Indefinite Renewal Page 24
Then the door clicked firmly in place, its bolt catching with a surprisingly loud report, and the noise threw Nick off, effectively bouncing him back into his own head and leaving him momentarily disoriented there on the stair. That had certainly been strange—the oddest part, and he wasn’t sure if he hadn’t just imagined it, was that the two thoughts had almost seemed to feel different, somehow. But maybe that was just his imagination, or something to do with their emotional content, or any of a hundred other things he couldn’t understand yet. After all, there weren’t exactly any handbooks on how to read minds, or at least none that didn’t require Power Pyramids, or Yoga training, or Mystic Red Dragon Tea.
Nick shook his head to clear it, and chuckled a little at the images he had conjured up. But at least he had learned one extremely valuable thing just now—Daniel hadn’t been immune to it, and he apparently either couldn’t block or hadn’t been prepared enough to do so. So, at the least, his new abilities would work on the others, and at best, his plans had actually succeeded, and he possessed something the others had never even dreamed of!
The idea brought a smile to his face, and it was with a lighter heart and more energy that he headed down the stairs, nodding cheerfully at the handful of men and women he saw lingering in rooms along the way. The rest of the day he planned to do some of that editing he had mentioned, shaping the book into what he hoped would be a publishable form, and tonight he and Gordo would finally get to play some pool again.
Tomorrow it was back to the brokerage firm, and then the real fun would begin!
Chapter Thirty-one
The next morning found a refreshed and cheerful Nick entering the H&H building. He had met up with his friend the previous evening, and they had spent several hours consuming pizza and beer and shooting pool, just hanging out and chatting. Gordo had asked about the book, of course, and Nick had promised to let him read it as soon as he had finished, and then the topic had switched to a mixture of gossip, jokes, idle banter, and admiration for several of the women who wandered by. It had been more relaxing than Nick had felt for a while, and he had slept well after finally getting home, to wake alert and eager to get moving. It looked to be a good day.
He nodded to the doorman as he sauntered past, and picked up the man’s silent query of Who’s that? followed by, Well, he looks like he knows where he’s going. That brought a smile, and Nick whistled softly as he waited for the elevator to show. He was the only person waiting, and when the compartment finally arrived he stepped in and mentally tapped the button he wanted. Just like in the movies, he thought as he stood against the back walls, hands laced behind his back, as the doors slid shut, and then cracked up. Great—maybe I should change my name to match my new, sinister powers! Something like Lucifer, maybe? Or just change my last name to Scratch? Get some red contacts and a cane, and I’d be all set!
The doors slid open again at ten, and Nick stepped out into the hall, glancing around the foyer as he crossed to the glass door. It looked exactly the same as before, with its dim lighting, plush carpet, and improbably healthy plants, but the feeling of dread and cold was absent now. This time he strode confidently down the hall, not bothering to glance to the side as he rounded the corner—he did reach out with his mind, however, into the shadowy partitioned area to his right, and received a comforting image of a busy secretarial pool, where a dozen or so men and women made phone calls, typed on computers, received printouts, and checked appointment books for their superiors in the shuttered offices across the hall. Goblins and lurkers indeed!
Lansford’s door was closed, of course, and the blinds as dark as before, but Nick could sense the activity behind it. He knocked once, loudly, and waited for a moment. This time he was listening carefully, and he heard the faint thump of feet on thick carpet, and the twist of the knob as it turned, before the door slid open before him. Lansford studied him for only an instant before a smile creased his face and wrinkled the corner of his eyes.
“Nick Gordon!” The door was thrust aside, and a heavy hand grabbed his own, while the other large appendage latched onto his shoulder and propelled him into the room. “Good to see you again! Come on in!”
Nick smiled and accepted the forceful invitation, allowing himself to be pushed inside and the door shut solidly behind him, and then permitted himself to be guided to the same chair he had sat in before. He was dressed in a T-shirt and shorts again, and the room was as frigid as before, but this time he had something extra to work with—a moment’s concentration, and his body warmed slightly, as he discovered that he could control his own body heat with his pyrokinesis. Good thing, too—this was the first time he had actually tried it, and he had had a momentary vision of lighting the chair underneath him. That would certainly warm the place up, but he didn’t think the stockbroker would appreciate having his furniture used in an impromptu bonfire, and the fact that there were no matches or lighter fluid involved might bother him a little. Still, it hadn’t happened, so there wasn’t any problem.
While Nick had been getting comfortable, Lansford had repositioned himself in his own chair behind the desk, and now he eyed Nick attentively across the polished expanse.
