A Hidden World

Day Three

I am up at seven having coffee with Clair and Kathy. Orenda's delicious breakfast vanishes by seven forty five. Jake arrives, and a functioning computer room is up and running by eight thirty. An open area across from our suites is converting into an office area. Kathy redirects Jake to assist.

At nine on our balcony, team leaders start identifying issues, choosing investigation directions and vetting help. At nine fifteen, Jazz bursts into my suite. "Kathy, things are really wrong. I can't get information from a lot of Administrators. Some threatened me. How much power does your group have? I need help, can you help the rescuers?"

By nine forty five, many frantic people are running off collecting information. Kathy has a clipboard, checking off a handwritten list while gathering another group together of about forty people. She will be assigning jobs to them and is about to start briefing leaders. I know none of them. I tell Kathy I am off to go check out some orphan managers. I use an excuse that soon we will be too busy.

At ten, Clair and I enter the head office for a foundation. This is their headquarters, here they supervise all programs and care for orphans. They call it the 'Orphan Directory'. It is a large office with a reception area seating thirty, about twenty large interview desks, wall offices, and two long rows of cubicles.

The only sounds in this huge office are two people talking back and forth while typing. They are on a far back wall with their backs to us. They are the only people in this large office. A little surprised, we make our way toward them. As far back in the office as possible, they appear to be entering data from stacks of paper. They sit at a long table with about a dozen monitors and keyboards sitting side by side. Only two are in use.

We are still ten or twelve feet away when Clair smiles, "Hi Bill. Melisa, what're you doing here?"

They turn toward us. Bill replies, "Clair, you're a captain. Good morning, Major."

"Major Tammy, these are a couple of my rescuer instructors. Where is everyone?"

Melisa replies, "We volunteer here. We got phone instructions to enter these files. She said to use these computers because all others are password protected. I've never seen anyone in this office except us."

I ask, "How many hours do you volunteer here?"

Bill replies, "We've been putting in about twenty hours a week. We get credit for our university social sciences courses. We missed a few days due to a medic course, training, and a rescue."

I ask, "Where do you get those files from?"

Melisa leads us to an office in a back corner. Filing boxes stacked five feet high and ten feet long line two walls. "We were told to start here and go box by box across, then start the next row."

I ask, "Melisa, does this situation make any sense to you?"

"No," Bill says in frustration, "I asked about it a couple times. This Elsie woman, who is head of this foundation, claims workers are always out monitoring orphans. I've never seen another person, orphan or otherwise in this office."

Melisa states, "I made inquiries. This directory isn't part of our rescuer services and they couldn't interfere or get a response. I got similar answers from university management."

Intrigued by their answers I do a slow walk around while they watch me. I notice no personal items at any desk or cubicle. No information or warning signs, name plates or certificates anywhere.

I ask, "Do you know which office belongs to this Elsie person?"

They point to a huge office along a back wall. I walk over and open her door. There is nothing on her desk. I walk around her huge ornate desk and open a drawer. Empty. I try several others, but they are empty as well. I see no keyboards, mice, headset or even a monitor. There are no pictures or certificates on any wall. My new friends stand on an opposite side of her desk.

"Do you have her phone number? Clair, may I borrow your phone?"

She hands it over and I dial a number they supply me. On her fancy desk, an image of phone lights up.