Arctic Fire (11 page)

“You’re a pretty sharp kid and I doubt that
you’re struggling much.”

Jimmy gave him a slick, knowing smile as the
elevator stopped and the door opened on the 15
^th
floor.
He stepped aside and motioned for him to step through.

“Welcome to the hallowed halls.” Jimmy said as
he took the lead. “If only these walls could talk. I’ve seen so
much stuff here it could keep a reality show going for ten
years!”

“I bet you have.” Pike smiled.

“Well, here we are sir.” Jimmy pulled the
key-card out of his pocket and swiped it through the reader. “It’s
just your standard swipe card lock sir.” Jimmy said, then handed it
to Pike and opened the door.

Pike was no country bumpkin fresh off the turnip
truck, but when Jimmy opened the door to his room, he felt his jaw
drop again and hit in the same spot as it had in the limousine.

Jimmy smiled to himself- he never tired of the
look on people’s faces when they saw one of the suites for the
first time. “The master bedroom with a king bed is there,” he said
pointing, “and the second bedroom with a queen is over there. Your
wet-bar, microwave and refrigerator are there and of course you
have your flat screens and internet along with Butler service.”

“Butler service?”

“Yes sir.”

“Who’s staying here with me?” Pike asked in
awe.

“That would be up to you sir.” Jimmy replied,
doing his best to keep a straight face.

“I mean this place is huge. It must be at least
1,200 square feet.”

“1500 to be exact. It’ll do in a pinch.” Jimmy
said smiling.

“You could say that.” Pike replied, slowly
recovering from his daze.

“You’re a pretty sharp guy; I think you can find
your way around.” Out of habit, Jimmy reached into his coat pocket
and pulled out a business card.

“They say that what happens in Vegas, stays in
Vegas. The same is true here in New York. In my spiel, this is the
part where I tell the lonely out-of-towner that if he wants to
experience the more personal pleasures of the Big Apple to call the
number on the back.” Jimmy hesitated for a moment then put the card
back in his pocket. “But you don’t seem to be that kind of a
guy.”

Pike smiled and nodded his head in appreciation.
“Big Apple? I’ve heard that term all my life but never really knew
where the nickname came from. I know you probably get asked that a
million times but can you humor this lonely out-of-towner?”

Jimmy chucked. “You’d really be surprised how
many times I
don’t
get asked that question. But when I do,
the answer I give usually depends and who’s asking. If it’s Marge
and Homer Simpson fresh from Springfield I usually tell them that
it came from a famous turn of the century brothel whose madam was
named Eve. That’s not true of course but it adds a little bit of
excitement to their trip here.

In the real history lesson, the term is
generally credited to a sportswriter named John Fitz Gerald in the
1920s. Short version is he was talking to a couple of stable
hands

who were taking their horse to New York telling
them they had better fatten it up or all they’d get from the apple
was the core. It’s also been associated with jazz musicians as the
Big Apple being the biggest and best place to go.” Jimmy headed
toward the door and turned around when he reached it.

“If there is anything else you need, just call
the front desk and I’ll be right up.”

“Thanks for the info Jimmy,” Pike said as he
reached for his wallet.

Jimmy held up his hands. “No offense Mr. Pike,
but you couldn’t afford the tip that usually comes with this room.
Besides, it’s all been taken care of. I don’t know who you are or
what you’ve done but you’ve got connections to some
very
wealthy people. My paycheck just doubled this week because of you,
and I thank you for that. Now, maybe
I
can afford to eat
here.”

Jimmy opened the door and smiled. “Be sure to
check out the balcony; it has a great view the skyline and
overlooks Grand Army Plaza and the Pulitzer Fountain. It’s kind of
cool at night. Anyway, good night Mr. Pike.”

Pike stood and thought for a moment; how could
Jimmy not know who he was? His picture had been plastered all over
the newspapers and television- after all; he was “The Blast from
the Past.” He stopped for a moment, was he actually upset that
someone in the known universe didn’t know who
he
was? Pike
shook his head; if he started believing all the hype about himself
then he really was in trouble. Still, it was hard not to get caught
up in all the rhetoric standing in the middle of this huge, opulent
suite. He smiled, and resisted the urge to shout
hello
, to
see if he could hear an echo. Shaking his head at it all, he
wondered if he should leave a trail of breadcrumbs as he headed
toward the balcony.

