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After she told them who she was and why she was here, one of the gate guards asked to see her ID. The other one patted her down and then wanded her, taking his time and missing nothing. She appreciated the professionalism. He didn’t even try to cop a feel.
Clarisse had dressed carefully for the meeting. Black jacket and matching skirt. A quick blond dye job, reading glasses, muted lipstick and makeup, low heels. No bag. No phone, no wallet. They would have confiscated them anyway.
She was driven up to the main house by another man in a golf cart outfitted with gold trim. She viewed the multibuilding complex. It was mostly hidden from the street by the wall and massive landscape plantings, boulders, and other architectural features. She watched as an AgustaWestland chopper lifted off from the rear grounds, banked right, and drifted out over the ocean.
“I hope that’s not Mr. Trask leaving,” she said to the man next to her.
He didn’t even bother to answer.
She was dropped off at the front door and it was opened by a woman dressed as a butler, right down to the starched collar and bow tie. She was about fifty, trim, and without a hair out of place; she looked pleased with her lot in life.
“This way, Ms. Peters,” she said, her voice low, her gaze pointed at her well-polished shoes.
So she can have plausible deniability with the cops if I end up as a corpse somewhere, Clarisse thought.
She was led down a long plushly decorated hall, from which rooms of considerable size and luxury branched off like ribs from a spine. They came to a set of tall double doors. The butler knocked, was told to enter, and held the door open for her.
Clarisse stepped through and listened to the other woman’s footsteps marching away.
The room was small and minimally furnished.
There were only two upholstered chairs with long, straight backs.
A man was sitting in one of them. He lifted a hand and pointed her to the other one.
She came forward and sat down, adjusting her glasses and taking him in.
Nathan Trask was smaller than she would have expected, since he loomed so large in life in all other ways. In her bare feet, they were about the same height, she calculated. He was fifty-one, she knew, from her research. His build was stocky but strong. His suit was tailored, but he wore it with indifference. The ring on his finger was probably worth more than the first payment she’d gotten from Senator Wright. Yet it was the only item of excess on him. His shoes were ordinary, his tie and shirt the same.
He looked back at her with unblinking eyes the color of asphalt.
Okay, that was a bit unnerving, she had to admit.
He lifted a hand. “Drink?” he asked in a raspy voice that might speak to a cold coming or going.
“No, thank you.”
He nodded and let his hand fall to his lap. He never took his eyes off her. She had been told by some in the know that this would be the case. It was as though he was imprinting every bit of her onto his memory. Never a good thing with a sociopath.
And don’t I know that?
“You asked to meet?” he prompted her. “You said you had some information that might be useful to me?”
She nodded. “I do.”
“Normally, I would have ignored the request, and you wouldn’t be sitting there. I had you checked out, of course, Ms. Peters. But it’s all bullshit.Of course.Made up. But your background cover is good. My people couldn’t punch through it and they usually can. So kudos to you. And that intrigued me enough to allow you in the door. Otherwise, it never would have happened. And I like new things, keeps me young. So impress me. Or not.”
“Why let me in if you can’t confirm who I am? I could be a threat.”
“There are six guns pointed at you right now from inconspicuous holes in the walls. You can’t see them, nor can I. But they’re still there. You’ll never feel a thing. At least they tell me that. I have no personal experience, you understand. But maybe you don’t believe me.”
On cue, she heard, one after the other, six gun slides being racked.
“Impressive,” she said demurely.
“Flashy, actually, and I’m more into substance.” He cleared his throat. “So, the information?”
“Daniel Pottinger?”
