Company Men

By Michael Kayatta

John’s list of allies is growing thin, and his enemies have begun to mobilize. Deceived, betrayed, and stranded, John must finally discover the long-hidden history of the Company’s mysterious founders if he ever hopes to be free of them once and for all. Company Men is Book Three of The Diaspora Trilogy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael Kayatta
• Release date: Feb 25, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301847136

Michael Kayatta

Wrote The Diaspora Trilogy Fraggle advocate Straight teeth Questionable facial hair Videogame enthusiast Scented hand-soap user Honda Element driver Nerd culture aficionado Mac and PC user (WTF) Comfortable bed owner Konoha loyalist Vibrams purchaser Normal shoe wearer

Book preview

Company Men

By Michael Kayatta

Copyright 2012 Michael Kayatta

Smashwords Edition

Prologue

August 9th, 1945

Takeshi sat idly in the pew eighth back from the altar, neither too close nor far to attract special notice. He rested his head forward against clasped hands on the wooden back of the bench ahead of him, allowing his shoulder-length, wiry black hair to curtain the sides of his face. He hadn’t the need to hide from anyone in particular that day, but shading his face was as effortless as sitting normally, so why not take such a simple spare precaution? After all, it was usually the careless ones who were caught and made to disappear. His neck stiffened briefly at the chill thought.

Urakami Tenshudō was chosen as the rendezvous for its location; the cathedral was a perfect compromise for both him and his primary contact. It was near enough to be reached by bicycle, but not so near as to risk happening into social acquaintances ignorant of his true reason for residing in Nagasaki. In the fifteen years since beginning his assignment, the sanctuary had become a truer refuge than he had known it to be at the outset, now a bastion, the single place in all of Japan he could speak his true purpose, safe from the ubiquitous audience of this never-ending performance.

The building’s architecture helped him also, a monument to Western design and structure built standoffishly amidst the mostly paper and wooden buildings of the surrounding village. It wasn’t the same as his own Saint Mary’s back in dusty little Carson City, but something about the stones and the air reminded him of his father, the reverend Castler, and those lengthy lectures the man made to his sullied, agricultural congregation.

Such a funny juxtaposition, Takeshi considered, a childhood in burning Nevada under wing of his Japanese mother, followed by an adulthood swallowed by the country of her birth with only this building to serve as any remnant of his Western heritage. He wondered if she’d been placed into one of the internment camps of which there’d been quiet speak. Perhaps his father had successfully hidden her from them, though he’d have had no help from the townsfolk. Mother had always been thought an inappropriate pairing for the shining white reverend, or so Takeshi had oft overheard from whispering friends and neighbors.

He raised his head from the pew’s back and looked at the thick rays of light pouring through the hall’s colored glass. Fifteen to eleven, he thought, or almost. He should be here.

Takeshi turned his head and looked to the back doors, opened wide to the vestibule. Parishioners still lingered about the space from the morning’s unusually large service--a preparation for the approaching Assumption of Mary--but none were Musk, his sole contact and familiar in the whole of Japan. None were the man who knew his true name.

Not Takeshi, though it was real enough. Everyone, even the Japanese government, knew that name. It had become a cover, an alias, a checkable identifying crutch allowing him the barest need for counterfeit documents. No, the name Musk knew was the codename assigned to Takeshi by the United States government, a symbol of his true loyalties and a mirror with which to view himself and say, I am real. I am more than my cover.

Gourd, a voice spoke softly from behind him.

Takeshi leaned his back against the bench and let his hair fall behind its rounded edge. Your voice is unfamiliar, friend, he replied quietly, his Japanese as instinctive and clean as an educated natives’. Where is Musk?

The man behind Takeshi spoke softly, but his words held sharp and clear. Gone three days, now.

Takeshi knew better than to turn, though curiosity tempted him. Judging by the nearness of the man’s voice, he envisioned this new agent in a praying position behind him, his head bowed forward and his lips near the back of Takeshi’s neck. This was the first time a contact had been unknown to him--it was protocol to be introduced by an agent already recognized and trusted--but if this man were an enemy, he knew that by now, he’d have already been killed ... or worse.

