The Jake Helman Files Personal Demons (14 page)

“No food tasters?”

“Not of the human variety, but the meals are tested in a lab next to the galleys.”

When they returned to the sixtieth floor, Graham pointed at the hand scanner next to the glass door. “Enter your Social Security number on the keypad and put your right hand on the scanner, palm down.”

Jake punched in his Social Security number and placed his palm on the scanner’s cool, opaque surface.

“Hold still.”

Jake held his breath, and a red laser beam beneath the glass scanned his hand, moving up and down like a copy machine.

Graham pressed a button on the keypad and the scanner beeped. “You’re part of the system now. Take

your hand off the scanner, then put it back on.”

Jake obeyed. After the scanner verified his handprint, the door unlocked.

“Every employee’s security card is custom programmed. Yours will admit you to every area below Fifty-Nine, and most of the areas up here. But only a hand scan will admit you beyond this point.”

Jake opened the door for Graham and then followed him into the security bay. Pulaski glowered as they passed two black lacquered doors with gold handles; even the bathrooms had scanners. Graham used his badge to unlock the glass door to the left of the entrance.

“This is the utility corridor,” Graham said as they crossed the marble floor of the wide corridor, which followed the same curve as the residential corridor. He identified the doors that they passed: “Maintenance, Custodial, Electrical… this one is ours.” He unlocked a door near the end of the corridor, and Jake followed him into a windowless space divided into three sections by gray metal shelves. The far wall housed multiple security monitors with split-screen images, digital recorders, and a viewing station. “Our Control Room. We record what the cameras see on Sixty, Fifty-Nine, and the private lobby from here; everything else is recorded in the Dungeon.”

Jake moved to the metal shelves and examined the equipment stored on them: digital cameras, camcorders, electronic listening devices, locksmith kits, and night vision goggles—enough toys to give a surveillance expert wet dreams.

I’m Big Brother’s little brother
, he thought.

They exited the Control Room and turned to the corridor’s final door. Aiming his badge at a scanner, Graham opened the wide, wooden door. “Ms. Thorn meets with high-priority clients here.”

Jake peered inside the conference room. Sunlight shone through the windows onto a giant oval table surrounded by a dozen leather chairs. A
RESTRICTED
sign had been posted on a door across the room. “What’s in there?”

“Couldn’t tell you. We’re not cleared to enter the Demonstration Room.”

Jake grunted as Graham closed the door.

“That concludes our tour. Please come again.”

Stars appeared one by one in the black background of the computer screen and an animated graphic of the earth rotated into view. A DNA strand enveloped the globe and golden lettering formed beneath it:
TOWER INTERNATIONAL
—
BUILDING BETTER LIFE
.

Jake sat back in his chair. He had seen the graphic before, in a TV commercial narrated by a movie star. Debbie Brown, the IT manager, had helped him set up his password and activate his voice mail. The scent of her perfume lingered in the air long after her departure, sickly and sweet, like flowers in a funeral parlor.

Security monitors surrounded Jake’s curved desk, and the glass face of his rectangular office provided a view of the security bay and the corridor leading to the elevators. He opened his e-mail and scrolled down the page. Forty-five messages had been copied to him. Was this how yuppies spent their days? He opened the first message, a company-wide memo from Kira introducing him as the new director of security. He closed the message and opened the next one. And the one after that.

His telephone rang just before noon and he saw Kira’s name on the display. He glanced at a framed photo of Sheryl, looking luminous at a resort in the Poconos, as he pressed the speaker phone button. “Helman.”

“Come to my office.”

Kira hung up before Jake could respond. Leaving his office, he stood outside her double doors. Their locks clicked and he stepped inside. Kira rose from behind her desk and circled it, and Jake felt his body temperature rise. She wore knee-high black leather boots and a short black skirt with a matching jacket, her long hair loose around her shoulders. He caught a whiff of her perfume, and an image of her naked legs wrapping around his bare back flashed through his mind. He dug his fingernails into his palms, suppressing the fantasy.

“How is your day going so far?” Kira said.

“Good.” Jake studied her mouth. Kira held out a business envelope to him. “Here you are.” Her red lips revealed perfect white teeth but no forked tongue.

“What’s this?” he said, taking the sealed envelope.

“The pay stub for your signing bonus. We deposited it into an account with your name on it at our branch today.”

Jake slid the envelope into the inside breast pocket of his suit jacket. “That was fast.”

“We own the bank. You can take your lunch now.”

“Thanks.”

She handed a tiny black cell phone to him. “The company’s directory has been preprogrammed and the security bay’s on auto-dial. Never leave the building without notifying whoever’s at that station.” She sat down again as Jake pocketed the cell phone. “Do you know who Bill Russel is?”

Jake searched his memory. “No.”

“He used to be a deputy director at the CIA. He designed our security systems and implemented the procedures you’re paid to enforce.”

A spook
, Jake thought. Old Nick had recruited members of the CIA, the FBI, and the NYPD for Tower security; the alphabet soup method of executive protection.

“He still does some freelance work for us. At four o’clock, he’s bringing some important clients to meet with me. They know that Dick Drewniak resigned as our DS, and it’s important that we make them feel secure. Introduce yourself when they arrive.”

She wants me to be window dressing
, Jake thought. “You got it.”

Kira turned to her computer screen, dismissing Jake.

Jake’s heartbeat quickened and he pictured himself taking her right there, on top of her desk.
What’s wrong with me?

