Keeper (10 page)

Selby’s apartment building had the feel of New York when it was still the classiest, most cultured city on earth. Whether or not it is now is subject to debate, but then again, whether it ever was is probably subject to the same debate. The lobby was marble, the fixtures were brass, and the plants were very green. To top it all off, the doorman was dapper, his uniform neatly pressed. He looked like a Royal Guard. He greeted me by name, saying that Ms. Selby was expecting me. I felt horribly underdressed, and acutely aware that I had a gun on my hip.

Selby’s apartment was on the second floor, and I knocked on her door and waited. The door was opened almost immediately by a woman roughly my height who allowed me in, shut the door behind me, and offered to take my jacket, saying her name was Madeline. I declined, and she bade me follow her down a short hallway. She motioned me into the room, then turned and left.

The curtains were drawn, and even with the last of dusk giving way to night the sitting room appeared bright and airy. The fixtures were predominantly white, with some green and some blue thrown in. There was an overstuffed couch and a low coffee table, bare, several bookshelves, and a desk by one of the windows, with a PC on top of it. The computer was running, and a screen saver of rain falling over a city skyline played on the monitor. Every so often lightning would flash across the skyline.

On the walls hung two framed posters, both Monets with beautiful fields and delicate sunlight. A wood carving hung over the computer,
PEACE
in polished mahogany letters, spelled in Greek, Hebrew, and English. There were other pictures of a vague religious nature, but nothing garish. As I stepped into the room I heard the sound of paws scrabbling on a hardwood floor, then saw a golden retriever comer hard from another room and run toward me. The dog passed me and stopped at Selby’s feet, turning twice to look at both of us, then lowering itself to the ground.

Veronica Selby sat in a wheelchair, opposite the couch, wearing white pants and a dark blue blouse that looked like silk and comfortable. She was utterly stunning, certainly one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. The blouse clung to her upper body, revealing the shape of strong shoulders and a proud back. She was on the near side of forty. Her hair was golden—literally—drawn around the right side of her neck and tied with a blue ribbon. She wore a small gold cross on a necklace, and the slightest application of makeup to highlight her blue eyes and her cheeks. With her left hand she stroked the dog behind its long, floppy ears.

She extended her right hand and said, “Mr. Kodiak, I’m pleased to meet you.” I heard the soft southern thread of accent in her voice again.

“The pleasure is mine,” I said, and shook her hand. Her grip was good, not too strong. She had nothing to prove.

“Please, have a seat.”

The couch didn’t give much when I sat on it. I said, “I realize that this was short notice.”

“I assume this concerns Common Ground?”

“That’s right.”

“It has my absolute attention.” Time was only beginning to work on her. At her eyes were the slightest lines, and her mouth exhibited barely a wrinkle. She would keep her beauty for the rest of her life. “What can I do for you, Mr. Kodiak?”

“Dr. Romero told me that you are taking care of security at the Elysium.”

“Yes, I am,” Selby said.

“I’d like to know what’s being done.”

“Felice is still receiving threats?”

I nodded.

Veronica Selby shook her head. “That anyone would do so in the name of God is abhorrent.”

“Frankly, I think it’s abhorrent, period.”

She smiled. “Yes. May I ask—are you pro-abortion?”

I should have realized it when I first saw the apartment, I thought. I had assumed that Felice and Selby were on the same side. But it was being called Common Ground for a reason.

“Yes, I am,” I said.

“I see. Yet your job is to protect the lives of the innocent, isn’t it?”

“That’s one way of looking at it.” I shifted on the couch, wishing it would give just a little bit.

“I’m curious, you understand,” Veronica Selby said. “I’ve spent twenty years now, off and on, trying to know the minds on both sides of the issue. You’re uncomfortable talking about this.”

“The issue’s not the reason I’m here.”

“No, you want to know about the security at the hotel. Fair enough,” she said. “I’ve hired two firms, Vigilant Security and another called Aware, and officers of Midtown North will be present, too.”

