The Jake Helman Files Personal Demons (11 page)

She extended her right hand and Jake saw that she had sharp red fingernails and no wedding ring. He caught a whiff of her perfume, subtle yet provocative, and when he shook her hand a tremor ran through his body. His instant attraction to her caught him by surprise. “Pleased to meet you.”

Without moving her head, her dark eyes appraised him. Then her full red lips parted and she gestured to the doors she had come through. “This way, please.”

Jake found himself staring at her hips as he followed her into the sunlit office, but he quickly turned his attention to his surroundings. He had never been in such a large office in his life: forty feet wide and half as deep, with a ceiling fifteen feet high and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Manhattan.

This is more like it
, he thought.

“Go ahead,” Kira said, closing the door behind him. “Take a look.”

Jake crossed over to the windows and looked out at the cityscape. The shadow of an immense cloud spread over the neighboring structures, scale models in comparison to the Empire State Building behind them. Although the afternoon had been cold and gray, this high up he had to squint in the warm sunlight. He took a deep breath.

“Have a seat whenever you’re ready.”

Jake turned from the windows as Kira sat in a soft leather chair behind a black marble desk devoid of personal items or knickknacks. He had been so taken with the view that he had failed to notice the layout of the office, which included an informal conference area with chairs arranged around a low glass table. A modern kitchenette blended into the rear wall, next to a bank of security monitors. Jake moved to the desk and sat opposite Kira, who crossed her legs.

Reaching across her desk, she handed him a folder. “I need you to sign these documents before we can proceed.”

Jake saw that his name and the number on his visitor’s pass had been stamped on the edge of the folder, which he opened. Gazing down at single-spaced documents, he said, “What are these?”

“Two copies of our standard confidentiality agreement.”

“For what? I haven’t even been interviewed yet.”

In the sunlight, Kira’s eyes no longer appeared dark, but dazzling green. “Mr. Helman, you’re about to meet an intensely private man who insists on absolute secrecy in all of his dealings. If you’re unwilling to sign the agreement, then we’ve reached an impasse and you may leave.”

My God, I’m meeting Old Nick!
Jake tried to contain his excitement as he scanned the document, six pages of legalese, with a second copy beneath it. He removed a Lexington Hotel pen from his shirt pocket, signed and dated both copies, then returned the folder to Kira.

She laid it down. “You understand that by signing this, you agree not to discuss any individual you see or speak to today, that you may not reveal the substance of any conversations you have while inside the Tower, and you are restrained from describing the physical layout of any part of this building.”

Jake nodded. “I understand: no discussing, no revealing, no describing.”

Standing, Kira handed him a business card. “I’m Nicholas Tower’s executive assistant, by the way; his personal liaison to the outside world.” She circled her desk and crossed the room. Jake pocketed the card and followed her to a metal door perpendicular to the entrance. Leaning close to the wall, Kira pressed her right eye against a rubber cup. A moment later, Jake heard a metallic click as the door unlocked.

Retinal security scan
, he thought.

Kira pushed the door open and Jake followed her into an anteroom with a padded banquette facing steel doors. Kira placed the palm of her right hand on the opaque surface of a hand scanner, and a red laser beam passed beneath the glass, analyzing her fingerprints with a gentle hum. Jake heard a sound that reminded him of a time clock punching a card and Kira removed her hand.

“This is the only way to meet Nicholas Tower,” she said. “You might say that you have to go through me to get to him.” The doors separated, each one a foot thick, with intersecting steel rods. They retracted into the walls, a faint blue glow illuminating the dark space beyond them.

This is really happening
.

Kira stepped aside. “Good luck.”

Jake crossed the threshold, his shadow stretching before him in a narrow rectangle of light on the floor. Then the doors closed behind him, and both his shadow and the light disappeared.

Lockdown
.

Scores of recessed security monitors illuminated the windowless space, which seemed twice as large as Kira’s office. As his eyes adjusted to the peculiar lighting, he observed that the monitors displayed digital-sharp, color images of various locations within the Tower. At the far end of the space, the silhouette of a tall man rose from behind an immense desk and Jake felt a shudder of anticipation.

