Stuart Woods: Severe Clear

“Welcome to The Arrington,” the commander said. “You’ll be the first overnight guest.”

“Your people looked good at every point,” Mike said. “Spread the word that I want more smiling when guests start arriving. A smile doesn’t make a man any less alert, and it puts the guest at ease. I want to give an impression of a welcoming committee, rather than a private police force.”

“I agree, sir. Smiling will start immediately.”

Mike laughed. “I appreciate your confidence in your men,” he said. “As you know, installation of the watch room starts tomorrow. We’ve appointed a supervisor for the room, and he will appoint deputies. His name is Richard Indrisie, known as Rick. Young guy, late twenties, but very good.”

“I’ll look forward to meeting him,” the commander said.

“The fire and explosion plan is well set up. I had a briefing an hour ago. As soon as the watch room is up and running, start the drills.”

“Will do.”

“And tell your people that when an alarm goes off, they’re not to look alarmed.”

“Shall I tell them to smile?”

“That and not to knock any guests down when they’re rushing to a scene.”

“Yes, sir. You’re having dinner with the Secret Service detail commander at seven, as requested.”

“Where?”

“Here in your suite’s dining room. I’m afraid you’re the first guinea pigs for the room service kitchen.”

Mike laughed. “I brought Alka-Seltzer.”

Rick Indrisie left work at six that evening. As soon as he had cleared the indoor parking lot, he pulled into the drive-by line at a McDonald’s, and while waiting his turn he dug out his throwaway cell phone and sent an e-mail. “All is well. I am fine.” He signed it “Wynken.”

Hans was replacing a defective alternator on an elderly Porsche 911 when his supervisor tapped him on the shoulder. Hans looked up at him.

“There’s a visitor to see you in the showroom.”

“Can you send him here?” Hans asked.

The supervisor looked around the shop, then turned back to Hans. “All right, we are not so busy. Next time, meet your friends in the showroom on your break.”

Hans nodded and went back to work, tightening the last bolts. When he looked up again, a man in a sports jacket, no tie, was watching him closely. “Yes?” Hans said, straightening from his work.

“My name is Carl Webber,” the man said, offering his hand. “From The Arrington.”

Hans shook the hand. “I thought you might like to see the shop.”

“Yes,” Webber said, looking around. “It’s very clean, isn’t it?”

“Always the mark of a well-run shop-any kind of shop.”

“Is there somewhere we can talk?”

“The break room,” Hans said. “This way.” He led Webber off the shop floor and into a room containing food-and-drink dispensing machines and a few tables and chairs. It was after eleven, between coffee break and lunch. “I don’t think we’ll be disturbed here,” Hans said.

They took seats. “Your resume is very interesting,” Webber said. “You had Mercedes training?”

“Right out of gymnasium-that’s German high school,” Hans replied. “Then I worked in a dealership for four years, while I raced sports cars on weekends.”

“Why did you change to Porsche?”

“They had a better racing program, and I liked the cars better. Besides, there were no openings for drivers at Mercedes. At Porsche, one could do race driving, then, between races, give buyers who were taking delivery of their vehicles at the factory a few rides around the race track and, if they were buying the Cayenne, around the off-road park. Before I went to work there, they sent me to the mechanics’ school, and I became a certified Porsche technician on all models.”

“Good, good,” Webber said. “Your references were excellent, too. Let me tell you about the job.”

“I would like very much to hear this,” Hans said.

“Most of the car parking will be underground at The Arrington, a feature that will make the grounds more beautiful.”

“I’ve heard that.”

“We will also maintain an underground repair facility for on-site hotel vehicles, among which will be a dozen Porsche Cayennes with the hybrid engines, and a dozen Bentley Mulsannes. Have you ever worked on Bentleys?”

“I had a private job dealing with the Flying Spur model, but never have I worked on the Mulsanne.”

“We have obtained a six-hour training course on DVD that Bentley produced for the training of foreign mechanics. I think you will find it adequate to familiarize you with the Mulsanne.”

Hans nodded. “Good.”

“We will stock a range of parts for both types of vehicles, and, of course, any other necessary parts will be available from a dealer. Since the cars will be in continuous use by guests of the hotel, most of the work on them will be conducted at night, when the vehicles are more readily available. Should there be an emergency, like an accident, then of course some daytime work would be likely, too.”

“I understand. I have worked a night shift before, at the Mercedes dealership, and I found I like it. Things were quieter.”

“Exactly. There are other vehicles to be serviced, too. We have a fleet of electric cars-glorified golf carts, really-that will deliver arriving guests to their suites and cottages, and another fleet for the use of staff for delivering room service meals, plus laundry and dry cleaning.”

“I’ve no experience at all with that kind of vehicle.”

“Don’t worry, we have two mechanics who will attend to them.”

“Good.”

“I wish to offer you the position of vehicle maintenance supervisor. You will have an assistant who will schedule the jobs and deal with the paperwork, plus a second mechanic trained in Bentleys. You will also supervise the electric car mechanics, and of course you will work on the Porsches and Bentleys as time allows.” Webber handed Hans a folder.

“Here is our offer, along with terms, salary, and fringe benefits. I think you will find everything satisfactory.”

Hans scanned the documents. “It’s a good offer. I accept,” he said.

“I’m pleased that you will be with us,” Webber said. “Now, read the documents carefully overnight, then sign them and return them to me at the hotel. How much notice must you give here?”

“Two weeks, I suppose,” Hans replied.

“That is satisfactory, though I wish you could come sooner. Perhaps if you will come to the hotel this weekend, I can familiarize you with the setup and see if you have any suggestions as to the arrangement of the shops.”

“I can come tomorrow morning at nine,” Hans replied. “And I will talk to my supervisor about giving notice.”

The two men shook hands, and Webber left.

Hans sought out his supervisor. “I’ve had an offer to join the staff of the new hotel, The Arrington,” he said, “and I’ve accepted.”

His supervisor shrugged. “I’m sorry to lose you, Hans, but it’s not such a bad time for me. I’ve got a new man starting on Monday. If you will spend that day orienting him and watching him work on cars, then you can start your new job on Tuesday.”

“Thank you very much,” Hans said, shaking his hand.

At the end of the day, Hans called Webber and gave him the good news.

“I’m delighted,” Webber said, “but I’d still like to see you tomorrow. We’ll put you on salary from then.”

Hans hung up and left for the day. In the employee parking lot, he sent an e-mail from his anonymous cell phone. “All is well. I am fine.” He signed it “Blynken.”

At seven P.M. sharp, the doorbell rang, and Mike Freeman went to the door. A Secret Service agent in his early forties, athletically built, with salt-and-pepper hair, stood there.