“Of
course,” she replied. “Rest assured that only General Bain and I have access
to the debriefs. He or I conduct them personally.”
That
was about two people too many with access. “But in answer to your question,
yes we did and no we’re not doing any more.”
She
nodded. “I gathered that.” They probably asked about it when they were
debriefing the trainees that came after Hudson. “Your personal life is your
own business, Mr. Welles. But the general likes to have as much information
as possible on people he works with. For security purposes. For example, if
Miss Tindell was compromised...”
“Could
we not talk about this?” I asked, interrupting her. “I understand the
general’s reasoning. I’m not enthusiastic about having my sex life included
in your files, but I’ll handle it.”
“Of
course,” she said, smiling as she stared over the steering wheel. “I was not
going to enquire further.”
I
didn’t know if it was some quiet meditation or the talk about my affair with
Sara, but whenever it was, by the time we hit the city, the tension about
her upcoming meeting with Anna Thodberg seemed to have melted away. Takeda
was calm and relaxed once more.
“The
company commander will meet you at your office at fourteen hundred tomorrow
afternoon,” she said.
Two
o’clock. That would give me time to see Jimmy and take a look at Jackson
Square, get an idea of what I’d gotten myself into.
“He’ll
go over the deployment of his force at that time and discuss any changes you
might want to make,” she continued. “I will meet you at twenty-one thirty
tomorrow night at your office and we’ll go to meet the ambassador together.
If the ambassador is delayed, I will call you.”
“Nine-thirty
is fine,” I said. “I’ll either have Brenner meet us there and he can come
along, or I’ll have him meet us at Jackson Square.”
“Do
you wish me to incorporate him in my operational plan?” she
asked.
“We’ll
figure that out that tomorrow night. If you think he might be helpful to
you, for all those reasons that you can’t discuss, I don’t have a problem
with it. He’s not trained well-enough to handle Night and Day cases on his
own, so he can either work this assignment or find a stool at some uptown
slurp-club for three or four nights. Anyway, General Bain is paying for his
time on this job, so he might as well do the work.”
She
nodded.
“There’s
another thing,” I said. It was something that had occurred to me while I
looked out the window on the drive into the city. The memory of an unhappy
young woman, arms folded across her chest, staring at the ground.
“Yes?”
“Trooper
Martinez,” I said. “You know her?”
“Not
personally. I am, of course, aware of her security infraction and her
punishment.” She paused. “Why?”
“Is
she any good?”
“She
is a competent trooper,” Takeda said after a moment of silence. From her,
that was high praise.
“You
know, to me it seems like a waste to have a competent trooper cooling her
heels inside the Area Operations Center, escorting people around, when she
could be doing what she’s good at.”
“I
don’t disagree. You have a suggestion?”
“As
a matter of fact, I do,” I said. “If I’m going to be commanding almost two
hundred Security Force troopers, I should probably have somebody close at
hand who knows more about how things work than me. And I don’t think it
makes any sense to tie up the company commander or some other officer to act
as my guide.”
“You
want Trooper Martinez assigned to your command platoon?”
I
nodded. “Yeah, let’s get her out of the doghouse and give her a shot. If
that’s not a problem.”
“A
matter of a phone call,” Takeda said. “When do you need her?”
“Tomorrow
afternoon will be fine,” I said. “I want to check out the ground I’ll be
defending in the morning. When your company commander shows up, I’ll
probably want to go back and get a look at the deployment in action. Have
her there by three-thirty or so.”
“I
will make the call.”
We
were about four blocks from the office. I checked my watch. “12:10,” I said.
“Not bad.”
“I
have done better,” she said. She pulled the Hummer to the curb on Second,
behind my Jeep, then opened the console and removed the black envelope. Her
hand went in. It came out with a vehicle charger for my cell phone and a
familiar black ID case.
“I
was wondering if I’d be issued a get-out-of-jail-free card this
time.”
She
nodded. “As you know, it’s standard for area government operatives in the
field,” she said. “You will not be in uniform.” She paused. “Unless you wish
to be, of course. I can have a uniform delivered tomorrow.”
I
shook my head. “No, thanks for the offer, but I’m fine. Blue’s not my color
anymore.”
“If
there are any questions, the identification card will make your authority
clear to the troopers under your command.”
“Or
anybody else I run into,” I said. I flipped open the ID case. Same lousy
picture from my PI license. Special Agent Charles L. Welles. Governor’s
Office, Administrative Area Three. A signature that they’d also copied off
of my PI license.
And
the wording on the card in the top of the ID case, the real kicker.
‘Attention,’ it read in big, bold letters. ‘This agent is assigned to
critical duties involving area and national security. All citizens are
hereby ordered to render any and all requested or required assistance.
Failure to comply will result in severe consequences, including penalty of
death.’ Signed by Phillip Bain, Deputy Area Governor.
“The
identification packet was in your file at the operations center from the
last time you worked with us,” she said. “That saved us some
time.”
“Any
chance the general might let me keep this after the job is over?” I asked
with a smile. “There have been a few times in the past eight months where
this would have come in pretty handy.”
“Not
unless you wish to close your detective agency and work directly for the
Area Governor’s Office,” she said. “If that interests you, I can make
inquiries.”
“I
was joking.”
“So
was I, Mr. Welles. I will see you tomorrow night. If you have any issues
before then, call me.”
I
laughed and got out of the Hummer. “I’ll do that.”
I’d
barely slammed the door before she floored it and hurtled out onto Second,
disappearing into the darkness.
