Floor Thirteen, Door Number Six
That soft noise of the elevator, which was rising inexorably, was the only thing that covered the heavy breath exhaled from his nostrils. He had tried to loosen his tie so as not to feel a noose around his neck, but nothing: the cold sweat permeated his balding forehead, while his left hand vigorously gripped the handle of his briefcase.
If it had been a simple business dinner, held in an elegant restaurant on 14th Street in New York, Mr. Weiss would not have suffered even the slightest nervousness. After all, contracts and negotiations were his bread and butter; a good word here, a signature there, and his company would have made the most of it, as usual. Nothing could be simpler for him.
But this time the meeting was so important and, at the same time, so risky that there was only one cumbersome thought in his mind: would he get out of it unscathed?
Awakened by the clear sound that announced his arrival on the thirteenth floor. Mr. Weiss stepped out of the elevator and headed down the corridor, immediately looking for the sixth door, ignoring the care with which this hallway was maintained, from the well-kept floor plans to the practically new plaster.
But when he arrived in front of the door marked with that brass "six", sinuous as a snake, he stopped for a moment. He ran his right hand first over his curly hair, then over his beardless chin, and finally tied his necktie again. He had not yet met the person who would soon be his interlocutor; never seen him in real life or in photos, and never heard him on the phone. He only knew that he was an extremely meticulous person. So, it was important to make the best impression he could.
He turned the handle and opened the door, finding himself looking at the room, bathed in darkness, the light coming exclusively from the shutters, placed at the end. In front of him there was a desk, a seat for him and, at the other end, the motionless silhouette of the person he was about to turn to, to ask for his assistance. It wasn't an imposing or square shadow, but Weiss felt that piercing gaze upon him.
As the door closed behind the CEO, the light from the lamp on the desk illuminated the mysterious figure's face.
Two gray-rimmed eyes looked into the man's face at the threshold, protected by round glasses whose thin, inconspicuous frames rested on the small, upturned nose on the woman's face. A young face, with sweet but sharp features at the same time, which gave a certain...artificial quality to that woman, not natural.
The clothing, then, was decidedly unique for the occasion: from the collar to the cuffs, an old-fashioned military uniform dressed her impeccably, without any creases out of place, showing off the dark green and black tones.
And to frame that face there were straight red hair, very dark and long to the middle of the neck. A black beret finally served as a crown.
-Welcome to my office, Mr. Weiss. I hope your flight went smoothly. In the meantime make yourself comfortable, it is not polite to let guests stay at the door. -
That persuasive voice full of good manners, coming from those thin lips, had just invited him to sit down, which he did without too much haste, although his legs threatened to give out from the tension. He gently placed the briefcase on the immaculate desk on the right side. As he did so, Mr. Weiss noticed that on the left side was a steaming cup of tea, poured in fine china. And on the saucer was a small square of dark chocolate...
"She may be a...particular person, but I can't deny that she has very good manners..."
The CEO opened the briefcase and took out its contents: a folder of confidential information, kept as well as what it held inside, so that there would not be even a slight damage to the pages of documents contained within.
He handed the dossier to the woman, who took it with a hand covered by a leather glove, with a firm but fluid movement, without even the slightest tremor. Without expressing it in words, but with a gesture of the other hand, she indicated to Mr. Weiss the cup of tea, allowing him to help himself.
The man certainly did not want to be careless, so he took both the cup of tea and the chocolate. The latter was the first to end up in his jaws.
Mh...it was surely Swiss dark chocolate, and of excellent quality to say the least. That taste that began to pervade his mouth gave him a burst of energy, interrupting his slight trembling.
A sip of the hot tea followed, sliding nicely down his dry throat. It wasn't just any tea: those scents of orange, cinnamon, licorice and berries could only belong to an Imperial Label, a renowned Parisian tea, and one of his favorites. That blend managed to soothe his nerves and clear his mind...
"Wait a minute! How does he know these things about me? He can't have just gotten it right! Then he really is as competent as they say...frightfully competent!"
