Slave to Love (20 page)

“Sir, this is Sierra Stone, she is a member of my logistics team.”

“Ms. Stone, it’s a pleasure.” He extends his hand for a long, warm shake. Too long. “I look forward to working with you.” He’s devouring her with his eyes and she is savoring it, her shoulders doing a little dance.

“And I you.” She smiles warmly at him. “Shall I close the door on my way out?” she addresses me.

“Please,” is my terse single word response.

We have both totally pissed one another off this morning.

I feel lost. That man
before me was a total stranger. In my office, I stare at the spires of the Frost Bank building, so familiar, and yet so different from this vantage point. Kind of like Hale Lundström. Today a military strategic ops guy sat before me, well-groomed in an expensive suit, not the man nuzzled into my neck on my living room floor.

With a sigh, I open the folder and start to peruse the week by week activities leading to the event. As I read through the details, I’m fighting tears and I really don’t know why. I think it’s because I really want to know this man, and this morning has been an eye opener, and the only thing I’ve learned is how little I really know about him.

Refocusing myself on the material before me, which is about to be incinerated, I review the logistics and agenda. The event is taking place in a facility that I had no clue even existed. It was one of Lyndon Baines Johnson’s secret cold-war facilities here in central Texas, equipped with an enormous bunker, which will be fully outfitted for the event. That seems so odd to me, like the clips I’ve seen on PBS of schoolchildren lining up in the school hallways, heads down, during Cold War air raid drills.

Forty-five minutes later I text Hale.
I don’t have a lighter.

Come to my office.

As I approach Hale’s office, the door opens and he extends a hand for the file. Handing it over to him, I search his face, his eyes, for something, anything. Forcing a small smile I just want to let him know I’m still in this with him. He doesn’t return my smile.

“Thanks, Sierra.” And with that, he closes the door.

Walking back to my office, I’m fighting tears again, still not understanding why. I just need to get myself as focused as he is on what lies before us. Based on what he has shared with me this morning, this event is more than a high-level tech think tank conference, this is something no government or the United Nations has ever pulled together, and here is Hale Lundström at the helm of this, brokering and constructing an international alliance that could shape global technology’s security for the foreseeable future.

And it hits me like a brick just how big this is, how important. I’m proud of him, I’m in awe of him and I’m honored he saw something in me to choose me to be part of this team. And with this newfound clarity finally crystallized in my mind, the picture becomes so much larger and I feel almost giddy, I can’t wait to experience this with him. His prodigious focus is not a slight on me, and I need to check my ego at the door. This is not about me at all, this is about something so much bigger than any one single person or individual relationship. And I wonder if this is a crusade for Hale, and he the charismatic commander, leading the charge.

One of the toughest things about this is not being able to share it with anyone. It’s exciting and I want to brag about this man. But I can’t share it with anyone. And in the meantime, I can’t even share with him.

Sitting in my chair, I stare out the window ticking through a daily calendar in my head of what I need to accomplish for the next few days. I cannot wait to see this happen and to be part of this historic event. Now that I understand what is behind Hale’s aloof behavior, I can let go of my own insecurities. This is a mission, one that needs to be pulled off with exact precision and he knows the level of focus that entails. He doesn’t need that focus to waver because of me. I’m not going to become a burden.

I get it.

Three weeks. I can handle three weeks. Reaching toward my neck, I let the mermaid’s delicate chain run through my thumb and forefinger. Laughing aloud, I think I called this one correctly. I knew accepting a chain from Hale Lundström would be just the beginning of the chains that would bind me to him and I was right. The events of this morning have now bound me to him even tighter, as we share both a secret and a quest.

Three more weeks. And I will no longer be wrapped in just his chains, I’ll also be wrapped in his arms.

I get the all clear
from Garber on his sweep of the property as the sun sets over the hills in the west. This beautiful remote section of Hill Country is an area of the Texas landscape with which I had previously not been familiar. As the guests are served their dinner in the expansive formal dining room, the fall sky is providing a pink and orange Impressionist’s canvas that reminds me of Italian ices in summer.

Surveying from the perimeter of the facility’s rustic Texas themed ballroom, I feel a deep satisfaction as I scan the room, dotted with antler chandeliers hanging from rough-hewn wooden beams, and marvel that these participants have come together with a common goal. I’ll need to send a thank you to the commanding officers at Lackland Air Force Base for making the transportation of many of these guests possible. The news media has no clue that the occupants of this room are even on U.S. soil this weekend, and won’t, until they have safely arrived home. In attendance is only one tech blogger, whom I trust implicitly, but even with the history we have, I’ve made him sign his life away via a myriad of legal documents that nothing from this weekend is leaked and no reports appear until all occupants are safe on their home soil.

Quickly pushing the momentary satisfaction back where it belongs, I focus on making sure I am honed in on everything that is occurring and that nothing seems or feels out of place. I see Sierra approaching from the left. She has been invaluable performing the tasks needed to make this weekend possible, exceeding my every expectation, and it is impossible not to notice that tonight she looks even more beautiful and radiant than I’ve ever seen her. She too is caught up in the magic of this weekend and all it represents.

