Avatar Dawn

By Michael C. Haldas

Stephen Bentfield is on the edge. Separated from his wife and suffering burnout, his life unravels when finds a faded bloodstained piece of paper that says "REMEMBER". Causing him to burst into visions of people and places he's never seen, he suddenly finds himself befriended by a mysterious stranger and pursued by killers. Caught up in a mystery involving ancient Mesopotamia, Nazi Germany and the crucifixion of Christ, Bentfield begins a global odyssey in search of a mysterious book that holds a secret that will change his life forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: May 8, 2002
• ISBN: 9781469771540

Michael C. Haldas

Michael Haldas is an author of both fiction and non-fiction. He lives with his wife in Germantown, Maryland.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Bentfield had been dreaming again, the same vivid dreams he’d been having for the last two weeks.

This time it was of a man running through a long dark tunnel that looked like an underground sewer. Moisture was dripping from the ceiling and the mesh-encased light bulbs hanging overhead flickered. The man was dressed in some sort of dark military uniform that was torn and bloodied near his right shoulder. Even so, he clutched a pistol in that hand and was running as fast as he could. He eventually came to an iron door and pushed it open. Screams immediately echoed from the other side. Another uniformed man with dark brows, a puffy face, and a small moustache like toothbrush bristle looked up eyes wide and was about to say something.

The dream stopped. Bentfield shot up startled, forgetting for a moment he was in his own bedroom. Something was making noise and he glanced around frantically, his brain too muddled to identify it. A second later it registered. The phone was ringing. He reached out from beneath the mass of tangled covers and picked it up.

Hello? he muttered groggily.

Stephen? Is that you? a female voice asked with too much enthusiasm for this early in the morning. He cocked an eye towards the night-stand. The clock radio glowed a pale green 6:57 a.m.

Who’s this?

Sandy, she said in a tone suggesting offense.

Cut me a break. It’s not even seven o’clock yet. Where are you and why are you calling me so early, anyway? I told you I wasn’t coming in today, he grumbled and began massaging his forehead. It felt as if a train would come roaring out of it at any moment. The vodka he had consumed effortlessly last night was getting revenge, and the ripples he’d made in his waterbed were not helping matters. He felt sick to his stomach.

One question at a time, Mr. Bentfield, sir. First of all, I am at work…

Work! What, is it nearing review time or something?

Real funny, Stephen. As a matter of fact, I’m not due for a review for another four months. The reason I’m here is that I got a very interesting phone call just after you left yesterday to go meet your estranged. By the way, how did that go?

The mention of Amanda aroused a new pain in him. I don’t want to talk about that now, he growled and glanced at the empty side of the bed.

Fine. Anyway, I tried to call you on the cell phone and at home. Don’t you ever check your messages?

I was busy when I got home and didn’t check messages.

Then the evening with Amanda was a success!

Sandy, will you please tell me who called and don’t ask me another question about Amanda!

It was Adam Testavar.

Adam Testavar!? What did he want? He couldn’t imagine what one of the most powerful businessmen on the planet could want with him.

He said he was only going to be in town a short while and wanted to meet with you.

Crap. What did you tell him?

I told him you weren’t in and…

No! he yelled, smacking a pillow. I missed the opportunity of a lifetime.

Oh Stephen, relax. Have a little more faith. I told him you’d left to go to a very important meeting but would be happy to meet with him at 8:30 this morning.

Sandy, you’re the best!

Of course I am. That’s why you hired me.

Thank you, dear. I owe you one.

Hah! You owe me ten. Anyway, get your butt in here and we’ll discuss it later.

Yes ma’am, he said and slammed down the phone, forgetting for the moment about Amanda, his headache, and his strange dreams.

Adam Testavar, he mused to himself as he hopped out of bed and bounced into his bathroom. Turning the gold-plated shower knobs to the right setting, he stripped off his boxers and jumped in. He still couldn’t believe a man like that would want to meet with him. It was so ironic. The night before last he’d gone to bed reading a lengthy article in Time about Adam Testavar’s rise to prominence in the last ten years.

No one quite knew where Testavar came from, though it was rumored to be a very poor European country, possibly Romania. He’d basically appeared out of nowhere and was able to launch Testavar Industries into the Fortune 500 seemingly overnight, gaining global-wide business interests in several different high technology marketplaces.

Bentfield considered Testavar an enigma. Aside from no one knowing where he came from, where he went to school, or how he even got started, Testavar would rarely even consent to doing any public appearances. This would truly be a rare opportunity.