“Over here,” a commanding voice said.

Jake approached the man, his footsteps silent on the carpet. As he closed the distance between them, a column of soft white light illuminated the desk area. He passed a dais upon which had been erected a three-foot-tall model of the Tower. At last he reached the desk, made of polished obsidian.

Where’s Old Nick?

Right here
.

Nicholas Tower stood over six feet tall and the seventy-six-year-old man appeared to be in remarkable condition. His white hair, parted at the side, may have needed a trim, but it bore no resemblance to the unruly mane depicted on the infamous
Time
magazine cover. He wore a polyester suit identical to the uniforms of his security guards.

“I’m Nicholas Tower.” The old man’s voice radiated confidence as he offered his right hand.

“Jake Helman.” Jake shook the hand, as surprised by the old man’s strength as he was by the smooth texture of his flesh. A pale film covered Tower’s left eye, so Jake focused on his right eye, which reflected the blue light of the monitors. “It’s an honor.”

Tower released Jake’s hand and gestured to the single chair before his desk. “Have a seat.”

Jake eased himself into the chair and Tower sat across from him, a flat computer screen to his right. The black surface of the volcanic glass desk reflected the images from the monitors behind Jake, and a pair of gold doors gleamed in the darkness behind Tower.

Why aren’t there any windows?
Jake wondered, crossing his legs. The old man didn’t need to worry about sniper fire this high up. Was his bad eye sensitive to sunlight?

“The Tower is the hub of my empire,” Tower said without a trace of irony. “I’m changing the course of the world from right here.” He tapped the desktop with one finger. “You saw the chromophobes downstairs?”

Jake nodded. “They’re hard to miss.”

“The media dismiss the Anti-Cloning Creationist League as some harmless, grassroots organization exercising its right to free speech. I know better. Have you heard of RAGE?”

Jake narrowed his eyes. “The Righteous against Genetic Engineering. A secret, quasi-terrorist organization operating from somewhere in the Bible Belt.”

Tower smiled with one side of his mouth. “The ACCL is the legitimate, fund-raising arm of RAGE, and RAGE wishes to destroy me and this company. They’ve made several threats against this building and they’re camped right outside its front doors.”

Jake had never heard of a link between the ACCL and RAGE before. “Sounds like a job for the FBI or Homeland Security.”

Tower leaned back in his seat. “In retaliation against me for opposing the Anti-Cloning Act, the president’s ordered his attorney general to file anti-trust charges against me. They don’t like that I dominate the market I helped create. So I can hardly turn to the federal government for protection. I prefer to handle my security needs internally, which is why I’ve called you here today. I fired my last director of security for sympathizing with those Luddites downstairs and now I need to replace him. I think you fit the bill.”

Jack set his foot back on the floor. “I don’t have any experience in executive protection.”

Tapping the keyboard before him, Tower glanced at the computer screen. “You’ve had antiterrorist training, haven’t you?”

Jake nodded. “I served on the HERCULES assault team for six months before I was assigned to the Street Narcotics Apprehension Program. I also took mandatory refresher courses every three years.”

“And you spent another six months on the previous mayor’s security detail.”

“True.”

“I see you were orphaned as an infant.”

Jake’s body tensed. Just how deeply had Tower researched his background? “Yes.”

“Tragic.” Tower reached into a drawer and tossed a copy of the
Post
onto the desk. Jake avoided looking at the police sketch of the Cipher on the front page. “Were those cretins your first kills?”

Jake’s stomach muscles tightened. “Yes.”

“Did you resign because you got squeamish at the prospect of killing again?”

“No. I quit because of departmental politics.”

“Bureaucrats,” Tower said with a look of disgust. “Let me be direct, Jake. I need a man of action, a man who’s not afraid to pull a trigger if my life depends on it. I think you proved yourself to be that man yesterday. The position I’m offering pays three hundred thousand dollars a year, plus excellent benefits. Are you interested?”