Pike stepped out into the cool night and caught
a whiff of salt air coming up from the harbor. It was the Atlantic
Ocean, salt water just like the Pacific, but it smelled different.
Without warning, a wave of homesickness washed over him. He wished
he were back home in Seattle, at Pike Place Market, watching the
flying fish, looking at the tourists, breathing the fresh salt air
of the Pacific. Gazing at the fountain he suddenly thought, “what
am I doing here?”

Leaving his melancholy mood outside, he found
the bedroom and a king-size bed that looked big enough to land the
Clipper
on. He also found a black tuxedo and a note
attached. He frowned.

Gabe, the car will be back at 9:45 to pick
you up.

We’re attending a last minute charity
ball.

No rest for the wicked, or the Blast from
the Past.

Sorry, Beth

Pike glanced at his watch and muttered; that was
just a little under an hour from now. Now he knew why they were
smiling at him when he got out of the car.

After wandering a bit in his house-size suite,
he finally stumbled upon the bathroom. The bathroom was huge, no
surprise there he thought, decorated with marble mosaic tile and
24-carat gold plated fixtures. He almost felt guilty using it, but
use it he did as he took a quick shower then shaved.

He put on the tux and was surprised at how well
it fit, like it was custom tailored. But then again, considering
all he had been through today, he knew he really shouldn’t be
surprised at all. He stood in front of the mirror and thought he
looked like James Bond. In his best British accent he said, “Pike …
Gabriel Pike.” He smiled at the thought of being the famous secret
agent, then practiced the Bond walk from the opening credits where
the secret agent walked across the screen then turned and fired his
gun. After saving the world from the evil plans of SPECTRE and from
the likes of Dr. No, Goldfinger, and Blofeld, he noticed the light
on his phone was blinking.

The first message was from Marilyn, checking to
see how the meeting went and if Cain needed any additional
information. It was to the point and professional, a pleasant
surprise from what he had expected from her. The next message was
from Nate, saying he had seen him on the evening news and was
wondering if the new Gabriel Pike action figure would be out in
time for Christmas? “Ha ha,” Pike said to himself, guess who gets
to dangle under the Deception Pass Bridge and checking the supports
when I get back.

He tapped for the third message and was
surprised to hear it was K.D. She asked how Mr. Hot Shot was doing
and if his head was getting too big to fit through the door? She
chatted about things around the office and warned him that she
wasn’t going to pick up the slack and do her work and his while he
was gone. K.D. told him about the dirty look Marilyn had given her
when she asked her for his hotel number, then she laughed, saying
that that look alone was worth the price of admission. He smiled
too; he wished he could have seen that. She wished him well and
told him to take care and that she’d see him when he got back.

Pike just sat on his bed holding the receiver in
his hand trying to figure out what that was all about. He liked
K.D. and they worked well together but he had never thought of her
on anything more than a professional level. K.D.? Hmm, his mind
started to wander. She was kind of cute and she was as smart as she
was good looking…interesting. Suddenly the alarm on his watch
beeped, bringing him back to the moment. Nine-forty. He had five
minutes to get downstairs.

He hung up the phone, bounced up from the bed
and headed toward the door. As he passed by the mirror, he gave
himself one more Bond look, adjusted his bow tie and smiled, “Mr.
Hot Shot!”

Chapter
Eleven

“Thank you for seeing me at such a late hour
Senator.”

“Nonsense, Nigel, nonsense. Please, come in.”
Senator Harlen “Pug” Williams smiled and waited for Cain to come to
him, rising from behind a desk so large it must have taken an
entire forest to build. Williams was a short man with a round face
that matched his barrel-shaped body. He was in his early sixties
but had the enthusiasm and step of a man in his forties. After
shaking hands, Williams pointed to a chair for Cain.

