The automatic revolving doors of the Lightner Building allowed all of us to fit into one of its three segments, and we slowly turned around as it ushered us toward the lobby. A tasteful mixture of steel, granite, and marble made up the grand entrance, and a single reception desk sat twenty feet away, on the right, between us and the elevators.
Four men occupied reception. At this time of night, in most buildings, you were lucky if you could get one receptionist; you certainly didn’t need four.
The first man was tall, wide, and wore a sharp black suit with a badge on his lapel that read SERGEI. He had a shock of white-blond hair, and I recognized him from the photos of the security team. Behind him, a formidable middle-aged woman with strawberry-blond hair in a bowl cut sucked on an iced coffee through a straw. Off to the left of the desk, two men, black jackets, in their early thirties, short hair, probably armed—part of the security detail for Harland and Sinton. I also recognized them from Dell’s file. The firm was in lockdown, and I’d no doubt these guys were ready to kill us as soon as we stepped into the elevator.
I led the way to the reception desk, followed by David and Holly, Boo and Roger bringing up the rear. The Lizard stayed with the van. He was backup, and he would listen in on everything that happened via my cell phone. I’d called him and left the phone locked and on speaker in the breast pocket of my suit jacket.
“Eddie Flynn and David Child for Gerry Sinton,” I said to Sergei.
“These gentlemen are from Harland and Sinton’s security. They will escort you,” he said.
The security team eyeballed me, their jaws clenched, hands clasped in front of them. One of them looked Samoan, and was almost as wide as the reception desk. The other man was white and smaller, but he looked the meaner of the two.
“Just a second,” I said.
Turning to Boo, I said, “Ms. Feldstein, you wanted an establishing piece?”
“Thank you, Mr. Flynn,” said Boo, who walked past David and me. Roger followed behind her. I didn’t need to turn around to see the cogs working in the security team’s tiny little heads as Roger pulled a large TV camera from his bag, handed Boo a microphone, and hit a button on the camera lighting up the reception area.
Boo straightened her blouse, mumbled something to Roger, then began her piece to camera.
“Tonight, the billionaire David Child begins consulting with his legal team in preparation for tomorrow’s hearing. Over the weekend, Child’s lover, Clara Reece, was brutally shot and killed in his apartment. The NYPD believe they have a strong case against Child. Here at 60 Minutes, we will be taking you deep into the heart of this fascinating case. We’ve been granted exclusive access to the private, attorney-client consultations between David Child and his expert legal team as they desperately try to build a defense for what many believe to be an open-and-shut case.”
She paused. Roger made sure he got the security team in the shot, then flicked the beam off.
“Great, that’s uploaded. They’ll start cutting it right away—no retakes; you’re gonna be big, Lana,” said Roger. Boo smiled.
“What the hell is this?” said the big, wide guard.
“It’s TV,” I said. “CBS. You watch 60 Minutes?”
“No,” he said. “No cameras allowed in here, Mr. Flynn.”
“Really? Well, then, we’ll just have to go to my office. Make sure and tell Gerry I said hi.”
I turned and began slowly heading toward the exit. Holly, Child, Boo, and Roger came with me.
“Hold on,” said the big man, dialing from his cell phone.
We stopped. I kept my eyes on the ground. David stood next to me, and I could almost feel his body shaking through the vibrations passing up from the floor into my feet. I put an arm on his to steady him. Holly’s eyes were wide, and she kept rattling her fingers along her bag. Clearing my throat to get her attention, I then made a passive gesture with my hands and she stopped fidgeting.
I knew the big man wouldn’t take his eyes off of me. He worked a piece of gum in his massive jaws, and I could hear his breathing from ten feet away. He’d more than likely worked himself up into a state where he could pop a couple of people, and now he had to rethink because they’d brought a TV crew with them. His call was connected, and I heard him mumbling, probably to Gerry Sinton himself.
I heard the big guy say, “60 Minutes.” He listened, then said, “Because it’s on the side of the goddamned van.”
It was true. Roger was a veteran cameraman for CBS, and he could take out the van whenever he wanted. The benefits of a long-term business relationship with Boo meant Roger occasionally got first sight of a fresh, hot story. Whatever else Boo had her hand in, she dabbled a little in blackmail and trading the kind of photographs that politicians like to keep secret. Boo was a powerful asset for a cameraman with dreams of stepping in front of the camera one day. The producers had learned to give Roger the van and a little leeway—it always paid off.
The liveried CBS van had proved to be the ultimate persuader. My dad once told me that the heart of the con lies in the eyes.
People believe what they can see. As long as you control their view, you control their mind.
“You can go on up,” said the big guy.
David nodded frantically, clutched his laptop bag, and followed me. A discreet smile from me seemed to calm him a little.
As we walked past the security team, the big guard said, “Take all the time you need. We’ll be waiting here.”