making both of us rich in California? And he knows I hate New York. “You'd better not be lying, kid. Do you know what my specialty is?”
“No?”
“Information extraction.”
“Seriously?”
“You are new, aren’t you? I’m just fucking with you. My specialty is covert ops and surveillance equipment. You still don’t want to fuck with me. I could rig your toilet paper roll to blast your farts over a sound system in Times Square.”
He laughs again. “I’ve been warned.”
“How is Max, anyway? I haven’t seen him in a few months.”
“Intense,” is the first word out of the kid’s mouth.
Eh. That doesn’t tell me much, because Max is always intense. “How’s the vibe around the office?”
The kid is quiet for a moment. “My great-grandfather used to tell me stories about what England was like during World War II. And it’s like that. Everyone is hunkered down, trying to get by with too few personnel. We’re rationing our time off.”
“I see.” It’s not a bad analogy. The Company is at war in a manner of speaking. Our high-tech clients are all locked in battle with a common, invisible enemy. A ring of shady tech manufacturers has been trying to infiltrate Silicon Valley. Max is trying to shut it down on behalf of our clients, and also on behalf of civilization.
“Morale is pretty good even so,” Duff adds. “Because we’re on top of our game, and our clients are happy to have us. It’s not a thankless job, you know?”
“I do know that, kid. I absolutely know.”
Fifteen minutes later I'm handing my driver’s license across the reception desk at The Company. The young woman on duty glances at my ID. “Welcome back to the New York office, Mr. Scott! Your security clearance is still active, even though it’s been a while.”
“Seven months,” I mutter. I hate New York. It reminds me too much of being a young, stupid kid. So I don’t come to town very often.
“Max is waiting for you in his apartment.”
“Where nobody can hear me scream? Awesome.” She and Duff both laugh, but I'm not really kidding. I press my hand to the sensor on the turnstile that allows me to pass through to the elevators. And then I do the same on a panel that summons the only elevator with access to Max's living space on the penthouse floor. “Thanks for the food and the juice, Duff,” I say as I step inside the car.
“Anytime.”
The elevator begins its smooth ascent toward the private living quarters of Max Bayer. His father started this company many years ago as an ordinary security firm. Meanwhile, Max and I graduated from Columbia together and then went off to D.C. to become top ranking intelligence officers together.
It worked. Mostly. But after some years went by, we both wanted out, for different reasons. Max left because an operation he was running went sour. Lives were lost, including someone very special to Max. He felt a lot of guilt. Not that he ever talks about it. Max is a vault.
But after he left, the place wasn’t the same. I was tired of risking my life for a bureaucracy that didn't seem to care about me. Nothing can make a guy jaded faster than upholding dubious government secrets.
“Join me,” Max had said at the time. “I’m going to reinvent private security for the internet age.”
It was a lofty statement, but that’s Max for you. Besides, he has a way of delivering on his lofty statements. And although I’m not half the genius Max is, I was one of about three people in the world he actually trusted. So—in spite of the New York location—it was an easy decision.
Now, as I let myself into Max's magnificent lair, I have to wonder what I've gotten myself into. There's a decanter of single malt sitting on the table. There’s a glass waiting for me, too, with one of those giant ice cubes—the kind that melt slowly, preserving the hundred-dollar shot of whiskey you pour over it.
"What's the occasion?" I ask. "Thanks for the ride and the sandwich. But you can imagine that I’m deeply suspicious.” I look around the vast room, trying to spot him.
My eyes come to rest on a pair of Max-shaped legs. That’s all I can see of him. They’re standing on an upholstered chair that probably cost the GDP of a small nation. The rest of him is inside a large air-conditioning unit that’s mounted through the old brick wall of his converted factory building.