(Author's Note: Thanks again for the feedback, it's making this a heck of a lot of fun. Can't wait until Monday, when I'll actually get to see 'Transcendence' for the first time! Hope you enjoy this chapter, it's a bit different from the first two.) 

Chapter 3 

Ian walked up to the secretary's desk at exactly 8 a.m.  Jameson hadn't set a time for their meeting, so he'd settled for arriving at the beginning of the normal work day.  He knew what 'normal' was, even if he'd never lived it himself. 

Keeping his face carefully devoid of expression, he gave his name and waited to be summoned.  Uneasily, he wondered if this had been his first test.  Irons would have expected him to know precisely when and where he was supposed to be- without the words being said.  Of course, if this were one of Irons' tests, he would have already failed.

6:00 a.m. sharp he was to be ready and waiting outside the old man's bedroom door.  Most days, he'd fall in behind Irons at 6:30 and they would proceed to the dinning room.  Other days, Ian would be left standing for hours as Irons recovered from the excesses of the night before.  Either way, it didn't matter.  Ian was to be present when Irons awoke and he would stand watch until Irons dismissed him. 

Taking a deep breath, he tried to slow his pounding heart.  He should have gone to Jameson's house, been waiting for him when he emerged.  His thoughtlessness was sure to cost him, the only question was how much.

The secretary's voice jarred him from his thoughts.  Before he could change his mind, he strode into Jameson's office and took up his customary stance.  His hands locked behind his back, he kept his head bowed, his eyes fixed on the shiny desktop in front of him.

"Mr. Ian Smith.  I was hoping you'd show up."

Uncertain if a response was required, Ian kept his mouth shut.  At least Jameson didn't sound angry.

"Ian?"

His eyes flicked up.  "Sir?"

"Relax.  If anyone here should be nervous, it's me.  Do you have any idea how riled up the police are over that little incident the other night?"

Shifting slightly, Ian made certain his 9 mm was within easy reach.  It didn't feel like a trap, but that didn't mean it wasn't.

The creak of a leather chair, the sound of footsteps as Jameson circled his desk.  Ian tensed, still unclear on whether he was in service to this man.  If this was a betrayal, should he accept it as his due or make certain he drew first blood? 

Jameson stopped in front of him and leaned casually back against the desk.  It gave him room to breathe, a fact for which he was grateful.

"You weren't this shy Friday night.  Come on, kid.  Talk to me."

He swallowed, took the risk of raising his head.  "What did you tell the police?"

Jameson laughed, an easy, unthreatening sound.  "Is that what's got you wound so tight?  Don't worry, the cops don't know anything about you.  All I told them was some big guy came out of the shadows, saved my butt and ran off.  It happened so quick, I never even got a look at his face.  They weren't happy with the story, but forensics backed me up."

"Thank you," he replied, his head dropping, the tension easing.

"Enough with the humility, it doesn't suit a pitbull.  Jeesh, Ian.  The other night, the man with the gun- you didn't just break his neck, you crushed it.  Literally.  And the other one...  Did you realize you rammed the knife into his back so hard that it came out through the other side?  Broke the breastbone, tore the cartilage.  According to the cops, the M.E.'s are still trying to gauge the amount of force it would take to inflict that kind of damage.  I hear they managed to reproduce the effect, but it took a pickax to do it."

Was Jameson pleased or disappointed?  He couldn't tell.  "I'll be more circumspect in the future, sir."

"Um, I'm kind of hoping the future won't involve you shoving knives through people's chests.  Let's try to keep the corpses to a minimum, shall we?"

He couldn't get a read on what Jameson wanted from him.  If it were Irons, the message would be clear- dump all bodies in the river and make sure they never floated to the surface.  Jameson was more obscure.  Ian simply nodded, deciding not to kill anyone unless directly ordered to do so.

Jameson sighed and reached back to grab a clipboard from his desk.  Ian sensed he was irritating the man in some way.  He felt awkward and uncertain, a new experience and one he did not enjoy.

"Ian, take a seat and stop staring at the carpet.  You're here for a job, not an inquisition.  I just have to get some basic info and you'll be squared away.  The police aren't going to show up, you've got the job, and I'm not expecting you to be an expert in corporate security.  Okay?"

Settling down on the edge of the nearest chair, Ian made an effort to keep his head up.  Years of training forced it back down.  "Corporate security?"

"Yea, I was thinking you might make a good addition to my security team.  It's a pretty big operation.  Not only do the guys cover the charter flights, our R and D department does a lot of work for the military.  That means we need tight security.  My old Master Sergeant runs the department.  I figured you'd feel right at home working under him.  How does that kind of thing sound to you?"

