The Ghost Pattern (25 page)

...67

...Wednesday, May 11, 12:26AM Local Time (UTC+3:00 hours)

...Vitaliy Myatlev’s Residence

...Moscow, Russia

Vitaliy Myatlev hadn’t moved from his chair the entire night, or day by Moscow’s time zone. His bloodshot eyes, transfixed, glued to the monitors, watched in disbelief how his entire operation was falling apart.

For hours, he watched powerlessly how these strangers, a handful of people, thoroughly destroyed everything he had carefully built. The most secret of his operations, buried deep in the Russian far east, exposed, blown away in just a few hours. How the hell did that happen?

He barked orders every now and then, sending reinforcements, and Ivan rushed to execute them with increasing reluctance. Ivan wasn’t an idiot; he knew very well that all people exposed to his boss’s top-secret operation would have to be eliminated. His Spetsnaz background still fueled loyalties to Russian armed forces, loyalties that sometimes stood in the way.

And yet, no matter how many reinforcements they had sent, how many armored vehicles and how many aircraft, these strangers took them out one by one. Drones, appeared out of nowhere, fired countless missiles, annihilating them.

He had lost…again. This time, there’d be hell to pay.

On the screens, in the early light of dawn, he watched a fleet of American helicopters land. His face a sickly shade of pale, his jaw clenched so hard it hurt, and his fists white-knuckled in anger, he could do nothing but watch powerlessly as every single person was airlifted away.

Then something caught his attention. Someone was lighting flares in a pattern, laying them on the ground. He watched petrified, through dilated pupils, as the flares lined up one after another to form the letter V.

His blood instantly turned to ice, and adrenaline kicked him in the gut, setting off familiar alarm bells. He zoomed in the satellite feed just in time to see clearly the woman who just finished lighting the flares. He saw her turn her face toward him, staring him directly in the eye through the monitor, as if she were in the room with him. He felt her eyes drill into the depths of his heart, making him shudder. Then she waved at him, smiling, as if she knew he was there, observing.

Shocked, he pushed his chair away from the desk and sprang to his feet, pacing nervously.

“Motherfucker,” Myatlev swore loudly, his voice raspy and strangulated with fear and anxiety. How could they know he’d be there, watching? How could
she
know? Who betrayed him?

Then he approached the desk where the satellite monitors were installed, and slammed both his fists against the shiny, cherry-wood surface, making the video equipment rattle.

“So, it’s personal, huh? Alex Hoffmann, you fucking bitch…You want to play? You’re on!”

~~ The End ~~

Read on for an excerpt from

Executive

by Leslie Wolfe

Alex Hoffmann Series Book One

Thank you for reading my book. If you enjoyed it, please take a moment to leave me a review.

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EXECUTIVE

Leslie Wolfe

A Novel

*** PREVIEW ***

...1
...Thursday, March 25, 9:42AM

...Corporate Park Building, Third Floor

...Irvine, California

"I checked her out, and everything is just as expected." Steve pushed a thin file over the large desk, toward his boss. The man took it and flipped carefully through the pages, mumbling his agreement to the various things he was reading.

"Is she available yet?"

"No, sir, waiting for your approval."

The man gave the file and the photo attached to it another thoughtful look.

"Do you think she's ready?"

"No, sir," Steve answered. "But she could be, with a little bit of time and effort."

"She's so young," the man said, "so young. I hope we're right about this."

"She's not any younger than I was when I met you," Steve replied.

"True."

The man stood up and paced the floor for a few minutes, looking out the windows of his office. The sun was climbing in the sky, inundating their world with the crisp morning light. Everything would turn out all right.

"OK, please proceed."

Steve could hear the smile in his voice.

...2
...Friday, April 2, 11:13AM

...Traveling Tech Corporate Offices

...San Diego, California

"I can't do that. We're talking about one of the best tech support analysts I have ever had." George Auster's chubby face was sweating heavily, while trying to persuade his visitor.

His morning was turning into a nightmare that he could not begin to comprehend. The man standing in front of him was not willing to negotiate. This man had stepped through the door, put a picture on his desk, and looked him straight in the eye.

"She has to go. You have 48 hours. Or you lose everything."

He had no choice.

...3
...Saturday, April 10, 6:22PM

...Ridgeview Apartments

...San Diego, California

Your next opportunity awaits.

"I definitely hope so," Alex mumbled, waiting for a new search page to load, while staring at the promising slogan of yet another job board.

With little patience for what she was doing, and in desperate need of a job, Alex was browsing page after page of countless job postings, reading ads, and looking for possible fits. With rent due in just two weeks' time and no money left in the bank, she was considering a variety of jobs, spanning from boring-to-death customer service to marketing, but not ignoring any other available options. It was no longer the issue of making the right career choice; it was about survival and paying the bills.

