The Gatekeeper's Son (31 page)

I stood at the front of the room and scanned the faces. The most common expression was boredom, but I also spotted dislike and a dash of hatred.

The room grew quiet. I let the silence take over while I took in a deep breath and tuned in to the stream.

Mr. Barrymore sat on the edge of a table, his suit jacket pulled open, his face a professional mask of disinterested alertness.

“This isn’t everyone,” I said.

“These are the bodyguard and surveillance teams,” he said, pointing a pen at each cluster of people. “The regular uniformed security guards aren’t part of this unit.”

I scanned the crowd again. “Which one of you is Johnny?” I asked, raising my voice so that it would reach the back.

A man with graying hair stepped away from the wall. “That’d be me,” he said, his arms folded.

I tried to feel his energy, but I couldn’t get a fix on him, not with so many people in the room.

“It’s good to put a face to a voice,” I said. “That was a big Doberman, huh?”

He looked startled for a millisecond. “It … I got bit by my neighbor’s dog.”

I hopped up to sit on the table, not far from Mr. Barrymore. Unlike his, my feet didn’t reach the floor. I glanced at him and wondered what kind of support I could expect.

“Let’s talk about last Wednesday evening.”

There was an outbreak of murmurs, but Mr. Barrymore shut them down with a look. When it was quiet again, I turned to him.

“Tell me what you’ve found out.”

He ran a hand over his buzz cut. “Two of my guys—who were off duty—got into an altercation with a bunch of drunks outside a bar. Both ended up in the hospital, along with three of the drunks.” Then he looked out at his officers. “And contrary to the rumors, I didn’t fire them. Steve and Mike resigned.”

“They weren’t on duty?”

“No.” Mr. Barrymore didn’t look pleased at all. “None of the injured men were on duty.”

“And how many got hurt?”

Mr. Barrymore thought for a moment. “Ten, counting Johnny’s dog bite. One guy’s still missing. We presume he took off.”

I nodded and tried to remain expressionless. Did he mean the man Shoko had killed?

I realized I was staring, and the longer I did, the more uncomfortable everyone began to look.

“Does anyone know why those men were out there?” Mr. Barrymore said.

Silence. Then someone at the back stood up—Anthony Roacks. “I called them out.”

“Aren’t you from
accounting
?” Mr. Barrymore practically choked on the word.

Anthony scowled. “That was temporary. My uncle’s put me in charge of his personal security.”

Mr. Barrymore laughed. “And what does Uncle Walter’s office boy know about security?”

Anthony hesitated. A few of the guys around him made faces. “Walter asked me to bring in extra men that night.”

“Why?” Mr. Barrymore asked.

Anthony shrugged. “Mr. Roacks doesn’t need to explain anything to you. What matters is that when my men heard Steve and Mike were getting beat on, they moved in to help—and he”—Anthony pointed at me—“nearly killed them.”

“So Steve and Mike were working for you?” I said.

Anthony hesitated again. “They work for the company.”

“And what about the rest of the guys who chased me?”

“Why don’t you tell us?” Anthony raised his voice. “You all know what he did to your buddies!”

A woman near the front spoke up. “I heard he had a sword.”

There was muttering in the room.

“That’s right,” Anthony said, sounding more confident. “He attacked them, just like he did with Steve and Mike!”

Beside me, Mr. Barrymore cleared his throat. “I’m confused,” he said. “How did these men of yours know where James was?”

No one answered.

“Who else was part of Walter Roacks’s personal security team that night?”

A group at the back, all those near Anthony, put up their hands, although they looked reluctant. They were all new guys, the ex-soldiers. I did the math, but Mr. Barrymore beat me.

“So counting the men who ended up in the hospital, you had
sixteen men
out there? We don’t even put sixteen men on the Chairman!”

“What I use
my
people for is none of your damn business!”

“It
is
my business!” Mr. Barrymore bellowed, which caused everyone to jump. “You used my men to attack James!”

Anthony took a deep breath. “Prove it.”

The crowd began to break into two groups. I noticed that Johnny stayed on our side.

“Your little stint as security chief just ended,” I said to Anthony, my fists clenched at my sides. “Now get off my property!”

I interviewed every member of the security service, even the office staff. Those who were loyal to Grandpa—based on the energy they emitted—stayed. I fired those who weren’t. By the time I was done, Mr. Barrymore had lost over a third of his staff, including Johnny.

Afterward, we headed up to his plush twenty-first floor office.

“So what’s your system for testing loyalty?” he said, not looking happy. “You flip a coin?”

I sat in his office chair—not my choice, actually. He’d chosen to sit on the sofa across the room, in front of a window. I had to squint to see his expression. I wondered if he’d done that on purpose.

“I’m weeding out the cancer, Mr. Barrymore.” I leaned back and stared at him. “Do you have a problem with any of the decisions I made?”

He shook his head. I felt his anger, but there was sadness there, too, and guilt. It was his responsibility to protect the Chairman, but he couldn’t. That was up to the doctors and the gods now.

“How’d you allow this to happen?” I said.

His head snapped up, eyes flaring. “Oh, so it’s my turn now, is it?” He stood up. “Fine. I was delinquent in my duties, and as I told the Chairman, I take full responsibility for this matter.” He shook his head. “This place has gone to hell anyhow.”

I sighed. “Relax, OK? Please, sit down.”

And he did. We remained quiet for a while, each of us lost in thought.

