My second week in Chicago, I organized and wrote my initial report and prepared my bid for the main assessment. After running it by Dad, I presented it to Deborah and Malcolm Donnelly on Thursday, and flew back to Toronto Friday morning.
Dad picked me up at the airport and did a double take at my new hairdo.
“What the hell happened to you?”
I turned around so he could see the almost-healed scars on the back of my head. “I got a little too close to the action. Chicago’s an exciting town.”
On the way into town, I told him about the bombing. By the time I finished, I could see his agitation.
“Why didn’t you call me?” he asked.
“And what?” I returned. “There wasn’t anything you could have done except worry.”
“Does your mother know?”
“Oh, hell no. She would have been on a plane before she hung up the phone.” My mother talked a good game. But in spite of projecting a devil-may-care attitude, and telling me I was a big girl who didn’t need mama to take care of me, she was over-protective to the max.
“Dad, do you think you can tap into your contacts and find out how dangerous those terrorists are? If we’re going to be working in Chicago, I’d like to be a little better informed. What’s available publically is pretty slim.”
“Will do. We don’t have anything like that here in Toronto, but Chicago is five times as large.”
After Dad dropped me off and I got unpacked, I called James.
“Hi,” I said when he answered. “I’m back in town. Did you miss me?” Even though we’d had a third date, I figured a subtle nudge to remind him I existed wouldn’t hurt.
“Of course, I missed you. What was your name again?” I could hear the smile in his voice.
“Alice. Or maybe Karen. Or Susan. I get so confused sometimes,” I replied.
“I get confused, too,” he said. “Ever since a woman named Libby broke my heart, I spend my nights searching for tall blondes, but it’s never the same.” He gave a dramatic sigh.
I had to laugh. “Would it interrupt your schedule if I asked you to dinner tonight?” He didn’t answer immediately, and then the silence extended. “Oops. Did I hurt your masculine ego by asking you out? Am I being too forward? Should I play harder to get?”
He laughed. “No. I was just checking my schedule. I have a meeting that runs late, but no blondes waiting for me afterward.”
“Oh, good. No place fancy. I don’t feel like dressing up. An Poteen Stil? Do you know it?”
“Sure. I can be there by eight o’clock.”
When James arrived at the bar, the band playing that night was starting to warm up. We went through the “what happened to your hair” routine. I wanted him to see me au naturel for a reason.
We punched our orders into the automenu, and he looked around. “I don’t think I’ve been in here since my university days.”
“Too low brow for a corporate big wig?”
“Too much fun for us corporate types,” he said with a smile. “You know that we have to pretend we like charity receptions and the opera. Anything as raucous as an Irish pub must be left to the lower classes.”
With a big sigh, I said, “Yeah. Probably no chance at all of getting blown up in here. Where’s the excitement?”
He shook his head. “I can’t believe you almost got killed.”
“I can’t either. I didn’t even know that such terrorist groups existed in North America. It seems like something that would happen a long way from here.”
“What makes you think it was a terrorist act? It sounds like a gas explosion.” His expression was a little too flat, his voice a little too neutral.
“It was a bomb attached to a gas line. A group called Democracy Now took credit, or blame, for planting the bomb. My friend Wil said they’re a terrorist group agitating for an elected government.”
Wil had shown me the forensic reports. The bomb itself wreaked havoc, but the secondary natural gas explosion killed most of the victims. I figured that if any corporation would be paranoid about terrorists, it would be the electric company. In James’s position, he would have to be aware of security risks.
“Do you know of any groups like that in Toronto?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No, not that violent. There’s a small chapter of Democracy Now at the university, but they’re all talk. Most radicals sober up when they graduate and discover living without mommy and daddy’s money is too uncomfortable for them. They cut their hair and put on a suit and go find a job.”
I noticed he didn’t mention any ghetto groups as being a threat. “So, you’re not worried at all about sabotage.”
That got a reaction. “Of course, we are. We spend a huge amount of time and money on physical and cyber security. We’re the ultimate target for a terrorist group.”
“And you get regular briefings on those groups and other security threats?” I asked.
He nodded, though he seemed a bit reluctant.
“So, spill. That bombing in Chicago killed a hundred people, and the corporations suppressed the news. What’s the real scoop?”
With a sigh, he said, “Chicago and Toronto are different. The large southern cities have larger excluded populations, and of course, that breeds instability.”
Our food slid out of the chute in the automenu box. I was starving, so I took a big bite of my burger.
“What do you mean ‘excluded populations’?” I asked as soon as I swallowed.
“Those who aren’t included in a corporate or other institutional ecosystem. Here in Toronto, that’s about fifteen percent. In Chicago, it’s over a third of the population.”
“People like me.”
“Oh, no. Corporations depend on the expertise of independent consultants. I’m talking about people completely outside normal society. The mutants, criminals, those without jobs or education. You know, those people in the slums and ghettos.”
In other words, people like me. I didn’t tell him that.
“How about the couple down the street from me who run a small convenience store? Or how about a family-owned funeral home?”