Gone from Nagasaki three days? Takeshi asked. How do you know that?

All of Vine has disappeared, the man answered swiftly.

Takeshi took a moment to digest this new information. Vine was the network of operatives by which information was transferred back to the States. Musk had been one of them. Takeshi had never been introduced to the others, but he’d been told there’d been near ten strung together.

There’s been chatter, the voice continued. Something big.

There’s been no chatter of note for weeks, Takeshi scoffed. I would know. It’s my job to know.

On our side, not theirs, the man replied.

What about our side? With the Fuehrer made of ashes, we’re nearly accomplished.

Exactly. Vine is gone. The war nears end. Time to go home.

How did you find me? Takeshi asked, growing increasingly uncomfortable. How do you know my name?

The information you’ve gathered has been used by many. Musk arranged those who required it to be here during certain conferences you kept with him. But that’s irrelevant now. If this conflict is truly to be won soon, we are both owed a great debt for our part in winning it, if even just the chance to see our homes and lovers once again. The man coughed lightly and brought his mouth close enough to move the tips of Takeshi’s hair with his breath. I have arranged for your extraction to America in three days time. Be here Sunday at 1700 hours and I will find you.

Takeshi leaned forward and smiled. Home, he thought. It’s been so long since I’ve even thought the word. He stood and left the row, making his way down the center aisle toward the velvet-covered altar. He didn’t turn behind him; he knew the agent who’d approached him was already gone.

As he walked slowly across the thin red carpeting at his feet, he thought about America. It wouldn’t be easy returning there; he’d now lived half his life in Japan, and post-war sentiment toward Japanese was sure to be somewhat less than welcoming. But, then again, none of that mattered now. He’d be able to see his parents again, get to know both as adults, finally explain why he’d been unable to contact them for these fifteen long years. They’d be so proud, he knew, proud for his service, his dedication, his sacrifice. It was how they’d raised him to be.

His younger brother would be grown up by now, too. Hopefully, he’d avoided the camps with that European complexion he’d inherited from Father. Hopefully, they’d all been well during his absence.

As Takeshi reached the front altar, he moved to his left toward an opening between two women lost devoutly in murmurs of hushed prayer. Careful not to disturb them, he knelt against the spare cushion below his knees and set his palms together at his front. He thought back on the man’s words from just minutes ago, that Musk had instructed other agents to covertly attend their meets. It made perfect sense when he reflected on it: Why risk a second telling when it was so simple to make another privy to the first?

There likely were many agents over the years, Takeshi considered. That was a good thing, a great thing. It meant that the information he’d garnered over these long years of service had truly meant something, enough to risk such a number of intelligence agents in close proximity. It meant that he’d earned a legitimate claim in America’s victory over Japan and Germany. The thought elated him.

All of these years weren’t for nothing. I go home a patriot and a hero, even if no one but my country and I know the truth. And that’s enough.

Takeshi looked up to the stained glass window above him. The day’s light shone through red. That’s odd, he thought. The window is blue.

There was a loud noise, a deafening noise that followed the thought, like a hundred synchronized claps of thunder impatiently competing for loudest strike. The red light beaming past the windows grew brighter, hotter. Takeshi’s skin was burning. The cathedral ripped apart around him, stones, wood, and glass floating weightlessly in his orbit. He lost consciousness. He couldn’t think, feel, see. He was lost to all but time.

Thirty seconds later, his eyes opened and the room was silent. Pain returned a flash moment after sight and he opened his mouth to scream at the biting torment. His cries were silent. It was impossible to know which was broken, his voice or his hearing. Something was wrong. Everything was wrong. What had happened? A bomb? A raid?

He’d been on the cusp of an explosion before, but the wounds that cloaked him hadn’t come from pressure, shrapnel, or impact. His injuries felt more akin to the touch of hot napalm, though he sensed no chemical clinging tight to his skin, nor had he seen colored flames surrounding the church. There’d only been light, that searing red light.

