“I’m sorry,” she said, without smiling. She glanced over her shoulder at a door marked PRIVATE. He assumed it was to an inner office. “Mr. Hanover stepped out. Can I help you?”
“My name is Coe. I’m a new auditor. I was told to report to Mr. Hanover regarding a troubling call I received on my extension.”
“Who referred you to Mr. Hanover?” she asked.
“My secretary,” he said. “Ms. Hunter.”
She tapped a pencil on the edge of her desk. “I see.”
She stared at him unblinkingly. Coe sensed she was assessing the seriousness of his information.
Finally, she said, “Mr. Hanover is taking a steam. He generally does not like to be disturbed when he does. However, Mr. Hanover is a firm believer in that there is no time off in SAU. It is, in a sense, his credo.” She seemed to be justifying it to herself. “If Ms. Hunter judged the call serious enough to warrant Mr. Hanover’s involvement, I have no doubt you should go to the steam room and advise Mr. Hanover of the call immediately.”
“Steam room?”
“On forty-four.”
“Should I—”
“Tell him that Ms. Cleopatra sent you,” she said.
“You’re Ms. Cleopatra?”
She tapped the pencil on a name plate on her desk. It read MARGOT CLEOPATRA.
“Thank you, Mr. Coe,” she said, dismissing him.
He backed away from her desk and left. The pool of women continued typing without pause. He returned to the elevators and pushed up. Carmen’s car arrived and the doors opened. Her stool was empty. A sign hung next to it that read: ON BREAK. BE BACK IN 10 MINUTES.
Coe pressed 44. The elevator did nothing. He remembered Carmen had pulled the lever to close the doors. He did so, and the elevator began to rise.
At the 44th floor, the doors unceremoniously opened. When he stepped off the elevator, the doors closed. He heard the elevator move away. He puzzled over how it operated when no one was in there to work it, since it seemed entirely dependent on an operator.
A sign on the wall read EXECUTIVE LEVEL GYMNASIUM & TREATMENT. An arrow pointed to the left. He followed it. A series of arrows led down a corridor comprised of seven right turns, until finally, the hallway opened onto a lobby. A young, attractive woman sat at a desk reading a paperback. Behind her, there was a Japanese bath. Naked men of all ages walked around or relaxed in the waters. The woman seemed disinterested in their nakedness.
“I’m here to see Mr. Hanover,” Coe said to her.
She did not look up from her book. “Sign in,” she said, and gestured toward a clipboard.
Coe picked up a pen and looked at the form. He found W. HANOVER signed in at 1:47 P. He wrote simply, COE and the time.
“Where can I find the steam room?” he asked.
She pointed casually behind her without looking. “Down that hallway. There’s a door marked STEAM. That would be the steam room.”
“Thank you.”
She did not respond. He started to walk toward the hallway when she said, “Don’t forget a towel,” and handed him a thick, white bath towel.
“Thank you, but I won’t need—”
“Everyone takes a towel,” she said.
He reluctantly took the towel as though her will was too strong. She immediately went back to her paperback.
Coe followed the hallway to the door marked steam. He looked down at his gray flannel suit, his white shirt, his black tie. It was all new for his first day. He shrugged, draped the towel around his shoulders, and entered. Inside, he was instantly greeted by a wall of steam. It briefly halted his breath as if the air had suddenly become too thick to breathe in. It smelled vaguely of menthol. He could not see; however, he sensed others in the room. Men, older men. Gray chest hair; limply hanging penises; sagging testicles. He called out softly, “Mr. Hanover?”
A voice responded, “Come sit down.”
Coe found the source of the voice: one of the old, naked men. He sat down beside him.
The man said, “The dress code does not apply in here,” referring to Coe’s suit. “Who are you?”
“Coe...I’m the new man in—”
“Yes,” he said. “The auditor from Philadelphia.”
“That’s right. I don’t mean to bother you here, sir, but—”
“Here you are,” he said. “In your nice gray suit, sweating like a pig.”
“I received a troubling call on my extension.”
“Remind me whose old desk you’ve been assigned to.”
“Collin Revis.”
Coe heard him breathe out. “What was the call?”
“A man said their man has been waiting at the drop-off.”
“Who’s they?”
“I don’t know,” Coe said.
“That’s pretty vague, don’t you think?”
“I suppose there was enough menace in it that, well, it troubled me.”
“It troubled you, you say? You’d interrupt a man’s steam with that kind of nonsense?”
“It wasn’t exactly my idea to tell you. I was referred to you by a secretary in our section.”
“You’re an auditor now, Coe. You’re going to receive a lot of troubling calls. Get used to it. You can’t go interrupting a man’s steam every time you do.”
“I apologize, Mr. Hanover.”
The man hesitated. “I’m not Hanover,” he said.
It was Coe’s turn to pause. “Who are you then?”
The man said, “You best take yourself out of the steam now, before your suit is completely ruined, Mr. Coe, new auditor from Philadelphia.”
