COMMITTED

by A.R. Kirby

Episode 2
Chrstian, meet Destiny. Destiny,
this is Christian. Play nice.

T
hinking back, Christian remembered the car did not move
an inch in more than 20 minutes, and it appeared that
inertia had set in for the duration.
“How far are we from the hospital?” Christian asked.
“Oh, maybe four or five blocks, I’m not really sure,” Ivan
replied. “Why?”
“I can’t wait for a bunch of dumbass students to wise up
and get out of the rain,” Christian said as he pulled on the door
handle. A gust of wind blew a sheet of water into the passenger
side as he stepped out of the car. “I’m going to run for it,” he
shouted. “Call me later, Ivan.”
The storm was at its heaviest as Christian ran down the
street, passing a number of dazed students. He wondered why they
looked as if they’d been beaten, but the thought quickly left him as
got closer to the hospital.
He finally turned a corner and skidded into the lobby-
turned-triage area of the KBC Hospital. He cringed a bit as he
passed the students waiting for treatment, then finally found the
charge nurse. She told him quickly and curtly the demonstration
had turned into a full-fledged riot; she was far too busy to talk
about his father; and that someone would be with him when they
got to it. She then directed him to an empty chair in the waiting
room.
 Committed by A.R. Kirby

Some day, he thought, and waited.

“Gospodin McKenna?”
Christian looked up abruptly to see who had spoken his
name, slinging a deluge from his hair onto the face of the doctor
who’d just come into the waiting room to talk to him. The doctor
removed his thick, black-rimmed glasses and wiped them on the
sleeve of his white jacket with a practiced ease, as if patients were
forever slinging water into his face, then continued speaking.
“Yes, yes, Mister McKenna,” the doctor said, his accent
thick and heavy. “Forgive me, please. My English is not so good.
We don’t get many English-speaking patients here in the hospital.
In any case, I am Dr. Rushkin, and I am in charge of caring for
your father.”
Christian stood, and stiffly shook the doctor’s hand. “My
pleasure, doctor. I only wish it were under different circumstances.
What can you tell me about my father?”
“Come with me, please,” the doctor said, and led Christian
gingerly through the emergency attendees through a door outside
the lobby and into a quiet hallway. The doctor turned to Christian
and began flipping through the thick sheaf of papers on the
clipboard he carried. Christian stared down impatiently.
“Your father,” the doctor said as he consulted the pages,
“suffered a major heart attack. It was extremely serious, and did
much damage to his heart. He is stable at the moment, but his
condition is very – how do you say – touch and going? We are
doing everything we can to make him comfortable, but I cannot
say whether he will make it through the night.”
Christian hissed a curse under his breath, then focused his
attention on the doctor. “What’s the prognosis, assuming he makes
it until morning?” he asked.
“Well, as I said, it was a massive heart attack. We still don’t
know exactly how much damage was done, and until he is more
stable, we won’t be able to tell. A bypass may be necessary, but at
this point, it’s still too early to…”
A soggy, muffled buzz – sounding eerily like the chorus
of the Foo Fighters’ “All My Life” , but a version performed
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underwater – struggled out from Christian’s suit coat and

interrupted the doctor’s prognosis. Christian reached inside and
pulled out his cell phone like he was holding a dead fish. He
tentatively flipped it open and heard a static-filled voice come from
the soggy speaker.
“Ivan, I can barely hear you.” Christian pressed the phone
hard into his ear. “What do you need?”
“Did you make it to the hospital? Do you know anything
about Seamus?” Ivan sounded as worried as Christian had ever
heard him.
“Yes and yes,” Christian said. “I’m here, it’s a war zone,
and Seamus is just about dead.” Christian looked closely at the
doctor, searching for a sign that would contradict his statement.
There was none. “He likely won’t make it through the night.”
“I’m so sorry, my boy,” Ivan said. “I’ve known your father
for a long time. I’ve known you all your life.” Ivan’s voice broke
briefly, then the familiar rasp returned. “You’re like a son to me.
How can I help?”
Christian thought for a moment and looked briefly at the
doctor. With a sudden flash of inspiration, he turned his attention
back to Ivan.
“There are a few things,” Christian murmured. “We need
to keep focused, Ivan. With my father out of commission, things
could get rough for the company. We’ve got too much invested in
the new Robotics Division to let things get out of hand.”
Ivan didn’t have to respond for Christian to know how well
Ivan understood what he meant. McKenna-Montenegro Enterprises
spent billions over the past decade to get the state-of-the art
robotics facility off the drawing board and into reality. Scheduled
to start production in a mere six weeks, delays at this point could
prove to be a major setback.
“What’s our next step there, Ivan?” Christian asked. He
was well-versed with the plans for the Robotics Division, having
traveled most of Eastern Europe to get investors (some of whom
with less-than-glowing résumés), but he was not part of the day-to-
day details.
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 Committed by A.R. Kirby

