“You’re late,” a voice called from behind him.
He spun around. Jack Briggs was sitting on a park bench directly behind him. Briggs had a Boston Globe newspaper folded neatly in his lap and a cup of Dunkin Donuts coffee in his hand. AJ was taken aback; he didn’t recall seeing anyone sitting on the park bench a minute ago.
“You’re right, I am. I’m sorry about that, Mr. Briggs.”
Briggs snorted as he reached inside his coat and pulled out a folded stack of documents. “Take a quick look at this CA. Throw your John Hancock on the dotted line when you’re done.”
“A confidentiality agreement? For what?”
Briggs stared at him. “For confidentiality.”
He stared back. The man standing in front of him looked like the same Briggs he had met in Tim’s office, but his persona had hardened. AJ grabbed the papers, and leafed through the legalese. Halfway through the stack of pages, he sighed, flipped to the last page, and dutifully signed his name.
“Mr. Briggs, I have some questions about—”
Briggs raised his hand, stopping AJ mid-sentence, just as he had done the day before in Tim’s office. He took the signed papers, stuffed them back inside the flap of his coat, and then shifted his gaze to the bronze ducks.
“Appropriate, wouldn’t you say, Archer?” Briggs said. Then, with a smile only in his eyes, he added, “There will be time for questions later. Follow me, son.”
After a ten-minute walk, they arrived at the steps of a renovated seven-story brownstone on the east side of Commonwealth Avenue. Embossed on the glass-paned entry door was a logo:
“This is where you work: The Nicolora Foundation?” AJ asked, remembering the enigmatic bee on Briggs’ business card.
Briggs regarded him, but didn’t answer.
“What is the significance of the bee?”
“Metaphor, Archer, metaphor.”
“So I’m to be the newest drone in your collective hive?”
“A clumsy, shallow interpretation,” Briggs said, shaking his head. “Certainly not what Mr. Nicolora had in mind when he chose the bee as the symbol of this organization. The ancients revered bees, not only because of their industriousness and loyal diligence, but also because bees are agents of fertility, renewing the cycle of life in the flora community around them.”
AJ nodded, making a connection in his mind. “Information is our pollen?”
The corners of Briggs mouth turned up ever so slightly. “And the wisdom distilled from our efforts is our honey.”
Briggs pressed a small black button next to the door. A bell rang, and AJ heard the heavy click of a magnetic lock disengaging. They walked into an elegant foyer that smelled of fresh-cut flowers and furniture polish. A brass plaque next to a grand wooden staircase read: Reception—2nd Floor.
He headed toward the stairs.
“Not so fast,” Briggs called after him. “That’s where the tour ends.”
AJ nodded, trying to hide his confusion.
Briggs walked to the back of the tiny foyer and disappeared behind a corner. AJ chased after him. He found the recruiter standing inside a polished stainless steel elevator, holding the door open, and tapping his foot.
He stepped in without a word, and the door slid shut. He spied something flat and silver in Briggs’ hand, but it was back in the recruiter’s pocket before he could identify what it was. The elevator began to move, accelerating downward with the smoothness of a well-tuned German automobile.
“Some elevator,” AJ said.
“It’s German.”
The doors slid open just as he was beginning to notice what a strange elevator it was. No railing. No keypad. No floor indicator. No emergency call button.
“First stop, Level Zero,” Briggs said.
They stepped out of the elevator into a sea of office cubicles. Briggs kept a half-pace ahead of AJ as they walked, steering his duckling among the cramped walkways. AJ took in the scene, trying not to gawk. He had seemingly stepped out of the lobby of a nineteenth-century vintage brownstone and into the middle of a humming research facility.
Technicians greeted Briggs and nodded at AJ as they passed. They soon arrived at a corner office. The nameplate next to the open door said: A. St. Jean. Briggs knocked on the door frame, and a woman looked up from the computer where she was typing. She smiled.
“Jack!”
“Abbey.”
“Nice to see you still find time to visit The Pit.”
Briggs turned to AJ.
“AJ Archer, meet Abbey St. Jean, our Chief Engineer.”
Her mousy brown hair was pulled back in a short ponytail, and two perfect dimples framed her easy smile. AJ was hypnotized at once by her huge brown eyes, and although he offered his hand to her, the words of salutation in his mind never manifested from his lips.
“Nice to meet you too,” she said, chuckling. “Everyone down here calls me Jeanie; they know I hate it, of course. You can me Eng, or Gadget Girl, or GG, or Queen of the Nerds, or Abbey, or even St. Jean. I have so many handles that it’s hard to keep up with the flavor of the day.”
“I think I’ll go with Gadget Girl,” he said.
Briggs rolled his eyes.
“So, what do you do down here?”
She smiled. “What we do down here is kick the collective butts of Apple, IBM, and DARPA eight days a week. You know the IT race you hear about in the media all the time? We’re winning it.” She shrugged, and then added, “Not that anyone will ever know.”
AJ raised an eyebrow.
“Is his welcome kit ready?” Briggs interjected.
“I have it right here.”
“And his phone?”
“Of course. What kind of ship do you think I run down here?”
“A tight one.”
“That’s right, and don’t you forget it, Briggs.” She winked at AJ. “Alrighty, then. First stop: the dentist. Follow me.”
He followed her to a small room outfitted like a typical dentist’s office. In the middle of the room was a single reclining dentist chair with blue vinyl upholstery.
“Root canal?” he joked, nervously.
“Why? Do you need one?” she asked. “No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“Okay then, no root canal. Have a seat and open up,” she said, gesturing to the chair. “This will only take a sec.”
“What are you going to do?” he asked as she shoved him into the seat.
“My technician, Jessica, is going to glue this on the back of your left upper incisor,” Abbey said, showing him a tiny white disc, the diameter of a pencil eraser and the thickness of a dime.
“Wait a minute — what is that?”
Jessica the technician said, “Open up… just a little cleaning to prep the surface… a little air to dry the enamel… okay, now we place the device. You’re doing great… blue light to cure the adhesive… and you’re done. Easy as pie.”
“Say something,” Abbey said to him.
“What did you just do to my tooth?” he asked in between exploratory swipes with his tongue.
Abbey looked down at the tablet computer in her palm. “Good signal strength. Good clarity. Voice ID set. Perfect.”
“Did you just install a microphone in my mouth?”
“No. I just installed a transceiver on your tooth.”
“You mean you’re going to listen to everything I say?”
“No, no. Don’t be silly. We’re going to transmit everything you say.”
“Everything?”
“When you’re on the job, yeah, pretty much everything. This device enables you to have hands-free communication with any company resource at any time. It transmits voice data to your phone. The phone either archives the data, or retransmits the signal if you are making a call. The phone has its own built-in microphone for redundancy and to record ambient sound that the tooth transceiver misses. This feature enables you to make digital recordings of all your meetings, calls, and field operations.”