“And?”

She looked embarrassed. “I’m afraid that’s all I’ve done.”

Three days, I thought, and must have made a face, because she said, “I’m open to suggestions.”

“Ms. Selby, I’ve advised Dr. Romero not to attend the conference because I believe there is a substantial chance that someone will try to kill her if she goes. My team and I cannot secure both the hotel and her person at the same time. Felice has agreed not to attend unless I approve the security.”

Selby’s expression slid, turning to disappointment. “No, please. Felice must be there. She’s vital to making this work; it’s essential that she attend and speak. Her commitment . . . she’s got to be there . . . this may be the last chance any of us gets to talk instead of scream. If she doesn’t come, easily half of the pro-abortion groups won’t attend either.” She moved her chair forward, closer to me, intent. The dog rose and looked at her.

“Please, Mr. Kodiak. You don’t know how important this conference is, how desperately I want it to succeed,” Veronica Selby said. “You must tell me what I need to do. The conference must be safe, not just for Felice but for all of us.”

I was floored, not so much by her words, but by her passion. It had been a long time since I’d heard somebody speak with her sincerity, and, in a way, it was immediately intimate, as if I’d glimpsed something in her others would take years to see.

Selby kept her eyes on me, then suddenly seemed to become self-conscious. The dog put his head in her lap, rolling his eyes at me. Her hands went immediately to his glossy head.

“I can be somewhat . . . intense, I suppose,” she said softly. “Forgive me.”

“There’s no need to apologize,” I said.

“Will you tell me, please? What do I need to do?” she asked again.

I took off my glasses and rubbed my eyes. So much needed to be done, so much that I had assumed would already have been taken care of, to make the conference safe. The smart thing to do would be to tell Selby that I was sorry, but Romero wasn’t going to show.

That would have been the smart thing to do, instead of being swayed by passion and courage.

I put my glasses back on. “First, you’ve got the wrong people,” I said. “The police are a nice touch, and their help will be appreciated, but they’re not in the business of protection. They apprehend for a living, if you see the distinction. Same thing with most security guard firms; you tend to get a lot of ex-cops, or cop wannabes. If they see someone with a gun, their instinct is to go after that person first, rather than to protect the target.

“There’s really only one way to do this, and the problem is that to do it right, you need a lot of money—”

“I’m rich.” Selby said it simply. “Money isn’t a problem.”

I absorbed that, then said, “Call Sentinel Guards tomorrow morning. Make an appointment to meet with Elliot Trent, and mention my name. His daughter works with me. He can come to see you, if you like. Tell him exactly what Common Ground is, everything you have planned for the conference, and tell him you’ve got 72 hours before it happens. You want complete protection. Those are the words to use: complete protection.”

“What does that mean, exactly?”

“Sentinel will do as complete a background check on as many attendees to the conference, and as many employees of the hotel as possible, in the time remaining. They’ll try to check on all the guests, too, and make certain that none of them is a potential troublemaker. They’ll place guards in uniforms and plainclothes, they’ll have metal detectors, a command post, even dogs for sniffing out explosives.”

I looked at her and then said, “It’s got to be done like that, and they’ve got to do it. Otherwise, I’ll advise Dr. Romero not to attend. We’re in the hole as it is. This should have been done weeks ago.”

“I didn’t realize . . .”

“Talk to Trent tomorrow. Tell him to call me after you speak with him.”

“I will,” Selby said, wheeling over to the computer. She nudged the mouse and the screen saver went off. She opened an appointment book on the screen and began to type. “Will you look this over, please?” she asked.

I got off the couch and looked over her shoulder at the monitor. She’d gotten all the important points of what I’d said, and I told her as much.

“One other thing,” I said. “I need a list of all attendees, if you have one. Trent will, too.”