As he turned to the doors, he glanced at the security monitors recessed in the back wall. One of the screens displayed a perfect view of his office, shot from above the elevators. With the zoom function, Kira had the ability to observe every move he made.

J
ake ate lunch at the Midnight Diner, located on the ground level of the Tower, off Twenty-fourth Street. Afterward, he sat on a wooden bench in Madison Square Park and smoked two cigarettes. He stared at the stub for the direct deposit made into his special account.
Ten thousand dollars
. Of course, he owed taxes on that. Still, even if the government claimed half that amount, he was in good shape. He watched squirrels gather nuts while the leader of the ACCL addressed his followers across the street and around the corner. When he reentered the security bay, Graham looked at his watch and smiled. “You’re back early.”

“I’ll have to eat farther from home next time.”

“I’ve got something for you.” Graham handed Jake a security card in a plastic holder with a clip. “Your keycard to the kingdom.”
TOWER SECURITY
appeared over a dark blue stripe on the light blue card, and Jake’s ID photo resembled a holographic mug shot. A twelve-digit identification code appeared over a magnetic strip on the back of the card. “Congratulations, you’re a number.”

“Hooray.”

“We update the codes and photos every three months. We’re in the beginning of a new cycle, so the next update will be in January.”

“Sounds like a lot of work.” Jake peeled the visitor’s pass from his trench coat, crumpled it up, and tossed it into the wastebasket behind Graham’s station. Graham retrieved the pass and ran it through a shredder.

Jake approached his office and saw that a narrow gold plaque with his name engraved in black lettering had been posted on the glass beside his door. On his desk, he discovered a small cardboard box. Opening it, he found hundreds of business cards. He removed one, which bore the Tower’s logo in its upper left-hand corner, followed by embossed lettering:
JAKE HELMAN, DIRECTOR OF SECURITY, TOWER INTERNATIONAL HEADQUARTERS.
The card listed the Tower’s address and Jake’s extension number.

He had an identity again.

Using his browser, he opened the computer folder tagged “Security” and studied the personnel files on the guards under his command. As he clicked from file to file, a pattern emerged: all of the men and women in Tower Security had served in the military. All had seen combat action, many of them as members of Special Forces, Navy SEALS, Rangers, or Delta Force. Graham had received three medals while serving Great Britain’s force in Iraq. Most of the personnel had gone on to work as private security consultants in destabilized nations; mercenaries hired to support the U.S. military in war torn lands. Laddock and Birch had both worked for Blackwater Worldwide. For his team, Tower favored heroes with blood on their hands, and he paid them a thousand dollars a day for their skills. Although he had never served in the armed forces, Jake now understood how he had qualified for his current position.

At 4:00 p.m., he saw on one monitor that three men had entered the private lobby downstairs. Russel had to be the tall man with the bald head and mustache, because the short men with him appeared to be foreigners. They had dark complexions, darker hair, and matching black suits. Russel shook hands with Laddock and Birch at the security station, and the guards motioned the visitors beyond the checkpoint. The next monitor showed a reverse angle of the men boarding an elevator. One of the guests appeared to be fifty, like Russel, and wore glasses; the other, who may have been Jake’s age, carried a wooden box between his hands. A third monitor looked down inside the elevator from its ceiling. The guests looked at each other and laughed as the car ascended at high speed.

Jake stood, straightened his tie, and joined Graham in the security bay as the elevator doors opened. Russel allowed his guests to exit first. They followed the corridor to the glass door, which Graham unlocked from his station. The men entered the security bay, the visitors looking around as if they expected to see something wondrous.

“Hello, Graham,” Russel said in a deep voice as the glass door closed behind him. His expensive suit had been tailored for his muscular frame.

Graham stood beside Jake. “Good to see you again, Mr. Russel.”

Russel turned to Jake. “You must be Helman.”

Stepping forward, Jake extended his right hand. “Call me Jake.”

Russel gave Jake’s hand a hard squeeze, and Jake had no choice but to squeeze back. Russel reminded him of a circus strongman.

“I hear you were in an ‘officer-related’ a couple of days back.”

“That’s right.” Jake tried to cover the surprise in his voice.

“I’d like to have lunch sometime to discuss your thoughts on how we can improve our security measures here.”

“I look forward to that.” Jake did not believe for one second that Russel desired to have lunch with him or listen to his ideas.

Kira emerged from her office and Russel smiled as she joined them. “Here she is,” he said to his guests. “Kira …”

“Bill, it’s been too long.”

Jake watched them shake hands. He had not seen Kira turn on her charm before. Russel’s guests gaped at her appearance.

“Gentlemen, this is Ms. Thorn, Mr. Tower’s executive assistant. Kira, meet Mr. Fortaleza and his assistant, Mr. Villanueva.”

“How do you do?” She shook each man’s hand. “Welcome to Tower International.”

“The pleasure is ours,” Fortaleza said in a heavy accent. “Will Mr. Tower be joining us?”

“I’m afraid not,” Kira said without offering an explanation for Tower’s unavailability.

Fortaleza looked disappointed. “We’ve brought this gift for him from President Seguera.”

Jake’s radar went up, and Kira glanced in his direction to gauge his reaction. He didn’t follow international politics, but he knew that Kimo Seguera, the president of the Philippines, had been the controversial subject of recent newspaper headlines due to human rights violations committed in his country.