If You're Going Through Hell Keep Going Page 4

  “Sorry to call on your cell, sir.” It was Howard. “I wasn’t sure where you’d be. We can’t find Miss Smith… er… Jones anywhere in the WBIS.”

  “Did you check the ladies rooms?”

  “Yes, sir. One of the first places we looked. Also the maintenance closets, the pantry, and the cooler down in the morgue.”

  Dammit.

  “And I’ve contacted Mr. Gershom. I told him you’d want the surveillance tapes for the entire building.”

  “Good work, Howard. I approve.”

  “Oh! Uh… thank you!”

  “Don’t thank me. You did your job. I’ll want to talk to you about this.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll be available.”

  I put my phone away and looked at Morris. “I want Miss Jones’s file. And you’d better give me Miss Smith’s as well.”

  His mouth twisted, and I knew he wanted to object in the worst way. He didn’t though, not after I rested my fisted hand on my hip, moving aside my jacket and drawing attention back to the Glock under my arm.

  “This… this is highly irregular! I’ll… er….” He ran the handkerchief over his neck again. “I’ll print it and send it to your office.”

  “I think I’ll wait right here while you print it out.” I didn’t know what was going on, but I didn’t trust him any further than I could throw him. “Oh, and Morris? The WBIS is run differently than your previous place of employment. I think it will be healthier for you to go back to the private sector.”

  Chapter 4

  Morris was a really nervous man. He was sweating profusely as he tucked his Playgirl and thermos into his briefcase.

  I stood watching with the sheaf of papers in my hand.

  “I’m really… I’ve never been treated in this manner before!”

  I reached across his desk for his phone and punched the button for Security.

  “Howard? Vincent again. Come to four. I want you to escort Mr. Morris out of the building. But first I want you to strip-search him.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Morris drew himself up to his full height of about five foot five. “I never!”

  “Yeah? Well, you’re about to.” Howard hadn’t sounded too thrilled about it either, but that was his problem. He was lucky I wasn’t insisting he do a full body cavity search. Morris might be too stupid to live, but I wasn’t going to take the chance he walked out with sensitive information on his person. “Okay, let’s go.”

  Bixby was hanging around the outer door to Morris’s office, grinning like someone had just made his day.

  “Where’s your director, Bixby?”

  “Humpty Dumpty’s up on ten, talking to The Boss.”

  “When you see him, tell him I...” I changed what I’d been about to say. “I want to see him in my office.”

  Morris didn’t like that, I could tell from his expression, but I couldn’t tell if it was because Bixby referred to his boss as Humpty Dumpty or I’d ordered a director as if he were on a lower rung of the WBIS food chain. Who the fuck had recruited this clown to the WBIS?

  Bixby rubbed his hands together and almost skipped down the corridor, just as Howard came toward me. “Um… where do you want me to…?”

  “Take him down to Medical. Dr. Futé will oversee the procedure.”

  Morris moaned.

  I didn’t know how The Boss was going to react to me decimating a department not my own, but he’d insisted on making me Director of Interior Affairs, and how the fuck was I supposed to do my job if I had to keep looking over my shoulder because I couldn’t trust the people I worked with?

  He’d just have to decide: them or me, and I’d have no problem walking if he chose them. Of course I’d leave most of the WBIS a wasteland, but…. I knew it wouldn’t come to that. He wouldn’t choose them.

  I brought my gaze back to the two men. Howard swallowed. Morris’s knees buckled, and Howard had to grab him to keep him upright.

  I shook my head, strode to the stairwell, and headed up to my office.

  Howard was right. Miss Smith née Jones née whatever her name really was wasn’t on the premises, and I had no doubt that by this time she’d gone to ground.

  No big deal. I was going to find her.

  I had her records under both names, not that it mattered. Other than the difference in her hair color, they were identical, right down to the fact they contained a whole lot of nothing. I placed the pages side by side on my desk.

  And where the fuck was that surveillance tape?

  The intercom buzzed. “Yes?”

