The Assassin's List (6 page)

Sam Newman wore the uniform of corporate security, a blue blazer over gray slacks with a red tie set against his white shirt. He still looked like someone who could make an arrest in a biker’s bar without interference.

“Mr. Martin called and said you needed to talk to me. Come on in,” he said, holding open the door to his office.

Drake saw that he’d been right about Sam Newman’s background. The wall behind Sam’s cluttered desk was covered with pictures of citations received, plaques attesting to years of service and photos of his family and friends. The office was unpretentious, a place to work, not a monument to the man’s ego.

“Where’d you serve?” Drake asked.

“Palo Alto, twenty-six years. I’ve been here in God’s country for the last four. Thought I’d find a cushy security position for a few years, and slow down. Hasn’t quite worked out that way. How can I help you, Drake?”

“Mr. Martin’s told me some of it, but he’s not a security expert. I understand the security system failed around the time his secretary was murdered. That doesn’t sound like a coincidence to me.”

“You here to find a scapegoat, or find out what happened?” Sam asked.

Drake recognized the response. He interviewed too many police witnesses who wanted to know he was on their side before they told him what really happened.

“Sam, I’m here to help the company get through this, with as little damage as possible. If you screwed up and you’re responsible, then I guess you’re the goat. I’ll know sooner or later. If there’s another explanation, I need to know what it is sooner rather than later.”

Sam watched Drake’s eyes for a good ten seconds before making up his mind.

“I’m trying to quit smoking, but this doesn’t look like the week that’s going to happen. Care to take a walk with me out of this no smoking zone?”

When he walked by his secretary’s desk, Newman showed her his pack of Marlboros, eliciting a nod and a smile. Drake caught the smile and wondered if she covered for him for other things.

They walked out of the office and down the hall to an outside door with a security pad. Entering his security code, Newman led them out of the building and down an outside path to a bench beneath two white-flowering magnolia trees. He sat down, lit a cigarette, and looked out over the expanse of lawn.

“You ever work in the D.A.’s office?”

“Five years. Why?”

“How long did it take you before you could spot a felon on the street?”

“Not long.”

“Well, I know an ex-con when I see one, and three of the new security guards assigned here have been in prison, I’m sure of it. I checked their records and couldn’t find a thing. They all have adopted Muslim names, but suspiciously clean records. I know the look, I know the walk.”

“What does that have to do with Martin’s secretary?”

“Someone got into this building, and we’re supposed to have the best security system money can buy. It had to be an inside job. Somehow, this involves these ex-cons, or the company they work for,” Newman said.

“You’re not buying the theory that this was a burglary that ended in murder?”

“No way. Janice Lewellyn was a careful person. She didn’t like working at night and didn’t work late often. We talked about it. When she walked to her car, she always had her mace in hand. She would fight like a hellion if someone tried to rape her. If someone tried to rob her, she would let the thief take what he wanted. This had to be something else.”

“So how did the surveillance system get turned off? All the cameras, all the touch pads, everything went down at the same time. How’d that happen?” Drake asked.

“I don’t know,” Sam answered. “There are only two people who have the code to shut down the security system. I have it, in my safe. The guy from ISIS who installed the system has it.”

“Could a security guard obtain the code somehow?”

“I don’t think that’s possible, but I guess we’ll know soon enough. Detective Carson said they were going to polygraph all the ISIS security personnel assigned here. Hell, he’s even got me scheduled for first thing tomorrow.”

Newman didn’t appear to be worried about tomorrow’s polygraph.

“So if this is an inside job, you think somehow it involves one of these ISIS security guards? How did he know to turn off the security system, assuming he did, the night she was here? Did anyone know she was working that night?”

“According to Mr. Martin, the answer is no. She was leaving for Hawaii the next day. She probably was trying to make sure everything was done before she left. But no one would know she was coming back that night.”

“You honestly think the security company you hired, or one of its employees, is responsible for this? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“I don’t know what to think,” Sam said. “What I know is that ex-cons are working where they shouldn’t be working, for a company that should know better than to hire them. You figure it out.”

“So why do you use this company, if you suspect them?”

“I didn’t hire them, Martin did. DHS pressured him to upgrade security. Martin thinks big is best. ISIS is the largest private security firm in the country, hell, maybe even in the world. Who am I to second guess his choice? Besides, I need this job. Everyone thinks twenty-five years and a pension earns you a cushy retirement. Don’t believe them,” Newman said.

Chapter 10

Drake left Sam Newman’s office with more questions than answers. The police didn’t have any leads, and Newman suspected the security firm hired to protect his company. Someone with the ability to shut down the company’s security system had to be involved. What he didn’t know was if you had to have the security codes to shut down the security system. If there were other ways to do it, then any number of players might be involved. All of which meant a visit to the ISIS office was in order.

After leaving a message for Martin with the receptionist that he was headed to the local ISIS office, Drake left the Martin Research campus and started back to Portland. Driving east on the Sunset Highway, he hit the number for his office on his dash-mounted cell phone and noticed his secretary had tried to reach him.

“Hi, boss, you headed this way?” Margo asked. “I have information on that security firm you might need. The ISIS office is located on Kruse Way, next to the State Farm Insurance building. The regional manager’s name is Kaamil Sayf. Paul couldn’t find anything about him.”

“You’re a mind reader. Tell me about ISIS.”

“ISIS stands for the International Security and Information Services. It was started twenty-five years ago by a man named David Barak. Headquartered in Las Vegas, they have offices around the world and are rated as one of the top two or three firms providing corporate security, VIP protection services, and business intelligence. Their clients include a lot of celebrities, CEOs, and government types not protected by their governments. It’s a huge company.”