He coughed violently and felt warm liquid spill from the sides of his mouth. It burned his lips and cheeks as lava, spattering and cascading across his tender skin. His neck and spine couldn’t manage the retching; they felt newly broken with each passing moment, grinding against each other into sand as his face burned and burned. He struggled to calm and breathe through his nose, letting his mouth reservoir what he now recognized as his blood.

A stone shifted loudly above him and, for the first time since seeing the light, Takeshi took note of the space around him. A pyramid of broken stone entombed him, each slab slanting inward from near the sides of his body to form peak a mere three feet above his head. Cradled at their juncture was a large square of glass precariously wedged between two joining pieces of debris. He could see himself in its mirroring surface, red, bloodied, and boiled. Only the presence of his eyes identified the misshapen circular mass reflected at him as a human face.

A stone shifted and the glass broke apart, shattering his image into a shower of falling triangles, plunging knives against what was left of his skin.

How? he thought frantically. I knew. I knew. I knew everything.

Chapter 1

I think I’ve finally pinpointed what’s been bothering me about this hotel, Felix said.

There was no response from the man leaning casually against the transparent wall that separated them.

It’s extremely lax in the field of guest services, Felix continued. "The room service is awful--when there is room service--and try as I might, I can’t recall the last time my pillows had a decent fluffing. And how about those little mints wrapped in foil left above the casing?"

The man on the other side of the wall tipped the brim of his wide cowboy hat up an inch from his eyebrows and spat at the ground beside him. A small cup on the floor near his feet spun a quarter turn before steadying.

Now, that’s just unsanitary, Felix said. Thank goodness I requested this special security glass for my room, otherwise I might catch something ... Are you writing any of this down? He leaned forward and banged against the surface directly behind the man’s shoulders. Each knock landed silently, as Felix knew they would.

There was something distinctly odd about his holding cell, especially the glass-like wall that connected it to the outer room. Sometimes it would fall dark; a fluid black that began at the wall’s top and spread quickly down throughout its surface like a towel blotting ink. Once the wall went fully dark, a total blindness encompassed the space outside of the room as well as within.

Sometimes, sound would disappear from his cell as sharply as the light. Without warning, nothing in his room, not his breathing, not his speaking, not his screaming nor yelling would produce even a decibel of noise. There were then those times when both his sight and hearing were taken in tandem. Those were the most difficult.

It was simple to guess at the Company’s purpose--they were trying to break him--but what they hoped to achieve by doing so still evaded him. He’d been held in solitary for what felt like a week, no, perhaps two or three, and each second of his imprisonment there weighed heavier on his mind and body than any hour he’d ever spent in that lab underground.

Felix dropped his hand from the glass and walked to the other side of his shallow jail, past the plastic pail he’d made a point to use as infrequently as possible while held captive. He pushed his back against the polished concrete of the back wall and bent his knees to drop. As he landed on the floor, the room fell into darkness. He sighed and closed his eyes, trying to force the illusion that he’d blanked the room himself. A few seconds later, a familiar voice echoed through the chamber.

Doctor Kala, it said.

Felix opened his eyes and found the room bright again. The man in the cowboy hat, and the cup that had been near his boot were both gone from the opposite side of the front wall. A handsome Caucasian man stood in their place with brown parted hair and an open smile filled with shining, piano-key teeth.

Doctor Kala, the man repeated. My name is--

Paul Gourd, Felix interrupted. Yes, I know it.

Felix knew that saying the man’s name first would cause him surprise--after all, they’d never met in this timeline--but the bewildered expression that struck Paul Gourd at mention of his name bordered panic.

Facility director, right? Felix continued, enjoying the response. I believe that’s the arbitrary title you’ve assigned yourself.

Gourd raised his left hand over his mouth and slowly slid his index finger and thumb down the sides of his cheeks to his chin. As the hand dropped from his face, Felix saw the man’s mouth offer the same smile with which he’d first appeared.

Gourd leaned forward and put his hands flat against the glass. Don’t tell me I’ve forgotten our first introduction, he said. How rude of me.

No trouble, Felix said, lightly shrugging his shoulders.