“I’ve got it right here.” She opened a document, set it up to print. There was a whine as her laser printer charged and began spitting out paper, and Selby said, “I updated it today. We’re at twenty-two speakers, over two thousand registered attendees, but frankly I’m expecting more.” 

“How many more?”

“Perhaps twice or even three times that number.” 

“Christ,” I said.

She looked at me sharply.

“I apologize,” I said. “No offense was intended.”

Selby made a small smile. “Taking the Lord’s name in vain . . . I’m used to hearing it outside. Just not in my own home.”

She gathered the paper from the printer and handed it to me. As I flipped through the sheets, Selby said, “I’ll let you know as more names are added.”

I was about to thank her when I saw Crowell’s name. “Why’s Jonathan Crowell on the list?”

“He’ll be speaking,” she said.

“Are you kidding? That man doesn’t believe in common anything.”

She wheeled back to where the dog now lay, saying, “Jordan, come here.” The dog immediately rose and returned his head to her lap, wagging his tail.

Selby said, “Mr. Crowell’s point of view deserves to be heard.”

“No.”

She frowned. “Everyone who wishes to speak must be heard, Mr. Kodiak. We all have that right. I don’t agree with what he does, or what he says. But if Dr. Romero can speak, then he must be given the opportunity as well. That’s the whole purpose of this conference.”

“That means that SOS will be there,” I said.

She nodded. “And they will behave or be expelled. Those are the ground rules for the conference. There will be no screaming tantrums, no accusations.”

I wondered how the hell she was going to manage that, but didn’t say anything. Barry threw a bottle, and now SOS would be attending Common Ground. Suddenly, my day seemed to be in a serious nosedive.

“He’s not that bad,” she said. “Crowell, I mean. His rhetoric is that of an angry man, but ... he sincerely believes that abortion is murder, and I cannot fault him for that.”

“You speak as if you know him,” I said.

“We’ve had an acquaintance over the years. He’s strained it recently.” She looked at her hands, then at me again, the small smile back in place. “I’ve been lobbying against abortion for nearly twenty years now, Mr. Kodiak. I’ve lectured all over the country, I’ve published everywhere I could get accepted. I’ve even managed two or three books. Through all of this, I’ve met many people on both sides. I have enemies on my own side and friends, like Felice Romero, on the other.”

It struck me that she had more to say about Crowell, but I didn’t want to press her. I folded the papers, put them in my jacket pocket. “When you see Trent, make certain you tell him that Crowell and his troops will be there.”

“I will,” she said. “You’re leaving?”

“I’ve got some other things to take care of tonight.” 

“Let me show you out, then,” Selby said.

“That’s not necessary,” I said. “Have a good night.” 

“You as well. Thank you again for coming.”

I started for the door and she said, “Mr. Kodiak? Do you think that SOS will really be a problem?”

I stopped and looked back at her, gorgeous in her wheelchair, just as passionate, just as concerned as before. “Yes,” I said. “They really will.”

I went straight home, opened a beer, and dialed Romero’s number. Natalie answered.

“It’s Atticus. I need you to call your father. Tell him that Veronica Selby will be calling tomorrow, and she’ll want the works.”

“How bad is it?” she asked.

“Oh, it’s about as bad as it can be. We’re a good three weeks behind.”

“No way we can do this, Atticus,” Natalie said.

“I know.”

She was quiet for a moment. I heard Romero ask her how my meeting with Selby had gone. Natalie said fine, then said, to me, “I’m going to change phones. Hold on.” I heard her set the receiver down, then ask Romero if she could use the phone in the bedroom. Felice said yes.

I drank some beer. I knew what was coming, and couldn’t fault her. Of all my colleagues, frankly, Natalie’s the best. At least as good as I am, and certainly better looking.

She picked up the extension and someone hung up the other phone, and as soon as she felt the line was secure, she said, “You absolutely cannot let her attend. There’s no way that Sentinel can catch up, no way they can clear everybody by the day after tomorrow.”