Part 9 (1/2)
She flicked off the gla.s.ses and let them fall against her chest as she sorted the expensive folders in front of her.
Then one of her links activated. Her a.s.sistant, a slender dark-haired man, appeared in the lower corner of her left eye.
”I know you didn't want to be disturbed,” he said, ”but I'm being told this is an emergency.” The pa.s.sive construction was unusual for him. She was about to say that when someone knocked on her office's frosted gla.s.s doors.
No one ever touched those doors. She had designed a system where the doors rose into the walls, revealing her private waiting room. Usually she kept the doors open, closing them only when she was doing something important or meeting with a client inside her office.
The doors looked fragile and expensive, and no one, not even her a.s.sistants, touched them without fear of breaking them.
”What the h.e.l.l is going on?” she asked her a.s.sistant as she stared at the shadow behind the opaque gla.s.s. He looked panicked. ”I told him to wait. I'm sorry. It's really important-”
”Doors open,” she said as she severed the link. A man she had never seen before stood in the waiting room, his fist up as if he planned to knock again. He was stocky and balding. His clothing was dark and cheap, and, as far as she could tell, he had no enhancements. From his look alone, she could tell that he couldn't afford her.
”I was told I should wait but I don't think I should,” he said, his voice shaking. ”I figured you needed to know right away, Ms. Van Alen. I'm afraid maybe I listened to your a.s.sistant too long. It's been over an hour. . . .”
His voice trailed off and he finally stopped talking. She grabbed the earpiece on her fake gla.s.ses and moved them to the edge of her nose again.
”Do I know you?” she asked.
”No, ma'am,” he said, slowly bringing his fist to his side. He still stood outside the doors, which had long since disappeared.
”Then I'm not sure why you're here,” she said.
”My company was hired by your firm to run security for Ki Bowles.” His voice started to shake again. Van Alen cursed. ”Come in here.”
”Yes, ma'am.” He stepped across the invisible threshold as if the doors had vanished into the floor instead of the walls and ceiling.
”Doors down,” she said, and stood as they eased back out of their pockets. She crossed to the front of her desk.
The man was so distracted he didn't seem to notice her presence at all. That was unusual. Even the most upset clients always stopped to look at her.
”If there's a problem,” Van Alen said, ”your boss should be talking to me.”
”My boss is dead,” he said. ”I found him just before I came here.”
She frowned. She'd worked with Roshdi Whitford for more than a dozen years. ”What do you mean he's dead?”
”Someone killed him,” the man said. That shaking had grown worse.
”Someone killed the head of the best security firm in Armstrong?” she asked.
Then she activated her link. She sent a private urgent message to Whitford. Her link beeped, then went to an automated request to contact one of the other top members of Whitford Security.
In all her years of dealing with Whitford, she'd never been given a brush-off message before. ”Yeah,” the man in front of her was saying. ”Someone killed him.”
”Do the police know?” she asked.
”I thought it was more important to reach you,” he said. ”It might be related.”
Related? She wasn't sure what he meant. Related to what?
Still, before she got too deeply into this interview, she sent a message to her a.s.sistant. Get Roshdi Whitford for me. It's an emergency. I need him and only him. If he doesn't respond, send someone to find him. Get Roshdi Whitford for me. It's an emergency. I need him and only him. If he doesn't respond, send someone to find him.
”You thought what might be related?” she asked the man.
”His death and Ki Bowles's death.”
Van Alen leaned against her desk. ”Ki Bowles is dead?”
”It's not on the news yet?” The man let out a gusty sigh that sounded like relief. ”Then I am here quick enough.”
”I don't know if it's on the news,” Van Alen said. ”I don't monitor the news while I'm working.”
She rounded her desk, touched the top, and activated a search for the latest news stories on Ki Bowles. She got a written listing-something that the system defaulted to whenever someone was with her in the office-of all the current stories on Ki Bowles.
All of them were about the WSX piece that had run the day before.
”It's not on the news,” Van Alen said slowly. ”You'd better tell me first exactly who you are and what's going on.”
He clasped his hands in front of him. He did seem to have a lot of muscles under those cheap dark clothes. Maybe she had underestimated him. Maybe he did have enhancements and maybe they were all for strength and agility instead of looks and grooming.
”My name is Pelham Monteith,” he said. ”I've worked for Whitford Securities for almost twelve years. You can check.”
”I will,” she said, and ran his name through one of her internal links. ”Go on.”
”I was a.s.signed to Ki Bowles,” he said. ”I was with her today.”
”Yet you say she got killed?” Van Alen wasn't quite following this. She wasn't certain whether or not she was being conned-and if she was, why? How did this man know that she had professional ties with Bowles, unless he worked with Whitford Securities?
”It was such a mess.” Monteith looked almost green. Would a professional security man become queasy when talking about a death?
”What do you mean?” Van Alen asked. Her a.s.sistant appeared in the lower corner of her left eye again. ”I'm sorry to bother you,” he said, ”but no one seems able to find Roshdi Whitford.”
”What?” Monteith had to have realized she was getting a message through her links-she probably had that glazed expression most people got when they were concentrating on the link instead of the person in front of them. ”What's happening?”
”That's what I want you to tell me,” she said as she sent a silent Just a minute Just a minute to her a.s.sistant. ”Where did you see Roshdi Whitford?” to her a.s.sistant. ”Where did you see Roshdi Whitford?”
”At his house. He's inside his house.” Monteith's voice was shaking again. Have someone check his house, Have someone check his house, she sent silently to her a.s.sistant. she sent silently to her a.s.sistant. Now! Now! He vanished from her vision. He vanished from her vision.
”You said Bowles's death was a mess? I don't understand.” Van Alen almost reminded him that today was the most important day of their contract, but if he was a fake, then she didn't want to give him too much additional information.
Which reminded her to check the ident.i.ty confirmation through her links. The first layer of confirmation had been completed. On the surface, it seemed, he was Pelham Monteith and he had been a stellar employee at Whitford Security since his hire twelve years ago.
”Since that piece ran,” Monteith said, ”we've had large teams guarding her. We'd have some check out the places she was heading and clear them, others going with her to wherever she was supposed to be, and some trailing to make sure no one else was.”
Van Alen crossed her arms. She stopped herself from nodding because that would confirm what he was saying, and she didn't want to seem like she was agreeing with him, not yet.
”She went to InterDome Media this morning, and when she left-”
”InterDome?” Van Alen felt cold. Bowles wasn't double-crossing them, was she? They had a deal, a legal contract that was as ironclad as entertainment and business contracts got.