Miscue

by Glen C. Allison

  All three people in the room laughed. They began taking off the special sensor weapons provided by the training center and stacking them on the table in the center of the room.

  The whump-whump of helicopter blades penetrated the thin walls of the tattered building.

  "Must be another simulation exercise," said Nomad.

  The whirring of the chopper blades slowed as the craft landed outside. Suddenly, a voice came over the speakers. "Al Forte, you have company outside."

  Forte took off his gun belt and vest and handed them to Nomad before retracing his steps down the stairs and out of the building. A sleek blue corporate helicopter rested in an open area 50 yards away. A man in a business suit was walking toward him bent over as the blades whirled at half-speed.

  The man extended his hand as he approached. "Mr. Forte? I'm Thomas Penderby with VillaCom, the telecommunications company. May we step inside for a moment?"

  Away from the noise, Penderby came straight to the point. "Mr. Bryce Graham needs your help. His daughter is missing. She's 14 and Mr. Bryce wants the best help available. That's why I'm here."

  Forte studied the man. He knew of the company because it was in New Orleans, not far from The Refuge. Penderby's brow was creased as he stood stoop-shouldered in the dusty foyer of the building. His boss was a man who exerted a lot of pressure.

  "Has she been kidnapped?" Forte asked.

  "We think so, yes."

  "But, no ransom demands have been made?"

  The man looked down. His collar above the pink silk tie was stained with sweat. "No, not yet."

  "So, she could be a runaway," Forte said.

  Penderby looked up. "Please. Mr. Bryce just wants his daughter safe at home again." The man looked on the verge of tears. "He said to tell you Mrs. Christenberry recommended you."

  That explained how the man had tracked him down. Ordinarily his office would not have released information on his whereabouts. Verna Griffey, his assistant, would have responded to the Christenberry name, however. Forte had recovered Mrs. Christenberry's grandson from kidnappers in Italy four years earlier. It had been his first major case after opening the security firm. The Christenberrys, leaders in New Orleans social and political circles, had donated a large sum of money to make The Refuge a reality. Besides that, Louise Christenberry was his bridge partner.

  "When was she last seen?" Forte asked.

  "This morning, when Mr. Graham went to work," Penderby said.

  "How old is she?"

  "About to turn 15."

  "So, she's not driving yet."

  "Right. Well, she doesn't have her own car yet."

  "How do you know she isn't at a friend's house," Forte said.

  Penderby looked embarrassed. "Well, she was sort of, um, grounded."

  Forte sighed.

  "But there's evidence she went to meet someone from a chat group she had been visiting," Penderby said. "We think she is in danger."

  "She met someone from the net."

  "Right. We found some notes she'd left on her computer."

  Forte gazed across the clearing where the helicopter sat. Beyond the aircraft, a hawk circled lazily in the sky. He wondered if the bird had a victim in view or was just biding his time in the hot August sky until something turned up. He turned back to Penderby.

  "When does Mr. Graham want to meet with me?"

  "As soon as you can do it," the man said. "He will be at his house, waiting for you. The chopper can have us there in an hour." The man's face was flushed now.

  "Let me tell my crew," Forte said. "But you need to know that I'm not agreeing to find the girl yet. I'll meet with Graham and then we'll see."

  Penderby grabbed his hand. He had done what he could do. "Fine, fine, Mr. Forte, that's all we ask."

  "Sure," Forte said. "That's what they all say."

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