Fast and Loose

28

The following morning Fred drove Charley Fox to the Strategic Services building on East Fifty-seventh Street, with his briefcase and a couple of boxes of office stuff. It was still raining.

“Mr. Fox, you’ll be happy to hear your two tails got properly doused last night,” Fred said.

“That does make me happy.”

“There are two new ones there this morning, in raincoats, hats, and carrying umbrellas like weapons. They look like proper spies.”

“They don’t have wheels, do they?”

“No, don’t worry, they’re not following us. Still, I’ll take further precautions.” Fred made a couple of unnecessary course alterations, then pulled up under the portico of the building and carried Charley’s boxes inside for him.

Charley presented himself at the front desk, showed them two picture IDs, then was photographed and presented with a newly minted security badge to clip to his breast pocket. A man in a black suit led him to an elevator and up to the fourth floor.

“My name is Chaney, Mr. Fox. You’ll be pretty much alone on this floor,” the man said, “as it’s kept for expansion and for lone wolves like you. Two temporaries — a receptionist and a secretary — have been assigned to you, until you find your own.”

“Thank you, Mr. Chaney,” Charley replied.

They came to a double glass door on which had been affixed the words THE TRIANGLE PARTNERSHIP in large gold letters. An attractive young woman sat behind the front desk.

“Mr. Fox, this is Stella, your receptionist.”

They shook hands.

“Welcome to Strategic Services,” she said. “I’m sorry — to The Triangle Partnership.”

“I’ll have to get used to that myself,” Charley said.

They continued to an office suite, where a middle-aged woman was occupying the secretary’s desk.

“This is Maggie Everson,” Chaney said. “She’ll be running you.”

Charley laughed and shook her hand. “I’ll look forward to that, Maggie.”

“He’s all yours,” Chaney said, and exited.

Maggie led him into a roomy corner office with a desk, a small conference table and other matching pieces of furniture, plus a seating area with a leather sofa and matching chairs. “We’ve got a warehouse full of stuff downtown, if there’s anything you want to shop for,” Maggie said. She opened the wide curtains, revealing a rain-swept garden below. “There’s a lot of sun when it comes out.”

“This looks very well equipped,” Charley replied. It was much handsomer than his offices at either Goldman Sachs or St. Clair.

Maggie opened a desk drawer and handed him a box of business cards. “There’s engraved stationery in the other drawers, and here’s your new cell phone.” She handed him the latest iPhone. “If you want to keep your old phone, as well, I can have your calls transferred to this one. It has some Strategic Services apps and security features that I’ll take you through later. You should memorize the new number as soon as possible.” She helped him open his boxes and distribute his belongings.

“Your computer is an Apple mini Mac, and our usual software has been customized for the purposes of Triangle.” She took him through the operation of the computer, then showed him how the phone system worked. “You have a direct line for personal calls, three office lines, and three fax lines. Line one is the one on your business cards, and your new e-mail address is there, too — charlesfox-at-triangleparnership-dot-com. Stella is the phone operator, as well as the receptionist, and she answers all incoming calls, except your direct, private line. There are four other offices attached to this suite for future hirees. They have their own phone and fax lines. Your fax machine is outside, next to my desk.” She opened a cabinet across the room to reveal a clever kitchenette, a well-stocked bar, with an ice maker and a coffee and espresso maker. “What else can I tell you?”

“Where’s the men’s room?” Charley asked.

She laughed and pointed at a door across the room. “That’s your private one, and it has a shower, too. There’s a bed, too, should you need to pull an all-nighter. Strategic Services frowns on sex in the office, but then this isn’t their office, it’s yours, and their rules don’t apply.”

Charley laughed. “Good to know.”

“Visitors must check in first downstairs, as you did, and they’ll be issued with visitors’ passes. If some of your visitors are regular, they can be issued with permanent passes.”

“That’s fine.”

“Two floors up there are two restaurants — a cafeteria for all employees and a more luxurious one called Safe House, with its own chef, for senior officers. You may use either. They’ll swipe the bar code from your security ID and bill Triangle for all charges. Anything else?”

“Not right now. Thanks, Maggie.”

She left, and a moment later there was a knock on the door, and Stone Barrington and Mike Freeman entered, one carrying a champagne bucket and the other a bottle of Veuve Clicquot Grande Dame.

“Welcome,” Stone said, opening the bottle and grabbing three glasses from the bar. They raised them and drank.

“So,” Mike said, “how much money have you made for us so far?”

“Zip,” Charley replied, “but I have some ideas. I also have a list of companies that Christian St. Clair was interested in, glommed from his computer system. I think I’ll start with those.”

“You can hire anybody you want for receptionist and secretary,” Mike said, “but if you’re happy with these two, I’ll transfer them.”

“I’ll let you know. There are also two people at Goldman that I’d like to steal from them.”

“Go right ahead,” Stone said. “You’re going to need help.”

“Make up your own office budget and send it to me,” Mike said. “We’ll also take care of background checks on the people you want to hire. Anybody who works in this building has to submit to that, and they’re thorough. Don’t commit to a hiring until that has been done. It rarely takes more than a few hours.”

“Of course. What about polygraphs?”

“Only for senior Strategic Services staff, and those others we may have questions about.”

“I’d like to have full workups on Erik Macher, Jake Herman, and Thomas Berenson, the St. Clair lawyer.”

“Good idea,” Mike said, “always good to know about the opposition. I understand you’re acquainted with Kaley Weiss.”

“You’re very well informed.”

“I try to be. What, may I ask, is your relationship?”

“Close,” Charley replied. “We knew each other at the Farm, but our duties separated us after that. We had dinner last night and renewed our acquaintance.”

“Well, we’ve already run our background check on you, Charley, and as far as Strategic Services is concerned, you are qualified to continue seeing her.”

Charley laughed. “I’m relieved to hear it — it saves me from having to tell you to go fuck yourself.”

Everybody laughed, but Charley had made his point.