  “Mr. Humphrey is here to see you, sir?”

  “Thanks, Ms. Parker. Send him in. Oh, and arrange a time for Devlyn Howard to meet with me, would you please?”

  “Your schedule is fairly booked, sir.”

  The door opened and Humphrey—known throughout the WBIS as Humpty Dumpty—entered. Average height and stocky, he looked cool and in control of his emotions. He took a seat without waiting to be asked, and I nodded and continued the conversation with my secretary.

  “There’s no major rush. Whenever you can find a spot for him.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  I took my finger off the intercom and sat back.

  “Bixby said you wanted to see me.” Humphrey was holding a file, and he leaned forward and placed it on top of the other two on my desk without saying a word about it.

  “Yeah.” I raised an eyebrow, but followed his lead and ignored it. “We need to talk about your hiring practices.”

  “I’d have to agree, considering the fact you just got rid of two of my employees.” He crossed his legs, and gave me a thin smile. “There was a coterie who danced for joy when word came down you’d blown yourself up last year. I wasn’t one of them. We need people like you who aren’t afraid to get their hands dirty.”

  “Why are you buttering me up?”

  “I’m not. This is the first time we’ve... come into contact, shall we say? And frankly, Vincent, I’d like to keep it that way. I didn’t want Morris in my department.”

  “You’re the director. Who twisted your arm?” And if he said Mr. Wallace was behind that hiring, I was going to be seriously disappointed in The Boss.

  “I see you’ve got Rebecca Godard’s files.”

  “Who?”

  “Miss Jones. No, she’s Miss Smith this time around, isn’t she?” He leaned forward and tapped the file he’d placed on my desk. “This might be more pertinent. It certainly makes for more interesting reading.”

  It was Godard’s file. I raised an eyebrow.

  “He’s her father. When it comes to support staff, the WBIS never had a policy against employing family members,” Humphrey said.

  “You’re right. But she was known in my department as Miss Jones. Explain that.”

  “I can’t, unless it was because of something Dr. Godard did. No one here could figure out what he’d done to get on your bad side, but we all knew he had.”

  I came around my desk, propped a hip on the corner, and folded my arms across my chest, revealing my Glock. “Y’know—”

  He held up a hand and finished what I’d been about say. “It beats hell out of you how people can view you in that light. I know, I’ve heard it baffles you. I don’t suppose you’d want to tell me what happened?”

  “No.” It was personal. I’d found another memo mixed in with Sperling’s junk, this one from Godard. Stupid of Godard to put it in writing, stupid of Sperling to keep it. Come down to Medical. I’ve obtained the rohypnol you requested.

  The roofies Sperling had fed to Pretty Boy in a glass of Dewar’s before beating him to the point of unconsciousness with a golf iron. Why? Because Pretty Boy was a friend of mine, and Sperling knew I’d be with him in the hospital, giving Sperling the opportunity to break into my apartment to search for whatever the fuck it was he thought he’d find there.

  It hadn’t worked out the way he’d planned. My door had exploded as I’d programmed it to and Sperling went to that big spy agency in the
sky. Or maybe he’d gone in the other direction and was working for the Devil.

  As for Pretty Boy, things had turned out better for him than they should have: he survived with a couple of scars, got out of the business, and went back to using his real name, Paul Stark. He was out in Los Angeles now, working as a nurse in the labor and delivery wing of a prestigious hospital.

  “So you have no idea how Ms. Godard became Miss Jones.”

  “Not a clue. There was a position needed filling.” He shrugged. “She turned up to fill it.”

  “You didn’t think to do a background check?”

  He scowled at me. “Of course we did! It… just didn’t turn up anything.”

  And wasn’t that fucking interesting?

  “And the same thing happened a second time, when she applied as Miss Smith?”

  “We… uh… we didn’t do one.”

  “Because this time someone twisted your arm to hire her.”

  “Yes.”

  “Who?”

