The Toyota SUV that is waiting at the curb, while indistinguishable from any other on Portland’s streets, is not your typical soccer mom mode of transportation. Heavy with its armored doors and thick, bullet resistant glass, it has even more heft because of the massive batteries beneath the floor. With over 1000 horsepower of instant electric power to the wheels, it’s a tank with a lightning bolt shoved up its butt.
I’m 6’2” and 210 lbs. I work out. I’m fairly solid.
I’m nothing.
Raphael throws me through the passenger door into the waiting grasp of Graham’s, the driver’s, right hand who drags me bodily into the passenger seat as Raphael slams the door. Gordon had followed us out, opened the passenger side back door and scooted himself across to sit behind Graham and is putting on his seatbelt as Raff jumps into the backseat and barely has the door closed before Graham mashes the pedal to the metal. The acceleration as we pull away makes it impossible for me to put on my seatbelt until Graham has merged us into the flow of traffic.
“Geez, Gray,” I say, “that was hardly an inconspicuous departure. I thought one of the main aspects of my security is that I manage to stay off the radar.”
“It’s a little late for that, boss,” he says. “No one’s ever mentioned your real name on any of your little outings before. People back at The Fort are shitting bricks. Diane’s on her Vmax already pulling out of her driveway as we speak.”
“Tell her to be careful about coming through The Vista Ridge Tunnel,” I say.
“You tell her,” he replies. “I’m too attached to my manly bits to tell Diane how to drive anything. Maybe one of the guys in the back would care to—”
“Not me,” Raphael says.
“Oh, hell no,” Gordon says.
“It’s up to you then, boss,” Graham says.
Saying nothing, I watch the intermittent wiper blades deal with the Portland drizzle. Diane may work for me, and, although somewhat of smaller stature, she knows more than a little about martial arts and the use of various weapons, but I hired the former Navy carrier trained pilot for what’s between her ears and her uncanny ability to think outside the box. She is as serious about the safety of myself and everyone who works for me as she ever was about hitting the third wire on the heaving deck of a ship in the middle of a tropical storm. Our agreement was that, in any security situation, she was the one that would be in charge. It was one of the smartest decisions I ever made.
*
I don’t live in the best part of Portland, but for me it’s perfect. A decade or so back, four square blocks of warehouses were rezoned and slated for demolition to make room for the latest crop of luxury condos. A European conglomerate backed by investors from all over the world bought it all and announced plans to start work the following spring. Then the conglomerate faded away and was forgotten.
All the investors were me. Even the most eager reporter would have to live to a hundred to scratch the surface of the shell corporations and offshore accounts the transaction was hidden behind. Even the intrepid investigative reporter, and now my biographer, Ms. Bennet, hadn’t tumbled to that one, although, obviously, she knows about it now.
Graham takes us down the public road through the middle of the complex. Each building is unique enough to suggest that it is owned by a different business and there is enough regular traffic that no one would find it odd to see the SUV here. All the buildings are interconnected via underground passages that would pass inspections as utility tunnels, if the city cared enough to look.
Knowing the place like the back of his hand, Graham turns down a series of lesser and lesser used alleys until we are approaching a building with the letter E printed on one corner. When we are near enough that it appears that we cannot avoid smashing into the side of the building, a door glides quickly into the ceiling and Graham slides under it with maybe an inch to spare before the door quickly closes behind us. The lower part of the heavy door locks into a slot in the steel reinforced concrete floor.
The power to the SUV’s wheels has been cut without any effort from Graham and we all hold our hands up in a pitch-black void as we glide to a stop. After a few moments, bright lights come on and I can see five security staff near us, their night vision gear now removed. Two of them hold the leashes of guard dogs and carry pistols on their hips. Two others hold M4 carbines pointed to the floor. Back in the shadows there will be other security people with bigger, more deadly, weapons. If anything had been picked up by any of the infrared or other detection equipment, we’d only being seeing fangs and weapon muzzles by now.
Did I not make it clear before that my Chief of Security takes her responsibilities seriously?
With what happened at the club, enhanced security will be in effect and none of us is surprised to see Ai-Ling, in charge of tonight’s security detail, motion for the dog handlers to begin letting the dogs sniff out anything suspicious as other technical people emerge from the shadows with electronic detection equipment to do the same thing with their gear. Once they have signaled the okay to Ai-Ling, she approaches Gordon’s door to begin letting us exit the SUV one at a time.
“Please step out of the car, sir.” Ai-Ling is polite but her tone suggests arguing would be pointless. We’ve all known one another for years but, during a security check, it’s like we’re uninvited strangers until security says otherwise. Professional, precise and, if anyone ever makes it this far who shouldn’t, deadly.
After patting him down and running a wand over him, Gordon heads for his car to get home to his family and the rest of us take our turn. No one complains about the thoroughness of Ai-Ling’s search of our bodies. It can get as personal as she thinks necessary even with the man who owns it all.
That would be me and I’m grateful that Ai-Ling feels only a pat down is needed.
When finished searching me, Ai-Ling asks, “Did you spot any of our people working tight security tonight, sir?”
“Yes,” I say. “A couple, a man and a woman. They were too well matched and were too nice to one another to be a real husband and wife.”
“That may be, sir, I wouldn’t know. I could find out about the state of their marital bliss if you wish but they don’t work for us. It was the gay couple that was responsible for your tight security tonight. It was Glen and Jerry. As you know, only Jerry is gay, but Glen won the coin toss and was wearing the eyeliner. His wife loves that shade on him. It’s gratifying to know you couldn’t recognize them.”
“They’re good,” I say. “Please pass on my compliments. But, if they were tight security tonight, why was it Raphael that intervened after it was clear we had a security breach?”
“I’ll gladly pass on your compliments, sir. To answer your question, Mr. Santiago told the other’s he would handle the situation. His instincts kicked in when you first noticed the woman. Not a big believer in coincidence is Mr. Santiago, sir. Glen and Jerry would have had his back if anything more had developed.”
“Also,” she continues, “Mr. King texted to tell us he’d arranged for MCI Consultant Sonia to pay you a visit. She showed up just minutes before you with enough Thai food for the two of you to have a late dinner. She also brought extra for myself and my team. She understood the need for enhanced security and she and the food and wine have all been cleared. She’s in your apartment on the mezzanine level.”
Signaling an all clear to the rest of the team, Ai-Ling says, “And may I say, sir—” She pauses and let’s her posture ease a bit as she looks me more fully in the eye and says, “We’re all feeling a whole lot better, Chase, now that you’re home.”
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