Shattered Legacy (16 page)

Still staring out the window, Tyler shrugged.

“Is there something you're not telling me, Mr. Tyler?”

“Like what?”

“Forget it.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “My room will be four doors down - in 408.”

He turned around. “Why so far away?”

“We don't stay in adjacent rooms because we have to inspect all packages and room service requests that are sent to you.” She walked over to the window and pulled the curtains back further. “If there's a bomb,” she said as she inspected the area from corner to corner, “and it goes off, then there's less chance that you'll be hurt.”

“Oh.” He glanced up, caught Lynn's eye. At that moment, he realized that this was more than just a standard precaution. These bodyguards were taking this seriously, certainly more than he was. He considered telling her about his contact with Merrick, just to gauge her reaction.

He let the moment pass. He didn’t trust anyone at this point.

Another security agent entered the room. It was the same man that had blocked Tyler from leaving his office earlier. He gave Lynn a curt nod, and then approached Tyler.

“Perry Newbold,” he said, taking Tyler's hand. The grip of his handshake almost made Tyler wince. Every movement he made was clean and precise. Tyler suspected he was ex-military.

Perry walked over to the window, pulled out two small black boxes from his pocket, and placed them on opposite ends of the windowsill.

“What are those?” Tyler asked.

“Portable alarms.” Perry adjusted a control knob on each box and stepped back. “Later tonight, we’ll install mini-cameras. We'll also monitor the hallways and elevators with closed-circuit TV systems tapped into the hotel's security system. We have a lot of equipment to set up over the next few hours.”

Lynn was waiting by the door. “If you want room service, call me. I'll make the order and deliver it personally. You are not to leave this room without an escort.”

“I understand.” Suddenly the place, as large as it was, felt confining. “And my belongings?”

“We'll get what we can from your apartment. Anything else you need, we'll purchase.” As Lynn spoke, Tyler reached for his cell phone. Then she added, “Don't use the hotel phone or your own cell phone.”

She pulled a cell phone from pocket and handed it to him. “Use this for now. Do you need anything else?”

“Can I use the hotel internet access for my laptop?”

“We’ll set up a secure connection for you.”

“Great. Then I guess I’m all set,” he said with an air of resignation. “When will I be able to return to my office?”

“Probably in a few hours, after we finish examining it and sweep it for bugs. But you’ll still be under full bodyguard protection for a while.”

“Wonderful. Just don’t get in my way.”

Lynn looked Tyler up and down appraisingly. Then, with a final nod she turned and followed Perry out the door.

“One question,” Tyler called out.

His bodyguards stopped and turned.

“Are we paying you people by the hour?”

The two exchanged amused glances.

“No, sir,” Perry replied, flexing his arms a bit. “We're paid by the pound.”

After the door closed and Tyler was alone in the room, he sat down at the desk. By instinct, he pulled out his cell phone. Then he considered Lynn's warning. He was about to put it away when it rang.

The noise startled him. He didn’t recognize the number, but he answered it anyway, wondering if it might be Merrick. “This is Samson Tyler.”

“Hello, Mr. Tyler. I know I’m calling you on your private line. I hope I’m not interrupting anything important. Do you have a moment to speak?”

“Who is this?”

“My name is Doctor Noah Gettleman. I am the senior flight director at the Thomas Dorian Space Center.”

“What can I do for you, Dr. Gettleman?”

“I have a bit of a problem out here. It’s not something I’m comfortable talking about via email.”

“Is this a legal problem?”

“Sort of. It’s more of about something that’s being done that might not be proper.”

“I see. Is this thing that is being done unethical or illegal?”

“I bit of both, I suppose.”

“Is it something you can take up with our human resources department?”

“Not really.”

“I don’t mean to be rude, Dr. Gettleman, but I don’t have time to play twenty questions. I can’t help you unless I know what the problem is.”

“Okay. Well, the problem is with our orbiter maintenance procedures.”

“That sounds like a technical or engineering issue.”