  “Who do you think?” Humphrey’s mouth tightened and he finished impatiently, “What senior director wants you out of here so badly he can taste it?”

  “Anson Davies?”

  “Anson Davies,” he concurred.

  “Doesn’t the man have anything better to do?” I’d returned from a week on my island in the Caribbean to find he was back. The Boss hadn’t been pleased when the Director of Public Relations had dipped his fat toe into a department that wasn’t his, and so he’d suggested Davies take that extended sabbatical. I’d have preferred something a little more permanent, but then I hadn’t been asked.

  Humphrey must have realized that was a rhetorical question, because he made no attempt to answer it. Instead he said, “Well, you can’t really blame him.”

  Couldn’t I?

  “He’s been part of the WBIS almost from the beginning.”

  “And he wants to replace Mr. Wallace?”

  “Hell, no. He knows there’s no glamour in that position. He wants to be the power behind the throne. He came close with Sperling, but you ruined his plans. He had to scramble to distance himself from Bob. Of course, if Bob had succeeded in discovering anything incriminating about you….”

  “There is nothing incriminating. My life is an open book.” Except for the chapters that had Quinn in their pages, but they were after Sperling bit the big one. “You’re in an awfully chatty mood.”

  “I’m tired, Vincent.” He gazed off over my shoulder, and yeah, I could see the weariness etched in the lines around his mouth and eyes. He’d been in the WBIS a long time. Maybe not as long as The Boss or Davies, but longer than a lot of the other senior directors. “There was a time when WBIS agents backed each other to the death. Now… now you’d think we were on Capitol Hill.” He met my eyes. “Wallace has plans for you.”

  I didn’t want to think about it. I’d never expected to be director of anything—I’d been happy out in the field and frankly expected to be there when I bought the farm—but it was WBIS policy agents come in from the field once they hit thirty-five. I’d managed to get around that for four years by fudging my birth date, but last year all that had changed, and now, thanks to The Boss, here I was in charge of Interior Affairs. And learning to fucking golf.

  “And I’ve said too much.” Humphrey hoisted himself to his feet and started toward the door. “Thank you for getting rid of Morris.”

  “Just a second. I still want to know about his secretary.”

  “Read Godard’s file and then read hers.”

  I hated being stonewalled. “I’m going to find her, you know.”

  “I have no doubt of that. Trevor Wallace wouldn’t have chosen you otherwise.”

  “What?”

  “I have to get back to four. You’ve left my department in something of a shambles, and I need to get it straightened out.”

  “Next time Davies wants to play in your sandbox, keep him the fuck out.”

  “Do you think it will be that easy?”

  “Yeah.”

  He gave a sour laugh. “For you, maybe.”

  “If he tries to lean on you, call me.”

  “Trevor really did choose wisely when he picked you to…. I’d like those files back when you’re done with them.” He walked out, and I stared after him.

  Things were getting hinky, and I didn’t like it.

  It was this golf thing’s fault. I get corralled into learning how to whack that little ball into a little hole, and everything starts falling apart.

  I shook my head and sat down at my desk. I had three files to go through now. I placed Godard’s beside the other two and went back to reading them.

  I’d see what they told me to begin with, and once I discovered their veracity—or lack thereof—then I’d decide my course.

  ***

  I felt as though I was running in circles. Godard’s file made mention of a daughter, Rebecca, but while Miss Jones’s file noted her father was a doctor who’d trained at the Mayo Clinic, Miss Smith’s said nothing about the fact she was related to Godard. In fact, it listed her as having no next of kin whatsoever.

  IT wasn’t Davies’s purview, and to my knowledge, none of his people were hackers. How had he managed it?

  I had other things to do. I’d just delegate that to Matheson.

  I buzzed my secretary. “Ms. Parker, would you get Matheson for me?”

  “I’m sorry, sir, he’s out of the office.”

  “Again?” He’d only just come back.

  “He called Ms. DiNois earlier to let her know he’d be away.”

  And of course Ms. DiNois would inform Ms. Parker.