Excited, Bentfield finished showering and shut off the water. But when he stepped out to dry himself, he immediately felt a cold draft on his wet skin. Wrapping the towel around him, he walked into the bedroom. The curtain in front of the bedroom balcony was billowing slightly. He didn’t remember being out there recently and his brows knotted as he walked over and shut it.

His dreams had been unusually vivid lately. On several occasions he’d even awakened in the middle of sleepwalking. He shuddered to think that he had been inadvertently wandering around on his eleventh floor balcony last night, but it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. Dinner with his estranged wife had been a disaster and he’d gone to bed drunk and morose.

Putting it out of his mind, he quickly shaved and then towel dryed and ran a brush through his dark, wavy hair. Flinging off his body towel in the nearby hamper, he opened his great mirrored closets revealing a vast array of expensive custom-made suits, shirts, and ties. He would definitely have to look his conservative best. He chose a deep navy, Italian-cut suit, a purple silk power tie, and a monogrammed shirt, initials on the cuff. He supplemented them with gold cuff links and a nice watch. After brushing his teeth and slapping on cologne, he took one last look at himself. He definitely felt dressed to impress.

Grabbing his briefcase off the desk in the corner of the bedroom, he walked out into the living area and took his raincoat out of the closet. He was about to leave when it dawned on him he didn’t hear the familiar jingle of keys coming from the pocket. After a quick and fruitless rummage, he thought for moment. He’d worn the coat out to dinner last night and could have sworn he’d left his keys in it.

Where are they? he grumbled, suddenly remembering and stomping back into the bedroom. Going to the sitting chair in the corner, he grabbed the pants he’d flung there last night and immediately heard the rattling of metal. He reached into the right hand pocket but cried out in pain, quickly removing his hand as he felt something like a hot, searing pin stab him in the fingertips. He looked at them expecting to see blood.

But they were fine.

The keys were in the other pocket and his face wrinkled in confusion. What had just caused him such sudden agony? Holding the pants upside down, he shook them violently and the keys dropped harmlessly to the floor as did a small piece of faded, yellow paper. He bent down and gingerly picked it up. It was dog-eared, about half the size of an index card, and looked as if it had once been torn from a larger sheet. It had a brown, flaky stain in the corner, and a word was written on it in what looked like hurried strokes. REMEMBER.

Remember, he whispered to himself and felt a tingling in his hand as if it had fallen asleep.

Suddenly his head flared with pain and he burst into vision.

It was as if he was dreaming again but with open eyes. He sank to one knee, his head throbbing, and a sound like a heartbeat echoed in his ears.

From a great distance, as if he were gazing down from the sky, he saw a man stumbling across a desert plain during a sand and rainstorm. The man’s clothes were tattered and bloodied and his bare feet were a collage of open sores. The man could barely walk. Lightning flickered, illuminating the area for a brief second, and the man glanced back over his shoulder. Several figures followed in the distance. The man grew panicked and hurried his pace.

The scene switched.

Bentfield briefly saw the silhouette of dark mountains. Then he saw the same man, still bloodied and wounded, walking along a narrow mountain path at night. A storm still raged, an occasional flicker of lightning illuminating the fantastic scenery of mountains and the dark sea beyond. The man wrapped his arms around him as he went.

The scene switched a third time. The man was now inside some type of dusty chamber with a dirt floor. It was barren and the walls were jagged. Bentfield could see a small, ovular opening the man must have come through. It was crude and jagged, as if hastily made. He thought he saw the silhouettes of furniture beyond it.

The man rested on both his knees in the center of the small room, scribbling frantically in a small leather bound book. He finished, shut it, and drew a large dagger from his belt. Muttering something, he

raised the knife and plunged it deep into his chest.

Bentfield cried out just as his vision suddenly returned to normal.

His hand was shaking and he quickly stuffed the piece of paper in his pocket. My God, he thought, what’s happening to me? For a brief time he stood still, too shaken and afraid to even think. A moment later, he picked up his keys, grabbed his briefcase and left.

He had barely shut the front door behind him when his balcony lock clicked open, the door slid back, and a soft padded foot stepped onto his beautiful blue carpet.

CHAPTER 2

Bentfield parked his car and stormed into his office building. Darting through the lobby he stepped into the elevator and pushed the button for the twelfth floor.

It was 8:25.

The morning rush hour had been horrible. The government had shown its usual brilliance in their construction schemes and what was normally a fifteen-minute ride became a forty-minute trek. His nerves were shot. Testavar would be here any minute and he hadn’t even had time to prepare.