“I’ve taken this problem as far up the chain as I can. I didn’t know who else I could take it to. Once you find out what this is about, I think you’ll want to start an investigation.”

“Dr. Gettleman, I am literally up to my ears in investigations right now. I can have someone from my team speak with you.”

“I don’t want a brush-off, Mr. Tyler. I don’t want to be an alarmist, but if what I think is happening is true, then our whole space program could fall apart.”

Tyler thought about that for a moment. Then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“All right,” he said, exhaling. “Start from the beginning, and tell me exactly what’s going on out there.”

“Wait.” There was a pause, and then Gettleman said, “Someone is here. I have to go now. I’ll talk to you later.”

Then he hung up.

Tyler stared at his phone. Then he shook his head and sighed.

“Freaking scientists…”

CHAPTER TWENTY

The rumor that Templar Enterprises was under federal investigation was the top news story of the day. Pundits debated and argued the possibilities on the cable news and radio talk shows. There was speculation on the condition of Sinclair Dorian's health, as the once-outspoken CEO of Templar Enterprises was now either unwilling or unable to comment on his company’s current situation. More cynical commentators online and offline suggested that the company had manufactured the scandal in order to push itself back in the public spotlight. That was an odd idea since the
Naiad
mission had been, until now, the most newsworthy event of the week.

Having returned to his office early in the afternoon, Samson Tyler learned that the internal investigation was going well. His legal team had already commandeered several conference rooms to go through volumes of financial and personnel documents.

Now it was nearly six o’clock. With a sigh, he leaned back in his chair, slipped his thumbs under his navy blue suspenders, and snapped them back against his starched white shirt. He grimaced at his own pile of files, recalling how Dusty had wondered earlier if all their disorganization was part of some brilliant strategy to slow down the FBI investigation.

An early lack of cooperation with the government would deny Templar a settlement advantage, but Tyler wasn't worried about that. The government had, or thought they had, something big on Templar Enterprises, something linking the company with illegal technology transfers. The sooner he figured out what that link was, the quicker he could find a way to fight back. And if he didn't fight back - and win - the consequences would be disastrous. The government would shut them down, suppliers would stop orders and creditors would close in. The company was already operating on a razor-thin margin.

And then there was the call from Noah Gettleman. Apparently the folks out in New Mexico were having a problem keeping their maintenance records straight. Gettleman never got back to him, so there was no way to tell yet if his problem was serious. The next person on the team who ticked Tyler off would be assigned to follow up with Gettleman’s record-keeping issues.

He stared unenthusiastically at his monitor. After everything that had happened, after an entire day of crisis after crisis, only now did he feel a dull, throbbing headache growing behind his temples. He had gone through the preliminary interviews that his staff had conducted with the purchasing department managers. So far, there was nothing that indicated a problem. But the investigation was just starting, and there would be a lot more material to go through over the next few days.

Jacob Jackson promised to supply all the financial records regarding Templar’s government procurement programs, but the CFO told him that would include gigabytes of data, and that printouts of the summaries alone would fill a file cabinet. More people from the accounting department would have to be brought in to go through the information.

Tyler looked up as Dusty walked in. “What’s going on?”

“Here are the rest of the interviews.”

Tyler took the files. “Great. I was just running out of things to do.”

“How about if I give you a hand going through these? I’ll order more pizza and a few beers.”

“Let’s call it a night, Dusty. Tell everyone to go home and get some sleep. I’ll see you first thing tomorrow.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

After Dusty left, Tyler called Teresa’s apartment number with his desk phone. He hoped her roommates wouldn’t pick up.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Teresa.”

“Hey, you!” she said brightly. “Where are you? Are you home?”

“Actually, I’m going to be staying in a hotel for the next few nights.” He glanced around his office. “There was a fire in my apartment this morning.”

Teresa gasped. “What?”

“It was mostly smoke damage. No one was hurt.”

“How did the fire start?”

“They’re say it was set off by a lit flare under the couch.”

“A
flare
? Do you even own a flare?”

“Not unless you happened to bring one into the apartment.”

“Are you serious?”