“Where’s Mr. Hanover?”
“I don’t know a Mr. Hanover,” he said.
Coe stood. Though the man was old, he took on a threatening manner, or so it seemed to him. He walked quickly for the door.
“In the future, perhaps you should screen your calls more carefully, Mr. Coe. It’s a rookie mistake.”
Coe left. In the hallway, he passed a completely naked man and woman casually discussing a cornbread recipe. He hurried past them. His hands trembled at the thought he may have delivered damaging information to the wrong hands. He was worrying over this when he blankly walked past the woman with the paperback.
“Sign out,” she said.
“What?”
She pointed to the clipboard. Again, she did not bother to look away from her book.
Coe leaned over, found his name, and began to write the time when it suddenly occurred to him that he should steal the entire sheet from the clipboard. He looked to the woman whose face was expressionless. Her eyes, unblinking, were darting back and forth across the pages of the book. He carefully lifted the clip and slid the top sheet out from beneath it. In one fluid motion, he took the sheet, folded it tri-fold across his chest, and slipped it inside the breast pocket of his damp suit coat. He started to walk softly away when—
“Stop!” the woman cried.
Coe stopped and looked back at her.
“Your towel, please,” she said.
“Oh.” Coe patted his shoulder, found the towel still there where he had draped it. He removed it and handed it to her.
She said, “Have a nice day,” and returned to her book.
He rushed to the elevator and repeatedly tapped the down button. At any moment, the woman could discover the missing sign-in sheet—or one of the executives could come to sign out and find he is unable to locate his name.
He tapped it again. “Come on...”
The dial above the elevators began to descend. The doors opened. He found Carmen sitting on her stool. He quickly hurried into the car.
“What floor?”
Coe realized he did not remember what floor he’d come from. Carmen stared at him.
“Have you been swimming in your clothes?” s
he asked.
“I—don’t remember what floor my desk is on...”
She smiled. There was empathy engrained deeply within the lines of her face. She drew the doors closed. The elevator began to move. She stopped it in between floors.
“Darling,” she said. “What kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into on your first day?”
“I’m not sure,” he said. It was the most honest response he could give.
He suddenly became aware of her body, beneath the red jacket with gold epulets and brass buttons, her short black skirt, her bare legs crossed, her black flats with one shoe dangling off slender toes. “Tell Carmen all about it,” she said. Her lips were red to match her hair; her eyes were an oceanic green.
He did. He told her about the call, Ms. Hunter’s insistence that he report it directly to Mr. Hanover, and the strange man he encountered in the steam bath. He purposely left out the theft of the sign-in sheet.
While he did, she briefly uncrossed her legs and he caught a brief scent of her sex waft up from beneath the skirt.
“Things happen here every minute of every day,” she said, breathlessly. “Things happen, like matter—ideas—flashing in and out of existence. They’re forgotten as quickly as they’re revealed. Go home,” she said, standing. “And make yourself a drink and forget about it. Make yourself a second and a third, until you are the one...” She drew her face close to his now. “Flashing...” she whispered. “In...and out...of existence.”
Her mouth hovered dangerously close to his without touching. He could detect the sweet, sticky smell of brandy on her breath. She smiled then, her eyes cast down at his lips, and drew herself slowly away.
She sat down onto the stool and resumed operation of the elevator. The car descended.
“You’re in Auditing, I believe,” she said. “That’s twenty-seven.”
When they arrived at his floor, she pulled the lever and commanded the doors to open.
“Don’t forget forty-five,” she said.
He nodded, and stepped from the elevator.
“Have a good evening, Mr. Coe,” she said.
It could have been coincidence, but Coe could not recall telling her his name.
It took him several minutes to find his desk among the grid of identical cubicles. He eventually did, but only out of pure luck. He sat down at his desk, removed the sign-in sheet, and spread it out before him. He’d just begun to scan over the names when Ms. Hunter suddenly appeared.
“Did you tell Mr. Hanover?” she asked, dispensing of any pleasantries.
“I couldn’t find him,” he said, resting his forearms on the desk in an effort to cover the sheet. “He wasn’t on thirty-eight.” He proceeded to tell her about his encounter in the steam room, again omitting the detail of the theft—mostly out of concern she might recite some regulation from the handbook that forbade theft of sign-in sheets.
“I see,” she said. “I think you should not tell another person of this matter until you can secure an F2F with Mr. Hanover.”
Coe was relieved. He was certain she was about to recommend he report it to a deputy director of SAU and send him on another wild goose chase. It had been a long day, and it was close to his quitting time.
“Very well,” he said.
“Are you involved, Mr. Coe?”
“Involved?” He was confused by the question.
Her cheeks flushed. “With someone. Do you have a lady friend back in Philadelphia?”
“Yes...er, no. I’m involved with someone, yes; but she is not in Philadelphia.”
“Off-world?”
“Terre Haute,” he said and added, “Two.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “This can be a lonely city when you have no one.” She smoothed out her skirt and said, “I speak from experience.”
