and her degree of confidence. Now Seiden wanted to see her.
At first, her confidence had been high, the full 100 percent everyone expected from an analyst of her seniority. However, after so many confidence-eroding phone calls and meetings, she wasn’t that sure anymore. Still, she knew not many people were able to spot patterns as she could. She had the ability to identify patterns from the fifth data point, in some cases even from the third. It didn’t matter what she was analyzing. People’s behavior, global events, communication, actions, legislation, she was able to pinpoint immediately what her data points had in common and project a trend based on her observations. Her ability to predict the evolution of the Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant, infamously known to the world as ISIL, although she had never worked in the Middle East Analysis Group, had brought her the promotion to senior analyst. That, of course, had happened only after everyone stopped thinking she was crazy and started seeing her point. She wondered if the same people were thinking she was crazy this time too. She wondered how long it would last.
“You can go in now.” Seiden’s assistant made eye contact for more than a second, making sure she went straight in.
She took in a deep breath, straightened her back one more time, and walked through the door displaying as much confidence as she could.
Director Seiden sat behind a monumental desk, reading from a report, most likely hers. Heavily built, wearing the frame of a former athlete or weightlifter, Director Seiden looked intimidating in his charcoal suit, white shirt, and loosened silver tie. In his sixties, the director had a receding hairline showing a tall forehead and permanent frown lines. His role, most likely one of the most stressful leadership roles in the US government, must have given him plenty of reasons to frown throughout the years, carving those deep lines in permanent testimony of who knows what crises he had dealt with.
Bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows shaded his eyes. He focused intently on his reading material, while his right hand absently touched his teacup, probably considering another taste of Earl Grey.
Henri hadn’t interacted with Director Seiden that often. Such a visit was an exceptional occurrence, considering there were three levels of leadership between her pay grade and his. She felt anticipation anxiety creep up on her. She wanted to make a good impression, and she only had one shot at it.
“Sir,” she said, after clearing her throat, turned dry and scratchy all of a sudden.
“Take a seat,” Seiden said, not lifting his eyes from the pages.
She sat in one of the large leather chairs in front of Seiden’s desk, careful to not make a sound and break the director’s concentration.
“Interesting theory you have here,” he said, finally looking at her. “How sure are you?”
For some reason, Henri instantly forgot her carefully rehearsed exposé and blurted out unfiltered thoughts.
“I was very sure when I put that report together, but now I don’t know anymore. Everyone doubts me, questions my judgment. I hope I’m right. I thought I was.”
She cringed hearing her own words. She sounded like an insecure child presenting her math homework and still somehow questioning whether two plus two equaled four.
“Are you a leader, or a follower, Ms. Marino?”
“Umm . . . I aim to be a leader, sir.”
“Then you shouldn’t let your self-confidence drop because people are asking questions. It’s their right. But you do have a brain of your own, right?” Seiden’s voice was almost encouraging. He wasn’t smiling or anything, but Henri didn’t sense any disappointment or anger in his voice.
“Yes, sir,” she acknowledged, aware she was blushing.
“Let’s try again. How sure are you, Ms. Marino?”
“It’s Henri, sir.” She blushed a little more. Maybe offering her first name was inappropriate? She had no idea, but she was going to worry about that later. She was clumsy with people, always had been. “Yes, very sure.”
“On what basis?”
“I have profiled President Abramovich. His detailed profile is on page five, I think. That profile, combined with several actions he’s taking, all listed in the summary section of the report, led me to believe he is preparing for war, or for a renewed arms race, at least.”
“I can read, you know,” Seiden said, tapping his fingers on the report cover. “What can you tell me that isn’t in the report?”
“Sorry, sir. Yes, well, Abramovich is a pure sociopath, of the worst kind possible. He’s a malignant narcissistic sociopath, who would kill millions