The Memorist

Chapter 25

Sunday, April 27^th-10:15 a.m.

David Yalom had interviewed Global’s top exec several times before and Tom Paxton greeted him warmly, if awkwardly, when he arrived. He hadn’t seen Yalom since the explosion that wiped out the journalist’s entire family and while he’d never met a man on death row, that was the first thought that came to his mind when he shook the Israeli’s hand and looked into his dead eyes. Yalom was pale and his face was drawn. He’d lost far too much weight. The man was walking wounded.

“Would you like some coffee? Something to drink?” Kerri asked.

“Coffee,” David said, and then as an afterthought, added, “that would be great.” Pulling a notebook from the pocket of the dark green knapsack, he opened it to a clean page. “Congratulations on winning the competition,” he said to Paxton. “This is a big job.”

“And a big job requires big plans. Ready to get started?” As he briefed him, Paxton watched Yalom carefully. There was something off about the reporter; it was as if there was a one- or two-second delay between thought and deed. But as Paxton ran through the major initiatives Global was putting in place and would be using to protect the hall, Yalom had no trouble keeping up and interrupting every few points to ask intelligent and probing questions.

This was the fifth or sixth time Paxton had worked with Yalom, who’d been covering the ISTA conferences for quite a few years. The players knew him as a fair reporter with a reputation for doing impeccable research. Paxton wasn’t concerned about any of David’s probing questions; his company was operating at peak and he knew the reporter wouldn’t be able to find anything damaging to write.

“The first thing we’re going to show you is a demonstration of the main security program. Sorry, we have no popcorn,” Paxton joked.

Yalom chuckled and Paxton thought it seemed forced. Green hit the start button and, as promised, the show she put on for the assembled group via her laptop rivaled any thriller movie any of them had seen. Shadow intruders infiltrated the concert hall in various scenarios: including invading via the backstage loading area, landing on the roof of the building and burrowing through a wall in an adjacent building. In each case a series of guards, alarms and security systems went into high alert and the animated intruder was always captured.

“Now watch what happens if it’s not an intruder, per se, but someone with limited access to the concert hall who tries to get to the VIP boxes…”

Except for David Yalom, the people sitting around the table all knew how everything worked, yet each was mesmerized by how the simulation, complete with disturbingly lifelike avatars in a perfectly recreated concert hall played out on the screen. There was even a soundtrack to underscore the tension.

“Like watching a damn James Bond movie, isn’t it, Yalom?” Paxton asked, unable to disguise the pride in his voice.

“It almost makes you want to send someone through for real and see it all go into action,” Green said wistfully.

“You scare me when you say things like that,” Paxton said with a laugh. “Especially in front of the press.” Turning to Tucker Davis, another longtime Global employee and member of the top tier, he said: “Your turn, Mr. Engineer. Tell us about the infrastructure of the building itself.”

“It’s old. It’s drafty,” Tucker said. “Its corners have corners, but we’ve been at it 24/7 and I’m confident we know all of them. We even know the names of the rats climbing up through the pipes.”

“You sound positively gleeful.” Paxton was confused. Tucker was usually taciturn and annoyed when there was a reporter in the room, anxious about letting the press in on a job prior to the event. “What’s going on?”

“Angela called last night.” Pause. “She’s pregnant.”

The couple had been trying for several years, and the news was greeted with congratulations all around, Kerri going so far as to wipe away tears. Paxton was struck by her gesture. She’d been working for him for five years, and he’d never seen her get emotional before. Even more surprising was how her emotion stirred him, which in itself was an out-of-place, unexpected and undesirable reaction. He didn’t mix business and pleasure. Never had and never would. Suddenly restless to get to the concert hall, he stood up. “I’d like to go to the site now and see it for myself. Yalom, would you like to join us?”

“Sure would. That would be helpful at this point.”

“Kerri?” Paxton asked, glancing over her shoulder down at her laptop. “Is there anything we need to worry about before we head over to the hall?” It was his signature closing line. The one question he asked before he wrapped up any meeting, and he knew that to this woman who prided herself on never missing a beat-in fact, to all of his team-his inquiry was like fingernails on a blackboard.

“Nope, nothing.”

Paxton didn’t doubt her but he never entirely trusted her, either. Or anyone else. Everyone was capable of forgetting and of making mistakes. When you were dealing with security, with life and death, no one could forget anything. Nothing could go wrong. Ever. Especially not on this job.

Paxton had spent each vacation of his adult life mountain climbing successively more difficult peaks. He had to assume he couldn’t trust anyone when it came to checking his gear or to being there if he slipped and yet at the same time, he had to trust the people on his team if something did go wrong. The ultimate conundrum.

He’d brought his company to a similar apex. At least when he climbed, only a few other climbers were with him. In Vienna, the entire industry, government agencies, VIPs and every potential client would be watching. If this job went well it would make Global shine so brightly everyone would have to wear sunglasses when they dealt with him. The contracts would flow like icy water from those snow-capped peaks. And he needed them to flow. Paxton was overleveraged, overmortgaged, overinvested in his own company and in the midst of an ugly divorce that was going to cost him money he didn’t have and wouldn’t get unless this conference did for his reputation what he expected it would.

He’d never been in a better position, or a worse one. This was his own personal fucking Everest. Up till now Global had been pure potential. After the 50th ISTA conference concluded Thursday night after the gala concert, he would have either exceeded expectations or lost his goddamn shirt. And to kick up the pressure a notch, he knew every important member of ISTA was hoping for the lost shirt scenario. They were dying to see the bad boy of the industry bested. But Paxton planned to be anything but vanquished.

“The cars are downstairs. We’re meeting the engineers at the Musikverein. I’m itching to see how our new GPR systems are working.”

“New systems?” the reporter asked. “How do they differ?” He seemed even more focused.

“Most GPR systems are designed for aboveground detection in a fairly open environment as far as thirty meters away. When using them for underground detection we normally can’t go farther than nine or ten meters. But we’ve snagged some ground-penetrating radar models that are still in trials that can get down at least a meter deeper,” Paxton bragged.

“One extra meter. Doesn’t sound like much, David, but it’s enough room for a man to crouch in, hiding, waiting,” Vine explained further.

“I’m assuming you’ll give me a demo?” the reporter asked.

“You bet,” Paxton said, and continued showing off. “We should also tell you something else we’re doing that’s a first. We’re spending a hundred thousand dollars to track terrorist activity in the area.”

“The local authorities take care of that normally, don’t they?” David asked.

“We’re not leaving anything to the local authorities on this job.”

David’s pen was poised. “What kind of activity? How big an area? What kind of system are you using to do that?”

“Now if we told the press that then everyone reading your article would know how to avoid our traps.” Paxton laughed.

“Embargo the information till after the concert,” David suggested.

“Not this time,” Paxton said. “Not this job. Once we’re on the other side of the concert I’ll fill you in on some of the initiatives we’ve invested in. Now, let’s get over to the music hall.”

They left the room and were headed toward the elevator when Kerri stopped and turned back.

“Something wrong?” Paxton asked.

“No.” She shook her head. “I just forgot something.”

“Good, because nothing’s going to go wrong. Not this week. Not this job.” He turned to David. “Am I making you nervous?”

“Nervous?” The reporter looked confused.

“When security systems work,” Paxton said as he jabbed the elevator button, “there’s not a great deal to report. I was just wondering if you’re afraid you’re not going to get much of a news story out of this effort.”