'What choice do we have? Stairs aren't going to get us in there; if they don't have an elevator stop, the door on the fire stairs will most certainly be locked from the inside. Obviously, they have their own private way of getting in and out.' I searched in my pockets until I found a quarter, started walking toward a bank of pay phones near the entrance, stopped when I realized that I was suddenly alone. I turned, saw that my brother was walking rapidly in the opposite direction, toward an archway that led to the boutiques on the first floor. 'Garth?!'
'I'll see you later, Mongo!' he called over his shoulder.
'Hey! Don't you want to hear what these people have to say, even if it's only over the phone?!'
Garth hesitated, then abruptly stopped, turned around, and walked back to me. His face was pale, and his mouth was set in a grim line. 'You talk to them,' he said curtly. 'You're a better talker than I am. I'm telling you right now that they aren't going to help you.'
'How do you know?'
Garth put a finger to the side of his nose. 'This tells me. There's evil here; I can smell it.'
'You've got a nose for evil? For Christ's sake, Garth, that's all I need to hear-more wacko talk. Maybe we'll luck out. Maybe they'll be as anxious as we are to investigate a matter of child abuse-especially since it's their company's good name that could conceivably be damaged.'
'That's precisely why they're not going to cooperate with you, Mongo; that, and because they have other things to hide. If they do talk to you over the phone, or even if they let you go up, they're just going to jerk you around. You're wasting your time.'
'Garth, will you tell me what other choice we have?!'
'You go ahead and waste your time, Mongo. I'll see you back at the house.'
Feeling slightly resentful, I shook my head as I watched Garth walk away. I pushed my way through a stream of people heading for the exit, made my way to the pay phones, went into a booth designed for wheelchair users. There was no phone directory, but Information had a number for Nuvironment. I dialed it.
A woman with a pleasant voice answered-the same one I'd heard Garth speaking with over Valley's cordless telephone. 'Nuvironment. Happy holidays. How may I help you?'
'You people are kind of hard to get to.'
'Excuse me, sir?'
'My name is Dr. Robert Frederickson, and I'm in a big hurry to talk to somebody with authority up there. Can you tell me what elevator to take to get up to you?'
'We're not open to the public, Dr. Frederickson. I'm sorry.'
'I'm not the public. I have urgent business to discuss with your boss, and it has to be right now.'
'Oh?'
'How do I get up there, lady?'
'But sir,' the woman said in a voice that had become decidedly less cordial, 'if you have a scheduled appointment, then surely you were told-'
'I don't have an appointment. I want one.'
'With whom, Dr. Frederickson?'
'Henry Blaisdel.'
There was a prolonged silence, then a decidedly frosty: 'Is this some kind of joke, sir? I really don't have time-'
'This is decidedly not a joke, ma'am,' I said, trying to keep my tone even. I was rapidly losing confidence in my ability to get past this keeper of the gate, and I could feel anger building. 'It's a matter of great importance; Mr. Blaisdel will agree, I assure you. I need to see him now. I'll only take a few minutes of his time, but it will be the best few minutes he's ever spent. Don't tell me he's not in, because he almost never goes out.'
'Sir, if this is not a joke, then you're seriously misinformed.'
'Misinformed about what?'
'Mr. Blaisdel never sees anyone.'
'He'll see me when he finds out what business I have with him.'
'And what business might that be, sir?'
'I want to see Mr. Blaisdel about a very serious public relations problem he could have,' I said carefully. I hadn't wanted to get into a heavy conversation over the phone, especially not with a receptionist, but it seemed clear I had no choice if I wanted to get into Nuvironment to see someone, anyone. 'This problem involves one of Mr. Blaisdel's favorite holdings-your company, and the biospheres you're attempting to design and build. This is serious, lady, so I hope you're listening very carefully. Somebody up there-I'm sure without Mr. Blaisdel's knowledge, and certainly without his authorization-illegally imported a hundred tons of some very special soil. I also have very good reason to believe that Nuvironment's reputation is being endangered by its involvement with loony members of the religious far right. In short, there are a lot of things going on down here at street level that the man who lives on the top three floors should know about and take steps to stop if he doesn't want to see your company's name roughed up in the newspapers. I'm not a blackmailer, and my only interest in all this is getting certain information from you people that will help me find a young girl who's being badly sexually abused. I want to talk to Mr. Blaisdel now, because I want the girl safe tonight. Now, have you got all that, lady, or do you want me to repeat it?'
'Please wait a moment, sir,' the woman said nervously.
There was a click, and a tinny-sounding version of 'God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen' started playing. Mercifully, the music didn't last longer than one chorus. There was a second soft click, and the woman's voice-now sounding even more nervous-came back on. 'Dr. Frederickson?'
'I'm still here.'
'Just where are you, sir?'
'Down in the lobby.'
'Please wait there, Dr. Frederickson. Somebody will be coming right down to meet you. How will he recognize you?'
'Tell him I'm the short guy. He can't miss me.'
'Yes, sir.'
I hung up, stepped out of the phone booth and waited. Less than a minute later an eager, boyish-faced man who was probably in his early to mid-thirties emerged from a knot of homeward-bound workers, peered around, saw me, and broke into a wide grin that looked to me to have more than a trace of nervousness in it. He was all yuppie, with a finely tailored gray pin-striped suit, rep tie, highly polished black shoes, pale pink shirt. I'd have bet he was wearing suspenders. He had a bright face with a midwestern look about it; blue eyes; a full head of brown hair, which was cut short. His height was no more than five feet five or six. He hurried across the lobby to me, delicate hand extended.
'Dr. Frederickson,' the man gushed in a voice that was at once pleasant and yet somehow unformed, like a boy's. However, up close I could clearly see from the lines in his face that he was closer to forty-five than thirty-five, and he had a tic in his left cheek; his was one of those faces that don't stand up well under close inspection. 'It's so good to meet you! It's so
'Nice to meet you, Mr. Patton,' I said, studying his curious face with its tic that wrinkled the flesh under his left eye every few seconds. Something about the man in the gray suit brought to mind Dorian Gray, and the blue eyes were dull, belying the bright prattle that flowed from his mouth. 'I take it Mr. Blaisdel has agreed to meet with me?'
The pasted-on smile that had never reached his eyes faded. 'Oh dear. I thought the receptionist explained to you that Mr. Blaisdel never makes appointments to see anyone.'
'And I thought I'd made clear to the receptionist that what I have to say to him is important enough for him to make an exception.'
'That's impossible. However, I understand that your business involves Nuvironment. I'm the executive director of Nuvironment, and I'm sure I'll be able to address your concerns satisfactorily.''
'I certainly hope so, Mr. Patton,' I said, and deliberately pulled back the cuff of my jacket to look at my watch. 'There's only one thing I want to know, and that's-'
'Please, Dr. Frederickson,' Patton said, reaching out and touching me lightly-but all too familiarly-on the shoulder, 'this is no place to talk. Come up to my office where we can be more comfortable.'
