Curtain Fall: Second Edition, Disaster, Preparedness, Survival, Awakening (The Gatekeeper Book 1) (4 page)

Later that day, while driving back to their hotel, it dawned on John that it meant he would have to work in a city. Though it was an obvious condition of his employment, the reality was lost in the details. John didn’t consider it a deal breaker, by any means. Instead, he accepted the fact that the city was his job, and that he didn’t have to love it, only do it. Secretly, he agreed to endure it until something better came along, or something else changed.

He knew, from experience, that life had a way of changing the rules without considering how it influenced everyone involved. In that regard, John was a consistent realist. Besides, most of the time, change had a way of improving his situation, even if he didn’t see it that way until many years down the road. John’s belief in change was that it was good. And he reminded himself of that conclusion whenever he drove through heavy city commute traffic.

J
ohn drove the remaining few blocks of downtown Fort Worth traffic as if on auto-pilot. When he pulled into the parking garage, he noticed that his supervisor’s parking space was empty. Rebecca Stahl, John’s direct supervisor, was a few years older than him, but she looked much older. She’d been with the firm for over fourteen years, and in the two years since John joined the firm, he quickly moved up to be her lead analyst.

The fact that John passed over several of Rebecca’s closer associates created a little tension between them, but John managed to keep her happy, and most of the time smiling, by his excellent performance at work. She couldn’t deny his contributions to the firm, they spoke for themselves.

He was a little surprised to find that she wasn’t already here since today was their scheduled monthly review board. John rarely beat her to work on such important meeting days, but he somehow managed, and wondered what delayed her.

With briefcase in hand, John entered the stairwell and jogged up the eight flights of stairs to his office floor. Whenever he jogged up the stairs, it took him back to his time at Fort Benning, Georgia. Since attending the Infantry Officer Basic Course, back in 1982, John jogged up every staircase he encountered, but only if he was alone. Jenna didn’t share John’s enthusiasm for ascending stairs at a run.

For John, it didn’t matter if it was a single flight, or twenty, he took stairs two or three at a time whenever he could. And he continued that practice through his Army career, and as a civilian. Many people saw his
behavior as odd, but he didn’t care. He enjoyed the health benefit of stair climbing. It invigorated him, and saved him from engaging in useless and trivial conversation with people who really had nothing to say, but were only being polite. The way he saw it, he was saving them the trouble.

The stair-running practice started as a way to burn off pent-up energy, energy he accumulated while enduring hours of boring Infantry schoolroom curriculum. It was one of the over-the-top things John did to satisfy his competitive edge, in a highly competitive environment. But despite his competitive nature, Infantry School didn’t challenge him, so he ran a lot. Later, while attending Ranger School, he was glad he ran as much as he did. He was more fit, and his feet were better prepared for the grueling nine week course.

Unlike Infantry School, Ranger School pushed John’s physical and mental abilities to the limit, and he enjoyed every minute of it. In fact, it was Ranger School that first helped him to recognize and develop his ability to process atypical information, and turn that information into something understandable and actionable. John learned that everything told a story.

In the field, every sense communicated something useful - every texture, sight, sound, and smell meant something to him. While leading patrols through the different phases, John was so successful at avoiding the cadre set ambushes that he was questioned by the school commandant. After a lengthy and tiresome interrogation, the commandant concluded that John was either very thorough, or very lucky.

John didn’t care about his conclusion, but he was offended by their underlying allegation that he was cheating. As if it was even possible to cheat at Ranger School, especially while patrolling. He didn’t know a single cadre member, had no inside angle on the course, and was as tired and abused as every other student, but still they suspected him of cheating. It was complete and utter crap, and it made him angry, but he learned from the experience.

Over time, John learned that the people who confronted him the most about his abilities were either suspicious or jealous of his mind.
They most often accused him of somehow “beating the system.” John accepted their scrutiny, and challenged them to disprove his observations. He refused to allow anyone to change who or what he was. He couldn’t change who he was, and he wasn’t about to let others stifle him, or his abilities.

With his access card in hand, John palmed the reader and entered the back hall to his office. When he passed the high partition walls that separated the cubicle crowd from the windowed offices, John shortened his stride. Though the ascent on the stairs didn’t affect his heart-rate and breathing, a testament to his current level of fitness, he didn’t want to appear rushed if he met anyone in the hall. John checked the small of his back for the presence of his Sig, and managed a controlled and casual walking pace to his office door.

Once again he palmed his ID card against the reader at his office door, and pushed the door open when the electronic lock disengaged. He wasn’t a big fan of all the electronic access gadgets, but the system proved reliable and easy to use. As long as he didn’t lose his card, he could go practically anywhere in the building, including the janitors closet. Not that he’d ever needed to access the janitor’s closet, but it was an option, and he loved options. The downside to the system was that it monitored his every move in the building. There was no such thing as privacy in the office building, but he didn’t care as long as he could carry his pistol.

When he entered his office another automatic electronic gadget turned on his overhead lights. He closed the office door and lifted the back of his sports coat to remove the pistol. He placed the Sig in a small gun-safe attached to the inside panel of his desk and pushed it closed.