At 29, she was living alone in a small two-bedroom apartment that looked like a war zone. Not preoccupied by the appearance of her home, she had furnished the apartment with a bizarre selection of items, all serving the purpose of functionality. She had focused on what she needed at particular stages in her life, with no consideration given to furniture styles or colors.

Her desk was huge, quite old, and made of solid wood. It had two sets of drawers, one on each side. Not one square inch of the desk's surface was visible, as it was covered with bills, handwritten notes, and office equipment. Her computer took most of the available space, together with a modem, two printers, a scanner, and a phone, all connected by numerous intertwined wires.

The past few days had been carbon copies of one another— search after search, application after application. She had no choice but to keep going.

...4
...Friday, April 16, 8:40AM

...Corporate Park Building, Third Floor

...Irvine, California

"She's available and running out of money."

"Good. Place the ad in a couple of days. Let me know the minute she sees it."

...5
...Tuesday, April 20, 5:17PM

...Ridgeview Apartments

...San Diego, California

Her chair looked as if it had been taken from a high-end, downtown office setting—black, massive, and all leather, in total contrast to the rest of the room. Leaning comfortably back in it, Alex was reviewing job posting after job posting, and applying to whatever would have had even the slightest chance of landing her an interview. Although she was quickly going through the ads, one caught her attention.

The Agency is looking for highly motivated, independent individual, possessing a variety of business skills and an adventurous spirit. Please email résumé.

"That's weird. The Agency? What kind of name is that?" Alex said out loud, breaking the silence. That had to be just another recruiter. The email address was a Yahoo account, and, without giving it much thought, she submitted her résumé and moved to the next ad.

Seconds later, a familiar sound let her know that she had new email. One look at the sender's name and she opened it right away.

From: The Agency

Subject: Received Application

Thank you for your application.

In order to perform an assessment of your skills, please click on the link below and complete the form. Please note that this process will take at least an hour of your time. Please give truthful answers to all questions, and indicate all the skills you possess. We will carefully review your online application. If selected to move forward in this recruiting process, we will be in contact with you.

"Oh, no, not another form," Alex cried. Most online recruiting forms had proven to be nothing but wasted time, without any benefit for her. Spending an average of 15 minutes on each online application form—creating profiles, usernames, and passwords for a variety of companies—was like shooting herself in the foot. She needed to spend less than one minute on each ad, because of the high volume of ads she had to browse every day. "And this has to be way worse, they say it takes at least a full hour," she complained, but there was no one there to hear her. "You have got to be kidding me . . ." Continuing to grumble, she clicked on the link indicated in the email. A browser page opened up.

Thank you for giving The Agency an hour of your time,
the message read.

"Oh, we're not there yet, pal. I've only given you 15 seconds so far," Alex replied to the written text, as she continued reading.

Please grab a cup of coffee, and let's proceed.

"OK." Smiling at the thought of having a conversation with an online recruiting form, Alex rose and went into the kitchen. Seconds later, she came back to her black leather chair, carrying a large, steaming cup of coffee. "Got it, what else do you want from me?" She clicked next.

If you promise total honesty, I promise a recruiting process without any bullshit,
the following page stated.

"Oh, that's fresh. That's totally new," Alex laughed. In an environment in which getting a job depended on how well you replied to some well-known questions by giving some well-known answers, the whole interviewing process seemed to her like a bad joke, told repeatedly. She was amazed at how most people refused to deal with intelligent, innovative people, preferring instead a standard, already-know-the-answer person, showing little initiative and absolutely no spark.

An old college buddy of hers was currently working as a human resources specialist for a big bank. She had taught Alex a few tricks and explained that recruiters look for specific indicators, such as no turnover of jobs without spending at least two years in the same company, no "empty time" between jobs, and no varied experience—the applicant should only reflect experience in the specific field of the job applied for. Therefore, if Alex wanted to apply for a customer-service position, she had a better chance to get that interview by listing only customer-service experience. Thanks to Leah, and to her own intuition, she was easily getting interview invitations.

With her curiosity at a peak level, she clicked next again.

Now that I have your full attention, let's start. Please select all options applicable to you.

The first page was the most bizarre selection ever put together. There was an endless list of skills and questions, grouped by categories. Next to each entry, there was a small check box, positioned next to an available option. By clicking in the box, a check mark would appear, indicating the respective statement was applicable or true. On the upper right corner of the Web page, a progress bar displayed that this was the first page out of 26.

"One hour? I might be fast, but I think you guys are trying to hire Superman." She took a long sip of coffee and started clicking.