He reached his floor and stepped out into the reception area. It was empty except for the receptionist who was reading a magazine and chewing gum. Behind her, displayed proudly on the wall in large golden letters, were the words Bentfield Technologies, Inc. Good morning, Mr. Bentfield, the receptionist said flinging down the magazine.

Has Mr. Adam Testavar arrived yet?

No sir. No visitors have been here yet.

Good. When he does, notify me right away and I’ll come down and greet him, he said and started to leave when he spun back around. On second thought notify Sandy and have her come down here and get him—and get rid of the gum and magazines.

Okay, she replied, but he was already gone, stomping down the hallway towards his office.

BTI had been a dream of his for years that started when he was in undergraduate school at George Washington. He had a natural aptitude with computers and excelled as a computer science and engineering double major, graduating in the top percentile. During undergrad, he conceived of an idea that would eventually be the foundation for launching his company. It was called ACDS, Automated Computer System Design, a revolutionary system engineering and design methodology that drastically reduced system development time and cost. But he kept it to himself and refined it over the next few years while getting his MBA at the Wharton School of Business in Philadelphia.

During his two years away from the Washington area, he gained the raw business knowledge he needed and returned shortly after graduation. Using start-up capital from his parents, he founded BTI, a computer services firm.

In the age where web-based information technology businesses thrived, he was able to land large contracts with several Federal Government agencies and also supplement his business in the commercial world. BTI grew at a steady rate and at the age of thirty-two, he was President and CEO of a three hundred million dollar computer firm with over two thousand employees and twenty satellite offices throughout the United States and abroad.

During this exciting time in his life he met Amanda, a tall, lean, auburn-haired beauty who mesmerized him from the first day he saw her in a George Washington campus dining hall. Unlike him, she was a liberal arts major and a compassionate thinker. She believed in the value of arts, literature, and social and political issues, often working with charities and spending her Christmas holidays feeding the Washington homeless. He admired her ability to be a free spirit, totally independent in her actions and thinking, and after it became apparent BTI was a success, he bought her an engagement ring. They were married eight months later.

But it was his relentless pursuit of success that would eventually drive them apart. As BTI grew, he became hungry for more, driven to be one of the largest government contracting firms in the D.C. area. He’d spend sixteen to eighteen hours a day at work. She endured it at first, but after a while it became too much. She barely saw him, and when she did he was moody from mental and physical fatigue. The activities they enjoyed together—plays, movies, and travel—became things of the past. The bickering soon began and evolved into a cold, distancing silence. But he was too oblivious to see it and she loved him too much to let it degrade further. So in a calculated move to get him to open his eyes, and without any warning as far as he was concerned, she packed her things and left. But the move backfired. He was devastated but didn’t know what to do. He had lost touch with himself and couldn’t see what had really happened. He fell even further into a deep bitterness and resented her for her seeming rejection of him. Even last night’s attempt at reconciliation became a disaster, and he still blamed her for the problems he had actually caused.

Good morning, Stephen. Sandy sat at her desk just outside his office door.

Hi, he said with a frown and flung his overcoat in the closet.

What’s wrong? I thought you were excited.

Nothing, he murmured, vanishing through the double doors to his office. He was removing his planner and some notes from his briefcase when he noticed Sandy’s petite, slightly plump frame hovering at the door. She was grinning and playing with a prominent earring that was magnified by her short, boyish-cut blond hair.

You’re nervous. I can tell. Do you want some juice or something? He didn’t drink coffee.

No. Just get ready to greet Testavar, he said and finished sorting his stuff.

By the way, John Hollenbeck called. He wants you to come over to his house tomorrow for a get-together.

She was about to leave when he looked up. Thanks.

You’re welcome, she said with a warm smile and left. She, perhaps better than anyone else except Amanda, understood and tolerated his moods.

As soon as she left, he glanced around his office, making sure everything was immaculate. For the most part, he kept it as bland as he could stand it. When dealing with his government customers, he found that too much glitz would make them nervous, like they were dealing with a used-car salesman, not to mention the overhead issues it conjured up in their minds. But with its huge mahogany desk, nice carpet, and modern furniture, it was satisfactory for his commercial clients as well.

He took a seat and spun around, facing downtown Bethesda. His mind was still dwelling on his strange experience and he reached into his pocket, hesitantly pulling out the piece of paper.

Remember, he repeated to himself and wondered how this piece of paper got into his pocket anyway. And how did it cause his dreams to spring to life in his waking hours? It didn’t make any sense. But most of all he lamented the fact that all this crap was happening the day he was supposed to meet Testavar.

