Severe Clear

20

Mike Freeman answered his suite door at The Arrington to find a messenger standing there with a package. He signed for it, tipped the man, and took it inside. He unwrapped a large cardboard tube and found a note attached to it.

“Call me when you receive this,” it said, and it was signed by Scott Hipp.

Mike opened the tube and shook out an enlarged photograph, a satellite view of the Los Angeles area. He flattened the photo and weighted the corners, then he called Hipp on his direct line.

“Scott Hipp.”

“It’s Mike Freeman, Scott. What have you sent me?”

“First, a little preamble,” Hipp said. “Yesterday one of my people was going through data collected on an automated computer, and he found two more messages with the text ‘All is well. I am fine.’ One was signed ‘Wynken,’ the other, ‘Blynken.’”

“Uh-oh.”

“Exactly.”

“What does the satshot you sent me have to do with them?”

“Are you looking at the photo?”

“I am.”

“Then you’ll see three straight lines emanating from a point on the high ground, just above the Stone Canyon Reservoir, which is the cell tower that received and transmitted the e-mails.”

“I see the lines.”

“They’re fairly close together, you will observe. Through some technology I’m not allowed to tell you about, we’ve gone back to the computer record of the three e-mails, which were all sent from cell phones, and determined the radials from the tower on which each caller was located when the e-mails were sent. This is not definitive, of course, because we can’t determine the distance of the sender from the tower. In theory, they could be standing anywhere on those lines, out to infinity. In practice, they were probably all within five miles of the tower.”

“I understand.”

“As you will no doubt note, one of the lines-the message signed ‘Nod’-passes through the grounds of The Arrington, so Nod could have been on the property when it was sent. Of course, he could have been north or south of The Arrington, too, or it could simply be a coincidence, but you get my drift.”

“I do.”

“That’s all I’ve got for you,” Hipp said. “I thought you’d find it interesting.”

“I find it fascinating, Scott. One more thing: do you have the dates on which the e-mails were sent?”

“Nod transmitted a week ago yesterday, the twelfth, Wynken, the fourteenth, and Blynken, the fifteenth.”

“Thank you again, Scott. Very much.”

“Take care.” Hipp hung up.

Mike stared at the map a little longer, then he got up and walked down the hill to the old Calder House, now the site of The Arrington’s executive offices. The building was nearly finished, now, and all the offices were occupied. He stopped at the reception desk.

“Good afternoon,” he said. “My name is Michael Freeman, of Strategic Services. We’re supplying all the security personnel for the hotel.”

“Yes, Mr. Freeman, I’ve seen you before.”

“Who is in charge of hiring for the hotel?”

“Well, each department head hires his own people: Food and Beverages hires the kitchen and restaurant staff, Domestic hires the maids, Landscaping, the outdoor workers, and so on.”

“Is there a director of personnel, who presides over the entire hotel?”

“No, sir. Each department has a budget and hiring conforms to that.”

“Who’s in charge of the overall budget?”

“Why, Carol, I suppose.”

“And who is he?”

“She. It’s Carol Pressler. Her office is just down the hall.” She pointed.

“Thank you.” Mike continued down the hallway and found a door labeled “Comptroller.” He knocked, and a woman’s voice yelled, “Come in.” He opened the door to find an attractive woman in her forties seated at a computer, her desk stacked with printouts. “Mrs. Pressler?”

“It’s Ms., and I’m Carol,” she said, holding out her hand. “You’re our security guy, aren’t you?”

“Mike Freeman, of Strategic Services.”

“Have a seat, Mike. What can I do for you?”

“I’ve just been told that there is no personnel director, as such, and that each department head is in charge of his own budget. Is that correct?”

“It is. The philosophy is that each department head will be much better acquainted with the qualifications of hirees in his department than an overall director of personnel.”

“But your department pays everybody?”

“Correct.”

“So you have a computer record of all employees?”

“Correct.”

“Can you tell from your records the date on which each was hired?”

“I can, otherwise I wouldn’t know when to start paying them.”

“I would be very grateful if you could give me a list of all the people hired on the twelfth, fourteenth, and fifteenth of this month.”

“Overall, or by department?”

“By department would be helpful.”

“Can you give me a few minutes?” she asked.

“Of course.” Mike rose to go.

“Oh, not that many minutes. Just wait.”

Mike sat down again.

Carol Pressler turned to her computer and began typing. As she typed, her printer began to disgorge paper. A few minutes later, she got up, retrieved the paper from the printer, and handed it to Mike. “A total of a hundred and thirty-five workers were hired during those three days.”

Mike took the stack of paper from her. “So many?”

“We’ll have a little over one employee for every guest,” she said.

“I mean, so many in just three days?”

“Peak hiring time,” she said. “The hotel wants to hire people only shortly before they are to begin working. Interviewing has been going on for weeks, of course, but we want to hire personnel just in time to train them and put them to work, so the actual hiring is compressed into just a few days.”

“I see,” Mike said. “And did the Secret Service review the records of each hiree?”

“Yep. First time I’ve ever dealt with them, but given the importance of the guests, it’s understandable.”

“And did the Secret Service decline to clear any of them?”

“Only two, and they were Mexican-Americans who had counterfeit green cards. Very good counterfeits, too. Fooled me.”

“And they were not hired?”

“Nope. It’s the policy of the board to hire only legal workers. You should know that, since you’re on the board.”

“Quite right.” Mike stood up. “Thank you, Carol,” he said.

“You’re entirely welcome. I expect we’ll meet again.”

“I hope so,” Mike said. He shook her hand and left the office.

Walking back to his suite, he reflected that if Wynken, Blynken, and Nod were hired on those days-and that was only an assumption-and each had undergone the extensive background check by the Secret Service, then he was going to have a hell of a time figuring out who they were.