“Seamus was expected to tour the aluminum smelting plant

on Friday to ensure it would be adequate for the new Robotics
Division’s needs,” the Croatian replied. “It is essentially a
formality, little more than a V.I.P. tour of the facility. I imagine we
will be canceling the inspection.”
Christian thought for a moment. Now, with his father at
death’s door, would be the time to show some sort of initiative.
Cradling the phone between his neck and shoulder, Christian
motioned to the doctor, then pulled the clipboard from his hands
while quickly retrieving a pen from the doctor’s coat pocket.
“Ivan, call a meeting of the board of directors for first thing
in the morning. I’ll let them know that we’ll keep the Robotics
Division on schedule,” Christian surprised himself with the
authority he heard in his voice. “I’ll make sure things happen the
way they are supposed to happen, and do the inspection myself.
Now give me the details.”
Christian scribbled hurried notes as Ivan gave him the
information. A few “uh-huhs”, followed by a “Got it!”, and the
conversation was over. Christian ripped the page he’d been writing
on from the clipboard, then handed the materials back to the still-
startled doctor.
“Doctor, I appreciate everything you are doing for my
father,” Christian said seriously, “And I am sure he will receive the
highest quality care here at your fine facility, despite the current
unpleasantness.” Christian motioned to the door to the lobby,
where occasional moans from patients and shrieks from the charge
nurse could still be heard, then reached for his wallet and pulled
out four 500-euro notes. He crushed the bills into the doctor’s
hand.
Sometimes the old ways of getting things done are still the
best ways, Christian thought, despite what the injured students
outside might believe. “Please make sure he is comfortable and
makes it through the night,” he said, and let go of the doctor’s
hand.
The doctor looked at the money, scanned the hallway to
see if anyone else was around, and put the bills into the pocket of

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his white lab coat. “Of course, Godspodin McKenna, your father
will have the finest care available. I will see to it personally.” The
doctor practically beamed at Christian.
“Please do,” Christian said as he turned and pushed open
the door to the lobby. “And let me know if there are any changes
in his condition. I’ll be at home, and up all night. I’ve got a lot of
work to do.”
Christian made his way back through the lobby, ignoring
the groans of the injured. By this time the storm had let up, as
well as the problems from the demonstration; Mischa was waiting
for him outside the front door of the hospital with a car. The ride
to Christian’s townhouse was quick, and he told Mischa to be
prepared for a full day’s work the next morning as he got out of the
car. He went inside, showered, and spent much of the rest of the
night working on his laptop, researching the plans for the robotics
division and looking over information on members of the board of
directors. Doctor Rushkin called him three times during the night,
updating Christian on his father’s condition; Seamus still lived, but
that was about the extent of it. Around 4 a.m., Christian called it
quits and got a couple hours of sleep.
Thursday morning came with a beautiful dawn; it was as
if the storms of the previous afternoon and evening had scrubbed
Podgorica clean. Most mornings when he woke in his townhouse
in Podgorica, Christian would pound the snooze button five or
six times when the alarm clock sounded. This often owed to a
significant hangover or (just as likely, and probably in combination
with) the proximity of a random attractive young woman from
the McKenna-Montenegro Enterprises secretarial pool. Today,
however, the crash of a groggily-tossed alarm clock hitting the wall
was absent from his bedroom. There was much to do, and although
he only had a couple hours’ sleep, Christian awoke refreshed and
eager, more a result of adrenaline and excitement than anything
else. He quickly showered, dressed, and headed for the MME
plant.
By 8 a.m., Christian was pulling his silver BMW coupe
onto the entry road that snaked almost a mile through the woods
to the main MME facility. As he came out of the forest canopy, he
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saw the new robotics facility gleaming in the morning sunlight; the
chrome and glass construction was almost blinding. He parked in
his father’s parking space (Seamus certainly wouldn’t be needing
it today) and strode confidently up the stairs and into the building,
then straight to the conference room overlooking the soon-to-be-
bustling robotics factory floor.
Christian paused in front of the conference room doors
before entering, and took a deep breath. He chose this room for the
meeting, even though construction was not quite complete, because
he felt it would bolster his argument to have the board members
imagining the factory floor buzzing with activity. He also thought
the newness of the building would be a subtle analogy for the new
direction he wanted to take.
In any case, he thought, it’s time, and pushed open the
conference room doors.
Ivan, seated to the right of the head of the table where
Seamus would normally sit, arose when he saw Christian arrive,
and again gave him a hug that Christian was sure bruised at least
one rib. He motioned for Christian to take his place at the head
of the table, then stood to address the dozen or so board members
gathered for the meeting.
“Gentlemen,” Ivan began, his tone somber and direct. “Our
company has suffered a tragedy. Seamus McKenna, our founder
and leader, had a massive heart attack yesterday. His condition is
currently stable, but that can change at any time. As we all know,
Seamus is the driving force behind McKenna-Montenegro, and his
condition may well have a major effect on our plans.”
Ivan then motioned toward Christian. “You all know
Seamus’ son, Christian. He has been involved with the Robotics
Division plans from the beginning, and was in Prague yesterday
where he finalized a major line of credit for the company. He asked
to meet with you all today to discuss where our plans go from
here.”
Ivan sat down, and Christian stood. He cleared his throat
and began his address.
“Gentlemen,” Christian began, looking each director in the