“Well, yeah, I guess they would fit the definition of exclusion, but people like that are the cream of excluded society. I mean, they aren’t out agitating for change and blowing up restaurants. They do contribute to society as a whole.”
I almost asked him if he considered the owner of a high-class brothel part of the cream of excluded society, but bit my tongue. No need to drag my mother into it.
“So, who is blowing up restaurants and threatening power plants?”
“Ideologues, such as Democracy Now or the Communists. Jihadis. You know there’s still a lot of hate out there over what happened in the Middle East. Radical Christian groups, such as the Army of God, ecoterrorists, like The Sierra Club. The Chamber puts out a monthly bulletin covering about a hundred fifty groups on their watch list.”
I filed it away to check the Chamber’s computer system when I got home.
After we finished eating, we danced a few times, had a few more beers, and then he walked me out to the taxi stand.
“I can give you a ride home.”
I turned to him and put my arms around his neck. “And then I’d have to make a decision about inviting you in. But I’m still not sure if I want to do that, and I’m definitely not healed enough to do that.”
“Not sure if you like me enough?”
“Oh, I like you. And you’re very sexy. But I’m not a one-night-stand kind of girl. I have to decide how much I like you, and how much you like me. Besides, I’m headed back to Chicago next week, and I’ll be gone for two months. If you still remember me when I get back, and you don’t have another girlfriend, then we’ll see.”
I leaned forward and kissed him. Very thoroughly. He did a damned good job of returning the favor and making sure I would remember him. Breathless, I pushed away from him and said, “See you when I get back.” Then I jumped into the waiting taxi bef
ore I did something I would regret.
As I bounced my butt against the hard taxi seat, it affirmed that I was not healed enough to do too much bouncing. The last thing I needed was to fall for someone who didn’t accept my differences. I wondered how interested James would be if he knew just how “excluded” I actually was. I could stop being a criminal, but my mutations weren’t a coat I could take off.
Chapter 6
I felt like I was going on safari in some old movie as I watched a robot load four large crates on the train.
“Are you sure we need all of that?”
Dad chuckled. “Since you don’t have twenty so-called experts to impress your clients, you need to do it with technology. Being competent isn’t enough, Libby. You have to have some showmanship.” Some of the equipment was mine, some his, but half of it was borrowed. He had good connections.
“Fine for you to say,” I grumbled. “You’ll just sit around and issue orders while I have to go out and set all of that up.”
“And someday you’ll be able to abuse your kids the same way. It’s a millennia-honored tradition.”
I shot him a sour look.
“Don’t worry,” Mom said. “If you’ve forgotten anything, let me know and I’ll ship it down to you. Did you remember to pack the kitchen sink?”
The twinkle in her eye that she always got when she pulled my chain made me want to growl at her.
Through a misunderstanding, the trucking company delivered the crates to our hotel instead of the Institute when we got to Chicago the next day. I had to call Deborah, who sent over a truck with some of her crew to haul the stuff to the right place.
For convenience, I had reserved rooms for Dad and me at a place closer to the Institute. Either I forgot to tell Deborah we were at a different hotel, or she forgot, but she sent the truck to the hotel I’d stayed in before. By the time everything got straightened out, it was late afternoon. I had the crates open in my conference room at the Institute, and with Dad looking over my shoulder the whole time, assured myself none of the equipment was damaged.
“Is everything all right?” Deborah’s voice came from the doorway.
“Finally.” I turned and gave her a smile. “Doctor Deborah Zhukoff, this is my assistant, Doctor Jason Bouchard.”
She walked over to Dad with a smile and her hand out. As they shook hands, she said, “Your assistant? You don’t introduce him as your father?”
“He says I need to be more professional,” I said, and everyone laughed.
She did the standard survey of my father and his power chair, which most people did. Then she asked, “Did you get checked in?”
“Yes, but we haven’t had a chance to unpack or change clothes yet.”
“Well, why don’t you do that, and I’ll send a car around about seven to take you to dinner.” She looked down at Dad. “We can get to know each other. I have a meeting set up at ten in the morning to kick off the project.”
The place she took us was really fancy, and I must have looked nervous as we sat down.
“Don’t worry, Libby,” Deborah said, reaching out and taking my hand in hers. “I called ahead, and they swept the place for explosives this afternoon.”
I wanted to lash out, but managed to simply say through clenched teeth, “I’m sorry, but I don’t think that’s very funny.”
She straightened, and blinked at me, then said, “Oh, my, I wasn’t trying to be funny. It’s true. Most of the best places are doing that now. Getting into one of the country clubs is worse than going to the airport.”
My turn to blink stupidly. “Really?”
“No one was going out to eat,” Dad said.
“Or anywhere else,” Deborah chimed in.
“I talked with a couple of people I know in Chicago,” Dad continued, “and security firms have had a bonanza on the North Shore.” He winked at Deborah. “Lucky you got us when you did. I had two offers for Libby to put in new systems here in Chicago. Had to tell them all we were too busy.”
I wasn’t sure whether to believe him or not. That was the first I’d heard about it. Even with such precautions, the restaurant was only half-full.
During dinner, Deborah asked, “Why did you change hotels? Didn’t you like the Shoreside?”