As he contemplated, he reluctantly began to admit that perhaps Amanda had been right. Maybe he was working too hard, stressing himself out and heading to an early grave. Maybe his mind was in overdrive, causing the strange dreams and hallucinations. It made him feel like his life was mess. He suddenly felt the need for Sandy’s juice and stood up.

The vision burst through his head like a bullet.

It was of a great stone table with a couple dozen men and women seated around it. It rested in a room with bare gray walls except for two windows with drawn curtains and a set of large wooden double doors. A speakerphone rested in the center of its black and polished surface, and a dim ceiling light was the only source of illumination. Suddenly, as if he were a cameraman moving in for a close-up, he was drawn to each individual and scanned them one by one. He saw one woman with long, braided red hair that formed a thick cord that hung down to her waist. She was standing next to a dark, round-faced man. He saw another olive-skinned man, tall and regal looking with gray around his temples and wearing a priest’s collar. But when he saw an older, blond-haired woman, he felt a strange stirring in his chest. She had bright blue eyes and full, short hair with flecks of white and gray. Her face was perfectly sculpted, high cheekbones and strong chin, and only the lines beneath her eyes and about her neck betrayed her age. But like the others, she too wore a grave expression and was looking down. Suddenly, the great double doors of the chamber burst open.

The vision stopped. Bentfield fell back into his chair.

Sandy’s voice came over the intercom. Mr. Bentfield, Mr. Testavar is here to see you.

He didn’t reply.

Mr. Bentfield?

He knew he had to get his act together now. He jammed the piece of paper in his pocket and used a handkerchief to wipe the slight bit of perspiration off his brow. He straightened his tie and pushed the speaker button on his phone.

Please bring him in, Sandy.

He walked out from behind his desk and waited. Like the scene in his vision, the double doors of his office swung open and a man stepped into the room.

Bentfield immediately felt his presence like the first gusts of warm wind before a great summer thunderstorm. Sandy shut the doors and he stared at the tall figure dressed in a gray three-piece suit. Adam Testavar radiated power, and all of a sudden he felt very inadequate.

Good morning, Mr. Bentfield. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Testavar said coming forward and extending his hand. Bentfield felt his movement ripple the air like it was water.

The pleasure’s mine.

Testavar’s grip was surprisingly strong, and he felt a slight tingling but quickly suppressed his fear of another freaky experience. An awkward moment passed between them.

Adam Testavar was very tall, taller than he was by a couple of inches, and gaunt looking. He was wiry thin, with a full head of thick, silvery-gray hair brushed back forming a small mane on his head. His face, which was leathery and lined as if he’d spent too much time in the sun, was hawk-like with sunken-in cheeks, a pointed nose and chin, and thin colorless lips. His eyes were as gray as his hair and intense. Bentfield felt uncomfortable under their glare. There was almost something unnatural about them.

Can I get you some coffee? he asked breaking the silence.

No, thank you. Ms. Richards already offered, Testavar said smiling crookedly, the right part of his mouth slightly upraised. His voice was rich, deep, and guttural with very slight traces of a foreign accent. I want to thank you for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice.

You’re very welcome. I was looking forward to it. I don’t often have the opportunity to meet someone as important in the business community as you.

Thank you, he replied and rubbed his chin with his long, spidery fingers.

Why don’t we have a seat? Bentfield suggested, gesturing towards the sofa and chairs in the corner.

Testavar took a seat in one of the chairs, and Bentfield planted himself on the sofa across from him, watching as the enigmatic man sat in a fluid graceful motion. With his arms on either armrest, Testavar now resembled a king surveying his kingdom, the great window that made up an entire wall of Bentfield’s office silhouetting him against the northern Maryland suburbs. Although he looked older than his supposed fifty-five years, the man had a charisma that couldn’t be denied, and Bentfield felt small and insignificant in the same room with him, a feeling he wasn’t used to.

What brings you to the Washington area? Bentfield asked crossing his legs and getting falsely comfortable.

Testavar looked at him, his crooked grin still plastered on his face. Business.

Sandy says you’re leaving town tomorrow. Returning to headquarters in New York?

Yes.

Has your trip been successful?

That remains to be seen.

How long have you been in the area?

Two weeks.

He was beginning to get the feeling Testavar was either a man of few words, or extremely arrogant. He glanced out the window at the morning traffic but out of the corner of his eye saw Testavar staring at him intensely. Even if he were blind, he would feel this man’s eyes. Testavar’s gaze hadn’t left him since he entered the room.

He decided to cut to the chase. So, what brings you to BTI?

