Free Gates of Hades by Gregg Loomis Page B

When pulled, as they were anytime an important conversation was in progress, they made it impossible for listening devices outside to pick up vibrations in the glass caused by words spoken inside.
    An electric eye opened the door as Jason reached it. The lobby, the twin of hundreds of others in the area, contained the usual potted plants and a reception desk manned by a woman who, by any measure, should have made an appearance on one of those reality shows where looks compensated for lack of plot. She had the pale, clear skin that went with naturally blond hair, and blue eyes without warmth.
    As Jason approached, she watched with cold disinterest. From a few feet away he could read the tag pinned to the black camisole-type top, which, though not transparent, gave the impression of frilly lingerie underneath. He was not surprised to learn her name was Kim, nor would Lisa, Lori, or Ashley have been a shock.
    He knew from previous observation that her fingers were never more than a few inches from a panel of screens that, when touched, could do everything from locking every door in the building to lowering a steel curtain between the entrance and the receptionist. Behind her, a mirroredwall was actually two-way glass, giving a complete view of the lobby to armed men who waited in perpetual readiness for whatever situation might arise. The place’s security was second only to the White House’s.
    Kim imitated a smile, flashing teeth that would have inspired any orthodontist. “Help you, sir?”
    â€œGood morning, Kim. I’m Jason Peters, and I’m expected.”
    She gave Jason a slow inspection, making no effort to conceal the fact that she was appraising him in the same way she might decide whether an insect was likely to sting or bite. Under other circumstances he might have taken a lingering look like that as interest, but her manner was of one who had no intent of inviting personal overtures. An expensive fur coat draped over the far corner of the counter explained a lot. He doubted Kim could have purchased it on her salary. She already had a “friend” with a bankroll.
    Girls like Kim got minks the same way minks got minks.
    â€œIf you’ll just step over here, sir.”
    Jason was familiar with the drill. Extending both arms, he placed the thumb of each hand on a screen that was part of the top of the desk.
    She watched a monitor behind the desk. “Mr. Peters, I see you have a meeting in a few minutes. Know your way?”
    â€œIndeed I do.” He walked to the left of the desk, bowing slightly. “A delight to have made your acquaintance.”
    Kim had already returned to staring at the monitors in front of her.
    A previously invisible door wheezed open, and Jason entered a small room, where he was patted down by one man while another, an M16A2 assault rifle in the crook of his arm, observed. A large dog of indeterminate breed sniffed for explosives.
    The dog made Jason think of Pangloss, and he wished they both were back in the low-tech world of the Turks and Caicos. By now the day would be well under waythere, the sun up hours ago. Reality intruded and he sighed, aware that it was unlikely he would ever claim North Caicos as a residence again, not if he wanted to stay alive. The place would be under observation.
    â€œYou’ll have to empty your pockets.”
    Jason produced the rental car keys, a handful of change, and a small pocketknife.
    The man not holding the rifle looked skeptically at the latter. “This some sort of weapon?”
    â€œNot if you’re attacking anything larger than a mouse. The blade is less than two inches long.”
    A moment of indecision. Jason could almost hear the line of thought: if box cutters could be used to take over airliners . . .
    Jason handed it over. “Tell you what: you hold it till I come back through. If I have to kill someone, I’ll do it with my bare hands.”
    â€œThank you, sir.” The man was