He strode back to her, stepping into her personal space and moving to within inches of her. She didn’t shrink back, a fact that he liked — she was no pushover — but he needed to see Ms. Nolan and at that moment she was impeding his progress. He swept his eyes over the desk area and spotted the button that he assumed released the lock.
“Ms.,” he looked at her name tag, “Lee. I appreciate your dedication to protecting Ms. Nolan’s schedule, but my news won’t wait and I’m confident that she will agree once she has heard it. If not, then I’ll leave immediately. Either way, I’ll be sure to let her know that you did your best to keep the United States Army at bay.” He gave her his most winning smile, and after a moment he saw a flicker of an answering amusement in her face. He reached over and pressed the button and was rewarded with the clicking sound as the lock disengaged.
Smith stepped onto the Landon Investments trading floor. Rows of desks, perhaps fifty in all, each equipped with a computer monitor and a corresponding trader, were arranged in a horseshoe configuration with a break in the center to create an aisle. The end of the pattern reached to the windows on the far side of the room to his right and left. The traders all wore headsets similar to the one he had seen on the receptionist in the lobby and most were speaking into the microphone. The noise of fifty different conversations rose and fell around him.
At the center of the horseshoe stood Ms. Nolan. She looked exactly like her photo, except today, rather than the conservative blue suit, she wore a red sheath dress that fit her slender body to perfection. Her hair was pulled back and in her ears were drop earrings with what looked to Smith’s untrained eye like yellow diamonds. She stood in front of a semicircle of four computer monitors and frowned at them. He made his way toward her, walking down the center aisle. A few of the traders cast him looks, but the majority stared at their screens, ignoring him. Ms. Nolan, too, ignored him, never taking her eyes off the computers. He noticed that she stood about five foot eight and estimated her age to be in the mid-thirties. She looked up when he was within three feet of the wall of monitors.
She had dark brown eyes that maintained the same serious expression that she wore in the photo. He watched her as she ran her gaze from his face to his shoes and back up again. She raised an eyebrow at him.
“Mr. Smith from the army, I presume?”
He nodded. “I apologize for barging in like this, but it’s imperative that I speak with you. It’s a matter of life or death.”
A flicker of surprise crossed her features. “Life or death? Whose?”
“Yours,” he said.
That got her complete attention. Her face registered shock and her body swayed backward. She reached down, pressed a button on a desktop phone and said, “Gerald, watch the pharmaceuticals for me, can you? I need to take a short meeting.” When she was done, she removed her headset and nodded to him. “We’ll go to my office.”
She waved him to the right and they began to make their way past the desks to a frosted glass door that entered into a hallway where muted gray tones on the walls and the plush carpeting underfoot muffled their steps. Smith thought that the entire presentation at Landon Investments was geared to give an impression of great wealth, calm, and competence. The expensive furnishings were easy to purchase, but Smith thought the feeling of calm was much more difficult to accomplish. The world markets were roiling at the moment, and he imagined that there were many millions of dollars slipping through the hands of most of the investment advisors in the world, including Landon’s employees. She paused at an open door at the corner of the building and nodded for him to precede her.
The corner office was a study in sleek minimalist design. On the black walnut desk sat another row of three computer monitors, each showing different financial networks with scrolling ticker running along the bottom. Smith saw Nolan’s eyes lock onto the screens while she closed the door behind her. The rest of the office was stark. A single-serving coffee maker sat on a credenza behind the main desk, along with a tray bearing black cups, some for espresso and two for coffee. An abstract print on the wall to Smith’s right was the only artwork in the room. There were no diplomas, awards, photos of famous people, or even family photos anywhere. Linen blinds were lowered against the morning sun.
“Would you like a coffee or espresso?” she asked.
“Coffee black,” Smith said. She walked to the coffeepot and inserted a pod.
“Please sit down.”
Smith sat in a black leather chair facing the desk. The machine beeped and she handed him a cup. She took her place behind the desk. The screens sat to her left, but this time she didn’t glance at them. “Please tell me about the life-or-death matter.”
Smith had spent a great deal of time on the train preparing what he hoped would be a believable story. Now, in the face of her calm, he was afraid he would sound hysterical.
“I have reason to believe that a Pakistani terrorist organization has ordered a hit on you.”
Nolan’s eyes widened briefly, but she didn’t show any of the surprise or fear that he had expected. That, in and of itself, was interesting. Either she didn’t believe him or something else was at play here.
“That’s a remarkable claim, Mr. Smith. What do you do that you would receive such information? Are you a member of the FBI? Do you have any identification?”
She remained calm, but her voice was tinged with disbelief. Smith could tell that she thought him a bit crazy. He half expected her to call for security to have him escorted out of her office any minute. She gave another sweeping glance at his clothing, as if to assess his mental health, and her eyes came to rest on his military watch.
He handed her his driver’s license along with a copy of his business card from USAMRIID. While she read both, he rushed to fill the silence.
“I just returned from The Hague. I was staying at the Grand Royal and was there during the attack. If you watched the reports then you saw me crawl out the third-story window. It was during that time that I learned that you were targeted. Do you have any idea why a terrorist halfway around the world would carry your photo in his pocket?”
She focused on his face, staring intently. “Of course I am aware of what happened at the Grand Royal. I watched the reports. I did see the man crawl out of the window to escape, and if that was you, then I’m pleased that you survived. The attack reverberated across the markets. The holding company that owns the hotel chain saw its share value drop four dollars on the news.”
Smith was dumbfounded and was for a brief moment unsure how to respond to that. He was fast losing patience with her. He’d spent most of his waking moments since the attack thinking of her and how to find her to warn her, and she was only concerned that the hotel’s stock was dropping.
“Honestly, Ms. Nolan, I don’t give a damn about the hotel chain’s financial condition. I’m here to tell you that your life is in danger. I can’t give you any more details about how I know this, but I can tell you the danger is real and you need to address it. Now. Not two hours from now and certainly not after the market closes.” He pulled another business card out of his pocket and placed it on her desk. “This is the number of a woman at the CIA named Randi Russell. She’s prepared to have one of her agents take you to a safe house outside the DC area while they track the intelligence and attempt to find whoever is responsible for the hit. I suggest that you call her now. She’ll confirm that what I’m telling you is true.”
Nolan picked up the card and rose. “I’ll do that. Please, feel free to make yourself another cup of coffee while I verify what you’ve said.”