  Okay, so Matheson wasn’t in. He had free time coming to him, especially after Gershom’s fuckup. It could wait until tomorrow.

  “Do me a favor, please. Let Ms. DiNois know I’ll want to see him first thing in the morning.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll get right on it. Oh, and I set up that appointment with Howard for Monday afternoon at three.”

  “Good, thanks.” I took my finger off the intercom button, stared at the files, and finally decided I’d set them aside until I could look at them from a fresh perspective.

  The intercom buzzed.

  “Yes, Ms. Parker?”

  “Mr. Wallace wants to see you. Right now.”

  Things had never been like this when I’d been in the field.

  “Thank you.” I slid a specific CD into its drive and then shut down my computer. If anyone attempted to get into it, the hard drive would be wiped. It was something I’d had Matheson program for me.

  It made him feel useful.

  I wasn’t taking any chances after that fuckup last year when Michael Shaw tried to download files from my computer.

  I pushed my chair back from my desk, rose, and crossed to my door.

  Ms. Parker looked up from the file she was working on. “I’ll inform anyone who calls you’ll return their call when you get back.”

  “Thanks.” A pearl beyond price. And she was seeing both Granger and Ms. DiNois? Good for her. Good for the three of them.

  Ms. DiBlasi smirked at me. What the fuck? “Go right on in.”

  I knocked on the door and entered without waiting for an invitation to come in. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

  “Yes. I’ve had a few phone calls this morning. You’ve made some people unhappy.”

  “Again?”

  “Things were quieter here when you were in the field.” He was probably thinking of what had gone down on Tuesday, as well as the fun and games that were part of today’s activities. “And no, I’m not releasing you to go back into the field. They can just suck it up.”

  Shit. “Any complaints from Humphrey?” After all, it was his deputy director I’d gotten rid of, as well as scaring Morris’s secretary out of the building.

  “No.” He chuckled. “Humphrey actually speaks quite highly of you. Sit down. We’ve got some things to talk about.”

  “Yes, sir.” I made myself comfortable, and
then met his eyes. “You are aware the WBIS seems to have fallen apart while we were gone?” He had been away at the same time I was, resulting in a lot of shit hitting the fan.

  “I am. I hadn’t realized….” He drummed his fingertips on his desk. “The problem is one or the other of us needs to be here at headquarters. The next time I go out of town, we’ll have to make sure you’re available.”

  “No more golf?” I asked hopefully.

  “But you’re getting so good at it!” That was the only answer he gave, and it was the only one he needed to give. “Now, regarding the complaints I’ve received….”

  ***

  Son of a bitch. Son of a goddamned fucking bitch!

  I left The Boss’s office and stormed down to seven in the world’s worst mood. Not only was Davies trying to persuade him the WBIS could do without me, but Gershom was as well.

  It wasn’t that I couldn’t deal with them, but Jesus, how was I supposed to get any work done if I had to watch my back in the place where I worked? I realized how often that thought had crossed my mind lately. Well, I’d be damned if I let them chase me out.

  Added to that, The Boss insisted I visit that local indoor driving range at least three times a week until the weather became more conducive to playing outdoors. Of course he’d discovered the nine hole executive golf course that was part of Aspen Reach, the complex where I lived, and once April and May rolled around, I’d have to take out a membership and start playing there.

  Mondays had pretty much always been the kiss of death, and I’d gotten used to Wednesdays being more of the same, but this was Thursday.

  I didn’t mind staying at headquarters—much—but The Boss had ordered me to leave both directors alone. “You’re not to give them so much as a dirty look, Mark.”

  Why didn’t he just hamstring me and be done with it?

  Ms. Parker looked up from her computer. “No messages, sir.”

  “What about that tape Gershom was supposed to get to me?”

  “Nothing yet.”

  Goddamn it. “Get him on the line for me.” I went into my office. I was tempted to kick my wastebasket across the room. I didn’t, but it was touch and go. Instead, I sat down at my desk.