She walked up to the desk and saw the young woman working on a computer. She could see her name was Hart-Burnett. She was engrossed in her work. She was young, couldn't be 21.
She decided to interrupt the diligent secretary politely, You catch more bees with honey.
"Excuse me, ma'am. Staci Bray of Cobar Security Industries, Inc., to see Colonel Simmons."
The woman had an Eastern European accent that the private could not quite place.
"You're early for your appointment, ma'am. Just one moment," said the spry soldier with a genuine smile, too genuine. Private Hart-Burnett picked up her desk phone and called into the office. Simmons was with Colonel Harry Maybourne. The private despised Maybourne. Her boss could always be heard muttering "idiot" under his breath when Maybourne left. He had annoyed the private as well and she on more than one occasion had let him know.
The woman sat down and looked at the private. She felt disgust for her. She was young and content with a cushy Pentagon job. Ms. Bray decided to begin a conversation to amuse herself, even if at the private's expense.
"What is your name young lady?"
She answered nervously, "Private Hart-Burnett, ma'am."
"I see that, Private. What is your name?"
The private choked. She finally spoke her name. "Allison. My family calls me Ally. My friends call me…they call me Allison."
The woman laughed out loud without even trying to hide it. The little girl could hardly say her own name. She was intimidated by the presence of a powerful woman, I bet there are few in this building. "Tell me about yourself, Allison," Ms. Bray chose the personal touch. "You're from Boston?"
"Martha's Vineyard."
"Know any Kennedy's?"
"I get that a lot. I used to work at an ice cream shop and they would come in."
"Good tippers?"
"Usually, except one guy. He was a little too friendly."
"How'd you handle that?"
"I kindly let him know I was 16."
"Did that get his attention?"
"No, but it did get the attention of his political people." The private felt uncomfortable and changed the subject. "This is my first assignment out of boot camp. I will spend six months here and go for advanced infantry training after that."
"So all you are is a soldier."
"No, ma'am. I have an AA in theatre from Bryn Mawr and I am also completing courses there-when I get the time-for a Bachelor's in Human Resources."
Theatre, this is precious, an innocent brat with connections. But before she could continue, the door behind the private opened and out stepped two men. Neither figure cut the military form.
Ms. Bray saw that a Colonel Maybourne was in uniform. He was the larger of the two. Just by the look on his face she could tell he was a pretender. He overcompensated for his low self-esteem. His bravado was shallow. At heart he was a coward. He leaked fear, and oozed self-preservation. She loved to prey on these types. They were putty, especially to long batting eyelashes on a blond.
She could tell by the look in his eyes that he had just received a tongue lashing from the other, presumably Simmons. Simmons was in a civilian suit with a tie. He had an air of playful arrogance about him. He was more dangerous than Mayborn, but still self-serving with a delusion of idealism.
Maybourne noticed the two women as he walked by. How could he help it? thought Bray.
"Ah! Miss Bray, Welcome. You're early."
"I'm never late," remarked the woman hoping for some banter.
"Thank you Allison," added the Colonel in civies to his secretary. Then he escorted the corporate rep into his office and closed the door.
He guided Miss Bray over to his desk where two large wingback chairs waited. He pulled one to the side so she could conveniently take her seat.
"I thought you were a brunette," said the confident man to the blond.
"When it suits me," she replied.
"I guess one of the world's most notorious criminals can't walk into the Pentagon with a name badge identifying herself now can one," he snidely remarked.
"Oh, but I did," Miss Bray added with her own snide smile.
"Touche', and you've done a marvelous job. I hope we did not keep you waiting too long," Simmons now apologized.
"Important business with the Colonel?" she asked. She looked at a file on the Colonel's desk which read Tollans. He picked the file up and put it in his desk drawer.
"With Maybourne," he guffawed, "he's a useful idiot-most of the time."
"I suspect he's an idiot all of the time," she added fuel to the fire.
"Quite correct. Are you humoring me or do you know him?"
"I know him by the look on his face, his posture, and the nervous little school girl way he just walked out of your office-he's worse than your secretary."
"So you've met Allison, what did you think of her?"
"Giddy, but intelligent, and willing to stand up for herself. Someone like Maybourne would fear her if she were ever to find her bearing in the military."
"Very astute. I hired her because of her potential. She's also very athletic. One day she will no longer be a secretary."
"And I just thought you liked eye-candy."
"Is that why your employer sent you?"
"It doesn't hurt," she said flirtingly.
