wasn’t too late.
Damon hurried back to his computer and clicked on an icon labeled WhispeX. WhispeX was a teleconferencing program with one feature that set it apart from the rest. WhispeX employed an encryption algorithm that, the designer claimed, even the CIA couldn’t crack.
A large video window bloomed onto the screen. With no active connection, the screen remained dark. In the lower left corner of the window, another box, a quarter the size of the main window, displayed live video of Damon’s face. The existing light was adequate but Damon had to center his image by adjusting the tiny webcam perched on his monitor.
Damon slipped on a microphone headset, then slid the cursor to a sidebar that featured a contact list of ten buttons. Nine of these buttons were labeled with a contact’s name. Solomon, Kwame, Tobias, and Carver were among the names listed. One button was different from the rest. The very first button at the top of the list was labeled not with a name, just a number and a letter: 40A. Damon clicked the first button.
Connecting flashed in the main video window and the computer speakers issued a series of low electronic tones. The beeping ceased and the stern face of a black man filled the main window. Oscar Lennox’s shaved head and meticulously groomed goatee gave him a striking look, but it was Oscar’s eyes that wielded the fire. Two piercing gray orbs that seemed to see all and rarely blinked. Even through the monitor, Damon thought that Oscar’s stare was more than a bit unnerving.
“You’re late, brother,” Oscar said, in a deep, calm voice.
“Juanita’s party ran a bit later than expected,” Damon explained. “I apologize.”
Oscar nodded. “Understandable. Now what about the prospect?”
“He did well. Better than expected, in my opinion.” Damon wasn’t surprised that Oscar had jumped right to the chase. Oscar wasn’t one for small talk. He was never rude, but he wasn’t what you would call amiable either. He was all business all the time and never missed a trick—which made him perfect for the position that he held.
“And the others,” Oscar asked. “Are you all in agreement?”
“Yes,” Damon said.
Oscar raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Lewis as well?”
Damon frowned. “Carver doesn’t like anyone but Carver. You know that. But yes, he did agree to proceed to the next step.”
Oscar’s eyes narrowed with interest. “Really. Tell me Mr. Lewis’s thoughts—exactly.”
“For what reason? I just told you, Carver agreed with the rest of us to move forward.”
Oscar did not respond. He just stared at Damon from the video screen.
“Sorry,” Damon said with a frown. He regretted that he had even asked the question in the first place. Oscar Lennox was Dr. Kasim’s personal assistant and, more importantly, the doctor’s spokesman in the outside world. Oscar was to be trusted, no questions asked. “I meant no disrespect,” Damon tried to explain. “I just don’t want to lose a solid prospect because of one irrational kid.”
Oscar frowned, ever so slightly. “You might not think much of the young man’s opinion, brother,” he said, “but the doctor views Mr. Lewis’s suspicious nature as an asset to our security. Now, do you have Mr. Lewis’s card?”
Damon nodded and removed four business cards from the center desk drawer. Kwame, Tobias, Carver, and Solomon had each jotted down their individual impressions of the prospect on the back of their business cards, then surreptitiously slipped the cards to Damon before calling it a night. This was the secret voting method they always used. A little awkward, but simple and immediate.
Carver’s card, with its full-color glossy finish, was the flashiest of the four. Damon flipped the card over and read aloud what Carver had written. “White partner could be trouble. Watch him carefully.” Damon then held the card up in front of the webcam to allow Oscar to read it himself. “That’s it. That’s all
Damon hurried back to his computer and clicked on an icon labeled WhispeX. WhispeX was a teleconferencing program with one feature that set it apart from the rest. WhispeX employed an encryption algorithm that, the designer claimed, even the CIA couldn’t crack.
A large video window bloomed onto the screen. With no active connection, the screen remained dark. In the lower left corner of the window, another box, a quarter the size of the main window, displayed live video of Damon’s face. The existing light was adequate but Damon had to center his image by adjusting the tiny webcam perched on his monitor.
Damon slipped on a microphone headset, then slid the cursor to a sidebar that featured a contact list of ten buttons. Nine of these buttons were labeled with a contact’s name. Solomon, Kwame, Tobias, and Carver were among the names listed. One button was different from the rest. The very first button at the top of the list was labeled not with a name, just a number and a letter: 40A. Damon clicked the first button.
Connecting flashed in the main video window and the computer speakers issued a series of low electronic tones. The beeping ceased and the stern face of a black man filled the main window. Oscar Lennox’s shaved head and meticulously groomed goatee gave him a striking look, but it was Oscar’s eyes that wielded the fire. Two piercing gray orbs that seemed to see all and rarely blinked. Even through the monitor, Damon thought that Oscar’s stare was more than a bit unnerving.
“You’re late, brother,” Oscar said, in a deep, calm voice.
“Juanita’s party ran a bit later than expected,” Damon explained. “I apologize.”
Oscar nodded. “Understandable. Now what about the prospect?”
“He did well. Better than expected, in my opinion.” Damon wasn’t surprised that Oscar had jumped right to the chase. Oscar wasn’t one for small talk. He was never rude, but he wasn’t what you would call amiable either. He was all business all the time and never missed a trick—which made him perfect for the position that he held.
“And the others,” Oscar asked. “Are you all in agreement?”
“Yes,” Damon said.
Oscar raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Lewis as well?”
Damon frowned. “Carver doesn’t like anyone but Carver. You know that. But yes, he did agree to proceed to the next step.”
Oscar’s eyes narrowed with interest. “Really. Tell me Mr. Lewis’s thoughts—exactly.”
“For what reason? I just told you, Carver agreed with the rest of us to move forward.”
Oscar did not respond. He just stared at Damon from the video screen.
“Sorry,” Damon said with a frown. He regretted that he had even asked the question in the first place. Oscar Lennox was Dr. Kasim’s personal assistant and, more importantly, the doctor’s spokesman in the outside world. Oscar was to be trusted, no questions asked. “I meant no disrespect,” Damon tried to explain. “I just don’t want to lose a solid prospect because of one irrational kid.”
Oscar frowned, ever so slightly. “You might not think much of the young man’s opinion, brother,” he said, “but the doctor views Mr. Lewis’s suspicious nature as an asset to our security. Now, do you have Mr. Lewis’s card?”
Damon nodded and removed four business cards from the center desk drawer. Kwame, Tobias, Carver, and Solomon had each jotted down their individual impressions of the prospect on the back of their business cards, then surreptitiously slipped the cards to Damon before calling it a night. This was the secret voting method they always used. A little awkward, but simple and immediate.
Carver’s card, with its full-color glossy finish, was the flashiest of the four. Damon flipped the card over and read aloud what Carver had written. “White partner could be trouble. Watch him carefully.” Damon then held the card up in front of the webcam to allow Oscar to read it himself. “That’s it. That’s all
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