"I have experience in the area.  It shouldn't be a problem, sir."  Back on familiar ground.  This was more like it.

"Experience."  Jameson chuckled.  "I have a feeling that's an understatement.  However, there may be one small glitch.  If I hire you through the company, you'll have to pass a basic background check- and that includes fingerprints.  There's no way around it.  Think you can do that?"

Ian nodded.  "Yes sir.  I know the system, it won't be an issue."

"Even using the name, 'Smith'?"

Jameson was underestimating him.  Allowing himself a smile, he said, "I can use a different name if you prefer."

Scribbling away with his pen, Jameson replied, "Why don't we stick with Smith.  It's easy to remember.  You do have a social security number to go with the name?" 

"No sir."

Jameson paused, looking up from the clipboard.  "Ian, you're going to have to have a social security number to pass the background check."

"I'll have one by tomorrow."

"Okay....  Let's just get a little more information, then.  Personnel demands paperwork, even when the hire is a done deal.  What should I put for a home address?"

"I...."

"Don't have one," Jameson finished for him.  The older man raised his hand and began rubbing at the back of his neck as his eyes ran down the checklist on the job application.  "No phone either...  Ah.  Here's an easy one.  You need a recommendation.  I'm writing that part, so all you need to do is give me a few little details I can work in.  I would just note you'd saved my ass, but I think it might be best to avoid putting those specifics into print.  How about it, Ian.  Were you a boy scout when you were a kid?  High School sports?  Glee club?  Do you volunteer at soup kitchens in your spare time?"

The look Ian shot him would have earned a slap from Irons.  Jameson merely laughed.  "Come on, Ian.  Give me something to work with here.  What was the last virtuous thing you did?"

Virtuous?  He hadn't been virtuous since he'd taken his first breath.  Was it a trick question?

"Ian?"

"I took a cab to work this morning."

"See.  That wasn't so hard....  You what?"

"I took a cab instead of borrowing a car."

"Well, yea, I guess that is laudable."  Jameson's trailed off, sounding dubious.  "So who were you going to borrow the car from?"

"I don't know.  Preferably someone with a Mercedes."

Jameson groaned and dropped the clipboard onto the desk.  "Ian, look at me.  Please?"

Reluctantly, he complied, receiving a wane smile for his effort. 

"Son, you aren't helping.  'Ian didn't steal a car on Monday,' isn't really the sort of recommendation that goes over well with the personnel department.  Why don't you just head on down to security and I'll have Frank put you to work now.   Leave the paperwork to me.  I'm sure I can come up with something innocuous to fill in the blanks.  Once you get a social security card, we'll put the application through and I'll have it expedited.  Until then, I'll pay you out of my own pocket.  Sound okay to you?"

Rising immediately to his feet, Ian was prepared to make his escape when Jameson stopped him with an outstretched hand.

"Mr. Smith- it's good to have you aboard."

Instinct told him to drop to one knee, but that would be wrong in more ways than he cared count.  Instead, he met Jameson's grip with a strong one of his own.  "Mr. Jameson, I won't disappoint you."

*************

Damn.  It was already after five o'clock.  If he was late getting home again, Susan was going to kill him.  Dropping his pen, Robert shook the stiffness from his fingers and warily contemplated the phone.  He should talk to Frank before he left, see if there were any disasters in need of cleaning up. 

Hitting a button on the speaker phone, he made a bet with himself regarding Frank's reaction to his new charge.  There was no doubt that he would find flaw.  The ex-sergeant found flaw with every man under his watch.  The only debate was what the flaw might be.  The hair.  He was going to have to bet on the hair.  Frank had a major issue with long hair on a man.  Grinning to himself, Robert waited for the phone to pick-up.  When it came right down to it, he was rather looking forward to a rant on the evils of 'girlie looking men'.  Might humanized Ian a bit, dispel the sense of menace he seemed to associate with the man.  He really hoped things were going to be that simple.

"Yeah, Boswell here.  What do you want?"

"Frank.  How're things hanging down there in the bowels of hell?"

"Hey, boss.  I was wondering if you'd check in.  What's up with this freak'n psycho you sent me?  The guy damn near killed me!"

Robert gave vent to a silent groan, praying that nobody had lost any body parts.  "Ok, Frank.  What'd he do?"