Meanwhile, the woman, with the same fluid but firm movements, was reading the dossier, gently flipping through each page. Her gaze hinted at a personality full of dedication and attention to detail.
The moment the empty cup and saucer were set down, the woman in uniform concluded the reading of the dossier, returning it to the guest in her office. And the latter uttered his first spoken words in that meeting.
Weiss: -I think you understand why I have...come to you. What was stolen from my company's private server is directly related to this old military project. My father, the former owner of my company, had accepted the task of guarding it and was sworn to secrecy. -
Woman: -So you're afraid that it will be discovered, and that it will pose a risk to your safety, right?
I presume you already know about the current detachment of the Carthage Project, "The Second". Still in place and kept hidden from the most... "official" plans of the states involved. -
Weiss: - Exactly. You seem to know it very well. Were you by any chance involved? -
Woman: -Heh. A very straightforward question, Mr. Weiss. At this rate you'll be able to invite me to dinner.
Yes, I used to be a participant, but as soon as I got out of the game, I just followed the events with no little interest. Lately there has been quite a bit of upheaval in those parts: first a leak of information about the First Carthage Project, the one conceived by Waldo Schaeffer. Then, even more recently, the breakout of their subjects under experimentation. They seem to have attempted genetic enhancements to physical and mental performance.-
Weiss: - You mean, in very simple terms, some sort of people with... superhuman abilities?-
Woman: -I have good reason to believe this is true. I know that a special task force has been mobilized to remedy this: an agglomeration of various bangs of intelligence and special forces. They have even obtained a collaboration with self-styled "hunters" from some, eccentric branches of the Church. The way they talk and act, they seem to think they are hunting vampires, or other creatures of myths, legends and some mediocre tales. -
The CEO of the IT company crinkled his eyes in partial disbelief. This story slowly took on connotations that went far beyond the very concept of absurdity.
Weiss: -Well, I can see that you are definitely more up to date than I am. Now, I don't want to lose myself in useless chatter: I suspect that someone who knows about the First Carthage Project, the one of Schaeffer, is the one who has stolen from me and may even be using it. I don't care who, or for what reason, but I feel this is getting too dangerous, and I need you to fix this, in the way you see fit. I can't afford to get involved, and neither can my loved ones! -
He was not interrupted, nor were there any grimaces of disapproval, or mockery, or anything else. The woman remained composed, intent on listening to every last word from her "client".
Woman: -I'll be honest with you. You have presented me with an intricate and intriguing assignment, worthy of a promising novel, dare I say it. So, having captured my interest, you may consider me engaged.
But I remind you, sir, that I am about to get involved in a war between three fronts. Four if the situation gets out of hand. You understand, then, that the pay will have to be commensurate with my duties... -
Weiss: -Money will not be a problem. I will pay whatever is necessary for you to do your job effectively, meticulously and discreetly. -
At the sound of the last word, the woman removed her right glove and held out her hand to Weiss. It took a moment's hesitation on the latter's part, but he finally accepted the shake, sealing the agreement made. That hand was unexpectedly smooth, neither bony nor large. His features, in general, did not give the idea of an unscrupulous person capable of strong-arm tactics.
Woman: -Very well, then. We can consider it a deal. You are free to go now; but I would advise you, personally, to stay a couple of days in the city: Warsaw is full of interesting places, and I think a few moments of distraction from this matter...will do you good. -
Weiss: -Good. Thank you for the advice, huh, ma'am?-
-Ksenia Wicinska. It was a pleasure.-
Weiss: - Likewise, Mrs. Wicinska. Have a good evening.-
And crossing the threshold, which closed softly behind him, the tension in his body hovered in the air, relieving him.
The agreement had been made, now all that was needed was to give the two necessary things: money and trust. And as peculiar a person as she was, Ksenia Wicisnka seemed to promise the thoroughness for which she was known.
"Visit Warsaw for a couple of days..."
Why not? Maybe it would do him good to unplug. Maybe he'd bring something for his wife and little Niels.
For now, he could only rely on that Devil in Uniform.