He saw her Pentagon Contractor name badge. "'Cobar', huh? I like Arbco better."
"We're looking for a brand name for our grape soda."
"Well, well, honest work." He looked closer at Miss Bray. He sensed trouble. "I suspect your boss is not a good judge of character. Do you trust him?"
She was angry now. He was right. "I trust him to do what's best for him. As far as his being a good judge of character, well-he'll find that out for himself. Why am I hear Mr. Simmons?" Let's get to the point.
"I need your services to procure an item for me."
"What kind of item?"
"Let's call it an historical artifact. The pay is good. Let's see, in the last few months your employer has blown a kidnapping for ransom deal, attacked a secret outpost with micro 'a-i' tech, attacked a parade, tried to assassinate an oil baron, lost a satellite to the CIA, and used some very expensive and experimental robots to attack another satellite launch. All of them failed.
"The way I see it you have three problems. Number 1, you have a public image problem. Number 2, you have a leadership problem. And number 3-and this is where I can help-you have a cash problem."
"We have a G. I. Joe problem, but you want to help us by providing us money. What do you get out of it?"
"All I want is the artifact," he thought it best to keep the presence of a second artifact a secret. His new associates would go for the artifact he designated only. If they double-crossed him and tried to use it, the other would be in storage somewhere in a crate in Area 51. "What I get from having it is none of your business. Do we have a deal?"
"How do we get the artifact?"
"It's being moved from the Antarctic in a couple of days. There will be a U. S. military presence, and quite frankly the Joes may be there."
"I'm not sure we're interested. What is the artifact?"
"If you agree to the job and leave now I will give you all the specific information you'll need to snatch it."
"Do you trust me?"
"No."
"Then we're even. Why us?"
"You already know my assistant Colonel Maybourne, and it will look good if the attackers are clearly an identified threat. You my dear, and your employer fit that bill to the T."
"And?"
"Well, if you succeed you have no need for the artifact, I will pay for its delivery. If you fail, then the danger to the artifact will be considered clear and present, and I will press for it to be placed in my custody. With you on the loose, I will be more likely to receive it."
Simmons held up a Department of Defense-labeled check. It was blank.
"Here is a check for your operational expenses. Take it-or leave it."
"I'll take it." He filled out the check, seven figures. She took the check and headed for the door.
"Better dress warm. The Antarctic gets cold, and I hear that snakes are cold blooded."
She smiled. Miss Bray did not like the cold, but the payoff would keep her warm. "I would like to continue my conversation with your secretary."
"I will have her walk you out."
They walked to the door and Colonel Simmons opened it for the Miss Bray. "Thank you ma'am. If this goes well, I may have some more business for you in the future."
"Thank you, Colonel."
"Allison, would you mind helping Miss Bray out of the building?"
"Yes, sir", she replied in military fashion.
The private got up and walked with Miss Bray.
As they began walking Miss Bray began their conversation. "Theatre, so you wish to be an actress."
"Four and out, yes Ma'am." At least this was something she was sure about.
"Call me Staci," as they continued walking.
"Yes…Staci," again Allison responded nervously.
"You know, Broadway and Hollywood have their appeal, but no meaning. In fact, they're really quite pathetic. There is no fun in pretending to be someone else with nothing at stake."
"What do you mean?"
Now Miss Bray was in her element, "I mean it's no fun unless your neck, and the lives of all you hold dear are at stake. You can be good and win some award. Then maybe you can donate a fortune to a charity or political cause, but really-where's the rush? How well do you act when your patsy can turn around and slit your throat? That's when acting matters, not in front of a camera."
"You mean like being a spy?"
"Not exactly, darling. I mean becoming your character. Acting is more than delivering lines or pulling a job-it's life or death.
"It is power. I hold no office. I have no political or bureaucratic office, and I just walked into the most powerful office in the world and negotiated for a job between the U.S. Government and a multi-national-multi-million-dollar-corporation. As they say, 'all the world is your stage'."
Allison did not like the context of greed, but something of what her self-appointed mentor was saying stuck. Allison searched her mind for her altruistic passion and answered Staci, "You know, Staci, I'll give it some thought."
"You do that, and maybe someday we'll meet again."
"I might like that."
"One more piece of advice, ditch Simmons, he's a dead end. Think Special Ops, we'll be more likely to meet again," and I will enjoy it, but you won't.
The meeting was life-changing for the young Allison. For the Baroness, it was just one more con.