Gourd briefly bit his bottom lip, but kept his smile as he pushed back from the glass to a squarely-shouldered stance. Well, I’m sure you’d like it if I got to the point.

--of a sharpened sword, perhaps, Felix replied casually.

Gourd spoke forcefully. I’m interested in the watch.

Which watch? Felix asked.

The Diaspora, Gourd replied, keeping his composure.

Oh. And here I was thinking you’d kidnapped me for hard labor, Felix said. "I know someone has to dig out those underground facilities, and I am widely known for my crackerjack shovel-work, after all."

I want the secret to that watch, Dr. Kala, Gourd repeated. We can discuss it now, or I can halve the size of your cell and make sure its lights and sounds don’t return until you’re ready to play ball.

Felix stood and walked closer to the glass. "The secret to it? he asked. What secret? This isn’t some medieval alchemical concoction missing a mystical herb that completes the potion."

If you’re not ready to--

This is science, not hocus-pocusry, Felix continued, his voice flustered. It’s a process. If you were thinking you could just come chat me up during visiting hours and ask me to slip a little piece of paper containing instructions under the door, I apologize, but you were mistaken.

"So, how would you propose we both get what we want from this situation? Gourd asked. Get me to release you, provide you with a Company lab space, and let you hand me another one-hit-wonder-watch that breaks the moment after you’ve already made a second, improbable escape from my facility?"

What’s more improbable still is me ever willingly allowing you to place me back into a box underground as part of one of your indentured-scientist programs, Felix replied. He paused a moment and then added smugly, Well, in whichever of those boxes is still standing, I mean.

"So, it was you that hit Martha’s hub."

No, of course not. I just heard something about it on the news, Felix said sarcastically.

One of Gourd’s eyebrows raised a millimeter.

Now, there’s a terrifying concept, Felix continued, speaking more confidently. "The news. The Company goes public, and I’m not talking about the Dow Jones. Listen to this next part carefully if you’re truly the man in charge. I just so happen to have it all, Gourd, every bit of it recorded and videotaped. I knew you were coming for me long before you actually dragged me here. Because of that, I took a few precautionary measures. If I fail to physically meet a prearranged contact in New York City, alone, it all hits the major press in one month’s time. You’d better start to pray I haven’t been here that long already, otherwise you’re about to find quite the nasty surprise on channel six during your Wednesday-morning espresso."

Gourd’s smile curled closed and his barrel chest shook with hiccupping laughter. I imagine if that were truly your stratagem, he said, I’d have already suffered janitoring the consequences. Anyhow, even if it was, I can already see the headlines you’d earn: Homeless hobo reveals secret teleportation plot. He laughed again.

Do you honestly think it would be so difficult to expose you? Felix asked. You’ve been at the head of massive construction programs, the center of kidnapping and coercion, and the tail of what I’m sure is a lengthy trail of billions in monetary transactions. I know your name, your company, and the pinpoint location of your remaining labs.

I’ve been at this game a long time, Doctor. Neither the police, government, nor IRS concern me in the slightest. I’ve got my fingers in a hundred different pies.

Shopping for gloves must be a nightmare, Felix replied.

Listen, Kala, you want out from under me and I want out from over you. Giving me the Diaspora is how we both move forward. Surely you’re intelligent enough to realize something so simple.

Felix turned his face away from Gourd toward the blank wall behind him and remained silent.

After a few moments, Gourd spoke again. If you aren’t going to help me with this, I’ll just have to find the device you’ve already made. And once I’ve done that, I’ll have no further need for you past taking personal revenge on your body for its part in blowing up my lab space and ruining years of scientific development. He turned and began to walk from the glass.

Felix turned back toward the man as he left. Gourd, he called. The man stopped. "It was Cameron, wasn’t it? He’s the one who tipped you off to my location. Tell me, what does he gain in working for you?"

Gourd spoke without turning his head back. Why do you ask? he said. I thought you knew everything. With that, the room fell dark and silent.

