The Russian Crisis

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER FOUR

Jackson Phillips spent his afternoon in his den (slash) office just inside the front door of his bayside cottage. Despite his occasional fits of anxiety, he wasn't at all paranoid. His greatest enemy was himself, not legions of others looking for ways to do him in.

Phillips supposed he had made a slew of enemies during his time in the armed forces, the security service and, particularly as founder and head of a business providing digital materiel to military units and governments around the world. These foes didn't bother him much since he had defeated or held at bay all of them in various ways while he was 'active' in the field. He couldn't see much profit for any of them in attacking now in his retirement.

He wasn't a fool, however. Jackson's cottage home was as secure as he believed it should and could be because of its location. The water separating Shield Island from the mainland was less than half a kilometre wide. In the summer, it was warm enough for a swimmer in a wet suit and fins to make it across in a short time. A boat would cover the distance in minutes, even if it was rowed. But the water separation made it likely any intruder would be seen by several cameras mounted along the island shore to give Jackson a panorama of his island's coast.

His doors were steel-cored and alarmed as were all the windows. The glass was bullet-proof but mainly to withstand the heavy blasts of wind that sometimes drove in from the bay. It would be difficult for someone to break in even with a heavy sledge hammer. There were also a few other deterrents placed at strategic locations in and around the house, most powered by electricity produced by two powerful generators housed in safe-like enclosures outside of the cottage itself.

There was a boathouse a few metres from the cottage; it was an unobtrusive structure largely hidden by boulders. It had large garage-style doors that opened into a small cove. There were no markers leading to the cove and it was very hard to find for a boater who hadn't been to the island before. A set of carbon fibre rails led from the interior of the boathouse into the cove.

Jackson could launch his 24-foot SeaRay runabout into the cove using these rails and land the same way, hauling his boat into the structure with an electric winch and strong cable linked to a bow ring on the SeaRay. Like the cottage, the boathouse was protected by cameras at all four corners and above the door and by a few other deterrents installed by a military supplier with which Jackson had worked closely for years.

Jackson thought a great deal about the two men as he sat at his desk that afternoon. He had known Payne from the time when he was setting up JPI. Payne had worked for a venture capitalist who had invested in JPI. He had impressed Jackson so much, he hired him as soon as the incorporation papers had been signed. Payne had never let him down.

Brownley he did not know but he was impressed by the man's background. He was also impressed by what Payne told him about Brownley's reactions when the Jeep was rear-ended.

Anyone who could rise to be a sergeant major in the Van-Doos would be among the ranks of the best and brightest soldiers in the world. The man's size was daunting - about six feet, three inches tall and an estimated 225 pounds of what looked like pure muscle. He had a fleshy look to his face but the rest of him seemed solid and his moves were fluid and efficient when he wasn't trying to drive a motorboat. Jackson was used to judging people, physically and mentally, from his years as a successful intelligence agent and 'spy.' Doing so had kept him alive and relatively undamaged for decades.

Jackson wondered about Starke. Emile Starke had been head of security at JPI before retiring and making way for Brownley to succeed him. Emile, like Payne, had been with JPI since its inception. Jackson counted him a friend and felt a twinge of guilt because he hadn't talked with the man since moving to the island.

Jackson picked up his smartphone - an advanced model provided by Apple to a preferred customer needing ultimate security - and pressed Starke's number. After two rings, the phone went to voicemail. "Hi; this is Emile. If I know you, leave a message with your number. If I don't know you, I don't want to, so hang up and don't call again." Jackson shrugged and left his first name and number. Hanging up, he laughed aloud at Starke's message. Then, he regretted not trying earlier to reach out to old friends.

By late afternoon, Jackson had refreshed his memory about all of the products of the Machine Learning and Targeting division of JPI - at least all the products developed or under development to the date of his retirement.

In particular, Jackson looked at files he kept on his computer on Maxim Blax, the current CEO of JPI. Blax had been born in the late 1970s. He was naturalized after emigrating from Germany with his parents in the 1980s. He had a master's degree in engineering from Queen's University and MBA from another of the best schools in Canada. His background included management stints at Blackberry, onetime leading maker of secure cellphones and now a large array of automobile software, and in executive positions at several other giant tech companies.

There was no neon sign indicating Maxim was a bully, narcissistic, xenophobic, misogynistic or flawed in any important way. There were no complaints against him or his work at other employers. He had been married and divorced twice but apparently it was all amicable. His double alimony payments were hefty but wouldn't put a strain on his substantial salary and bonuses. Maxim was as clean a candidate for CEO as any Jackson had ever encountered.

Jackson had interviewed Maxim for the position as CEO of JPI and had been a strong advocate for the man when the board met to discuss all ten candidates on the short list. His support had helped push Maxim into the post which was one of the most valued and desired in the Canadian technology scene. That had been only months ago and, now, according to Payne and the vacillating Brownley, Maxim was showing quite different colours.

Jackson had liked Maxim Blax and was amazed and distraught he might have been wrong about the man.

Phillips broke off his studying to make himself a simple supper. He chomped on an apple for dessert as he took a seat in one of the leather chairs where he had hosted his meeting earlier in the day. Looking out over the bay, through the rear windows of his cottage, Jackson witnessed a spectacular sunset but thought about the depressing decision he had to make. 

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