Page 109 - Esquire - USA (Winter 2020)

more, making small talk, until the police ar-
One Surefox employee, an Army Reservist,
tells me about a large gathering of technology
chieftains in Silicon Valley, each of whom
brought their own security team. Peacocking
and chest-thumping ensued, a testosterone-
fueled game of one-upmanship. Eventually,
egos were soothed and roles established. But
tensions flared once more in the parking lot af- dio that one of the campus buildings had “an
terward, when no one could figure out which
blacked-out tactical Tahoe belonged to whom.
Josh Tempco, thirty, another EPT mem-
ber, has been with the company since its early
days; he was part of the team that worked se-
curity at South by Southwest. He met Sure-
fox CEO Szott years ago overseas, where they
both worked as defense contractors. A for-
mer scout sniper in the Marines, Tempco
possesses a keen midwestern affability and a
willingness to share some of his more benign
tales—a trait that stands out among these
secret keepers. There was the rapper who, it
seemed, was on a mission to create as much
chaos in the crowd as possible. There was
the time at the packed market in India when
Tempco handed out cash to kids as a distrac-
tion to get his client through to the other side. dling a suicide threat.
Then there was the time, a couple months
ago, when Tempco joined a prominent execu-
tive from Big Tech Firm on a trip to Washing-
ton, D.C. One morning, the two went running
along the National Mall. Most execs prefer si-
lence in such situations, but this guy was dif-
ferent. He wanted to know about Tempco’s
time in the military, particularly his tour in Af- De La Pena suggested to the man that he come
ghanistan. So, on a quiet autumn day in Amer-
ica’s capital, Tempco told this very rich, very
successful tech exec what war looks like from
the front lines, in all its raw ugliness. The exec
asked how life in the rural parts of that coun-
try contrasted with life in Kabul. Tempco told
him. The exec asked about the state of wom-
en’s rights there. Tempco told him. The exec
asked about Afghanistan’s income disparity.
Tempco told him about that, too—how there’s
not much of a middle class, how it’s too often
an all-or-nothing, zero-sum game.
Tempco was touched. The executive wasn’t
just making small talk; his curiosity was gen-
uine. Which is a rarity in today’s America.
When’s the last time you asked a veteran what
their service really entailed?
HE MOMENT COMES for us all
at one point or another: Do you act?
T Many don’t—that’s instinct. Some
do, though, which is also instinctual. What’s
to make of that divergence?
In early fall, Raul De La Pena, thirty-three,
was eating lunch when he heard over his ra-
unexpected guest.” He rushed over to find
guards from another security company gath-
ered out front, talking in a rush about a man
threatening to jump from a balcony. De La
Pena is stoic and quiet by temperament, but
when he arrived on the scene, he knew he
needed to take charge, and not just because
of Surefox’s incident-command mandate.
De La Pena ran into the building and up
several flights of stairs. For his efforts, he was
greeted with the sight of the man hurling fur-
niture over the rail. The man turned to De
La Pena with a vacant stare, and he stared
back, doing all he could to stay calm. Time
melted. De La Pena struck up a conversation as
he racked his brain, trying to recall the training
he’d received at the police academy for han-
They talked about inconsequential things,
the things that make up so much of just being
alive. It was a sunny day, and De La Pena of-
fered the man some water. The man declined.
Then he stepped over the rail that bordered
the balcony’s edge, carefully turned around so
his back faced the drop, and held on to the rail.
back over. Instead, the man leaned back. His
feet, planted on the narrow space between the
rail and the ledge, and his hands, clutching the
rail, were all that prevented him from falling.
De La Pena, trying to ignore all the alarms
sounding from within his chest, took a deep
breath in through his mouth and out through
his nose. Stick to the training. He asked the
man if he was hungry. Instead of answering,
the man let both hands go, and his whole body
arced backward. Just as De La Pena was sure
it was over, the man swung his hands back
and seized the rail once more.
A trace of hope entered the swirl of pol-
luted California air.
The man kept talking. They exchanged
names. De La Pena stalled for a few minutes
rived and took over. They asked De La Pena
to stick around and help. Shortly after, the
man climbed back over the rail to safe ground.
The moment comes. Do you act?
ON MY LAST DAY in Silicon Valley, I leave
Big Tech Firm early to head north, toward San
Francisco, to the shiny new Chase Center,
home of the Golden State Warriors. They’re
playing LeBron James’s Los Angeles Lakers,
and Surefox has an extra ticket.
But Surefox doesn’t just have tickets. This
season, for the first time, the company pur-
chased an “ultra VIP” club suite. It’s a mea-
sure of accomplishment and a status symbol,
a way to reward employees and a good place
to entertain clients.
In Big Tech Firm’s enormous parking lot,
I search in vain for my rental—a chrome,
eco-friendly car in a sea of chrome, eco-friendly
cars. Then I spot it—not my rental but some-
thing else. Something bizarre and exception-
ally rare in this land of granola and solar panels.
I walk to it like it’s an exotic animal.
It’s a large black pickup truck. A Nissan Ti-
tan Pro-4X, to be exact, with Oklahoma plates
and an extended bed with enough dents to
prove it actually gets used to transport heavy
equipment. The cab’s rear window is plas-
tered with decals. SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL
GUNMEN, reads one. MODERN DAY GUN-
SLINGERS, reads another. A third, affixed
to the other end of the window, reads, SUA
SPONTE. Latin for “of their own accord.” The
motto of the 75th Ranger Regiment. Strange
place to find a Ranger, I think. COIN really does
take people all over the world.
Surefox’s stadium suite lives up to the
hype. There’s catered food, beer and wine,
and a silver-haired attendant dressed to the
nines. At one point, I step back to take in the
scene: Surefox employees, combat veterans
all, laughing and joking in the open bowl seats
up front. A couple have brought their sig-
nificant others, who laugh along at what are
likely the old war stories they’ve heard count-
less times. At a table in the center, two mem-
bers of an executive-protection team chat up
a potential new client over drinks. And in the
rear of the room, Sweigart leans against a pil-
lar, his arms crossed, watching over it all. I
imagine he’s mulling over how far Surefox has
come, and how far it might go—thoughts of
revenue and scale, of the sort that consume
the techno-utopians, too. The company has
brought a touch of military culture to Sili-
con Valley. Silicon Valley may be returning
the favor.
Down on the court, Steph Curry drills a
long-range jumper. The crowd cheers, and the
Surefox employees in the front seats exchange
high fives with middle-aged white men one
suite over. Another COIN tenet enters my
mind: Adapt and overcome.
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