“You remember Bobby Thornton, my aid?” Williams
waved toward a young man in his late twenties, sitting behind a
desk that was miniscule compared to Williams’. Thornton looked up
and smiled at Cain but was cringing on the inside; he hated it when
the Senator belittled him by calling him Bobby. “Bobby, would you
fetch us some coffee, or perhaps Mr. Cain would like something a
little stronger?” Williams said with a wink.

“Robert,” Cain said, nodding to the aid. “And no
thank you, nothing for me. I have the children’s charity banquet to
attend tonight.”

“Yes, that’s right, I forgot about that. Wasn’t
I supposed to attend that?” Williams said looking to his aid.

“Yes sir.”

“Well, why didn’t you remind me?” Irritation and
impatience filled the Senator’s voice.

“I tried to sir, but…”

“Nonsense!” Williams blurted out. He leaned over
the desk as if to whisper to Cain but spoke loud enough for
Thornton to hear. “Like they say, good help is so hard to find.
He’s a good kid, got some political sense but just doesn’t get it
sometimes.” Williams leaned back then spoke in a louder, commanding
tone. “Go upstairs and lay out my tux and call Abigail and tell her
I’ll be spending the night here. I’ll be too tired for the drive
home after the banquet.”

“Yes sir.” Thornton replied. “A pleasure to see
you again, Mr. Cain,” he said as he stood and left the room. Cain
could see the young man trying to disguise the fury building in his
eyes. He wondered if he ever treated his employees that way. He
looked back to the Senator who either didn’t see his assistant’s
anger or didn’t care.

“I see your boy arrived in town today,” Williams
said, pointing to Pike’s picture on the front page of the paper.
“You really lucked out when you signed him on board.”

Cain nodded. “I like to think that I make my own
luck, but in this case I couldn’t agree with you more.”

“Is he going to be there tonight?”

“Yes, Elizabeth and I are picking him up.” Cain
could see a flash of wanderlust cross Williams’ face at the mention
of Mallory’s name.

“Good. I’d like to get a few shots with him.”
Williams continued. “It never hurts to have your picture taken with
a real-life hero.”

“Always keep yourself in the public eye,” Cain
agreed.

“All right, down to business then. What brings
you out to see me this late, Nigel?”

“Any trouble with the Senate Transportation
Committee today? Is everything still a go for getting into the
harbor?”

“All the wheels have been greased and doors
open. Barring a major catastrophe or a flat out refusal by your boy
to sign off, it’ll be smooth sailing.” Williams said with a big
self-satisfying smile. When he smiled, his eyes nearly disappeared
into the rolls of fat in his face, just one of the many reasons why
he got the nickname of Pug.

“Excellent.”

“You know,” he said, leaning forward over his
desk, “there was a lot of opposition to your project. Many feel
this is just a grandstanding scheme for some hidden agenda of
yours. Nobody trusts us politicians or the super wealthy.”

“Not everyone has your foresight Senator, not
all can see the big picture the way you do. The public doesn’t
always know what’s best for them, even when it’s staring them in
the face. That’s why we need great leaders like you to guide them.
The people of New York realize that and soon the entire nation
will.”

“You know,” Williams said, with a smug look and
equally smug tone, “there has been some talk of me running for the
Presidency next year?”

Cain nodded, then leaned slightly forward as if
giving more emphasis to his words. “When the nation sees your
wisdom and forethought with this project, who but you could they
turn to, to lead them? You are not only the natural choice, you are
the
only
choice!”

Williams leaned back in his chair, allowing his
mind to wander for a moment, imagining himself being on
Pennsylvania Avenue on a brisk, January inaugural morning. “And of
course,” Cain almost whispered, planting a seed, “you’ll have the
full resources of Cain Industries to help you get there.”

The Senator broke out in laughter. “You silver
tongued devil, you’re almost as good as me. It’s a good thing you
don’t have any political ambitions.”

“Who says I don’t.” Cain replied coyly.

Williams paused for moment and looked at Cain,
sizing up the statement, then both men burst out laughing. Williams
shook his finger at Cain like he was reprimanding a wayward
child.