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Liam
The last weekwith Amy here as my true girlfriend had been miraculous. I relished waking up beside her more each day. Saying she made my spirits soar sounded trite, but felt so true. I hadn’t realized what I had been missing by refusing to date.
The second Schmulian dinner had gone quite well. Amy had cooked a delicious lamb dish I couldn’t even pronounce, and the evening had been enjoyable——a bit like having old friends over. We were making good progress with them, I thought. With the Sanders deal getting shaky, Springbok was even more important.
Today Amy had left early to meet her sister for breakfast before she went to work.
I’d offered to have Vivienne join us here, but Amy wanted to make it easier on her sister by meeting in Cambridge.
After she’d gone, I poured the green glop in my glass down the sink and rinsed it clean. Anybody who claimed to truly like a kale smoothie had to be certifiable. I suspected Amy just forced herself to drink them because she’d read somewhere that they were good for her. I laughed to myself, realizing what I needed now was a scientific study proving the opposite.
The coffee machine beeped, indicating my cup was ready, and I carried it and my pancakes out to the patio. My patio was my favorite feature of the penthouse this time of year. There was no better way to start off the morning than breakfast, sunshine, and a good view of the activity on the Charles River.
I'd called Vincent Benson as planned, and he'd provided the name of a company he trusted to do a competent bug sweep.
It had taken a little while to arrange an evening where I was sure nobody would be around so they could complete their work in private. They'd spent most of last night scouring our workspace, and to my inexperienced eye, they’d seemed quite thorough. The results, however, were disappointing. They found no listening devices. They’d also checked my car and the penthouse without finding anything anywhere.
The sun warmed me as I leaned back in my chair with my breakfast in front of me. I reread the summary email on my phone. “No electronic surveillance devices detected at the subject premises listed in appendix one on this date. Additional sweeps recommended monthly. Procedures used included…” The rest was just techno-babble to justify their fee. Maybe it was paranoia on my part, but something still didn’t feel right.
The rowers were out again this morning, running their heats up and down the Charles. From this distance they were small and slow, but having seen them up close, I knew they were anything but. Eight rowers could whisk one of those shells at an incredible speed. They were faster than anyone but an Olympic sprinter.
I had tried rowing once in college, but got bounced by the coach after showing up late to practice twice. The sport required daily, early-morning practice sessions. Seven days a week had seemed too extreme for me at the time.
The teamwork of the eight-man shells on the water this morning was impressive as usual. I wasn’t an expert, but I’d bet MIT had a winning rowing season this year. They looked fast——and most of all, smooth.
Naturally, I couldn’t and wouldn’t place a bet on them. Only a fool bet on sports; it was too easy for one man on the team to throw the game.
Throw the game. The phrase rattled around in my brain for a moment.
Slowly, I realized my problem at work. I hadn’t wanted to consider the possibility, but the facts were piling up too quickly to be coincidence. If we weren’t being bugged, we were failing because somebody on my team was throwing the game. We had someone working against us——a mole for Winterbourne, inside the company.
A fucking traitor. That has to be it.
I closed my eyes and went through a series of faces in my mind. I knew everybody in the company, I thought. Hell, I’d hired a lot of them. Nobody seemed the type, if there was such a thing. But that’s what it took to be a successful spy——you fit in and nobody suspected you.
Another quick call to Vincent yielded a suggestion to call my older brother, Bill.
A groggy Bill answered after a few rings. “Hi, shorty. Is everything okay? What has you calling this early? You know it’s…before five out here.”
In my haste, I’d forgotten to take the time difference into account.Oops.
“Sorry, Bill. Everything’s fine. I’ll call back later.”
“No,” he said, yawning. “You’ve got me up. We’re family. Anything you need, name it.” His voice indicated the cobwebs were clearing.
“What’s wrong?” I heard his wife, Lauren, ask in the background.
“Bill,” I started, “I think I have a spy in my organization.”
“That’s not good,” he said.
“What’s not good?” I heard Lauren ask.
“I don’t know yet, SP. Now just hold on,” Bill told his wife.
“I need some help rooting out whoever it is. Have any suggestions?” I asked.
“Around here I’d say the Hanson firm, but since you’re out there, no names come to mind. But I’m not the best person to ask. You should try Uncle Garth. His list of contacts is ten times the size of mine.”