You, Testavar replied, pointing a bony finger. And your company.

I’m not sure I follow, he replied and ran a hand through his hair. This man was making him nervous and he didn’t like it.

"You read the Wall Street Journal I assume?"

Of course. Who doesn’t, except the wannabes who carry it under their arm for show. Yes. As a matter of fact, I read about your recent acquisition of two small firms in the Boston area, a software engineering and a telecommunications firm, I believe.

Testavar nodded and put his fingers together, the tips pressing against each other. And, am I correct in assuming you wish to expand further in the Washington area? Bentfield added

That is correct.

That’s why you wanted to see me.

Precisely.

Bentfield uncrossed his legs and leaned back. Was Testavar going to ask him to sell out? The prospect of doing so had crossed his mind from time to time but it always remained on the horizon of his thought. He sure hadn’t expected the first person to approach him to be Adam Testavar.

I’m not necessarily talking about buying you out, you realize.

Bentfield frowned. Oh?

Testavar shook his head slowly. I don’t want to mislead you. That is a consideration of mine, but there are others.

Such as?

Such as the new state-of-the-art modifications to ACDS your technicians are busy at work on. The ones you yourself initiated. A very intelligent move to dust it off and reintroduce it as a commercial product.

Bentfield looked up incredulously. How did you know…

Of course, I also have an interest in you, Testavar continued. Not too many people get accepted to the Wharton School of Business right out of undergrad and go on to build such a steadily successful company by the time they’re thirty-two. Not to mention the fact that not too many people can claim they’ve never worked for anybody in their life.

Bentfield gasped inwardly, completely amazed. How did he know so much about him, and how did he know about the mods to ACDS?

Testavar let out a genuine laugh, showing a set of perfect white teeth that contrasted sharply with his worn face. Don’t be too taken back, Mr. Bentfield…

Call me Stephen. You might as well at this point. You obviously know me better than I know you.

Testavar’s smile quickly vanished and he looked up at Bentfield with a curious frown, his gaze becoming more serious. We’ll see, he said and then continued. As for your background, I did some investigating to see what kind of man I’d be dealing with and I…

Were not talking about any deals yet, Mr. Testavar.

Testavar sat for a moment with his mouth open in mid-sentence and then simply said, Adam, if you please, and began again undaunted. As I was saying before, I talked to some contacts of mine from DOD a few days ago and your name came up. Apparently you and BTI are thought of very highly.

Thank you.

Don’t thank me. You obviously understand your business very well. It was from Colonel Dower that I learned about your initial claim to fame, ACDS. Very impressive.

Bentfield smiled, recalling the countless extra hours he worked on it during school. But he was quickly brought back from nostalgia by the gray eyes that now burned him like cold iron. The excitement and flattery of meeting Testavar was over. It was time to get down to brass tacks. Mr. Test…Adam. What exactly do you want?

Testavar didn’t reply. His gazed was fixed on him, but he seemed to be someplace else. Bentfield was about to speak up when Testavar suddenly became reanimated and cupped his hands.

I am also interested in expanding my computer engineering capabilities in the Washington area. I soon want to bid on a large weapons systems contract for a major black" program. I’m under non-disclosure and am not at liberty to speak about it in detail at the moment. It’s a multi-billion dollar effort. From what I know, and I know more than you think I do…"

To that statement Bentfield had no doubt.

…BTI, although small relatively speaking, is light years ahead technically. You only lack the resources and…

Which you would provide. Bentfield was pretty well connected in DOD, but had no idea what secret program Testavar was talking about.

You’re getting ahead of me, but yes, Testavar replied with the slightest hint of irritation. I would like to either acquire BTI, making you a partner of Testavar Inc., or at least have you join the team I am forming for this contract. I can assure you your share would be significant.

Bentfield was shocked. What Testavar was offering was a once in a lifetime deal. To be a contributing partner bringing three hundred million dollars of business to the table would set him for life and elevate him to entirely new circles in the technology solutions marketplace.

A cloud suddenly drifted over the sun and the room dimmed. He looked at Testavar in the new light, who now reminded him of an ancient statue, cracked and withered.

That’s something I’ll have to think about. I really hadn’t seriously considered selling, at least not for many years. Many of my employees started with me and I feel loyalty to them.

I like that in an owner.

I’m so glad. Pompous ego maniac. As far as your teaming offer, I obviously have to have some more information. I’ve never even heard the slightest reference to a program the size and scope you’re alluding to from any of my contacts. And to be honest with you, I’m a little surprised that you’re making a preliminary offer without really knowing what BTI is all about.

