Emerson did an Internet search for ALPHA Meat Packing, but got no hits.
She texted Stryker. “How can you send me to a company that doesn’t exist?”
“Stop Googling and TRUST ME.”
Back at her desk, she continued working.
An hour later, her phone buzzed with a text from Justice. “Hey, Boomslang, confirming dinner tonight. I made res at Raphael’s. How’s 7?”
Even with everything going on, she loved that he hadn’t forgotten. “Looking forward to it,” she replied.
At three forty-five, she drove to the end of a quiet street in Tysons and pulled into the parking lot of ALPHA Meat Packing Company. The four-story building had reflective glass covering the windows. With a few resumes in her tote, she headed to the front door. It was locked, so she pressed the button on the security pad.It has a retina scanner.This must be a secure site.
“Can I help you?” asked a woman.
“This is Emerson Easton. I have a four o’clock.”
The buzzer sounded and she entered the building. “Hello, Detective,” said the receptionist. “Welcome to ALPHA Meat Packing. Ms. Luck will be with you shortly.”
“As in, Providence Luck?” Emerson asked.
“Yes.”
Why does Stryker think I want to be a marketing consultant at a meat packing company?
There was nothing in reception that provided her with any information about the organization. No brochure, no business cards. Nada.
A moment later, Providence appeared. With a warm smile, she shook Emerson’s hand. “Good to see you again, Emerson. C’mon back.”
Providence’s windowless office wasn’t what Emerson had expected. Two desks were pushed together, facing each other. A lone laptop sat closed on one of the desks. The other was void of anything. There were no pictures, no artwork by Sammy or Graham, no awards, no business books or marketing magazines.
On the other side of the room was a shiny conference table surrounded by six mesh office chairs. A lone office plant took up space in a corner, but Emerson couldn’t tell if it was real or plastic. She’d expected a room filled with personality. This had none.
Moreover, she didn’t want to be rude, but she had no interest in marketing.
Providence gestured to the conference table and Emerson sat in one of the chairs near the head. “Congratulations on catching the Wedding Gown Killer.” Providence folded into the seat at the head of the table. “That’s a big deal.”
“Thank you.”
Providence slid a piece of paper over to Emerson. “This is a non-disclosure. If you’d like to learn more about ALPHA, you’ll have to sign this.”
Emerson read the document and signed.
“I understand you’re thinking of leaving ACPD.”
“I am. Do you know why?”
“Stryker told me that you love being a LEO, but weren’t sure ACPD was going to work for you, long-term.”
“That’s right.” Emerson had no idea where this conversation was going.
“ALPHA is a top-secret organization buried in the bureaucracy of DOJ. We report directly to the President. We all have covers. Our primary job is to take out the worst offenders that get off on a technicality or break out of prison. Repeat offenders that have eluded law enforcement from the local to the federal levels.”
“Take out? As in, kill them?”
“Not always, but yes, that’s a necessary option, in some cases.”
“So, you’re not really a marketing consultant.”
