L Sellers - The Arranger

A woman walking by looked over at him and smiled, surprising him. Was it the laughter? People never noticed him. Nor had humor ever come naturally.

The woman moved out of earshot. It was now or never, Paul thought. He brought the unit close to his mouth and said, “Send.”

Stomach churning, Paul hurried down the street to a bus stop. The wind cut through his jacket and the sky darkened. How long would it take Rathmore to answer? What if he never did? Paul decided he would give the client twenty-four hours to respond, then throw away the iCom-just in case Rathmore decided to be righteous and report the incident. Paul had no idea who Rathmore would report it to or if anyone would investigate. Law enforcement had restricted budgets and focused their efforts on violent crime, terrorists, and the drug trade. Otherwise, people were expected to look out for themselves in the new order, and frivolous lawsuits were a thing of the past.

A moment later, the iCom beeped and Paul stopped in his tracks. He touched the screen and text appeared. Who are you? What federal position? I want to talk.

Yes! Rathmore was interested. Paul started to speak, then took a breath and reminded himself to be careful. He knew he would have to speak directly to Rathmore sooner or later. Fortunately, he would always have more leverage because he knew his client’s identity.

Paul said, “Respond, voice,” and the unit connected to Rathmore again.

“Who is this? And where did you get my name?” Rathmore took an aggressive tone.

“You’ll never know. That’s the deal.” Paul kept talking, not giving him a chance to argue. “The position is director of planning in HHS. It pays twenty thousand more than what you’re making now.”

“How do you know the position is coming open? No one voluntarily leaves a job with a high-end med card.”

“You’ll have to trust me. And if you don’t want to pay for the position, I’m sure one of your competitors will.”

Rathmore paused. “Are you sure I’m being considered for the position?”

“Yes. I want ten thousand in cash up front and ten thousand when you get called for the interview.”

“I can’t get that much money together. I’ll give you five up front and five after I get my first new deposit.”

“My terms aren’t negotiable.” Paul couldn’t believe he’d just said that. It was as if some tough guy character had taken over his body.

“I’ll have to think about it.”

“You have twenty-four hours to contact me at this number. Send a text.”

“How do I know you’re not a scammer? A lot of people have been burned by phony job auctions.”

“None of those jobs were at this level, and none of the scammers had this kind of information.” Paul waited while his client considered his options.

After a moment, Rathmore said, “Give me a week to see if I can raid my retirement fund or max out my credit limit.”

“Forty-eight hours.” Paul hung up.

Once it was over, his legs shook so hard, he stumbled to the bus stop bench and sat. He was not cut out for this kind of thing. He tried to imagine himself collecting a bag full of cash and getting away unseen. His heart raced at the thought. It wasn’t too late to back out-but he didn’t want to. As terrified as he was, he’d never felt more empowered and engaged. He was finally taking control of his future. He was a player now, and there was no turning back.

Mon., May 8

Lara woke to the sound of beeping. Disoriented at first, she sat up and grabbed her 9-millimeter off the nightstand. The hotel room came into focus and she remembered where she was. The beep was her six o’clock wake-up alarm from her iCom.

She heard her roommate moving around, so she put her weapon in the nightstand drawer and pushed out of bed. After splashing cold water on her face, Lara did thirty pushups and thirty crunches on the carpeted floor. Any other day, she would have completed a vigorous kickboxing workout as well or taken a ten-mile run, but the competition began this afternoon and she needed to save her physical energy. At forty-two, she was the oldest contestant, but she was also in excellent physical condition. She counted on her quick reflexes and ability to think ahead to give her an edge. The combination had served her well as a police officer…except that one time.

Out in the shared area, Lara sat at the small table and cut up one of the peaches she’d purchased. She tossed it in the blender with two tablespoons of whey protein, a teaspoon of flax seed, and a cup of yogurt. She’d forgotten to bring cinnamon for flavor.

At the sound of the blender, Kirsten rushed out of her bedroom. “What are you doing?”

“Making breakfast.” Lara poured her meal into a glass and drank half.

“You know we can order room service?”

“Go ahead.” Lara was shamefully pleased to see Kirsten was not as pretty without makeup. As she finished her meal, she remembered the cameras. Crap. Would the footage editors show her weird food habits to the viewers? Would they be amused or disgusted? Lara had stopped caring about what most people thought of her long ago, and it was unnatural for her to play to an audience. Thank goodness, the viewers only counted for a portion of the total outcome.

She headed for the shower. Orientation started in less than two hours and she still needed her daily fix of online news.

Outside the hotel, Lara waited with a group of contestants for the shuttle to arrive. She pulled on dark glasses against the bright sun and felt a layer of sweat form on her skin. Across the road stood a small grocery store/pharmacy. In the distance to the right, brown fields and chunks of old tarmac surrounded the massive arena buildings, with the Potomac River on one side of the property and greener suburbs on the other.

The shuttle arrived and Lara boarded it, even though the arena was only a half mile away. Her digital instructions that morning had told her to take the shuttle and she complied, not wanting to get herself in further trouble. Other contestants boarded, wearing bright smiles and carrying shoulder bags but saying little. The first round of competition, the Challenge, was the toughest, and half of them would go home by the end of the next day.

They passed through giant iron gates and Lara had the sense that her life was about to change.

Her first stop was the orientation room, which looked like a campus lecture hall with a sloped floor and flip-down seating. Lara grabbed a spot near the back on the end of a row, one of her reasons for arriving early. She hated being trapped in a crowd and needed access to the exits. Remembering the hotel clerk’s revelation that a man had called and asked about her, Lara scanned the room, looking for someone out of place. Attractive contestants filed in, wearing snug athletic clothing over shapely bodies. Media people carrying cameras or Docks stood around the perimeter, occasionally stopping a contestant for a quick interview.

A young female newscaster spotted her and strode over. “I’m Jessie Stark from CNC Broadcasting,” she said, motioning the cameraman to move in. “Are you Lara Evans?” The petit redhead shoved a mic toward Lara’s face.

“Yes, and I’m proud to represent Oregon.”

“How does it feel to be the oldest contestant here today?”

Lara had prepared for the question, but it still stung. “I don’t think about it very much. I’m as physically fit as anyone here, and I’ve trained for this event for two years. I’m ready to compete.”

“What did you do for training?”

“Daily runs and workouts with various types of hand-to-hand combat, simulated war games to heighten my reflexes, water workouts once a week with weights-”

Jessie cut her off. “What about the Puzzle?”