Rare Vigilance (Whitethorn Agency)

“I actually prefer night work, so the meeting time was a pleasant surprise,” Atlas said.

The statement drew a chuckle from Decebal. “Yes, the hours were one of the main reasons Beatrice recommended you in particular. She also said you were her best.”

Faced with Decebal’s open curiosity, he chose to borrow from his sister’s confidence. “I am.”

He waited while the older man silently watched him. Unlike the young man in the hall, Decebal’s inspection was pointed and Atlas wondered how he measured up. He doubted he was as impressive as some of the previous agents Bea had sent; he didn’t have expensive clothes or the swagger some employers wanted. The past few months had left him looking rough from too little sleep and not enough good nutrition. But he valued function over fashion and his record showed his glowing past accomplishments. Hopefully Decebal would take all that into consideration.

He must have seen something he liked, because he said, “I hope you are. I do not enjoy wasting my time.”

Thank God Bea had prepped him for the interview when he’d called her this morning. She’d warned to expect bluntness. She said Decebal was from a different era, that his experiences moving between different countries helped shape his strong beliefs in loyalty and family. She’d said it like a compliment, something Bea didn’t hand out easily. That meant Decebal’s statement probably wasn’t some poor attempt at intimidation to see if Atlas got rattled. More likely, he was speaking the truth, which meant Atlas would extend the same courtesy back.

“I have no desire to waste your time either, sir.”

Decebal leaned forward and settled his hands on the desk. “You served?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. You understand the bonds of loyalty. I expect it from all I work with. I am sure you are curious what the position entails.”

“Yes, sir,” Atlas said, thrown by Decebal’s turning the conversation into another direction.

He’d expected to be further interrogated about his military past. Every other potential employer had wanted to know exactly what he’d done overseas to see if they could borrow some of his clout when bragging about him to their friends. For Decebal to accept his word and move on... Gratitude and confusion warred in Atlas, even as he tried to refocus.

“I am sure Beatrice explained my past dealings with Whitethorn. My business recently expanded, and my competitors were not pleased. I am concerned they may choose to show their frustrations beyond the negotiation table, in a more personal way.”

“Most of my work has been in protection details,” Atlas said.

“Excellent,” Decebal said. “Your hiring is not for me, but for my son. This would not deter you?”

Atlas gave a firm shake of the head. “No, sir. But you specify this is a protection detail. Our agency’s choice to not carry doesn’t deter you?”

“No,” Decebal said. “Over my years, I have learned the presence of a gun does not guarantee safety, nor competence. Beatrice informed me you would not be armed with a gun and I see no reason why you should be.”

Interesting. “Thank you.”

Decebal reached to a stack of papers on the side of his desk. “Your sister and I already spoke about the nuances of your role. She believed you would be open to them.” He selected a packet and handed it to Atlas. “This is the same potential agreement previous agents signed. My lawyer worked closely with Whitethorn on it, but we can make adjustments. Please, take a moment to review it. I need to speak with Helias.”

Atlas began skimming the documents while Decebal joined Helias near the office door.

It was pretty standard, calling for an NDA and outlining familiar duties he’d taken on in previous jobs. A few changes caught his eye though. He was not allowed to wear any clothes that would indicate he was a Whitethorn employee; instead, he was expected to blend in with the client’s dress. Bea must have already worked that one out with the lawyer, since it stated he would either be provided with clothes or an allowance for their purchase. He had access to the house and grounds only at the client’s behest. His hours could fluctuate as his client requested, but would mostly be standard night shifts due to the family’s personal and business needs. The client was contractually bound to contact Atlas when choosing to leave the house’s grounds; either Atlas would accompany the client to the chosen destination, or a team explicitly approved by him would fill in. That amused him. As if he’d approve of a team without having worked with them before.

The final point at the bottom of the page of changes threw him the most. Under no circumstances, regardless of the severity of harm, was he allowed to take his client to any outside hospital or medical facility. The only physicians and medical staff with clearance to treat the client were back here at Decebal’s house, or they would meet Atlas and the client through a house call. This expectation was inviolate, even if it resulted in the client’s death.

Atlas glanced up from the documents as Decebal returned to his desk. Helias must have left the room, judging from the quiet click of the door at his back. Decebal looked tired as he sat in his chair once more and steepled his fingers. “I assume you have questions,” he said.

“I’m comfortable with all the stipulations except this last one,” Atlas replied and placed the agreement on the desk. He tapped the point about the medical treatment. “I’m not sure I can agree to that.”

Decebal frowned. “It’s nonnegotiable. I’m sure you saw the language stating you and Whitethorn would not be held responsible for any negative consequences arising from the stipulation.”

“I did,” Atlas agreed, “but I’m not sure I can make a personal commitment to watching a client die in front of me.” He pressed his hands together in his lap. “I saw enough death.”

The frown Atlas expected to deepen vanished. Decebal nodded and said slowly, “I believe I understand. Perhaps it would ease your mind to know that the expectation is due to a unique medical condition, rather than a want of feeling. For the sake of privacy and speed of treatment, we prefer to utilize our private physicians. We have had close calls in the past with doctors who have demanded full medical histories and access to numerous documents before offering treatment.”

“Oh.”

“Knowing this,” Decebal continued, “are you more comfortable with our request?”

Atlas didn’t like it. He hated the idea of standing idly by, waiting for someone to come save the day, rather than springing into action and helping. But, after his own experiences with hostile doctors, he understood why Decebal would close ranks so tightly, especially for his son’s sake. “Can you guarantee that someone will be on call at all hours to provide treatment if needed?”