rooms.
The official title below her name on the brass plate mounted on her door was 'Coordinator.' It was a prime example of newspeak, language meant to hide and obscure rather than clarify. In other words, double talk.
According to the ideology that passed for gospel in her set, the very concept of leadership, of corporate hierarchies, titles, and chains of command, was a relic of the Neanderthal past. It was 'classist,' a holdover from the patriarchal hierarchy of the Bad Old Days when power was concentrated at the top, rather than the progressive, future-forward model of power sharing among equals: a pyramid rather than a circle.
She affected the title of 'coordinator,' the liaison between KHF and LAGO.
By any name, the reality was that she was the boss, the person in charge who called the shots. She made the decisions, and her word was final — subject, of course, to review and revision by her father, Wilmont, and her uncle, Senator Burl. They preferred not to exercise their ultimate authority openly or with a heavy hand, allowing Susan some illusion of independence.
But her key people were their people, who kept them abreast of any and all developments that might negatively impact dynastic interests.
Her office was the biggest and most luxurious, made up of a suite of rooms that included the inner sanctum that was her private retreat from executive cares and responsibilities. It had the best location, the most spectacular view, the most lavish accoutrements.
In the time-honored mode of royals and courtiers, the more important an officer of KHF, the closer that person's office was to Susan's. Proximity equals prestige. Her suite was flanked on one side by that of Hal Dendron, her top lieutenant, and on the other by that of Alma Butterworth, her executive assistant.
One area where newspeak had failed to penetrate was in the Security Division.
EXECPROTEK was a distinct and separate corporate entity that was not part of KHF.
It was placed squarely on the profit-making side of the ledger and under the direct control of Wilmont Keehan: 'Daddy.'
Mylon Sears was the chief of the New Orleans branch, Gene Jasper was his right hand man.
Earlier, the EXECPROTEK apparatus had managed to stall Jack Bauer and Pete Malo long enough for Raoul Garros to give them the slip.
Down on the ground-floor level, entrance to the building's main lobby was open and unhindered. Anyone could walk in, but before they could get much farther, they were halted by a long, waist-high, countertopped barrier staffed by a security squad. Those seated behind the counter wore civilian clothes, but were backed up by a team of uniformed armed guards posted discreetly (but readily available) on their flanks.
All persons who worked in the building were issued security badges with photo IDs, which they were required to show before being allowed to proceed to the elevator banks accessing the rest of the structure.
Visitors had to check in at the desk, report their business, and be cleared by the in-house parties with whom they had appointments. Only then were they issued visitors' passes and given the go-ahead to enter.
Jack Bauer and Pete Malo occupied a gray area where the lines were blurred and the ordinary rules did not apply. They were Federal agents on official business. Yet, lacking warrants or similar documents, they couldn't hard-ass their way through and barge right in.
Further complicating the mix was politics. More so than usual because of the antagonism between the Administration in Washington and the opposition party of Senator Keehan. They must be careful not to create a political fracas that the Keehan faction could exploit for propaganda purposes.
Or an international incident by leaning too hard on Raoul Garros, possessor of Venezuelan diplomatic accreditation.
Gene Jasper, second-in-command to security chief Mylon Sears, went to the ground-floor checkpoint to personally escort Jack and Pete upward to the Olympian levels of the KHF offices. Jasper was built like a pro football player and had thick, dark hair and a mustache.
A high-speed elevator whisked the trio to the cloud-piercing heights, depositing them on the main KHF floor where top management was massed.
It was some layout. The main hall seemed about the size of the nave of Westminster Abbey. It was decorated in warm earth tones, tans, beiges, and light browns, with dark brown trim.
Opposite the elevator bank was the main reception area, behind whose oversized front desk, mounted on the wall above it, was a three-dimensional KHF logo, each letter three feet high.
Office doors ranged along the walls. Interspersed between them were imitation folkloric prints alternating with stark, black-and-white Family of Man-type portrait photographs of wrinkled, ethnic peasant women, gaggles of Third World children, and suchlike.
From wires strung high above and at right angles to the long axis of the hall were colorful banners celebrating the Hearthstone Initiative and inscribed with its motto, 'Warm Homes, Warm Hearts'; also a larger-than-life-sized photo print of President Hugo Chavez shaking hands with Senator Burl Keehan.
Pete Malo struck his fist against his left breast and said, 'Gets you right here, doesn't it?'
Jack Bauer said, 'That's heartburn, I think.'
'Must've been those hot dogs I had for lunch.'
Mylon Sears came out to meet them, further delaying the inevitable face-off between the CTU agents and Susan Keehan. Sears was of medium height, with broad shoulders, a barrel chest, and thick arms. Balding, he'd cut his remaining hair close to the scalp. A horseshoe-shaped patch where hair still grew looked like a band of graphite particles adhering to his shiny scalp.
He had a habit of leaning forward as he spoke, rising on the balls of his feet when he wanted to emphasize a point. The stall could not last forever, though, and presently Jack and Pete found themselves squaring off against the KHF coterie.
The blocking of the scene emphasized the confrontational nature of the meeting.
On one side stood Jack and Pete. Opposite, facing them, were Susan Keehan and her seconds: Hal Dendron, Alma Butterworth, Sears, and Jasper.
Hal Dendron, fortyish, had thinning auburn hair, curling over his ears and shirt collar. His face was soft, boyish, freckled. He wore a bow tie and a seersucker suit. His loafers looked like golf shoes.
Alma Butterworth had a pug nose and a bulldog jaw. She was short, squat, solidly built.
Susan Keehan wore a navy blazer, pale yellow silk blouse, skirt, and shoes. Her hair was still damp from the recent shower. Her demeanor and body language expressed skepticism and downright hostility.
She stood face to face with Jack and Pete, taking the fight to them. Her subordinates would have stood in front of her if they could, physically screening her, but this desire was negated by Susan's take-charge attitude. Nobody gets in front of a Keehan.
Mylon Sears handled the introductions. He was in the uncomfortable position of the man in the middle, his loyalty to his employers balanced by his knowledge of the Golden Pole massacre and the potential threat element bubbling up around the scene.
Susan was uninterested in the agents' names and barely took notice of them. All she saw was two frontline troops of The Enemy, that is, the U.S. government.
Hal Dendron, anxious, was all but wringing his hands. 'I suggest we wait for Ferlin to arrive and let him do the talking.' Ferlin Maybrick was KHF's chief legal counsel in New Orleans, as high-powered and effective as they come. He'd been called to the Mart but hadn't yet arrived.
Susan said, 'I'm perfectly capable of speaking for myself, thank you very much. I've certainly had enough practice in dealing with government snoopers for the last six months, ever since the Initiative began. This is nothing new; it's the same old story.'
Pete said, 'That's what you think.'
That got her attention, at least, giving her free-floating hostility a focus and allowing it to crystallize on the agents, whom she looked on with frank distaste, like a pair of particularly noxious insects that had scuttled out from under the baseboard. She was handicapped by the fact that Sears hadn't had time to brief her on the full extent of the developing situation.
Jack, playing the good cop to Pete's bad cop, said, 'We'd like to see Mr. Garros as soon as possible, please. It's for his own good.'