Benny,
the night security guard, was behind his desk in the lobby as I came in. He
seemed to be dozing.
I
walked quietly to the desk and slammed my hand, hard, on the top of it. He
jerked up and nearly fell out of his chair.
“Mr.
Welles,” he said quickly. “I’m sorry, I must have...”
“Yeah,”
I interrupted. “Let me ask you something, Benny. How much traffic do you get
through the lobby between 10 at night and six in the morning?”
“Ummmm....”
“It’s
not a trick question. How much?”
“Not
very much,” he said. “Maybe a couple of people. Your office is the only one
that’s open all night.”
“That’s
what I figured. I’m going to make some calls next week. Some kind of buzzer
system shouldn’t be that expensive to install. Something that would let you
buzz people in and out after regular business hours.”
“That
would be helpful, sir.”
“I’m
sure it would.” And the nice chunk of change that Bain would be putting in
my pocket within the week would more than cover it. “I’ll look into that.” I
paused. “Till then, how about you try to keep your eyes open while you’re on
the clock.”
His
face reddened. “Yes, sir.”
I
smiled and headed for the stairs.
Sara
and Brenner were in reception when I came through the door. Brenner had
taken Cynthia’s chair and moved it behind Sara’s desk. They sat side by
side, staring at the computer monitor on her desk.
“What’s
up?” I asked.
“This
credit card,” Sara said. “Since we had the card, I figured the quickest way
to get an address was to call American Express. They said the card had been
cancelled this afternoon, around 1 pm.”
That
was shortly after Shuster left the restaurant. Guess he decided he didn’t
want his credit card floating around after all.
“And?”
“They
did give us the customer address they had on file for Champion. It’s a post
office box in Minneapolis, one of those maildrop places. Private
mailboxes.”
“Not
Omaha?”
She
shook her head. “Minneapolis.”
“Did
you check on a Champion or Champion Consulting in Omaha?”
“That’s
what we’re doing right now. Champion Tire, Champion Dry Cleaning, Champion
Food Services.” She paused. “No Champion or Champion Consulting.”
“Okay.
Did you check Champion in Minneapolis?”
“Let’s
see,” she said. A couple of mouse clicks, then her fingers flew over the
keyboard. “Another Champion Tire, Champion Windows, Champion Sports Bar.”
She shook her head. “No Champion Consulting.”
Brenner
leaned forward and tapped something on the screen. “Right,” Sara said.
“There is a Champion listed.”
“Consulting
firm?” Maybe Shuster wasn’t as freelance as he’d told me. Maybe he worked
for a company based in Minneapolis, but operated out of Omaha.
Sara
typed something. “If it’s a consulting firm, it’s not showing up as one,”
she said.
“Any
connection between it and the post office box you got from American
Express?”
She
moved the mouse and clicked twice. Brenner laughed.
“What?”
“The
address American Express has for Champion is Box 87. The Champion office
address is Suite 87. Same address for both on Olson Memorial Highway,
Minneapolis. It’s a UPS store.”
“So
we have nothing,” I said.
“And
plenty of it,” Sara said. “You know anybody in Minneapolis who can go stake
out the maildrop?”
“Let’s
not get crazy here. It’s strange, but not worth calling out the cavalry.
I’ll ask Shuster about it the next time he calls. We’re supposed to get
together again in the next few days.”
“Who
is this guy anyway?” Brenner asked.
“Old
army buddy,” I said. “Told me he ran a freelance consulting company based in
Omaha.”
Brenner
had the credit card in his hand and was tapping it gently on the top of
Sara’s desk. “There’s something else that’s unusual,” he said. “I’m
surprised you didn’t notice it.”
He
handed me the credit card. “Look at it. Tell me what’s missing.”
I
studied the card, front and back, then shrugged. “No idea,” I said. “I
haven’t had an American Express card since before the war. Strictly cash
these days.”
“Then
maybe you’ve forgotten. American Express cards have a code on the front,
printed on the card itself. Four digits, printed above and to the right of
the card number.”
I
looked at the card again. No code. And now that he mentioned it, I
remembered that code from when I’d had an American Express card. I’d ordered
something online, they’d asked for the security code, and I had trouble
finding it. Most cards had it on the back, three digits, near the signature
line. American Express put it on the front, and used four digits.
“Maybe
they don’t use the code anymore.”
“Sure
they do,” Brenner said. He pulled out his wallet, removed an American
Express card and held it up. John J. Brenner. And it had a four digit
code.
“I
don’t know,” I said. “The card was good. It went through fine at Boyle’s.
American Express has a customer record.”
“Yeah,”
Brenner said, sticking his wallet back in his pocket. “It’s just
odd.”
I
handed back the card. “Well, we have more important things to worry about
right now,” I said. “The Area Governor’s Office has just dropped a case on
us. Executive protection for the German ambassador, who, as you might know,
is currently in the country. He’s taking his show on the road, and this is
the first stop. He’ll be in town for a few days.”
“That’s
pretty good news,” Sara said. “Who knows, maybe someday we’ll be able to
travel outside the country.” She paused. “If you’d give me enough vacation
time.”
I
didn’t reply. She got two weeks off a year, which was two weeks more than I
got.
“Executive
protection,” Brenner said. “That’s, what, like a bodyguard?”
“Yes,
usually. In this case, because of the high profile nature of the visit and
some threats that area government has identified, it’s a little more
involved. I’m tasked with protecting the ambassador during daylight hours
and I’ll have a Security Force company to back me up.”
“And
at night?”