Chapter 2

"Cameron, are you insane?" John asked in a hushed voice, sweeping his eyes across the blanket desert surrounding them. A large building stood at their front, bordered in chain link fence capped with thick coils of barbed wire.

Not last time I checked, Cameron said. Look around you. This place has been abandoned for years.

Yeah, what was your plan for if it wasn’t? John chided. We haven’t been back to this place since the fifties!

Don’t talk about the fifties like they were actually fifty years ago, Cameron replied. Anyway, we would have improvised. Just like I’m doing now. He flashed a quick smile and removed a large set of wire cutters from the waist of his pants.

Sophie hopped up to him and deftly slid the cutters from his hands. Before he could take them back, she was already at work on the fence, cutting a large circle from its side and counting the links aloud as she split them.

John scanned the area nervously. Cameron was right; the grounds, at the very least, looked deserted. Aside from the facility, there was nothing around them but short humps of sand rolling out for miles. It may have simply been the dark of the cloudy, half-moon sky, but it seemed as though even the Advocate gymnasium was missing from where it had been in 1958. If the Company had taken the time to demolish something so nondescript, why would they leave an actual lab standing unmanned with nothing but a rusted fence to defend it?

Sophie yelled out, breaking John’s contemplation. Forty-eight! Sophie exclaimed proudly as a large oblong circle fell out from the fence.

Good work, Sophie, Cameron said.

I know, she replied smugly, happily skipping through the hole into the facility grounds.

What about cameras? John asked as he carefully made his way through the fence after the young girl.

John, just relax and let me do the worrying for us, alright? Cameron answered. Just remember why we’re here.

John smiled at the thought. Cameron was right. If this worked, he was going to see Ronika again, and soon. It felt like ages had passed since they’d been on that train together in Russia, sipping cappuccinos and making bad jokes at one another. Hopefully it wouldn’t be long until they were doing it again. Though, perhaps next time they’d stick to the safety of Ronika’s living room.

Cameron cursed loudly and suddenly, causing John’s head to whip back. The man had caught his sleeve on a sharp edge of cut metal while climbing through the hole. John exhaled and relaxed the muscles that had tensed throughout his back. Though finding Ronika was worth the risk, he couldn’t help but feel jumpy trespassing on Company turf without an invite.

You alright? John asked.

Yes, Cameron said as he stood straight. He craned his head and looked at the new tear in his shirt near the back of his shoulder. Just a scratch.

The group continued across the sand to the lab’s front doors. An orange, blinking bulb struck abruptly above them as they arrived.

Sophie gave a high-pitched Meep! and ran to John’s side. She hugged onto his leg and buried her face near the pocket.

John froze and listened; still no sound but the desert’s midnight wind.

Never seen a motion detector before? Cameron asked.

Sophie lifted her face and moved her pupils in an arch around the porch. Seemingly satisfied, she released John’s pants and casually approached the building’s front as if she’d been brave since the start.

A thick, metal chain looped around the door handles. Sophie raised the wire cutters and strained to clip the chain.

I appreciate the enthusiasm, Cameron said to her. But gusto’s no match for biceps. He smiled and lightly took the tool from her hands. After ten seconds of strain, Cameron was finally able to put the blades through the thick link, splitting the security chain in half. It slid loudly from the handles to the concrete below.

Without the weight of its chain, the left door released a whining creak and pulled five inches inward. John put his hand to it and pushed it an additional five. No lock, even? he asked.

Cameron shrugged and moved his hand above John to the top of the door. It swung open with the quick extension of his fingers. The space behind was masked in a thick, consuming darkness. He walked directly into it with John and Sophie trailing nervously behind.

Do you think it’s safe to turn on the lights? John asked.

Cameron pulled a small lighter from his pocket and flicked the flint into a small flame. Tall, thin shadows grew around the room and quickly leapt from the spark, leaving the space defined in silhouette. Stay close, he said.

John remembered the facility’s lobby well, though it was admittedly difficult to see with nothing but Cameron’s Bic to expose it. With cautious footsteps he followed Cameron toward the back end of the room and the large empty receptionist’s desk that waited there. Sophie grabbed onto John’s hand and allowed