Boston, Massachusetts
AJ FOLLOWED BRIGGS from his new lab, up a flight of stairs, and through a hallway until they reached a pair of floor-to-ceiling double doors. The doors were crafted from solid mahogany, and fitted with polished brass handles and hinges. Briggs placed his thumb on a steel plate next to one of the hinges; a green light flashed, and he pulled the rightmost door open.
Seated at the end of a long mahogany table was a man AJ knew could be none other than Robért Nicolora himself. The man was dressed in a dark, perfectly tailored suit. His hair was onyx, brushed with silver at the temples, and meticulously trimmed. His hands were folded, resting comfortably on the edge of the table. Like fictional characters brought to life, to his left sat the oaf in the Red Sox cap from the Public Garden. To his right, the siren in the flowing silk blouse. AJ blinked twice, doubting himself.
“Welcome, AJ, to the Founder’s Forum,” Nicolora said. “More importantly, welcome to The Think Tank.”
AJ wanted to answer; he should have answered. Instead he stood, stupefied by the scene in front of him. First, the bizarre recruitment by Briggs at BU. Now, a charade in the Public Garden revealed to him. Who were these people?
Briggs coughed politely. “AJ, this is Robért Nicolora,” Briggs said, nodding in the direction of the man seated at the head of the table. “He is one of the founders of this organization, and he is also the Principal Director.”
AJ took a breath and this time forced words from his mouth.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Nicolora,” he managed.
Nicolora smiled, amused. He then gestured to the man in the baseball hat, who produced AJ’s wallet from the pocket of his jacket and set it on the polished table. Nicolora picked up the leather bill-fold, and studied it a moment. “This belongs to you, I believe,” he said and then slid the wallet across the table to AJ.
AJ caught the wallet, tipped it in the air toward Nicolora in acknowledgment, and then sheepishly slipped it into his back pants pocket. It had been over an hour since he had been pick-pocketed in the Public Garden, and he hadn’t even noticed his wallet missing. He glanced at Briggs with both hope and doubt in his eyes, but Briggs’ face offered no safe harbor. He turned again to Nicolora. “Does this mean that I failed some sort of test?”
Stifled laughter filled the room. AJ’s face flamed red.
“No, certainly not. That was just Kalen’s way of saying hello.” Nicolora’s voice was soft, reassuring. “Kalen is an RS:Physical. And to my right is Albane Mesnil. Albane is an RS:Social. She will take over orientation duties for Briggs, now that the recruitment process is complete.”
“Nice to meet both of you, officially,” AJ said, and then added, “since I suppose the Public Garden doesn’t really count.”
His response earned him a grin from Kalen, but only a mute stare from Albane.
He looked back at Nicolora. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course, but first, take a seat. This is not an oral exam, AJ.”
He slid into an open chair next to Briggs. “What do those titles mean? RS:Physical and RS:Social?”
“RS:Physical is our shorthand for a Physical Resource. Think of Kalen as a Navy SEAL, an illusionist, and a professional stuntman all rolled into one. RS:Social means Social Resource. What RS:Physicals do with their bodies, RS:Socials do with their minds. Albane is equal parts psychologist, linguist, actress, and human polygraph machine. In addition to Socials and Physicals, we have many other resources in the Tank: Coordinators, Legals, Medicals, Technicals, Chemicals, and the list goes on.”
“Oh, then if that’s the case, what am I? I mean, what Resource am I?”
Nicolora turned to Briggs.
“Jack, you’ve kept our young hire in the dark, I see. Like a mushroom,” he admonished playfully, and then turned back to AJ. “You are our newest RS:Bio, or Microbiology Resource. Of course, our expectations for you go way beyond the confines of microbiology.”
“What do you mean?”
“You think of yourself as a graduate student in a lab coat. Maybe even as a budding scientist. We don’t. Your achievements, your interests, and your natural skills are all elements of a picture you’ve painted in your mind—a mental self-portrait that your psyche has become quite comfortable with. The frame of that picture is a boundary. Subconsciously, it limits you. You don’t look outside the frame, because that’s just wall space, and the picture inside the frame is what is interesting to you. We don’t have these constraints. We’re going to extract the canvas from the frame, and we’re going to stretch it. We’re going to expose the edges, and start painting there too. If you let that happen, you may surprise yourself. Your self-portrait will change, become more vibrant, and more interesting. The boundaries you’ve set for yourself in your mind will suddenly be visible; they will become lines that you desire to cross.”
“What if I don’t change, or can’t change like you want me to?”
“Change is inevitable, AJ. To fight it is like carrying buckets of water back up a waterfall.”
“What, then, do you expect from me?”
“Nothing more than what you should expect from yourself. Nothing more than what we expect from every person employed in this organization. The Tank is a meritocracy. Put another way, we offer no tenure here. It is not academia. The more capable you prove yourself to be, the more responsibility and opportunity you will be given. The more meaningful your contribution to the team, the more meaningful your compensation will become. The day you stop making a meaningful contribution is the day you will find this facility closed to you.”
AJ nodded and tried to take it all in stride. Nicolora’s speech sounded more like a threat than a “welcome to the team” pep talk.