“So, what can I do for you? More purchases?”
“That’s right,” Nick replied, and on impulse he glanced at the other man’s surface thoughts—they were very evident, as if he had whispered them under his breath or had them subtitled across a screen.
Damn kid—why is Daniel using him to handle such valuable commodities? What makes him so worthy of trust?
Nick found himself smiling at that, and he actually answered the unspoken question. “Daniel extends his greetings, and wanted me to tell you that he appreciated your prompt response, and also the courtesy you extended to me.” He allowed his smile to become a little more self-conscious, and dropped his voice slightly. “This is the first big matter he’s let me handle—you know, sort of a trial responsibility—and he’s been pretty pleased so far, so thanks for your help. I’d hate to have him lose faith in me.”
Lucky stiff, the older man’s thoughts responded, to get such a big break so young. Out loud he replied with a friendly smile. “No problem, Nick—Daniel must trust you to let you handle this, and that’s certainly good enough for me.”
“Thanks.” Nick ducked his head and focused on pulling the new sheet of instructions from his bag in order to stifle his laughter. Pompous ass! After a brief pause to get control again, he straightened up and handed the paper across.
“Here’s the new list.”
Lansford studied it carefully, muttering softly to himself as he read, and Nick didn’t need the view into the other man’s head to tell what he was thinking as he read each item. “Hm . . . good purchase, that . . . that one’s more risky than I would like, but it could pay off . . . that’s a smart move, consolidating that now . . . what the hell does he want with that?” Finally he put the list down atop his desk and lifted his gaze to meet Nick’s again.
“Right, well none of these should be a problem. Did Daniel need anything else? Or you, perhaps?”
Nick hesitated for a second. Should he ask? Then he shrugged—it was the easiest way, and it probably couldn’t hurt much. “There was one thing.”
The broker leaned back in his chair, hands caressing the armrests lazily. “Name it.”
“Well, it wasn’t anything major,” Nick lied, trying his best to sound casual. “I was just wondering if you knew of a man named Francisco d’Montan? I think he has some dealings here, as well.”
He saw the thoughts run through the older man’s mind as he frowned and shook his head. “No, I can’t say that I do. I can ask around though, if you’d like.” But underneath he was thinking, D’Montan? I wonder if that’s the eccentric Italian client Joe Adams keeps bragging about? He sounds almost as unpredictable as Daniel is—maybe they know each other?
“No, that won’t be necessary,” Nick replied, pulling away from the chair and standing up. “I was just curious.”
“Yes, I’m sure.” He concentrated briefly. “Forget about it.”
Their eyes held together for a second, Lansford’s slightly dazed, and then he blinked and stepped back. “Right. Well, good to see you again, Nick. Stop by again some time.”
Nick nodded and stepped back out into the hall, turning as he did so. “Thanks for all of your help, Mr. Lansford.” He extended his hand first, and they shook briefly, before Nick headed down the hall and the other man retreated to the comforts of his Arctic offices.
Nick waited until his footsteps were the only sound in the hall, then turned and stepped up to the nearest door and knocked, sharp and quick.
There was a moment of waiting, and then a woman answered the door. She was dressed in a business suit and blouse, and Nick could see a comfortable office over her shoulder, not as spacious as Lansford’s but bigger than most professors ever got. She seemed a little annoyed at being disturbed, and Nick made himself as apologetic as possible.
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry,” he stammered, “I thought this was Mr. Adams’ office.”
That got a frown from her. “Adams?”
“Yeah, Joe Adams—they told me this was where I could find him.”
He paid close attention to her thoughts then, and was rewarded with, But Joe’s upstairs, in 1140! Can’t this moron read? Out loud all she said was, “There was obviously some kind of mix-up. This is my office,” she pointed to the center of the door, where a plaque read DiAnna Ferne, “and I’m neither a Joe nor an Adams. Good day.” Nick had to jump back to keep from getting hit by the door as she slammed it shut, but he was smiling as he headed around the corner and back toward the elevator. So, Adams was upstairs, was he? Excellent.
The eleventh floor looked exactly the same as the tenth floor, except that the carpeting was mauve instead of blue—Nick checked the signs on each door, but he wasn’t surprised to discover that the one marked ADAMS was directly over Lansford’s. Obviously the corner offices were prime locations, and it stood to reason that both Daniel and Francisco would pick important members of the firm to do business with. The blinds here were a little more open, and Nick could actually make out a dark figure moving around by the window.
Well, this was it, then. He closed his eyes and stood there for a moment, breathing deeply and trying to calm the mounting excitement racing through him, then blinked and pounded on the door.
