Troubleshooter

Chapter 11 - Working Dinner

PAUL AND Tom shared a taxi back to the Docklands.

"This is crazy. What if I am found out?" Tom clearly was having second thoughts.

Paul said, "Remember: Trust no one. Tell lies until you are blue in the face. If someone confronts you directly with a suspicion, you simply say, 'Can we speak in your office in five minutes? I need to show you something that I have in my desk.' Then you leave everything. And I mean everything. No jacket, no phone, no briefcase. Whatever you might have still lying on your desk, forget about it. You walk out of the office space and you press a button on the little emergency device we will give you. You leave the building and come over to our headquarters."

"And if I am confronted right away, someone holding me down, threatening me?"

"Bite him in the arm and run away."

"Are you serious?"

"I once had to bite off a Russian's ear in order to stay alive."

"What can I learn from that advice?"

"An arm tastes better than an ear."

Tom sighed and they said nothing for the rest of the ride.

When they entered the makeshift headquarters, things had already progressed considerably in the three hours that Paul had been away. The designated war room now held a row of laptop computers, four big displays, some new cabling. A device that looked like a small cannon pointed into the direction of the building that held the Strom Industries offices. Brady was working on some sort of console, controlling the device. Amy was huddled over one of the laptops, clicking furiously on her keyboard. She looked up.

"Trouble is back. Trouble has returned. So, you said, you have heard it all?"

Paul nodded. "Since I can remember, people have played word games with my name. And remember, I inherited the name from my father, and he already passed a lot of them on to me. I doubt that you can come up with something new, Amy."

"I bet you five Quid that I can, Mister Trouble."

"One attempt per day?"

Amy sat still, computing probabilities. "Done. When I raise my finger like this, when I talk, it becomes the official entry of the day. Want to join the game? Brady, Mr. Unknown?"

"Sorry! Brady, Amy. This is Tom Chan. He is our inside man."

Amy said, "What's your job at Strom Defense?"

Tom looked at the small gang. "I don't know. I haven't started yet."

"What's your current job?"

"None. I am—"

Amy interrupted. "Third generation Hong Kong Chinese immigrant family, born and raised here in London and Birmingham. A student of economics at LSE. Interested in Indie bands, Japanese manga, and the Star Wars franchise."

Paul said, "Did I mention that Amy is our data girl?" He had no idea how Amy had done that.

Tom frowned. "But how did you find that out so fast? You didn't even type my name into Google."

Amy put a finger over her mouth. "Trade secret. When you have some to share, toy-boy, I am willing to trade."

Paul added, "And Mata Hari here is annoyed that you became the inside man and not herself."

"I can't imagine why," Tom muttered to himself.

"I heard that," Amy quipped.

It was going on eight o'clock, and the troupe ordered Chinese food. Planning had started. They had from now to Friday to get results, so Paul reiterated what Henry Daven and Sam Lornsen had relayed to him. Then he added his own thoughts.