I already told you I know more than you think…, he said, trailing off and whispered something at the end of his sentence.

Bentfield felt a cold spasm rifle through his chest.

Testavar suddenly moved to the edge of his seat, gazing at him like prey.

What did you just say? Bentfield asked, recovering and hoping he hadn’t outwardly betrayed his sudden chest pain.

Nothing, just talking to myself, Testavar replied with his crooked grin and leaned back slowly, his gaze losing some of its intensity.

Bentfield stood up, his chest still burning. He’d had enough of this weird meeting. Adam. I have to think more about what you said before we can even continue our discussions to the next step.

Excellent. Am I to understand then that you will consider my offers?

Bentfield nodded, hoping he wasn’t visibly nervous.

Then we can meet again in the near future and speak in greater detail?

He nodded again.

Good, and by the way, while I am here, I would very much like to see your standard presentation on ACDS if it could be arranged.

Bentfield didn’t want to, but he was finding it difficult to refuse this man. Reluctantly, he walked over to his phone. Sandy, please have Bob Stonavich set up the main conference room for an ACDS demo.

Testavar grabbed him lightly on the arm and he recoiled.

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.

Bentfield shook his head indicating not to worry about it and wished for a drink, despite his hangover.

I just wanted to give you this. He handed him his card.

Oh, of course, Bentfield replied and gave him one in return.

They walked out of his office. To his surprise, Sandy sat at her desk laughing and talking with two men. All three of them looked up as he and Testavar emerged.

Stephen, I’d like you to meet two of my associates, Testavar said. This is Dr. Terence Appleby, CEO of Brighton Systems Inc., and Dr. Michael Sharp, President of StarTech Inc., two subsidiaries of mine. And this is Mr. Stephen Bentfield.

They exchanged handshakes and nice-to-meet-you’s. Both men were seemingly in their late thirties, early forties. Appleby, who looked the older of the two, seemed like a stereotypical engineer with a cheap

J.C. Penney-like pinstripe suit, necktie that hung a little above his belt, and thick glasses. His reddish gray beard, and what was left of his thinning hair, was neatly trimmed. Sharp, a tall, good-looking blond man with touches of gray, looked more like a sales guy. At least he knows how to dress, Bentfield thought, momentarily admiring his double-breasted suit.

I brought them along to evaluate the demo, that is, just in case our meeting went well and you wished to show me more about your company, Testavar explained smiling.

I see, Bentfield replied. This was insane. Testavar was too prepared for such an impromptu meeting, and he was getting more and more reluctant to show or tell him anything. But instead he found himself saying, Follow me, gentlemen. I’ll take you on a quick tour of the facility, and then we’ll see the demo.

He took them throughout the building, reluctantly explaining that this was his corporate headquarters, and that he had twenty satellite offices spread throughout the United States and abroad in support of his government and commercial contracts. They seemed to be impressed by the facility, which housed more than one hundred and twenty employees. Its open area architecture provided a pleasant working atmosphere. They also liked the internal cafeteria, which was catered daily, and the gym in the northeast corner of the floor. Bent-field paid the monthly cost of the cafeteria out of his own pocket so that employees could eat free. He also paid the outrageous insurance rates so that he could keep weights and other gym equipment. He encouraged physical fitness for his employees, and he himself was an avid exerciser despite his workaholism.

Appleby questioned him about his overhead but he told them that employee morale was incredible at BTI, and that the free lunches and the gym were a major contributing factor. Since he paid it out of his own pocket, it didn’t factor heavily into his cost to his clients, or to BTI. And what’s a few dollars more if you can afford it and your employees work hard for you? he explained.

Appleby and Sharp asked several more questions, but Testavar didn’t say a word. Bentfield could feel his eyes burrowing holes in his back. He thought he might be imagining it, but every time he turned, he found Testavar glaring. What was with his eyes!?

They eventually finished the tour and reached the main conference room. Everyone, including several of Bentfield’s people, took seats around the table. In the center was a silver tray of donuts and croissants with napkins and small paper plates resting next to it. Mugs had been placed in front of each chair and Sandy supplied coffee to anybody who wanted it. Testavar took nothing. After everyone was situated, Bentfield walked to the front of the room and began.

Good morning, everybody. I’d like to introduce and welcome Mr. Adam Testavar and his associates Dr. Terence Appleby and Dr. Michael Sharp. For those who may not know, Mr. Testavar is the owner and CEO of Testavar Industries Inc., ranked in the Fortune 500, he said but quickly wished he hadn’t. The rumors of him selling the company were now bound to start.