“It was fine, but I wanted a place that was closer. The Shoreside had a nice gym and a swimming pool, but nowhere to run. At the Winston, I can go running in the park.” The Art Institute was surrounded by parklands on the shore of Lake Michigan.
“When do you run?” Deborah asked. “I run in the evenings after work.”
“That works for me. I’m not fanatical about it, though. I only run twice a week.” I had noticed that she used the same expensive filter masks I did, the kind that were marketed to athletes and people who worked outside.
Later, standing outside waiting for the car, Deborah put her hand on my back and said, “Do you want to go running tomorrow evening before dinner?”
“Yeah, sure. That would be nice,” I said.
Dad and I met with members of the Institute’s board of directors the next morning, and then with the staff that afternoon. Dad gave an excellent presentation to the board. He had a lot of experience with people at that level, and I felt the board went away feeling good about the money they were spending.
After the morning meeting, we planned to have lunch in the staff dining room. Dad and I started over there, then I remembered that I wanted to tell Deborah to get a facility map for the afternoon meeting.
“Dad, just go on down this hall, and past the double doors, take the hallway to your right. You’ll see the dining room on the left. Okay? I’ll catch up to you. I need to tell Doctor Zhukoff to get me a map for this afternoon.”
I headed back toward Deborah’s office. Jess wasn’t at her desk, so I walked past it. Just before I got to the doorway, I caught a reflection in the glass of the open door.
Deborah was leaning against her desk with her arms around Malcolm Donnelly’s neck. He had his hands on her ass, and they were kissing.
I backed away quickly. I had met Mrs. Donnelly on my previous trip to Chicago. She was about Deborah’s age, but not nearly as beautiful. I wasn’t surprised at Malcolm’s morals, but I’d thought Deborah had more self-respect.
Going back to the hallway, I leaned into the reception area and called, “Doctor Zhukoff? Is anyone here?”
“Just a minute,” her voice came from the back. I waited until Deborah came out. “Yes, Libby. What can I do for you?”
I told her what I needed, then headed back to the dining room to meet Dad. I had admired Deborah for reaching such a powerful and prestigious position. It made me a little sad as I wondered if sleeping with Donnelly was part of the deal.
About thirty people attended the afternoon meeting. I introduced Dad and myself and explained what we were doing and what unusual things might happen while we were conducting our assessment.
“As part of our testing, we’ll be setting off alarms all over the place, doors will lock unexpectedly, lights will flash or strobe,” I told them. “Just wait a couple of minutes and things will return to normal.”
When I was finished, we had a smaller meeting, with Deborah, Jess, David Wilson, the Chief of Security for AIC, and Aubrey Henderson, the Head of Maintenance.
“I think this is a waste of time,” Wilson said. “Securitas certified the system, and we signed off on it. It seems we’re just spending money for nothing.”
“It’s standard practice to have an outside firm verify new systems,” Dad said. “But our review will cover more than the electronics. We’ll be looking at procedures, staffing, training, and all the practices in place here at the museum.”
“Nothing wrong with my staff or their training,” Wilson said. “There hasn’t been a theft here in over fifty years, and that guy was caught before he left the parking lot.”
Wilson had come up through the ranks during a thirty-year career, and from what I’d already seen, most of the museum’s weaknesse
s were due to his staff and their practices. He was already validating my fear that he would get defensive.
The main museum complex included some storage facilities. The rest of the warehouses were thirty miles away. I planned to treat them as a separate assessment. With over a million works of art, there wasn’t any way to display them all at the same time, so most of the museum’s collection was in storage.
Dad roamed around in his chair telling me what to do and inspecting my work, while I did all the equipment installation. Luckily, Aubrey loaned us a couple of large men to do all the carrying for me.
After my first full day of equipment installation, Deborah stopped by.
“Are you up for a run this afternoon?”
Even though I prided myself on being in shape, I was sore from bending, lifting, stretching, and a lot of other motions I wasn’t used to. A soak in a hot bath sounded better than running.
“Go on,” Dad helpfully chimed in. “We can catch dinner after your run.”
Thanks, Dad. I needed to have a talk with him about that sort of thing.
“I’ll need to go back to the hotel to change,” I said. “I didn’t bring my running clothes with me.”
“You’ll have to do that from now on, won’t you?” Dad cheerfully said. “Go on, go get them. I’ll finish up here and see you later.”
“I’ll walk over with you,” Deborah said. “I can change at your place, can’t I?”
Yes, Dad and I really needed to have a talk.
The weather was warmer in Chicago than in Toronto, but not as humid, so it sort of balanced out. Dark clouds were building in the northwest, and the wind started to rise. Halfway to the hotel, it started to rain. By the time we reached shelter, drops the size of my thumb were pummeling us, driven by gusts of wind that made it hard to keep our feet.
Drenched to the skin, we took the elevator up to my room, laughing like schoolgirls.
“The storms get worse every year,” Deborah said. “I guess that’s the tradeoff for not having snow anymore.”
Chameleon Uncovered (Chameleon Assassin Series Book 2) Page 5
