The building looked like a huge block of bullion set in a thicket of lush greenery.
"Computers, not nuclear reactors, Nick. I think both you and Seidman are way off.
"We'll see," Carter said absently. "Let's go to the front gate and see what kind of a rise we can get out of them."
They continued down the highway, turning into the long, blacktopped driveway that was blocked by a gate and a small guardhouse.
One of the guards came out. "Buenos dias, señores," the guard said. "Your names and your business, please."
"Howdy, partner," Carter said, leaning over toward the driver's window. "I'm Nick Carter with Techtelco. We're a small outfit out of Beaumont, Texas. I'm here to have a parlez-vous with Mr. Ziegler."
The guard checked his clipboard list. "I do not show an appointment for you, sir," he answered in English.
"Impossible," Carter drawled. "Marc specifically said eleven o'clock sharp on the eighteenth."
"But, señor, this is the seventeenth."
"Is that right? Missed it by a whole day, have I? Well, you just squeeze us in somewhere. It's real important I palaver with the man."
"But, señor, there are company rules…"
"Hang the rules, boy! Marc Ziegler is making an offer to buy my company. I either see him today or it's no deal. And that's final."
The guard was flustered. "Excuse me a moment, señores," he said, and he disappeared back into the guardhouse. A minute later he reappeared. "Mr. Ziegler is not in his office, and his personal secretary cannot be disturbed. You must understand that there is no way in which I can confirm…"
"Well, the hell with it!" Carter said. "You just let us through, and we'll wait for him inside."
Mendoza started the car, and the disconcerted guard quickly lifted the barrier as they passed through. A few hundred yards up the driveway they turned into a visitors' parking lot.
"It won't lake them very long to find us out," Mendoza said, turning off the engine and pocketing the keys.
"You stay here," Carter said. "If there's any trouble, run like hell." He grabbed a notebook and papers from the back seat.
"Be careful with that," Mendoza said. "I've spent a lot of hours researching that article."
"I'll be right back with it," Carter said. He got out of the car, left the parking lot, crossed the road, and hurried up the long steps to the front door.
The receptionist at the information desk was busy talking to a young man in shirt-sleeves. Carter walked up to her, out of breath.
"Important personal delivery for Señor Ziegler," he said in Spanish, holding out the papers.
The girl glanced up. "Elevator is down the hall," she said, pointing to the left. "Señor Carlos is his personal secretary. See him."
Carter nodded and hurried off in that direction.
Ziegler's office suite was behind a set of glass doors on the twelfth floor. Behind a long desk in the front sat an absolutely stunning young woman with long dark hair, wide dark eyes, and a lithe, sensuous figure. She was busy typing.
"I'm here to see Mr. Ziegler," Carter announced in English, coming up to her desk.
She scrutinized him closely. "You are the man from the front gate, aren't you?" she asked in charmingly accented English. "The one they called up about?" She smiled. "Just what is it you want?" She was lovely. Her complexion was flawless. But there was just a hint of sadness in her eyes, which made her even more appealing.
"Do you really want to know?" he asked, his Texas drawl more pronounced. "I came to see you, darlin'."
She laughed. "You're in big trouble, you know."
A retailer's plastic bag sat on the floor next to her chair. He could read the name of the boutique on the bag.
"I saw you at Armando's. I told them I had to know more about you. They gave me your name and told me that you worked here." The embossed nameplate on her desk read Roberta Redgrave. A very un-Argentinian name.
"Are you serious?" she asked. Her voice was lovely.
"Very," Carter said. He was very conscious of the time. He didn't have much of it left. "It cost quite a few American dollars to find out about you. And I don't intend to let you get away easily. I want to take you to dinner."
She was amused and slightly breathless. "I can't believe you're serious."
"I had to find out if you were as lovely face-to-face as you were at a distance. You are."
Shaking her head incredulously, she picked up the desk phone and started to dial.
"Please," he said, reaching across and putting his finger on the button. "At least give me a chance. I took a lot of risks coming up here like this. Just have dinner with me. Afterward, if you still don't like me, I won't ever bother you again."
"I don't even know you."
"Then have lunch with me first. Can't be any harm in that. Broad daylight. What time are you free?"
"One," she said automatically.
"I'll be waiting," Carter said, smiling. "But where? Pick a place. Something nice."
"Tomo Uno. It's not far from here."
"I'll be there at one. A date?"
She sighed and finally nodded. "Just lunch," she said.
He backed away from the desk. "If you don't come. I'll return and camp on your desk," he threatened.
She laughed again, somewhat dazed. He was almost out to the doors before she called after him. "But what is your name?"
"Nick Carter," he said.
From the end of the hall the guard from outside appeared, leading an entourage of similarly dressed security men. Carter ducked around a corner and into a door marked Escalera. He took the stairs down a flight, men slipped out onto the eleventh floor, where he caught the elevator.
There was a lot of commotion on the main floor, but no one seemed to notice him as he slipped out the front doors, hurried across the driveway to the parking lot, and jumped in next to Mendoza.
"Find out anything…" Mendoza started to ask.
"Move!" Carter snapped.
Mendoza started the car and peeled out of the parking lot, tires squealing. There were several security men at the main gate, but Mendoza did not slow down as he drove up on the grass and around the barrier. Soon they were back out on the highway, heading as fast as the car would go back into the city.
"Will they follow us?" Mendoza asked.
"I don't think so," Carter said, sitting back. He had entered Ziegler's territory to shake him up, nothing more. Instead he had accomplished something much better… or at least he had set the wheels in motion.
Carter told Mendoza what had happened in Ziegler's outer office, and then he had his friend drop him off at a car rental place downtown, where he hired an Audi 5000.
He drove out to Tomo Uno from directions he had been given at the rental office. It turned out to be an obviously expensive restaurant. Roberta had very good taste.
They were just setting up for the heavy afternoon crowd when Carter walked in. He found the headwaiter and for fifty dollars assured himself personalized service par excellence. He made his selections from the menu then and there, then retired to the bar where he ordered a cognac and called a florist.
He started by ordering two dozen roses, but then he thought better of it. He was a very rich Texan, about to strike it even richer. He splurged.
The flowers, two vans full of them, arrived a scant forty-five minutes later, and by the time they'd finished setting everything up, an entire corner of the main dining room was a wall-to-wall rose garden.
He sat waiting in the midst of it all, fielding stares from the other diners and the restaurant help, until 1:20 when he saw her wending her way through the tables behind the head-waiter. When she saw the flowers, her jaw dropped.
"Oh, my God," she whispered.
Carter had gotten to his feet and held a chair for her, but for several embarrassingly long seconds she stood where she was.