Captain Moritz Tanzer was not happy. Sweat dripped from his black do’-rag, streaking down his silver aviator sunglasses. He had been given the task of cleanup for a special commission, promotion to Commander guaranteed upon completion. Already four of his incompetent subordinates had screwed up containing the situation. He was beginning to lose face—and in the world of corporate politics, face was everything.

“And what about Cobra Squad? Why aren’t they out there looking for them right now?” He glowered, pacing in front of his third story office window in the Human Resources building.

“Captain,” Tanzer’s right hand man Sergeant Harvey stood at rigor-mortis attention and nervously cleared his throat. “I’m afraid that Cobra Squad is completely disabled due to yesterday’s lunch special, sir.”

Tanzer took three paces towards his toady and slapped him hard across the face. “Intolerable! From now on, Cobra Squad eats nothing but dry bread and water! Got it? For the rest of the fiscal year!” He sighed and sat down in his super villain-styled office chair. “Whom can you call upon to patrol?”

Sergeant Harvey blinked, finding a spot on the wall to focus his attention. His voice quivered, seeking serenity. “We’ve currently got a skeleton crew as it stands, sir. With Cobra Squad out of commission, we have no special operations. I can’t get a patrol without leaving crucial sectors vacant. We should outsource this one to RG.”

“That will not do, Sergeant. We’re way over budget as it is.” Everyone knew the water-cooler rumor that held that Tanzer had pocketed his command’s expense budget to begin funding his own private army somewhere in Laos. Sergeant Harvey, well aware of his commanding officer’s corruption, rolled his eyes before snapping back to attention. “There is only one solution then. Withdraw all security personnel from Sectors A through I. Teams of two, you command remotely, have them fan out in the cardinal directions. Leave no stone unturned!” He gestured violently. “And I want them alive! Now, do you think you can handle that, Sergeant?”

“Yes, sir!” Harvey saluted stiffly.

“You will report back to me within the hour. Dismissed!” Harvey vanished out the door.

Tanzer sat down and kicked his boots up on the desk, fingers tented in deep thought. He had worked so hard, constantly, to get where he was. Divorced his wife after their child was born. Signed contracts most intelligent people would find unconscionable. Blocked out everything else in his life to further his career, perfect his image. Skills were good to have for any job, but in reality it all came down to appearances—in Tanzer’s case, the appearance of authority.

While privately training for his promotion, he studied Aikido under Sensei Ichiro Tanaka, the fool. His teacher simply didn’t understand that a quick promotion through the ranks to the highest black belt would command respect from his subordinates. Impatient and reckless, Tanzer was always defeated. No amount of determination could help him defeat the master. Just a few months ago, he was laid out on his back again looking up at the ceiling lights after another failed attempt.

“Tanaka-sama, I need to know. When will I master this art?”

Tanaka studied his pupil and scratched his chin thoughtfully. “For you, I would think fifteen years. Maybe.”

“What if I practiced night and day? Focused on nothing but my form?”

Tanaka leaned over and studied his eyes. Tanzer hated that. Eye contact meant you thought you were equal to somebody. Tanaka smiled. “Forty years, then.” Tanzer would have punched him, if he knew he wouldn’t end up on his back again.

That was his final Aikido lesson. Since then, Tanzer spread an intricate story about how Tanaka was so impressed with his abilities that it was the master who asked to study under the pupil. How he had begged him not to start his own dojo. The guys in marketing and personnel ate it up, asking Tanzer to instruct them after hours.

He politely declined, kissing as much ass as possible and began working more on his outward appearance. He took hormones to add girth and build muscle and, like any good villain-in-training, designed his own wardrobe. His do’-rag and shades were practically legendary now. So many tried to copy him, but they lacked the machismo to pull it off. Once he was merely a scrawny incompetent with a Napoleon complex. He was a brand now. He learned that, while his superiors admired his savvy, most of his subordinates thought he was a joke. So he ruled the only way he could—by fear of termination. That fear grew the brand.

In truth, he was the sad king of a small hill. Had he utilized his expense budget, he would have the extra personnel on hand to conduct the proper search required to locate Lawrence and Noone. But he had studied existing management practices and learned his lessons well. It was not competent manpower, but appearances, that made you a success. By pocketing the expense budget and projecting his image, he had guaranteed himself power (albeit in a foreign country) if he ever had to leave the company.

Now a janitor and a former coworker were now threatening his brand. Two men unworthy of having an image to protect. What gave them the right? They had no ambition! Then again, neither did any of his subordinates. Tanzer cursed and slid his boots off the desk. He pressed a button and the top of his desk opened at a right angle, revealing a bank of flat-screen monitors. A keyboard slid into view from under the desk. If it came down to it, he would simply have to catch them himself.

But what did he know about getting the job done? Sure, he nailed the use of jargon, but spent too long working on the façade that the interior remained largely unfurnished. He didn’t know what it all meant. Using Sergeant Harvey’s login and password (to cover his tracks), Tanzer opened the VirCorp Internet browser and typed in his query: how to conduct a search and destroy mission.

After scrolling through twenty pages of search results containing nothing but “Triple-X-Rated Commando Sluts”, Tanzer found what he was looking for—J.P. Grimes’ (formerly of West Point and Delta Force) In-Depth Military Tutorial Online Classroom. Unfortunately, it was a subscription-based site and cost $200 ‘tuition’ for membership. He would need his banking card. But why pay for things yourself when you have perfectly good marks for coworkers to steal from? It’s not like they were ambitious enough to really need that money.

He unlocked his filing cabinet and withdrew a slip of paper. On it was written various banking card numbers of his coworkers that he had nicked when they were changing in the locker room. He ran through the list until he found Sergeant Harvey’s. If anyone traced the transaction, it would show that it was Harvey logged in during the time of purchase. Tanzer typed in the account number and joined. In a few seconds he was in.

Thank you for joining the number one supplemental military education website! Why not take a moment to view our sponsor’s website? A pop-up window launched displaying a semi-nude bikini-clad girl toting an M4 carbine rifle: “Triple-X-Rated Commando Sluts”. Tanzer closed the advertisement and began to study.

After fifteen minutes into the course he realized that what he had told Sergeant Harvey to do in the first place was pretty much all he could do with limited resources and no real abilities of his own to call upon.

“Captain,” a voice crackled over the radio, “Miller, here. We’ve found one of them. Requesting orders, sir.” Ha! Any doubts he’d had about his own abilities to lead were left by the wayside.

“Excellent! What’s your twenty?” There was a long pause.

“About two clicks northwest from Janitorial Services HQ.”

“Right. Hold position. I’ll be there in ten.”

He locked the slip of paper back in his filing cabinet and closed down his station. He went over to the gun cabinet and punched in the code, withdrawing twin platinum Desert Eagles (another Tanzer trademark) which he slid into their tactical holsters. He opened the office door, looked out the window one last time and closed it.

At least Harvey’s cash wasn’t spent totally in vain. Validation, he thought. When subordinates won’t kiss your ass, do it yourself and make sure the right people are watching. Humility was for chumps. Time for the Tanzer Show.