Today I would like to give you all a brief history on BTI, where we are today, and where we are going. Immediately after, Mr. Robert Stonavich, our senior engineer in charge of design, he said gesturing towards the terminal in the corner, will give a demo of ACDS, our revised methodology that allows us to do most of our engineering and development projects, regardless if they’re applications development, weapons systems engineering, or telecommunication projects, at nearly half the cost and time using traditional methods. Bentfield saw Appleby’s and Sharp’s eyebrows rise.

There was a brief pause as Sandy walked forward and handed him the controls for his multimedia show.

Let’s begin, he said and she dimmed the lights. The room was cast into darkness except for the pale luminescent glow of the screen. Bent-field began, speaking of how he formed BTI based on ACDS. He spoke of the company’s rapid growth and displayed figures for the last fiscal year of three hundred million along with colorful charts indicating how services had expanded to cover all aspects of systems engineering and integration

He continued, explaining how BTI was successfully penetrating the federal and commercial markets simultaneously. But as he surveyed the room, trying to make eye contact with everyone, he was drawn to Testavar, who sat there, eyes glowing like an animal’s at night. In the shadows they seemed to have more power, and he suddenly felt as if the walls were closing in. He tried to break away but they held him, making him feel now as if he were being held under water. Raw fear seized him. He had to get out of here. Soon.

He concluded with a brief introduction to ACDS and stated that they planned to pursue both markets as long as the opportunities presented themselves. He turned the floor over to Bob Stonavich and with a sigh and deep breath took a seat.

Stonavich’s presentation lasted an hour, and Appleby and Sharp fired one question after another. Bentfield jumped in on several of them, glad for the distraction, and made sure that no proprietary information slipped out. He was pleased to see that Testavar’s people were genuinely impressed. Testavar even broke his eerie silence and complimented him on his idea to market the methodology as both a whole package and a series of individual modules. However, he didn’t break his gaze and Bentfield was thankful when Sandy flicked on the lights.

Does anyone have any final questions or comments? he asked, standing as everyone’s eyes adjusted.

Silence.

Then I’d like to thank you all for attending today.

Everybody began to quickly shuffle out, some faster than others in an attempt to get back to their real work. Bentfield was the last, save Sandy, who began to clean up. He was dead tired and couldn’t wait to get out of his suit. The adrenaline had worn off, and last night’s activities had caught up with him.

He deliberately walked towards the exit. Testavar made a motion towards his office, but he pretended to ignore him. Testavar hesitated, but then all three men followed him to the elevator and stopped.

Well Adam, it’s been a pleasure meeting you, he said extending his hand, somewhat sickened at his own insincerity.

Likewise, Stephen. I hope you consider seriously what we’ve discussed, Testavar replied, and came closer, practically whispering in his ear. My resources are vast; think what I can do for you in terms of revenues. Remember my card. You can reach me at that number. I’ll expect to hear from you soon.

Drop dead, Bentfield thought as they shook hands. Testavar turned and flashed him his crooked smile one last time. The elevator doors shut.

Thank God, he muttered and went back to his office.

The black Mercedes pulled out of the parking lot slowly. Sharp, who was driving, reached up and adjusted the mirror. His eyes, which showed just above the rim, met Testavar’s, whose eyes gazed out through the windshield impassively. Appleby unbuckled his seat belt and turned around.

Well, he said removing his glasses. What do you think?

Testavar’s eyes shifted ever so slightly.

I’m not sure yet. I’ll reserve judgment until we talk to Mark Allaban, he said and returned to his silence.

Sandy was waiting for Bentfield outside his office. He went up and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Thank you for everything.

How did it go? she asked with a mischievous grin.

Weird…very weird.

Her grin vanished. What do you mean?

Nothing, he said shaking his head. She could tell he didn’t want to talk about it, but her curiosity was insatiable.

Well, what was he like at least?

An arrogant jerk.

What did you expect from such a bigwig? His associates were very nice.

I could tell.

Oh Stephen, relax. I didn’t give away any precious secrets. By the way, don’t forget to call John Hollenbeck.

"Oh yeah. Thanks. That reminds me. Send an email about what happened today to the Group VP’s. I want a meeting with them at 9

a.m. on Monday," he ordered and walked into his office.

He loosened his tie, sat down, and leaned back with his hands behind his head. He pondered the strange meeting, Testavar’s eyes, the offer, and the man’s seemingly quiet desperation to affiliate with BTI in some capacity. He had a monumental decision to consider and he knew it.

