City of Endless Night (Pendergast #17)(63)
He took a step forward, then another; and then, charged with a sudden onrushing of emotion, he planted his feet in the grass and spoke the first words he had said aloud in more than two days:
“Here shall be the bonfire of the vanities!”
43
IT HAD TAKEN Longstreet some time to make the phone calls and apply the necessary pressure, especially over a holiday, but by 1 PM on New Year’s Day, Pendergast’s Rolls was once more creeping into the underground parking garage of the DigiFlood complex in Lower Manhattan. The guards meeting their car led them to what seemed the farthest spot from the elevators, necessitating a five-minute walk back to the entrance, where they were denied access to the private elevators, and instead were required to take the concrete stairs up to street level and enter the building through the main lobby. And here they were selected for extra vetting by security. Howard Longstreet felt his annoyance rising, but he kept his mouth shut. This was Pendergast’s deal, and the special agent seemed to take it in stride, unperturbed, not remarking on the treatment that could only, Longstreet felt, be aimed at humiliating them.
At last they cleared security and rode an elevator to the top floor. Now they were ushered into a small, windowless room, where they were seated and made to wait, watched over by an impassive young drone in an expensive suit.
After an hour in the room, with no visible sign of annoyance from Pendergast, Longstreet finally lost his temper. “This is outrageous!” he said to the drone. “Two senior FBI agents on an active investigation, being obstructed! We’re doing Ozmian a favor by trying to solve the case of his murdered daughter—and we’re forced to sit here like this?”
The drone only nodded. “I’m sorry—orders.”
Longstreet turned to Pendergast. “I’d just as soon go back to Federal Plaza, get a court order ourselves—and a SWAT team for good measure—and beat down the man’s door with a battering ram.”
“Du calme, H; du calme. All this is obviously calculated to create a particular effect—as was the case with my visit here two days ago. Mr. Ozmian wishes to demonstrate total control of the situation. Let us allow him to believe he has that. Remember what you told me earlier: this is my show; you’re just along to observe. Even in the waiting, we’ve been shown valuable information.”
Longstreet swallowed and sat back, determined to let Pendergast handle it his way. The two sat in the room for another half an hour before the door opened once again and they were at last ushered into Ozmian’s private eyrie. As they approached the huge double doors through soaring spaces, Longstreet was surprised at the number of people busily working all around them on what was a major holiday. Things such as holidays probably meant very little to Anton Ozmian.
The man himself was sitting behind his massive desk, arms folded and fingers interlaced on the surface of black granite. He regarded them impassively. A woman sat in one of the chrome-and-leather chairs arrayed before the desk. She seemed more interested in the view of New York Harbor through the floor-to-ceiling windows than she was in the new arrivals.
After an insolently lengthy interval of silence, Ozmian gestured for Pendergast and Longstreet to take seats. “Special Agent Pendergast,” he said laconically. “How nice to see you again.” He turned to Longstreet. “And you are—?”
“Howard Longstreet, executive associate director for intelligence.”
“Ah, of course. You’re the person responsible for expediting this meeting.”
Longstreet began to speak, but Pendergast restrained him with a gentle hand on his arm.
Ozmian smirked at Longstreet. “Well, I’m pleased you’re here. Because this investigation could certainly use some intelligence.” The CEO turned his attention back to Pendergast. “No doubt you’ve come to fill me in on the blitzkrieg swiftness and rapier-like brilliance with which you’ve been advancing the case.”
“No,” Pendergast said. He was still, Longstreet noted, adopting the deferential posture he’d assumed while waiting at security.
At this, Ozmian affected surprise. He sat back in his chair, fixing Pendergast with his ascetic stare. “Very well, then. Why are you here?”
“Mr. Ozmian, in your line of work, you buy out, take over, or otherwise absorb other companies and their technologies.”
“It’s been known to happen.”
“Is it fair to say that not all of these companies are eager to be so acquired?”
A look of amusement came over Ozmian’s face. “That’s right. It’s called a hostile takeover.”
“Forgive my ignorance. In matters of business, I am but a child. Is this the case with most of your takeovers? That they are hostile?”
“In many cases, the CEOs and shareholders were happy to be made rich.”
“I see.” Pendergast appeared to consider this for a moment, as if such a thing had not occurred to him before. “But there are some who aren’t so happy?”
Ozmian shrugged, as if the observation was so obvious as not to merit reply.
“Again, you’ll pardon my ignorance,” Pendergast continued in the same deferential tone. “And if these people were unhappy—extremely unhappy—they may well have come to hate you, personally?”
There was a brief silence during which Pendergast sat forward, almost imperceptibly, in his chair.