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eye as he scanned the table, “I appreciate you coming on such short

notice, but I think you appreciate the urgency of the situation.”
“Yes, Christian,” interrupted a man at the far end of the
table who Christian recognized as Ouroslav Petrovich, a longtime
member of the board and one of his father’s running buddies from
his smuggling days. “How is Seamus?”
“Thank you for asking,” Christian replied. “As Ivan said,
he is stable, but he is not well. I’ve been in touch with the doctors
at the hospital almost constantly, and they are doing everything
they can for him. He is in intensive care, and specialists have been
brought in to see that he is around for the opening of the Robotics
Division. But that is not why we’re here today.
“Although Seamus is the driving force behind our plans,
his illness is no reason for us to delay the opening of the robotics
division,” Christian assured the directors. “I’ve been studying the
plans, and I am confident we will be able to begin our operations
on time and on budget.” Almost on cue, Mischa entered the
conference room and began handing out information packets to
each of the board members. Christian continued.
“As you will see in the information being distributed to
you, I am taking control of the Robotics Division project.” He held
up a hand to the board members who began to interject. “I know
many of you do not think I have the experience with the company
to handle such an important operation, and granted, much of my
work here has been of lesser import. But now is the time for me
to stand up as a McKenna and make sure this grand company
continues the work my father started. And I will begin by touring
the aluminum plant tomorrow in my father’s absence. When he
returns, I will, of course, hand the project back to him. But for
now, the Robotics Division is mine.”
Christian held his breath for a moment, waiting for the
disagreement that never arose. Several of the board members
looked at each other questioningly, but no one made a sound until
Ivan stood up and clapped the younger McKenna on the shoulder.
“Excellent, my boy. Most excellent!” Ivan looked and
sounded like a proud uncle. “You are just the man to make sure

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the family name continues, and I know, as do the rest of the board
members, that you will come through for all of us in this difficult
time. Do we all agree?”
Christian smiled as the heads around the table nodded.
They bought it, and Christian was determined to make certain they
were pleased with the decision.
Ivan looked at Christian and shook his hand.
“Congratulations, Mr. McKenna,” he said smiling. “I look forward
to working with you.” He patted Christian on the back once more
then sat down.
“Thank you, gentlemen. I know you will not be
disappointed.” Christian gathered his belongings into his briefcase
and headed for the door. “And if you will excuse me, I have a great
deal of work to do.” There was laughter all around as he left the
conference room.
As soon as he got out the door, the laughter stopped, and
the assembled directors began babbling and shouting with each
other about the absolute idiocy of the situation. Ivan sat quietly,
reviewing some of the papers Christian distributed. Some of
the ideas the boy had aren’t half bad, he thought, as the uproar
continued around him unabated. It’s a pity.
Slowly, Ivan stood, generally unnoticed by the other men
in the room. But when he quietly cleared his throat, all discussion
stopped and the directors returned to their seats, all eyes on Ivan.
He moved to the head of the table, then spoke.
“Gentlemen,” he said, his face deathly serious, “There is no
doubt we have a serious problem. But not to worry, not to worry --
I’ve got this handled.”

To be continued...