“These are lonely times,” he said. “For many people.”
“Don’t misunderstand me,” she said. “Section twenty-three of the handbook expressly frowns upon internal relationships between employees. Subsection B actually prohibits dalliances between clerical support and the auditors they service.”
“Of course, Ms. Hunter. I wasn’t suggesting that—”
“Let’s leave it at that,” she said. “Even the mere discussion that we’ve considered such a relationship—for even just a moment—is certainly grounds for reprimand.”
“But we haven’t considered it.”
“And that’s the official—and final—word on the matter as far as we’re concerned—” She stopped. “What is it that you’ve got there?” she asked.
“Where?” he said, attempting to cover the sheet even more.
“Right there,” she said, pointing. “Is that some kind of sign-in sheet?”
Coe looked down, made an exaggerated gesture at discovering the sheet. “This? Why, yes. That’s what it appears to be.”
“Why do you have it?”
“I must have inadvertently picked it up while exchanging my towel at the gymnasium—”
“The executive gymnasium? What were you doing there?”
Coe rested his arms back atop the sheet. “I was looking for Mr. Hanover, of course.”
She relaxed a bit, if evidenced by the dip of her shoulders, the slump of her breasts. “Of course.” She looked at her watch. “It’s four-fifteen.”
He checked his own watch for effect. “It is. Thank you, Ms. Hunter.”
She nodded, started to move away then suddenly stopped. She leaned in. “About our misunderstanding earlier? You won’t discuss it with anyone? It was obviously a misunderstanding, and one I doubt that anybody might even find remotely amusing.”
“No, of course not,” he said.
“I’ll be clearer from now on,” she said.
“I appreciate that.”
She gave a slight bow which struck Coe as Asian, and then left. He looked briefly down at the sign-in sheet before slipping it back into the inside pocket of his coat.
He had more success with finding the elevators this time. He descended to GL and exited out onto the lobby floor which was alive with activity. He entered the cloak room, located his raincoat with little difficulty and put it on.
It was still raining outside. Coe cinched the belt around his waist and turned up the collar. He put his hands firmly into his pockets and walked the three blocks to the station. Under the elevated tracks, he managed to keep his head dry. He joined a throng of late afternoon commuters and climbed the steps to the train platform.
He switched trains three times, as recommended by his handlers, and took a taxi to his final destination—a cafe situated on a piazza. The steady rain had kept patrons from sitting outside at the tables. Coe sat down on a wet chair and waited. At precisely 1800 hours GMT, the vid-phone inside the booth nearest the cafe illuminated with the message of INCOMING TRANSMISSION. Coe stood and walked to the booth where he entered and waited for retinal recognition. A green scanner sprayed light over his face. The screen’s message changed to CONFIRMED: ATLAS.
A face, mostly cloaked in shadow, appeared on the screen.
“I’m in,” Coe said.
Two.
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The train ride home to his new flat was a quiet one. Most of the evening commuters were already home, having caught earlier trains. Coe stared out the window at the wet streets simmering with anticipation. People went about their businesses under the cover of umbrellas; some wore raincoats similar to his own. The train moved slowly, picking up speed only to slow for the next stop. People stepped off, people stepped on.
“How’s security?” his handler had asked him during their vid phone conference.
>
“I was able to easily move between floors,” he said.
“Retinal scans?”
“Not for the floors I was on.”
“Anyone we should be concerned with?”
Coe said, immediately, “A Mr. Warren Hanover.”
“Hanover?”
“Yes.”
“Funny. We’ve got no intel on him. What department?”
“SAU.”
“What the fuck is that?”
Coe said, “Special Audit Unit. It’s apparently an internal affairs type of organization within the Quantum Corp infrastructure. They take on issues relating to fraud, double-dealings, things of that sort.”
“I see. This is the first I’ve heard of it. Is it new?”
“Seemingly it was created in response to the Steele Affair—” Coe felt strange calling it that.
“We’ve certainly shaken things up over there at Quantum, haven’t we?”
Coe was uncomfortable with the whole “we” reference. “It seems there has been at least some reaction to the breach, sir.”
“Who do you report to? This Lyme fellow?”
“Mitchell,” he said.
“He’s under Lyme?”
“As I understand it.”
“Anyone else we should be concerned with?” the handler asked.
Coe hesitated. “There is one other person.”
“Go on.”
“They have an elevator operator—a woman.”
“A fucking person sits inside the elevator all day working the controls? Unbelievable. How archaic is that? Seriously! An elevator operator, huh?”
“Straight out of the nineteen-forties.”
“And this is our chief competitor? Christ. It’s laughable.”
“She’s not so much a concern as she is, perhaps, a valuable source.”
“How so?”
Coe thought of her sitting ladylike on her stool, bare leg crossed over bare leg. “She hears and sees a lot of things.”
“Name?”
“Carmen,” he said. “I don’t know her last name.”
“Good,” his handler said. “Well done. A very productive first day.”
There's Only One Quantum Page 3