“Not at all,” Tyler said with a sigh. “I think somebody broke in and intentionally set the place on fire.”

“Who would do that? Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“I stopped at your place this morning, around nine. I didn't see anything out of the ordinary. It must have happened soon after I left...” Teresa was silent for a few moments, and then added, “Look, you can crash at my place if you want.”

“I think it would be a bit crowded between you, your two roommates and the three cats.” He decided not to tell her about the death threat and photograph that was sent to his office. That would only worry her more. “I’m fine,” he said lightly. “Hey, don’t feel bad for me. The company’s putting me up in a hotel until I’m back on my feet.”

“I’m not worried about
you
. Now that I don’t have your apartment to clean, I might have to do some
real
work to make money.”

“Your concern for my welfare is appreciated, Teresa.”

She laughed. “Well, I know you don't like me getting too emotional, seeing as how it interferes with that macho detachment of yours.”

He rested his elbows on the desk and grinned. He could go an afternoon against Bryce, Holloway attorneys and never feel as challenged as he did after a five-minute conversation with Teresa. The way she could pick him apart was unnerving.

“Do you want to get together?” he asked without thinking.

“Is this some backhanded way of making up for last night?”

He glanced around the room. “Yeah, and I really need to get out of this office.”

“Are you sure you’re up for it? I mean, you just -”

“I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”

“Anywhere?”

“Anywhere in the city.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously.”

“Fine. I want to go to the Red Skeeve.”

Tyler winced. “Is that one of those clubs you’re always talking about?”

“Uh-huh. We can catch a late dinner first.”

“That’s fine. We’re not going to be alone, though. The company has assigned me bodyguard protection.”

“Bodyguards? Are you in danger?”

“Nothing to worry about. It’s just something they want me to have for a few days, due to the… suspicious nature of my apartment fire. I’ll have a driver pick you up.”

“All right,” she replied hesitantly. “Give me an half an hour. No, make it an hour.”

Tyler glanced at his watch. It was nearing eight o’clock. “Nine o’clock, then.”

“We’ll have fun tonight, Samson. I'm glad to see that you're willing to expand your horizons.”

He frowned, not knowing what to make of that. “See you soon.” He hung up, and then picked up the desk phone to call the conference room. When the other line picked up, he said, “Lynn, I'm going out tonight. I’m going to need one of your people to pick up my girlfriend.”

“I don't think this is a good time to be -”

“She’ll be ready in an hour.”

“It's not happening, Mr. Tyler. Not tonight. I don’t have the staff in place for you to make a public appearance.”

“We'll be fine. Perry can chaperone.”

“We're not taking that kind of risk. We don't know who or what -”

“I'm not asking you, Lynn,” Tyler interrupted. “I need a break. I'll only be gone for a few hours. No one needs to know.”

He could sense Lynn did not like the idea one bit. She muttered something under her breath and said, “You don't exactly endear yourself to people, do you, Mr. Tyler?”

“I appreciate your cooperation, Lynn.”

Tyler hung up, and with a frown, straightened his collar and tie, wondering what, exactly, the Red Skeeve was going to be like.

***

“You don't exactly endear yourself to people, do you, Mr. Tyler?”

“I appreciate your cooperation, Lynn.”

The conversation terminated with a hang-up. Static sounded for several seconds before Merrick removed her headset and reached over to switch off the receiver unit on the desk. She had tapped into Templar's phone system months ago. The physical tap located in the building’s basement junction box was of the same type she was using on Tyler's apartment complex. The tap was based on a military design, untraceable from the source phone and difficult to detect as a secondary, encrypted radio transmission. With it, she was able to monitor and record every internal phone call in the building.

 The lights in the bedroom were dimmed and the curtains drawn over the windows. Merrick sat before her computer. She wasn’t wearing any makeup or a wig. Her real hair was only a few inches long and chestnut brown in color. Her eyes were a pale blue, accenting a thin face with model-high cheekbones and thin lips. It was a canvas for which she could transform herself into a woman (or, occasionally, a man) of almost any appearance.