“To tell you the truth,” he said after a while, “I’ve had my suspicions ever since those new guys arrived—little things, stuff I couldn’t put my finger on, you know? But Johnny recruited them, and I always thought he was solid. But like I told the Chairman, I just don’t have time to supervise all of them.” He stretched his arms wide. “Besides the close protection teams, surveillance teams, and the building security force, I’m also overseeing a goddamn intelligence service here. I may be the chief, but the new influx of employees—it was too much. I work sixty hours a week as it is.”

“Why does Grandpa need an intelligence service?”

Mr. Barrymore sighed and put his arm on the back of the sofa.

“It’s for business,” he said after a minute. “We’ve got wiretaps, surveillance, paid sources inside companies all around the world. It’s quite sophisticated.”

I frowned. “Isn’t that illegal?”

“Only if you get caught.” He flashed a grin. “The Chairman likes to know what his competitors are up to. He learned that when he first started the business. He’d hire taxi drivers, waiters, bell hops, anyone who had access to information.”

“What information does a taxi driver have?”

“See?” He wagged a finger at me. “That’s what everybody thinks. We talk in front of these people like they’re not there—the invisible service providers, overlooked and ignored. It was an amazing idea—still is.”

I tried to think about what Lin and I had talked about on our taxi ride. “And all the bodyguards?”

“That’s a different matter,” Mr. Barrymore said, his voice guarded now. “No one’s ever attacked him, never threatened him either, other than the usual hate mail and a few wacky protesters. He does need security, but three or four guys would be enough. Right now we’re kitted out like an army.”

I leaned forward. “But why?”

“My guess, he’s scared of something—and I think it’s Bartholomew.” Mr. Barrymore shook his head. “Who, by the way, my intelligence people can’t prove exists. And I don’t know what he keeps inside that safe.” He raised an eyebrow. “Maybe I should ask you?”

I put my feet up on his desk. He glared at me until I dropped them back to the floor. “You ever see Bartholomew?” I asked as I brushed the marks off the desktop.

He nodded. “Once or twice, back in the old days. He was still part of the Committee then, came for the meetings. And his bodyguards …” He paused and stared at the wall behind me. “Those guys were something else.” I felt a chill. If what Shoko and Okaasan had told me was true, they were something else all right—something far from human.

“What’d you think about Anthony?” I said.

He rolled his eyes. “Anthony Roacks is a spoiled jerk. He’s full of bluster, but he’s got nothing to back it up except his uncle. I guess him using our guys as thugs shouldn’t surprise me.”

His eyes met mine. There was that guilt again.

I nodded. “At first I thought it was a kidnapping, or at least a forced ride home, but then they got so violent … I heard them say they had orders from the
old man
.” A short silence ensued. “Why haven’t there been any arrests?”

“The police found empty shells, lots of blood, but there’s no witnesses—or victims. They figure it’s the start of a gang war.”

I sat for a moment staring into space, trying to put things together. “I know Walter wasn’t happy about me being named as Grandpa’s successor … but do you really think he tried to have me killed?”

“I don’t think he’s that stupid,” Mr. Barrymore said. “But the Chairman did order me to follow Walter and tap his phones. He thought Walter was acting odd, a little too defensive about the money situation. Why would you fire your accounting staff in the middle of a financial crisis? And then there was that alleged meeting with Mr. Müller you told him about.”

He stood and rolled his shoulders. “Of course, we weren’t making much progress with the investigation. Probably because most of the people I’d assigned to the task were the ones you fired today. I suspect they weren’t working too hard.”

I suddenly felt exhausted. “So what should we do?” I asked.

“We need to start a forensic audit of all the accounts. That’s out of my league, but I know a couple of experts here in San Francisco—old colleagues. I’ll keep going with the Walter investigation, but I’ll add Anthony, too.” He frowned at me. “And we need to make sure you’re safe.”

“I’ll handle my own security.”

He studied me. “Yes, she’s quite the bodyguard. Who is she anyway?”

I hesitated. “I can’t tell you.”

He nodded slowly. “Did she kill that man in Lower Pacific Heights?”

Hesitating, I couldn’t meet his eyes. “I thought you said one of your men ran away.”

“There was no connection to us, so no one knew anything … except me. I’m inclined to leave it that way.” He ran a hand over his buzz cut. “I wish the Chairman were here. This is gonna blow up, and soon.”

“We have to do it without him for now.”

“Won’t be easy. Mark Smith isn’t interested in security stuff, and Mr. Roacks has a lot of power here.”

I was instantly angry. “Mr. Roacks was demoted an hour ago, and I made damn sure he knew that Mark’s the president!”

His mouth puckered. “Walter isn’t going to like that.”

“I’ll worry about that. You just find out what’s going on. Oh, and send two guys to Brussels with my dad and Mark Smith.”

Mr. Barrymore didn’t move.

“What are you waiting for?”

His eyebrows rose. “You’re a lot like your grandfather, right down to the yelling.” He chuckled. “Yes, sir, I’ll get right on it.”

“Very good, Mr. Barrymore,” I said, lowering my voice to a growl, imitating Grandpa. “That’s more like it.”

CHAPTER

30

Mr. Barrymore gave me a ride home in his company car, a gray four-door sedan with an array of antennae on the roof and trunk—when I first saw it I thought it was an unmarked police car. But the inside was something else: leather seats, plush carpet, power everything, and a kick-ass aftermarket sound system. Not such a bad deal, working for Edward Thompson.

It was getting dark, with gray clouds hanging low over the city and a light rain falling as we emerged from the underground garage. A river of black umbrellas flowed down the sidewalks, away from the financial district. I stared out the window and sighed. My eyelids grew heavy and eventually slid closed.