“Your opening speech was so compelling. You had everyone eating out of the palm of your hand. I really believe you’ll accomplish everything you’ve set out to do this weekend. I don’t think there is a person in this room that is not onboard with the mission.” She ribs me with her elbow.

Just the physical contact, the first we’ve had in days, feels so good. I let myself realize, for the first time in weeks, how much I’ve missed her, even though she has been by my side the entire time.

“I hope you’re right.” I never like to be too confident until everything is completed.

“Hale, it will do you good to realize I’m always right.” She smiles at me and walks away, making her way through the room to ensure all the guests have everything they need. Talk about having people eat out of your hand, as she moves from table-to-table, the male dominated crowd is entranced by her.

I had totally underestimated her and how she would react to the three weeks of my aloofness and my super focus on the event. I was afraid she’d be insecure and clingy and needy. But not Sierra. Sierra Stone took this in stride. Understanding the importance of the event and its outcome, she made it her own, taking ownership of what she was assigned and more. I didn’t have to babysit her. I didn’t have to worry about her. In fact, she made my life a whole lot easier. So much more than I could’ve ever imagined.

I don’t even want to let myself begin to think about the weekend being over and where our relationship will take us. For the moment, I need to be focused on the here and now, and I shoo that thought away with a grin as I watch her royal blue skirt between the starched white linen table clothes.

Standing by the bar, also surveying the room is an old friend and colleague, Daniel Mizrahi. Now the owner of a very successful tech firm specializing in missile sensors, Daniel and I share more than probably any two people in this room. The man was my counterpart multiple times, on missions neither of our governments worked on, or so they would claim.

Making my way over to the bar, the wiry Israeli regards me as I approach. “I’m really glad you decided to attend. I hope you’ll lead up some of the discussions over the next few days.”

“I’m just here for the booze and girls,” quips the former intelligence officer.

“We’ve got plenty of booze. Not so much on the girls, though.” I shrug.

“I’ll take that one.” He gestures toward Sierra.

“Spoken for,” I let him know.

“Good for you. Get her pregnant, keep her pregnant. Make beautiful babies together. Keep them safe and far away from where we’ve been.”

I nod, thinking we have to have sex first and then I sweep away the thought quickly.

“Tomorrow morning everyone will be breaking into teams to work on defining the mission. It sounds easy, but will probably be the toughest thing we do all weekend. Everything else we work on, strategically and tactically, will come off of that.”

“What do you need me to do?”

I can’t help but smile at Daniel. We fall into step immediately, anticipating one another, the brilliance of our past just a breath away, ready to carry us into the future, our sole, or maybe soul, mission never wavering.

“I’ve got you on a team tomorrow morning with Jiro Masahiro and Alborz Ahadi,” my tone is quiet.

The Israeli smiles, “You’re really going to shake it up, aren’t you.” The former Aman, Israeli military intelligence officer, has been teamed up with a formidable Japanese tech giant and an Iranian technology minister. “There’s a lot of ego at that table. Does Ahadi know we’re teamed?”

Shaking my head, no, I add, “I somehow think in this closed environment, he will be a lot more open and reasonable. But maybe it’s just what I’m hoping. The same with Masahiro. Let me know by tomorrow night if they’re really here to work. If not, I’ll do some team shuffling and ameliorate the situation.”

“I’ll let you know.” Daniel moves back to his table, understanding too long a conversation might draw interest.

As I make my rounds at all of the tables, my excitement builds. TFV1 has been a dream of mine, a way to make a lasting impact on the world, a chance to be able to take my training and my position and weave in and out, where governments can’t, to create a global fabric that safeguards against terrorism.

After dinner, I pull together a meeting of my directs in what was once a “Situation Room” for the Johnson administration. The whole facility has amazing history, walking through the ranch-like structure, it’s hard not to imagine LBJ’s angst and stress as he dealt with civil rights movement issues and the pressures of Vietnam as it incurred the country’s growing resistance.

I take a seat in a large worn leather chair at the helm of the long table, a chair I wonder if President Johnson himself may have sat in, as we run through Saturday’s agenda. The day begins early with breakfast, then onto the opening address and goal setting for the weekend, and general questions and concerns. It is at this point where everyone will sign a formal document of participation. For the next several hours, small groups will tackle the mission. Lunch will be a working lunch within the groups and mid-afternoon we reconvene as a larger group to hammer out a unified mission. A late afternoon break, prior to dinner, with multiple on-site leisure events is planned and some presentations by companies in incubation. Dinner again will be served in the dining room, located high on a bluff with wonderful views of sunset, and then after dinner, another three hour block of work time to define strategy.

Garber is seated next to Sierra, “Ariel, how do you walk in those things?” He’s checking out her legs and feet.

“Gracefully,” she responds with a smile.

“Well, if you need a foot massage later,” he offers.

“Are you my man?”

“I definitely would be if the slave driver here didn’t have me working all night.”

There is a small army’s worth of munitions here with the staff guarding the attendees. Enough firepower to make even a diehard Texan proud. With the exception of Sierra, my entire staff is packing, as am I, as well as many of the attendees, including Daniel Mizrahi.