“Since you mention the facility,” AJ said, glancing behind him, “the front door of this building says The Nicolora Foundation, but you referred to this place as The Think Tank.” He looked around the room, inviting anyone to answer. “I had the impression from the local media that the Nicolora Foundation was a nonprofit trying to solve world hunger and stuff like that. From what I’ve seen today, it seems more like a covert office of the CIA. Am I being recruited by the CIA?”
“No. This is not the CIA. The intricacies of our organization will be made clear to you later,” Briggs said.
AJ did not want to look the fool again, but he was equally afraid this might be his only opportunity for straight talk with the Principal Director for a very long time.
“To be frank, sir, today has not been anything like what I expected. I assumed that I was being recruited for a biotech firm involved in hush-hush government contracts, but that does not appear to be the case. If you could humor me for a moment and tell me exactly what this company does, it would go a long way in calming my nerves.”
Nicolora laughed. “It’s very simple—we solve problems that others cannot. Every Think Tank employee is a specialized, highly trained expert in his or her field. Unlike most companies, where experts are tasked to work with like-minded individuals on a single project for months or even years, we operate differently. We have adopted a model where the ‘best-of-the-best’ are combined into cross-functional teams that exist only until the assignment is complete. When a job is done, the experts are reshuffled into new teams and assigned to different problems. Resources are maximized. Great minds are kept fresh.”
“I thought the Nicolora Foundation was a not-for-profit organization full of PhDs and social scientists working to solve the world’s social and environmental problems?”
“It is, and we are,” said Nicolora. “You are free to take a tour of the Foundation at anytime. The people working on Level 2 do commendable work. I would stack my Foundation up against the RAND Corporation or the Cato Institute any day of the week. But you weren’t recruited to work for the Foundation.”
“Okay, then who do I work for?”
“You work for me.”
AJ was tempted to speak, but held his tongue. The whole cloak-and-dagger routine was clearly a charade that everyone he’d met thus far seemed hell bent on playing. He felt like a kindergartner in a game of keep-away on the playground, except he was the poor oaf chasing a ball he would never be permitted to catch. It was pointless.
“I didn’t answer your question, did I?”
“With all due respect, no sir, you didn’t,” AJ replied. “Why all the secrecy? Why the James Bond gadget lab in the basement? Why run a business that you conceal from the world? This place seems more like a covert branch of the government than a think tank.”
Nicolora clasped his hands together. He inhaled and stared at AJ with narrowed eyes. Then, he began.
“Throughout recorded history there have been many great leaders. Kings and queens, prophets and saints, chiefs and generals, presidents and prime ministers. Some leaders are benevolent, others not. Some are motivated by power, some by greed, some by doctrine, and others by righteousness. Some are celebrated, and many are despised. Regardless of the unique mark they leave on history, all leaders have one thing in common. They do not lead alone. Behind every leader stands a cast of advisors and confidants whose influence and counsel quietly shapes the world. These men and women are the unsung heroes of legend and lore, and these men and women are we.”
AJ pondered the power of Nicolora’s words.
“You see AJ, the notion of a think tank is nothing new. Think tanks have existed as long as governance itself. Oh, maybe not in name, but certainly in practice. What chief had not a council, what king no court, what president no cabinet? Through the millennia, we have been called mystics, wise men, advisors, mentors, counselors, and even apostles—whatever the name, our charter has remained unchanged: to provide information, options, and guidance to those who make the decisions that shape the lives of men. It is a daunting task. It is a duty that should fall only on the most worthy and capable of minds.”
“Still, why operate in secrecy?”
“Many reasons, but I’ll give you the top three. Because our services are primarily solicited by entities who demand secrecy. Because our embedded resources’ effectiveness is directly proportional to their anonymity. And most importantly, because our operation would be viewed as a terrible threat by some who maintain positions of power in government and industry.”
“And the field agents?”
“AJ. Don’t disappoint me by asking questions you should already know the answer to,” Nicolora chastised. “Why do you think we have resources trained to operate in the field?”
Nicolora was right; he knew the answer to his question. He had known it his entire life.
“Because if you want something done right, then you’d best do it yourself?”
“Exactly. In the beginning, we naively believed our charter was to provide a place where our clients could come for answers—solutions which they would go on to implement independently. We learned quickly that our clients not only have trouble problem solving, but they are equally dreadful at executing. Hence, our field resources were born.”
“Is The Think Tank tied to the U.S. government?”
“Around here, AJ, we just call it The Tank,” Nicolora corrected.
A chime sounded from the ceiling, interrupting the conversation. Nicolora looked up.
“Yes?”
A smooth, ethereal voice answered. “Mr. Nicolora, you have a priority call waiting.”
“Who is it, Coordinator? I’m in a meeting.”
“It’s Ms. Morley from Vyrogen Pharmaceuticals, Sir.”
Nicolora’s face hardened. “If you all would please excuse yourselves. I need to take this call. AJ, I’m sorry but I need to cut our Q & A short. Albane can handle any other questions during your orientation today.”
“Yes, Sir, thank you,” AJ replied.
“One more thing . . .”
“Sir?”
“Welcome to The Tank.” Nicolora smiled and then shot Briggs a knowing glance.
AJ nodded respectfully, stood up from his chair, and followed the others out of the room. Nicolora waited until the doors had shut and then pressed the flashing green Line 1 button on the conference room table phone.
“Hello, Meredith. What time should I send the plane?”