Troubleshooter

Chapter 19 - Nightclubbing

PAUL TROUBLE had visited the Keystone Club several times before. Located in a Regent Street building for the last two hundred years, the club was an institution for the London power elite. It was close to 10:00 p.m. and the club was mainly occupied with hard-core bachelors and divorcees without a real home or the disillusioned married members avoiding humdrum home life. General Roger McAllister was neither. He had become a widower about ten years earliers and his daughter had left home about the same time. It had made the decision easy for McAllister to sell his Euston apartment, make his barrack quarter his full home, and spend his free time in the club. In his prime, he had been a huge man whom you could imagine on a battlefield, commanding the troops. Now in his mid-sixties, marred by some health issues, he had shrunken a bit, but could still command any room he stepped in.

"Drink, Paul?" he asked after they had shaken hands and had settled.

"I'll have a Coke Zero with lots of ice, please," Paul told the discreet waiter that had materialized beside him.

They studied each other for a while until Paul's drink arrived. They had worked together on missions, some successes, some failures, and some in-betweens. They were used to waiting in some command center or backyard apartment and had no need to fill silence with small talk. Paul hadn't seen the General for a while now, as their paths didn't cross professionally anymore. And after the split-up from Isabelle not personally either.

"What can I do for you, Paul?"

"What can you tell me about Strom Defense? Apart from the fact that Isabelle is working there now." He couldn't help squeezing that in.

"I didn't know that you knew," McAllister muttered.

"I ran into her today. Don't worry; we behaved, no scratching, no fighting."

"Strom Defense. About six billion US dollars in revenue, my daughter is one of around ten thousand employees globally. Interesting branch of your company. They are very successful in what they are doing and they made an interesting transition in the last ten years."

"In what way?"

"The weapons and military industry is still mostly about metal. Big ships, airplanes, armored vehicles, weapon technology. All one improved generation after another. But more and more it is soft components that make the difference in a weapon through very intelligent software that allows you to support decision-making or remote interaction with the battlefield."

"You mean like drone aircrafts?"

"Exactly. You risk fewer soldiers' lives, have flexible deployment, and the computer gives you hints what to do. The second soft component is new materials. Think: better polymers or stronger ceramics, away from steel and alloy. More and more weapons and their load are made of this stuff. Strom Defense made the right decisions, invested in new technologies and is now riding high on the success. Some of the brightest engineers of the industry are working for that place." McAllister glanced at Paul. "But you must surely know this already."

Paul shrugged. "Not really. I work mostly in the background and rarely have an insight into Strom Industry branches. Usually we are looking at the organizations we plan to buy."

"So, you want to buy another defense-related company?"

Paul shook his head. "I am on a special project for Strom Industries' CEO Henry Daven. I had a quick briefing last night and this morning, but it was in the financial area because this is where our problem lies."

"I can assure you, in the current military spending climate, it must be hard for Strom Defense not to make a ton of money."

"No, we are talking about theft. Someone stole a lot of money. Or embezzled it. Or is trying to hide it for some reason."

"Not my primary area of expertise, Paul. How can I help you with this?"

"I wanted to get your impression, as the British Army is a big client of Strom Defense. Have there been any scandals in the past or rumors?"

McAllister shook his head. "No. A well-run company. I know some of their senior staff from conferences. John Talley, the managing director. The sales head, Rudy Turner. And the R&D guy, George Kendall. I used one of their prototype drones a while back for a black ops mission. Like I said, they operate a tight ship in a difficult, very competitive and risky line of business."

"Shoot, I had hoped that you could give me some new insight," Paul sighed. That part was over quick. He could imagine what would come next.

After they drank in silence, the inevitable topic arose.

"Sorry about Isabelle's and your split-up. It must have been hard for both of you." McAllister was direct as ever.

Paul sighted. "It somehow did not work. I hurt her when I called of the engagement so suddenly."

"She's still hurt," McAllister said.

"If it is any consolation to you: I am, too."

"What went wrong?"

"I feel wrong."

"In what sense? Nothing seems wrong with you on the outside?"

"Becoming a normal person in a normal job with normal relationships." The way Paul said it, it sounded more aggressive than he had intended to.

But McAllister decided to pass over the sarcastic undertones. "Well, as a lifelong soldier, this is definitely one area where I cannot give you any advice." McAllister chuckled.

"Doing my job, being in my apartment, having a relationship with Isabelle, it all felt artificial. As if I was on a job to impersonate a mergers and acquisition accountant, and then impersonating the same accountant during his time off work."

"Paul, normal people work to live. It is off work when they do the things that are important to them," McAllister tried to educate his companion.

"Either way, it always felt like playing the part."

"I see." McAllister decided to skip the most obvious question, why Paul had decided to leave the normal relationship with Isabelle but had stuck with the normal job in accounting.

"As if it all could be over in a minute when the assignment is over."

"Paul, there is no assignment. What you are doing now is called 'life'. And, rest assured, you are leading a perfectly normal life. Including girlfriend troubles." McAllister wiggled his mustache. "Well, maybe just a little boring. What is your plan B now that the girlfriend normal life thing didn't work out?"

Paul rubbed his hands together. "I have this great bay window in my apartment that allows me to study normal life from the safety of my home. There is one old lady—I think she is the caretaker or the owner of the apartment building opposite. She must be about eighty years old and I mostly see her sweeping the sidewalk dutifully. I suspect it is her excuse to be on the street for the possibility of a chance encounter with another person."

"Some people do like to talk to other people just for the sake of it."

"Not a concept I am good at, but that is not my point. In all these years I watched her, I have never seen her with anyone who seems to be close to her. No husband, no old lady friends with pink hair, no old style Maurice Chevalier acquaintances, no grown up children nor grandkids to visit her. She doesn't seem to go out much, except to buy groceries or to go a café down our street on Sunday afternoon. She is always sitting alone, just minding her own business, drinking tea and eating cake. She is eighty years old, has lived a full life, and what is there to show for it? If she dies, either her neighbors will smell her after three weeks or I will notice her missing sweeping from my bay window."

Paul fell silent and finished his drink.

General McAllister looked at Paul with his gray eyes. "Paul, you should ask her and get her point of view. Gives you perspective. Maybe she is lonely and the people she loved have gone before her. Maybe she is perfectly content after a full life. Only one way to find out."

"I guess you won't run her through your database?" Paul asked, and both men chuckled. "Sorry that I asked. You make it sound so simple."

"It is, Son. It is."