EOTU, D. R. SMITH [sneezy the snowman read aloud .txt] 📗

Kurt was not much for living in the limelight and really wasn't the 'hit the trenches with the poor and needy' kind of guy either, he had suggested a visit to a developing nation as a 'gesture of good will' story to fan the flame of positive image to the public. Donations in the form of cash, food, healthcare needs and even some gifts for the children went far towards painting KleinTek and its management as a Company with Compassion.

In reality… the whole thing was a front. In order to 'seal the deal' with the Chinese and cover all aspects of the contract, he needed to make contact with a clandestine Chinese operative who was doubling as a rebuilding contractor in Cap Haitian. The connection's actual nationality was Croatian and his English was spot on, which allotted him credible anonymity in the midst of the multinational crews that had taken up station there for the past decade. Haiti's lagging technology and lack of electricity made it a perfect location for such a meeting as unexpected or nonchalant public security and surveillance became a non-issue. Kurt silently recollected his agreement to include and allow several micro devices in his “off the record” blueprints for the U.S. Government satellites in exchange for cash and investments that totaled up to $35 billion over a 5-year period. Why would he really care? He was truly German anyway.

He brought the ice spin to a sudden halt and, without moving a single muscle elsewhere, raised his eyes from the glass to just over the rim at Harold. He held that gaze for a full 10 seconds and then abruptly dropped his feet to the floor, set the glass gently on the crystal desktop, and stood up,

“Well Harold my friend...” he said with an exasperated breath. “…this is what you get paid the big bucks for. Fix it” He slipped his suit coat from off the chair back and, swinging it around while inserting one arm and then the other in one quick movement, headed for the door. A proximity sensor in his phone now slid the door open for Kurt and he spoke as he strode out. “We're done” he quipped.

“Hold on a second Kurt.” Harold threw out from his deep thought while hurriedly standing up. “Sometimes it just doesn't work like that bud. Besides, what aren't you telling me?” Harold was practically jogging to catch up to Lehman before he ‘got away’. “I get the feeling there's more to all this and I'll be damned if I'll sit in some deposition and have a U.S. attorney throw a major chunk of incriminating evidence at me that I didn't know existed” he said in an angry but tolerably loud voice. He was moving towards Lehman's back as he spoke. Kurt just shook his head and continued past Sarina’s area. Harold grabbed his shoulder to pull Kurt around to face him, but Kurt jerked forward out of Backman's grip.

Lehmann turned suddenly with eyes that could have burned a hole through solid steel.

“I can get another attorney MR BACKMAN if you don't feel qualified to handle this” he said through gritted teeth, emphasizing Harold's name. “Is that what you'd prefer?” Harold pursed his lips and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. He’d hate to lose Kurt as a client. Backman’s clientele list read like a “Who’s Who” in the world of big money and Kurt was one of the biggest. He slowly shook his head.

“Of course not” Harold said with resolve.

Kurt turned and started walking away.

“Then FIX IT damn it!”, he growled as he continued on. He spoke without looking back. “Sarina, I'll be unavailable for the next 3 hours”

“Yes Mr. Lehman” Sarina dutifully replied.

 

 

As Kurt approached his Bentley Mulsanne, his recently hired new chauffeur, Gilbert Aaron, stepped up just ahead of him and pulled the door open. Kurt slipped into the back seat and instantly reclined it. There were only five slots in the executive parking area designated for himself, his secretary, his personal chauffeur, his financial manager, and the final space was reserved for his lawyer, Harold. Kurt was barely visible through the window of the luxury car and sat silently watching Harold Backman step up to and enter his Porsche.

“Where to, sir?” Gilbert asked politely while slightly stretching his neck to look at Kurt Lehman in the rear-view mirror. Kurt did not respond. Instead he was focused on Harold's 911 as it purred past the front of the Bentley. Harold stared back at him to the point of twisting his gaze back over his shoulder as he and his car slid out of view.

“Home. Just take me home Gilbert” Kurt said in a calm tone. He opened the center console and flipped up the built in pre-synced laptop and navigated to the private login page for MARCH. He selected the secure internal messaging page that had been setup specifically for investor communication and logged in. He began typing.

 

TO:  Dr Nicholas Walker

SUB: My demands

 

I'm afraid I'm going to have to up my demands in exchange for my generous contributions to your project. I am insisting on training with and joining your crew on your journey. Please do not refute this request on here, in an email, a text message, or even a phone call. We will need to meet in person if you wish to discuss this further.

 

Thank you, Kurt

 

Kurt knew Harold wasn’t going to be able to fix any of it. He clicked on “SEND” just as the car was gliding out the exit of the parking garage and into the Wall Street traffic.