As he was thinking, he once again felt the urge to reexamine the piece of paper but was too afraid of having another frightening vision. Instead, he grabbed his briefcase and left.

He had just climbed into his car when it finally dawned on him what was strange about Testavar. He had been taught in school that it was a biological impossibility, but if so, Testavar was a freak case. He thought back to Testavar’s unwavering penetrating gaze that pierced like swords and now realized why it was so effective. The man didn’t blink his eyes.

CHAPTER 3

Amanda Bentfield woke up early and began the day as any other. She jumped out of bed, flung on black exercise leggings, sneakers, leg warmers, and a light cotton sweatshirt, and put her hair in a ponytail. She rubbed in a little moisturizer, straightened up her room, and then sat on the edge of the bed and began to cry.

The crying spell ended a moment later and she wiped her eyes. Looking at herself in the mirror, she knew she couldn’t go on much longer feeling this way. The puffy, dark circles under her eyes confirmed that. She’d agonized over her situation with Stephen long enough. After last night, she knew there was almost no chance. Yet the realization struck her hard and she felt the tears well up again. No more crying, she thought as she clenched the inside of her cheek. No more.

She’d had high hopes for their dinner, thinking she could finally reach him, but they evaporated within the first half-hour. He’d become so immersed in his drive he couldn’t see it was consuming his soul. In the past, she’d been able to temper it. But not any more, and last night proved it.

The dinner had started off strange. She couldn’t get used to feeling like a familiar stranger around the person with whom she’d shared the happiest and most intimate moments of her life. But when the awkwardness wore off and they started talking seriously, he attacked right away. Stephen’s defense was always an aggressive offense but knowing this didn’t help. He blamed her for the problems, saying she was no longer supportive. He accused her of loving and supporting him to suit her own ends and when she had everything she wanted, becoming bored and taking it out on him. It stabbed her like cold knives. How could he possibly think such horrible thoughts? She had given her heart, body, and soul to him fully. She loved him so much and prayed he’d spoken out of a hurt he couldn’t comprehend because he was no longer in touch with his emotions.

The decision to leave had been the hardest thing she ever had had to do, but she couldn’t bear the fact that his patient, caring, tender side had been devoured by the driven side, which had always threatened to consume him. She would never forget the look on his face, the hurt covered quickly with that masculine bravado, and it broke her heart. But she left anyway, even though she had no place to go. All her friends were married and she refused their invitations, thinking it too much of an imposition. Her parents lived in Ohio and she didn’t want to return home. She loved Washington.

She was shocked when his parents told her to come stay with them in Potomac. They’d always adored her, the daughter they never had, and even though they loved their only son dearly, they too saw what was happening to him.

So she accepted.

Stephen almost seemed relieved, although his contact with his parents dwindled immediately. His mother, who had taken the separation hard, was very hurt. Amanda felt guilty, like she had come between them, but both his parents insisted otherwise. But she knew she would have to leave soon, despite what they said. She owed them that for their kindness. If she didn’t, she’d never get on with her life.

Afraid of more tears, she went downstairs. Though she didn’t feel like it, her morning jog was the best thing to help clear her head.

Ooh! she exclaimed as she opened the front door and quickly jumped back. A tall blond man with his hands behind him stood in the doorway.

I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, he said in a deep voice and stared at her with the clearest set of blue-gray eyes she’d ever seen. He was about Stephen’s height and just as muscular, his physique emphasized by his tight jeans and red tee shirt under an unzipped leather bomber. His long flaxen hair rested on his shoulders and he reminded her of a Viking.

Well you did, she said with a nervous laugh. What can I do for you? I was just on my way out. She felt uncomfortable under his glare.

I am looking for a Mr. Stephen Bentfield.

Senior or junior?

Junior.

I’m sorry, he doesn’t live here, she replied and started to feel even more uncomfortable. The man’s face was flawless and completely expressionless.

That’s odd. I thought he was coming here.

Why? she asked, wishing he’d show his hands.

He paused for a moment, still looking at her impassively. His jaw muscle suddenly twitched.

I can give him a message if you like.

He didn’t say anything and continued to stare at her hard.

Amanda felt like she was being scanned. Something was strange about him, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. It was like he was looking right through her. I can give him a message if you like, she repeated. Whom should I say was asking?

My name is Alexander.

She waited for a moment but he didn’t give a last name. Any message?

No, he said glaring. I can’t discuss it with you. I really have to speak with him directly.

How about if I take your number so he can reach you?

Why don’t you just tell me where I can get in touch with him?

I’m sorry. I’m not willing to do that. The words just came out and she grew