Drake absorbed the information. Why would a company like ISIS hire felons? They obviously had the resources to do background checks. Of course, Newman might be wrong, trying to create a scapegoat.

“I think I’ll check out ISIS and then head your way. Before I get there, run a check on Sam Newman, the head of security at Martin Research. He’s not a suspect, at least in my book, but see what you can find about him.”

“No problem. Be neat to see you someday, maybe even get some work done.”

When the connection ended, Drake had the fleeting thought it might be wise to take another day off. Margo didn’t hide her feelings. When she mentioned getting work done, it usually meant that he forgot a deadline or appointment. Sizing up ISIS seemed like a piece of cake compared to what the rest of his day promised if he returned to his office.

Drake drove on, thinking about ISIS. He’d heard of ISIS, but that was like saying you had heard of Halliburton. Multinational corporations with more money than most third world countries were almost impossible to get answers from. The Portland ISIS office would say they needed to talk to corporate, and someone would get back to him. He’d be as lucky as he had been when he called about his coffee maker, and wound up talking to someone in India.

Take a deep breath and relax. Follow the thread. See if you can find a way to help your client. Big corporations are a part of the twenty-first century landscape. Drake shook his head, punched in XM 70 to listen to commercial-free jazz, and accelerated the 993 up to ninety before backing off when he ran out of open lane ahead.

He crossed over I-5 and continued east, entering the area where ISIS had its corporate office. Stands of oak groves surrounded the office buildings and restaurants, and beyond them, high-end residential developments. ISIS had chosen carefully and well. It was the kind of place where trusted businesses located.

The four-story brick building, with brass letters proclaiming it to be the regional office of International Security and Information Services, Inc. wasn’t ostentatious. Except for the fact that ISIS was the only tenant. All of the surrounding office buildings housed multiple businesses.

Drake drove down the ramp into the parking garage and pulled in next to a black Suburban with darkened windows and an ISIS logo painted in gold on its door. When he got out of the Porsche, he stretched and studied the ISIS logo. The round logo had a hieroglyph of the Egyptian goddess Isis, representing the idea of eternal life and resurrection, of life and blood, over arched with the words International Security & Information Services, Inc. It wasn’t the logo Drake expected from a company promising clients protection and security. Instead, it suggested life ever after, granted by an ancient Egyptian goddess. What had some advertising consultant been smoking when he came up with that one, Drake wondered.

He also noticed the Suburban had antennas on the roof and rear window, twenty-four-inch wheels and heavy-duty red shocks that made armor a strong possibility. At least the company had some of the right equipment to do its job.

When he walked to the parking garage elevator, Drake noticed direct access to the fourth floor via keypad. Visitors and employees had to enter on the first floor. With a glance and mental salute to the surveillance camera over the elevator, Drake took it to the first floor and found a receptionist, who looked a lot like the NFL player they called the Refrigerator, waiting for him. The semi-circular redwood kiosk was four feet tall, but the giant sitting behind it made it look like furniture for a first grade classroom.

Drake had to announce himself before the man looked up from the paper he was reading.

“Hi there, I’m the attorney for a client of yours that had a security malfunction and wound up with someone dead. I’d like to see your manager.”

The giant in the sharkskin suit squinted his eyes, as if to say you’re not cute, or welcome. Nevertheless, in a soft voice he offered a non-standard business greeting.

“Mr. Sayf is busy at the moment, Mr. Drake. Step back and raise your arms to shoulder level. The security guard behind you will clear you for a meeting with Mr. Sayf.”

Drake hadn’t heard the security guard approach, but when he looked over his shoulder, the guard was standing right behind him. He had to smile as he raised his arms and allowed the scanner wand to trace the outline of his body. Ten years ago he would have sensed the man’s approach. Good thing he wasn’t back in the field. A loss of focus like that would get you killed.

He spotted a two-inch round lens, disguised to look like the ISIS logo, mounted in the center of the kiosk. The lens aimed at his midsection. He assumed it was an x-ray device, used to see if he carried a weapon. At least he’d noticed that, he thought.

When the security guard finished his search, the sumo at the kiosk nodded and spoke into his cordless headset.

“Drake is here. Shall I send him up?” He listened for a moment, then told Drake to take the elevator to the fourth floor. Someone would take him to Mr. Sayf. There was a smirk on the sumo’s face when he turned back to his paper.

Three floors later, the elevator opened onto an executive suite that outdid most large corporations, and certainly the top law firms in the city. This time a pretty secretary sat behind an impressive desk. It was a slab of smoked glass on a black onyx pedestal with only a flat-screen monitor and a small black phone console on it. Drake noticed the long slender legs and model’s body as he approached. Her black hair was cut short and her hazel green eyes challenged him to keep his eyes off her generous cleavage. He tried hard to comply.

“Mr. Sayf will be with you in a moment, Mr. Drake. Is there anything I can get you while you wait?” she asked, in a voice that would seduce a vice cop.

“Not right now, thank you,” Drake said, returning her offer with a smile that said you’re beautiful, but your boss is the main attraction here.

Behind her, Drake saw open glass doors and a black man with a phone to his ear, sitting behind a beautiful rosewood desk. He was turned toward a wall-to-wall glass window that looked over a wooded area and a small stream. Off to the right of the wooded area was a helicopter pad with another black Suburban parked beside it.

The man who turned around in his chair had to be at least six foot seven or eight. He reminded Drake of a professional athlete, NBA or NFL. His creamed-mocha polo shirt barely contained a muscled upper body. When he put the phone down, the wafer-thin gold watch and thin gold chain around his neck reflected sunlight from outside.