David Dun - Overfall

“She’s got another job, doesn’t she?”

David Dun

Overfall

“Sam, she’ll be crushed if you don’t even call and ask. She’s an executive assistant for some stuffed shirt. And you never know what she’ll do till you ask.”

“But for one assignment?”

“Hey, nobody believes that retirement crap. You want me to call?”

“I’ll call.” Sam now knew exactly how Paul’s conversation with Typhony had gone. But it was necessary to play it out. It might be as long as twenty-four hours before she was back in the office.

Sam’s finger was poised over the button. Once he dialed there was no turning back. The choice was still his until he dialed the number. It was about as awkward as a man finding his sister making love to his wife, but other than that the call was a breeze. After Typhony finished the verbal torture, Sam got down to the big question, and after appropriate hesitation and more than the usual verbal sparring she took the job.

“Talk to Paul, of course,” Sam told her, “and get the full story from him. But do a complete search on Dr. Kenneth Galbraith, psychiatrist. Where he went to school, all the doctors in his class; any publications; every mention of him in the press; credit check; all the usual. And start having someone go through his garbage immediately. No doubt he’ll have a cell. Figure it out, get the ESN, the whole nine yards, and get one of our contract guys listening to his calls. If we get anything at all we’ll arrange more groundwork. If he lives remotely, use the drone, get blowups; otherwise drive-bys are okay. Then in the morning begin interviews immediately. Use Royce and associates. When you’ve got Royce going, help Paul on Grace Technologies: one Roberto Fresco, its vice president; DuShane Chellis, the president. I forgot to mention to Paul I think we should call our friends in Brussels and have them work on the France end. I’d like that outfit Discretion.”

“I don’t know how you end up with the most famous and the most troubled,” she said. “But that’s okay,” she added before he could respond. “We knew you’d come back, and I guess Anna Wade is as good an excuse as any.”

Devan Gaudet was looking forward to seeing the offices of Grace Technologies without its master ushering him around. Although he had been in the building a number of times as the need for his services increased, his movements were always controlled. Headquarters stood on the Rue de l’Arrivee, a block from the Luxembourg Gardens, where Chellis reportedly paced when in the throes of a deal.

For a Paris office, Grace’s was expensive, which meant that by the standards of most of the world’s cities it was exorbitant. Devan Gaudet looked up at the building from the small entry plaza just outside the main doors. Even he had to admit that Chellis had come a long way from Omaha, Nebraska. But the man still had the petty mind of an American.

The main doors led to a spacious atrium and waiting area that looked like a men’s luncheon club. Large windows, painfully tasteful brown leather, and subdued plaids on the furnishings made one think of cigars and chess. According to Benoit, people congregated here to talk sometimes about business and usually when Chellis was out of the office. This was the policy center of the holding company, where business strategy at the highest levels took place.

Chellis’s personal offices were through a second set of double doors off the atrium and down a long hall lined with other offices, making the path to his suite a little like an obstacle course for unwanted visitors. Chellis did not care for confrontation unless he had arranged for one of his rages, and then he sought it.

Gaudet used a pass provided by Benoit. He had arrived early deliberately; he wanted to get the feel of the place. Benoit had explained the sorts who hung out at the main office and she certainly had it pegged. Largely the working technical fellows would be found at the company’s regional centers. Here scientists who no longer did science came to spend their last few years with the businessmen and MBAs and occasionally with the boss himself.

Gaudet made his way into the inner office without drawing a glance; he tried out Chellis’s chair and used his phone for fifteen minutes before Chellis and Benoit arrived, fresh from the flight in from Kuching. He heard Chellis well before he saw him.

“So they can screw themselves and go straight to hell and I want you to tell them that,” he said. When he walked in the door he was pocketing a cell phone.

“Soon it will be time for your brunch,” Benoit said as she put her purse down on Chellis’s table. It irritated Gaudet that she occupied the man’s space so casually.

“Why hasn’t Roberto called back? What in the hell are they doing? Do I have to wipe his ass?”

At that moment they both saw Gaudet standing behind the desk.

Without smiling or offering a greeting, Gaudet walked to the sitting area toward the front of the office. He knew that when his clients needed him they had no alternative, so unlike in most personal service businesses the niceties could be ignored. When they were seated, each with a cup of coffee, Gaudet looked longer at Benoit than at Chellis.

“Your mistress is very beautiful. Like your wife.”

“She is my assistant.”

“Tell me the problem, then. But be more truthful about the problem than you are about your love life.”

“You show respect or we have no deal.”

“Relax. She is not ashamed of you. Why are you ashamed of her?”

“Get out.”

Gaudet rose to leave.

“Wait. Just wait,” Benoit said. “DuShane is not ashamed of me. He is protecting someone I love. Marie, his wife, is my sister. There is no disrespect. So why can’t we all sit down and do our business?”

Gaudet hesitated.

“Sit down. I have always paid you. That should mean something,” Chellis said. “We know you are the best. There are others, but everyone tells me none as good as Gaudet.”

Gaudet sat. “As I said before, I no longer work merely for cash.”

“I’d heard. What do you want?”

“A piece of something. Part of a venture. I think you need me in the arms part of your business. Ten percent. I want ten percent You’ve been holding out on me.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it? Think of the future. In that line of business you may need a scapegoat who can disappear into thin air. Think of the advantages.”

The men wrangled for fifteen minutes over their egos and their money.

“Five percent,” Chellis finally said. “And that is asinine. You didn’t build this business.”

“I’m about to save your skin.”

“And you have to take care of things without additional fees since you’d be a partner.”

“Five percent will do, but I get full audit privileges. My people look at anything and everything any time they want. And of course I will still receive basic cash fees in addition.”

“You’re not being rational.”

“To the contrary. The business of killing people is a precise science. You clearly need someone dead. Take it or leave it.”

“My attorneys will make a draft of the assignment documents.”

“My attorneys will make the first draft after conferring with your lawyers on the subject of the involved entities.”

“It’s only the weapons stuff.”

“That’s right. Samir’s side,” Gaudet said. “So let’s start with the facts of the problem.”

Chellis began telling the story, and when he was nearly through the phone rang.

“It’s Roberto,” Benoit said, looking at the name flashing.

“You’ll want to hear this,” Chellis said.

Gaudet nodded. They turned on the speakerphone.

“What’s the status?”