"He about gave me a heart attack three different times now.  Guy's always lurking in the shadows where you can't see him, popping out when you least expect it, staring at you like he's considering ripping your face off if you answer a question the wrong way.  You notice those gloves?  It's like he's making sure there won't be any fingerprints left at the murder scene.  Jesus H. Christ, Bobbie, this keeps up, I'm gonna have to start wearing Depends.  I am waaaay too old for this shit.  We got flourescent lights down here.  How the hell do you lurk in shadows under freak'n flourescent lights?  It ain't natural, I swear to God.  And another thing...."

"Frank, please shut up!"  Rubbing his fingers against the bridge of his nose, Robert used the moment of silence to once again reflect on the dubious wisdom of hiring one's former Master Sergeant as your head of security.  Of course, on the plus side of things, it appeared that no one had actually died.  Yet.

"You still there?"

"Yea, Frank.  I'm still here.  So, aside from your incontinence issues, how's he working out?  Does he know his stuff?  I'm pretty sure he was Special Ops., so you should be able to find something for him to do.  The guy saved my life, Frank.  I owe him one."

"Well....  He's got that long-assed girlie hair, but he's not a complete moron."

From Frank, the grudging admission was high praise indeed.  It looked like his instincts had been right again.  "What'd you put him to work on?"

"I asked him what his specialty was, and he said 'Security'.  So I says, 'What kinda security?' and he says, 'All kinds of security.'.  So, I know he's full of shit, because nobody is an expert in EVERYTHING.  So anyways, I'm kinda fuck'n with him.  Figured I'd have him do a systems check of our computer network.  Look for possible security holes.  Now, there ain't no security holes.  Hell, we just payed 200 grand to install the new system.  But like I say, I was fuck'n with him.  You know those jock types, wouldn't recognize a motherboard if you shoved it up their ass.  So, he...."

"Frank, does this story have a point in it somewhere?"  Robert could feel the beginnings of a headache blossoming behind his eyes.  Talking to his ex-sergeant without the benefits of liberal doses of alcohol frequently had that effect on him.

"Um, yea.  The point is, he's working on network security right now."

"And is he any good at it?"

"He doesn't suck."

"Care to elaborate?"

"Well, that 200 grand we spent for the new system?  I think maybe you should ask for your money back.  According to your new protégé, any three year old with a Playtell phone and a booger-free finger could hack it."

"He actually said that?"

"Of course not.  Few people have my way with words.  But if you want the dry, boring version, he said, 'The firewall is rudimentary at best, the cryptography is linear and non-recursive, and the fiber optics cable that connects to the servers renders the entire system vulnerable.'  I didn't understand a damn word of it, but I figured it sounded bad."

"Sounds bad to me too, and I don't have a clue what it means either.  Think he's just blowing smoke?"

"Nope, not really."

"Wow, what brought on this show of confidence?"

"You know how we have to run a basic security check to meet FAA and DOD regulations?  You told the kid he had to get a social security card.  Well, he's got one now.  Wanna know how he did it so quick?"

"The suspense is killing me."

"He hacked into the social security mainframe and generated a new identity.  Now, I may not know a lot about computer security, but I'm pretty sure that sorta thing requires a pro."

Robert whistled through his teeth.  "Yea, Frank.  I'd say that would require some skill.  How do you know he did it?"

"Aside from my brilliant powers of deduction?  I walked by his desk, asked him what he was doing, and he said, 'I'm hacking into the social security mainframe.  Mr. Jameson ordered me to get a social security card.'."

"Well, at least he's honest," Robert replied, giving a mental shrug.  "Is he still around?"

"Oh yea, he's still in the bullpen, typing away on the computer.  He's probably busy giving himself a permit to carry nuclear weapons in his back pocket or something.  I guess I should be happy that if we ever get the urge to take over any small countries, we'll have the manpower to do it."

Robert chuckled and made one of his snap decisions.  "Send the kid up, I'm gonna take him home to meet the family."

"Oh, Susan's gonna love you for this one.  Bet the guy eats raw meat with his hands."

"Susan's had you over for dinner enough times that I don't expect anything will phase her.  You do remember the night you puked in her begonias, don't you?"

"No, I don't remotely remember that night, and screw you too.  I'll see you tomorrow- assuming you don't piss him off by picking the wrong wine at dinner and end up a bloated corpse."

"Hey, Frank- hold up.  You don't really think he's dangerous, do you?"

"Hell yea, I think he's dangerous!  If you mean, 'Do I think he's a danger to you?'....  I don't know.  It's your call, Bobbie.  He could be a real asset.  He could also be the last mistake you ever make.  You read me?"

"Loud and clear, Frank.  Loud and clear."