Jake gripped his chair’s armrests to keep from falling over.
Three hundred thousand dollars!
He had never dreamed such a salary would ever be within his reach. With an income like that, he could buy Sheryl the house she wanted and set his life back on course. “Definitely.”

“Ms. Thorn performed a preliminary background check on you as soon as she read of your availability. If I hire you, you’ll report directly to her.”

Jake pictured Kira Thorn and for some reason his heartbeat quickened. “That won’t be a problem.”

“My living quarters are beyond the doors behind me. Both the media and my enemies would pay a great deal of money to know that, so you can see why confidentiality is a priority. Ms. Thorn lives on this floor as well, and until the FDA approves the sale of DCL-21, and the climate outside changes, you’ll be required to stay here, too. You’ll be on call twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.”

Jake had already made up his mind. “I’m your man, Mr. Tower.”

“I think so, too.” Rising to his feet, Tower offered his hand again. “Then we have a deal?”

Jake stood, as well. “Deal,” he said, grasping Tower’s hand.

J
ake stepped through the entrance of
La Petit Mort
, on the corner of Lafayette and Houston, with a dozen long-stemmed roses in one hand and his new employment manual and insurance booklet in the other. He had not been to the fashion boutique for six months, and it looked like a different store: ebony mannequins customized with Day-Glo tattoos and graffiti modeled chic women’s garments. He made eye contact with Carol, the young saleswoman at the counter, who preferred to be called Carl. She had cropped her red hair into a crew cut and her waist had expanded quite a bit. Her features registered disdain upon seeing him and he assumed she disliked him because he had a cock and she didn’t.

“Sheryl in?”

Without acknowledging him, Carol picked up the house phone and pressed a button. “Jake’s here,” she said, the stud in the center of her tongue glinting. A moment later she hung up. “She’ll be out in a minute.” She returned her attention to the catalogue on the counter.

“Thanks.” Jake wandered around the store, examining the selection. He had met Sheryl DeCosta not far from here, when they had both been waiting in line to see
The Maltese Falcon
at the Film Forum, one of the few cinemas that still projected film prints. At the time, he had been assigned to SNAP in Alphabet City and she had worked as a costume designer on independent films.

Sheryl emerged from her back office and Jake’s heart clenched. He had to bite his tongue to keep from gasping. She wore a fashionable black suit and the horn-rimmed glasses that he liked, but she had cut her hair short, something he had always discouraged.

That didn’t take long
, he thought, trying to suppress his bitterness. Expressionless, Sheryl took his arm and guided him to one corner. “The place looks great,” he said, trying not to stare at her haircut.

“You promised me you wouldn’t do this,” she said in a low voice.

“Here.” He offered her the roses. “These are for you.”

“Thank you.” She took them, her demeanor remaining cool.

“Your hair looks nice.”

“I think so, but I doubt you do.”

“No, really—I like it.”

“Jake, you can’t just show up at my job like this. It isn’t fair. I told you, I need time to think things through. And I don’t want the people I work with to know what’s going on between us.”

Jake feigned innocence. “My stopping by to see you is telling them something?”

“When did you ever bring me flowers before? When was the last time you even picked me up here? When—”

“All right,” he said, glancing around. “I just came by to let you know that I got a new job.”

She glanced at his suit. “Doing what?”

“You’re looking at the new director of security for the Tower.”

“Uh-huh. Halloween was three days ago, and April Fool’s Day isn’t for six more months.”

“I’m serious.” He held up his employee manual, embossed with Tower International’s logo, and she narrowed her eyes.

“How on earth did you swing that?”

“They came to me. Apparently Old Nick is a true-crime buff and wants a real gunslinger to protect him from those chromophobes outside the Tower.”

“You mean you
met
him?”

He smiled. “I’m contractually prohibited from saying.”

Her eyes lit up. “My God, how does he look?”

“Like Mr. Magoo crossed with Dracula, or a demented Jimmy Stewart.”

“I don’t believe this. What are your responsibilities?”

“I’ll be in charge of the entire internal security outfit. That means supervising surveillance, running background checks on potential employees, and implementing counterindustrial espionage procedures.”

“How much are they paying you?”