“Do you have to bother my clients?”
“If you want me to be thorough.”
She nodded. “If you must, but remember, I have to work with these people again.”
“Certainly.”
What did she take him for, some hard-nosed bruiser who wasn’t above intimidation to get information out of a suspect? She’d be right, but she wasn’t supposed to know the current John Blalock. She should only remember the nice graduate student she’d met all those years ago.
“And what am I supposed to do while you’re gone?”
“Sit back, relax.” He waved a hand toward the window facing the bay. “Enjoy the view.”
“Humph, I have work to do.”
“Don’t take an attitude; it’s for your own good. Can’t you use your computer here?”
“For some things, but the rest will require a Web link.”
“Don’t use your phone ... look, I’ll pick up a sat modem while I’m out. You can use it to link up.”
“Wouldn’t that leave a trace to you?”
“I’ve done this before; no one will trace your link back to me.”
“All right. If you’re sure?”
“As sure as I am of anything,” he replied, and then he stood and walked to the front door. “I’ll get your things from the hotel, and I’ll call back later to check on you.”
He opened the door and stepped outside. The parking lot was clear of people except for a couple down the way loading their car.
“John.”
He looked over his shoulder. Caitlin stood silhouetted against the ocean. She was everything he remembered and more.
“Be careful,” she said.
“That’s me, Mr. Careful.” He closed the door, blocking her from his sight.
CHAPTER 11
On the drive back toward San Francisco, John filed a verbal contract notice with the California Bodyguard License Board. It was a legal requirement, and the board’s records were open to the public. Anyone looking for Caitlin was sure to monitor the Web for any mention of her name, and the contract should draw them out of the woodwork.
The Pacific Rim Suites was one of those new places built with a mind toward the rapidly developing countries of the same name. Its forty stories were packed with the most modern of conveniences and the most obscene of the new electronic gadgets that so fascinated those nations caught up in the rapid rush into this new millennium. The hotel had risen like a Phoenix from the ashes of the old Presidio army post. Its location high on the hill of what had once been officer housing gave it a sweeping 360-degree view of the Bay Area. Caitlin’s registering here told him a couple of things about her company. They had money, and they were heavy into this new technology.
His instincts told him that the people after Caitlin were actually after some new development of her company. He knew something about industrial espionage. In the Bay Area, it had become a thriving business over the last decade. If he could learn what Caitlin’s company was working on he could probably find out who sought it. Everyone had their own specialty, except perhaps him. He preferred to diversify his talents wherever possible.
At the entrance to the hotel’s underground parking, he stopped beside a simple booth to show Caitlin’s room key to a security guard, a man younger and more fit than any parking lot attendant had a right to be. The guard took the key and slipped it into a reader.
A moment later, he frowned and turned to John.
“Ms. Maxwell?” he asked.
“Yeah, sure. Why? Do you have a problem with my wardrobe?”
For a moment, he took the hook, and then his frown deepened. “Excuse me, sir, but you hardly look like the type.”
“What type is that?”
The guard started to open his mouth, hesitated and said, “I’ll have to see some ID before I can let you in.”
“Sure,” John answered and fished out his card.
Whenever he could, he avoided showing it. The fewer people that could place his face with a name the better. Most service-oriented people in the Bay Area were reluctant to criticize another’s quirks, whether it was cross-dressing or choice of lifestyle. His pretending to be Ms. Maxwell would have usually gotten him passage without having to prove it. He had suspected the hotel’s security was better than average and the guard’s actions had confirmed it. The guard eyeballed the holograph image on John’s card.
“Personal security, eh? What can we do for you, Mr. Brown?”
Of course, he wasn’t going to give this clown his real card. “I’m here representing Ms. Maxwell. I need to talk to your supervisor.”
The guard nodded suddenly as if remembering something. “That’s right. I thought the name sounded familiar. She’s the resident who filed an assault charge yesterday. They briefed us when I came on duty. All right. Park over there and I’ll direct you to the day watch commander.”
The guard pointed toward a couple of empty spaces labeled RESERVED and held out John’s card. John took it and nodded.
Their security was tight. He didn’t see him call anyone, but by the time John got out of his car, another guard was marching toward him. “Mr. Brown, I’ll escort you to the watch commander.”
He was identical to the guard in the booth. John wondered if someone was cloning them or whether there was a manufacturing center making robots that appeared to be in their mid-twenties with perfect skin and perfect posture.
“Sure, lead on,” John said.
Without looking back to see if John was following, the guard turned and marched toward a bank of elevators on the opposite wall. John trailed along, making a mental note of the visible security systems as he went.
Ultra-sonic and passive-infrared detectors covered the underground parking lot, and each detector had a mini-camera. There were three elevators, two labeled