The firm didn’t have a no-weapons policy, but John was always careful about carrying at work. He didn’t want to be the “one employee” responsible for ruining the gun rights of others, so he was careful not to let anyone see his weapon. He knew there were a few people in the firm, Rebecca for one, who were uncomfortable with the thought of guns in the workplace, so John was careful not to fuel their irrational phobia by revealing to them that he came and went armed.

John was surprised to learn that, even in Texas, some people got very excited when they saw a handgun. It was as if they were radioactive, or something. John never did understand the fear some people had of guns. How did they think our freedom was won, he would ask himself, with ink?

He sighed and shook his head at the thought of some people’s gun fear when he locked his safe. He didn’t like using the safe, but he could open it quickly with the biometric reader. With the swipe of an index finger, he could arm himself in seconds. His other option was his briefcase, but he would need it this morning for the meeting, so the gun had to go in the safe.

With his weapon locked safely away, John hung his suit jacket over the back of his chair and reopened his office door. He was pleased to see that the tech department installed a new, 61 inch, flat panel TV on the far wall. John realized they must have installed it over the weekend, which meant that he owed Terry, the firm’s IT guy, lunch.

Terry wasn’t some plain, old, ordinary IT guy; he was
the
tech guy. He was a genius with all things digital, and the firm paid him very well to stick around and babysit all the technically illiterate people who worked for the firm.

John saw a remote lying on his desk, and smiled. A yellow sticky-note was attached to it, and it read, “To turn on the TV, press the little green button.”

John was very aware of how busy he kept Terry with his insatiable demand for digitally supplied information. Their near daily contact turned into a loose friendship that solidified when the two literally bumped into each other at a Fort Worth firing range. They were participating in an individual pistol shooting competition when they decided to collaborate and become team shooting partners. It was the formation of a pretty reliable friendship. Not quite as solid as the military friendship he shared with Pete and Mark, but close enough for work. Terry was the only person John actually enjoyed having lunch with.

John pulled the yellow sticky note off the controller and picked up his office phone. He hit the speed dial for Terry’s office and waited. Terry answered, after the customary three rings, and his smoothly fake Texas drawl slipped over the line, “Tech support, Terry speak’n.”

“Thanks for the TV, and for the note. I don’t think I would have been able to turn the TV on without your help.”

“Yeah, well, I know you high-collar types aren’t up to speed on the latest tech trends and all. I figured the note would get you started.” He added with mirth. “So tell me, you like the six-way splitter I added?”

“I haven’t turned it on yet.”

“What? Well turn it on . . . you’ll love it.”

John reached over and grabbed the remote. He studied it for a moment and pushed the small green button, just as Terry had suggested. After a brief warmup, the TV came to life. John noticed that the TV did, indeed, divide into six individual screens within the bigger sixty-one inch screen surface.

“Only one screen is active,” John added with mock indignation. He hit the mute button on the remote and waited for Terry to respond.

“Well, that’s because I didn’t program any other channels yet. The channel on the screen is the one you had displayed before. If I was left to program the other five channels, you’d be watching sports . . . and NASCAR. Oh, and there’d be beer cans and pizza boxes all over your office.” Terry paused to let John absorb his defense.

“Uh huh, right,” replied John, as he fiddled with the programmer.

“Look, you want me to come up and program the other channels for you?” He offered in a more serious tone.

“Yeah, would you? I’ve got a meeting in a few,” replied John.

“Sure. You bet. I’m on my way.”

“If I’m not here when you arrive, just let yourself in. It’s a staff meeting this morning, and I’ll probably be out of office for a couple hours. Can you program it for all the key news networks?”

“Would that be liberal or conservative?” Terry asked, with obvious humor. He knew full well where John’s political affiliations leaned.

John chuckled, “I’d say all conservative, but I think there’s only one. Anyway, I need to know what the other half is doing, so give me the main coverage, plus one local channel.”

“Sure. No problem.”

“And I haven’t forgotten that I owe you lunch. Will today work? I like to settle my debts quickly.”

“I don’t know,” Terry said with mock apprehension, “us tech folks don’t like mingling with you money types. It’s like the enlisted mixing with officers.”

“Ha ha,” replied John. He knew Terry made that comment because he also served in the Army, if only for a few short years, but it was enough for Terry to get the training he needed to land himself a comfortable civilian job in the tech sector. John sighed and added, “But maybe you’re right. How about I just order you a pizza and have it delivered to your office?”

“You do that and your internet access will never work again.”

John laughed out loud and said, “Okay, so lunch it is. Let’s do the corner deli, and eat in the park. It’s a nice day today. Plus, that way we can talk shooting strategy for the upcoming team shoot. How about 12:30?”

“That’ll work for me. The lobby?”

“Yes.” replied John.

“Before you go,” added Terry, “Did you get that new holster you were talking about?”

“I did, and I’ll show it to you at lunch, but I gotta go. I’ll catch you later.”

“Okay, see you then.”

J
ohn hung up the phone and glanced at his clock. He saw that he had about five minutes before the staff meeting was to start, and he had yet to review his notes, so he quickly pulled opened his briefcase and laid the spreadsheets on his desk. As he sorted through some of the supporting files, he happened to glance up and see a familiar image on the silently running news channel across the room.