 

 

Chapter Seven

 

             

                “The greatest lesson in life is to know that even fools are right sometimes”

 

Winston Churchill

 

 

 

September 22…present time

 

 

It did not matter. Your favorite movie theme. The old rock song from the 70's. The replicated sound of an office desk phone. No matter how cute or well-loved it may be, it still becomes annoying over time and exceptionally annoying at the wrong time. So, when Nicholas Walker's selected ringtone of “Houston, we have a problem. Houston, we have a problem” started blaring repeatedly at 1:45am, his smart phone didn't seem too smart… nor too welcome. Struggling to free his arms from the blanket cocoon that had formed through his nightly ritual of tossing and turning, he became fearful he would miss the call. Finally, one limb broke loose and lunged at the now glowing device.

“Yeah... what's going on… and uh…?” he said in a very drowsy and confused sounding voice. Nick was fighting the unconsciousness that was still overpowering his focus. The screen from his phone was the only light in the pitch dark room and it now illuminated the side of his face. The caller’s name would be in the center of the screen but was rendered illegible without his glasses in place. “... who is this?” his pillow muffled voice finally stammered out.

“Nick... it’s me… Sanjay. I've made a significant discovery” the tinny sound of Sanjay's excited voice informed over the speaker of the iPhone. Nick pulled the phone away from his face far enough to look at the time. He moved it back and forth while squinting to bring it into focus. The whole event was made even more aggravating by the fact that Sanjay sounded wide awake and perky.

“Uh yeah... I'd have to say it better be important” Nick grumbled out.

“Trust me my friend... you need to get dressed and drive over here to 8118 Prager Dr right this moment...” Sanjay said with urgency. “.... and bring a couple boxes”

As the strangeness of this whole conversation began to register, Nick slid up into a sitting position and once again pulled the phone away from his face to look at it.

“Are you serious? Can't this wait? It's almost 2am for crap's sake!” Nick said with a bit of anger forming in his words.

“I'm dead serious... in fact so serious that I'll be calling Angie to come over here as well” Sanjay emphasized. “So hurry up.”

“Alright, alright... I'll be right there.” Nick replied with some reluctance. “Sanjay… WAIT! What was that address again?” Nick inquired holding his phone in the crook of his neck while grabbing a pad and pen to jot it all down. “Are you still there?”

“Yeah. I’m here. I hope you didn’t grab a pencil or pen” Sanjay laughed “I’ll text it to you, you goofball! And hey, really do bring a few boxes. Jaldi!” he quipped in Hindi and hung up.

 

 

Exactly sixteen miles from 8118 Prager Dr, slouched on a secondhand sofa that was sitting in the middle of the apartment's otherwise empty living room, Juan Sanchez stared intently at his cell phone. At this point he was only seven carrots away from moving to the next level of a bunny rabbit game app. He had downloaded it for his girlfriend’s daughter and while checking it out to make sure it wasn’t above her 6-year-old skill level, had become addicted to it. The tattoos on each of his dark-skinned arms seemed to come alive as his fingers moved and applied pressure on the Samsung phone screen.

Juan looked the part of a hired thug. In spite of repeated advice from many of his friends to NOT grow a beard because HIS beards just didn't look good, his current scraggly two weeks’ worth of growth was digging into his chest and contrasted interestingly against his silver gray Under Amour shirt. The shear length of his crossed legs made them look like strewn pick-up sticks aided by the fact they were pencil thin. His stomach-less mid-section melted into the crease between the back and the seat of the couch causing him to almost disappear in its worn-out mushiness. He snapped his head to one side occasionally in an effort to flip his unkempt greasy looking hair from in front of his eyes. Juan's chiseled, bony face reflected concentration and adjusted its expression with each challenge the game presented. He was focused to a degree that he had tuned out his compatriot calling from somewhere much deeper in the apartment.

“Did you hear me Juan??” Dalton Redgren shouted from a bedroom. He appeared in the hallway entrance with a grilling stare on his face. Dalton was six foot one inch tall and would have been almost as thin as Juan if it weren't for his pooch of a beer belly. His short blondish hair was just long enough to avoid being called a butch cut and his face looked like a slightly more serious version of Sargent Carter on Gomer Pyle. His voice was similar as well. “Juan!!”

Sanchez jumped forward completely startled, practically dropping his phone to the floor.

“Dammit Dalton!! You scared the shit out of me man!” Juan scolded in his Mexican accent. He pushed himself towards the forward edge of the cushion he was centered on and mumbled under his breath something about having messed up his game.

“I was trying to tell you that a bunch of the folks from that facility are gathering over in a house on Prager Dr.” Dalton informed his partner.

“Wait a second?!?” Juan stated with confusion in his voice while reaching over for his phone. “It's after 2 o’clock in the morning man?!? Prager Dr? What the....”

“Exactly. You remember who lives there,