4 – A Brief Interruption: The First
The alley was dark, and dusk had long since passed to darkness over the city. Cars raced by like shooting stars across the brightly lit street outside the alley, but one car remained idle and nearly invisible in the shadows.
The man inside the car kept watch, his eyes glinting above the orange glow of the cigarette hanging from parched lips. Taking a puff, he tapped off the ashes onto the pavement out the Cadillac window. He listened for footsteps, and keenly watched every passing figure.
There was a tap at the passenger side window.
His eyes darted to the dim, sallow face that smiled broadly through the window, and he unlocked the door.
A man in a black leather jacket, tan khaki pants and slick black loafers sat down, and rubbed his chilled hands together. The night was bitter cold.
"What took you so long?" Mr. Thurman asked quietly.
The second man relaxed into the leather seat, cracking his knuckles loudly. "You know how it is: eyes everywhere. And you really seemed like you wanted to keep this a secret, so…"
"So…" Mr. Thurman finished, producing a gray folder with the Aperture insignia emblazoned on the front. "…if you're ready to talk, here's our opening offer."
Mr. Thurman's guest began to read over the first few paragraphs with an inquisitive eye, and soon broke into a greedy smile.
"Really? That much?" He pointed to a dollar figure. "Just for a new hire? What do you take me for?"
"There's a catch."
"I was startin' to worry. The same we discussed?"
"Yes."
"Tsk tsk tsk…still a tall order."
Mr. Thurman glared at him. "You'll do it, or we'll expose you."
The man cackled coldly, and stroked the stubble on his jagged face. "Espionage. Everyone makes it sound so bad. Yet you're willing to put your job on the line too."
"I'm not even here right now." Mr. Thurman snapped, and jabbed his finger onto the printed statement the man held inside the folder. "Sign here, and I'll take it back to Johnson. We'll get you in the system, get your room ready, and by the time you bring us the blueprints: you'll never have to go back."
The second man stared expectantly. "I hope you've at least got a pen. I sure don't and you seem to have left your tact behind."
Mr. Thurman always carried a fine pen, his favorite, and that meant he didn't want to see his guest's grungy, twitching hands using it. However, his career rode on this deal. Maybe compromising his favorite pen was worth that.
With much resentment, he finally relinquished the pen from his coat breast pocket.
His guest quickly scribbled his name in several places on the next couple pages, and slapped the folder shut.
Mr. Thurman reclaimed the form, and prepared to send him away. "So, how soon can you get those blueprints?"
The man's wide, toothy grin returned, and he revealed a tall roll of papers nestled inside his jacket.
"The Borealis: in all her glitch-y, unfinished glory."
Mr. Thurman was speechless, and stared at the paper roll.
"Come on, man, you look like you got one of those Moon rocks stuck in your throat. Don't just sit there. Look at it!"
He held out the blueprints, which Mr. Thurman took in disbelief.
"This is it?"
The man cackled again. "It's either that or my best forgery ever. But who am I kidding? I could never draw. Paper or computer."
Mr. Thurman looked up from the papers. "How soon can you leave for HQ?"
Drake Parnell rubbed his hands together. "Well, considering I have everything and my car is in the lot right behind us…now. Oh, and you get a little bonus: I know how mad you guys were when Black Mesa stole your HEV and did it better, so, I brought mine."