There was a shuffle inside, and he watched the blur grow closer and closer. Then there was a faint click, and the door slid open slightly, as a man stuck his face out.
“Yes?” He didn’t look anything like Nick would have guessed—he had half-expected the man to be a carbon copy of Lansford, with different color hair, perhaps, or brown eyes instead of blue. The man who regarded him bore no resemblance to the other stockbroker, however—he had a friendly round face, with thinning dark hair and small brown eyes behind wireless glasses. The gaze he trained on Nick was business-like but friendly, with neither Lansford’s coldness nor the woman downstairs’ impatience. Perhaps this wasn’t so bad, after all.
“Mr. Adams?” Nick wasn’t entirely sure how to go about this, so he opted for the most direct route, and hoped his new abilities would be enough to see him through this.
“Yes?” Adams opened the door fully now, revealing that he didn’t have a jacket on and had rolled his shirtsleeves up over his elbows, and enhancing the image that he was far more easy-going than the other two Nick had encountered here. He peered at the younger man before him. “Do I know you?”
Nick shook his head. “No, sir, but we have a mutual friend. Francisco d’Montan.”
Upon hearing the name “d’Montan,” Adams straightened slightly, his posture and expression somehow becoming more business-like, and Nick couldn’t resist snatching a glimpse of his thoughts. What he saw surprised him—the flash of What is that insane little ass up to now? Is this fresh-faced kid some kind of courier, to help flesh out his paranoiac fears? didn’t match at all with the easy-going exterior facing him, and he probed a little deeper, then recoiled, pulling his psychic feelers back quickly and repressing a shudder.
The man wasn’t human! Or at least, he didn’t seem to have any human emotion—any feelings he expressed, other than greed and envy, seemed to be just covers to hide his real thoughts. Lansford acted colder, but at least he was honest about it—this guy was far more crafty, and far more subtle. He was also, Nick realized with a chill, far more dangerous to try and manipulate—after all, how did one shape the emotions and thoughts of a man who had no real emotions and hid his true thoughts behind a perpetual mask? Such a man shaped his own emotions at will, and so would be far more alert to any attempts to alter them without his consent.
Nick felt a thin trickle of sweat bonding the fabric of his shirt to his back as he considered the new risks that had appeared. He half-considered simply turning around and leaving; it would mean altering his own plans, and perhaps even scrapping them all together, but at least he wouldn’t have to deal with such a devious man until he was more confident, better prepared. But he had come this far, and if he turned around and left now it would probably make the man even more suspicious, and possibly alert the others to his interests and intents. He couldn’t risk their realizing that he wasn’t the helpless little novice they took him for, especially not yet when he didn’t have any sort of power-base built up, and that meant he would have to press forward with what he was doing.
Besides, he comforted himself, he had the advantage of being able to read minds—all he had to do here was play along, and let the man’s own thoughts provide him with answers. He did that now, leaning in slightly and dropping his tone, while making a show of glancing back over his shoulder.
“Mr. d’Montan sent me in his absence today, in the hopes that the ruse would throw his pursuers and opponents off of his trail.” Adams looked faintly disgusted for an instant, then apparently mastered himself and let loose a hearty chuckle, clapping Nick on the back in friendly fashion.
“Well, if that’s how Francisco wants to play it, that’s okay by me—it certainly doesn’t hurt to be cautious, especially not while dealing with such large sums.” He gestured inside with his free hand, all the while thinking, That lunatic! Next he’ll think there are aliens hiding under his car, or something! but what he actually said was, “Come in and make yourself comfortable, Mr. . . .”
“Harcourt,” Nick replied with a smile as he accepted the offer and stepped across the threshold. “Jonathan Harcourt.” The line “enter freely and of your own will” danced across his head for an instant then, but he dismissed it and moved toward the window. There were several bookshelves in this office, all filled with books and small sculptures, and there was a couch and coffee table next to the desk, but other than that, and a rise of about fifteen degrees, it was the same office he had been in ten minutes ago. He almost expected to see Lansford sitting behind the desk, hands at rest on the chair arms, but the seat was empty, and he settled into the chair across from it nervously, trying to shake the feeling of disquiet he was getting.
Stop thinking about the differences between the two and get it over with, he admonished himself, and turned his attention back to Adams as the man, having shut the office door behind him, joined him by the desk and perched on its edge, hands gripping the sides for support. He looked for all the world like some old professor teaching an informal seminar, but Nick wasn’t fooled by the pose.
“So, Mr. Harcourt,” Adams began, leaning back slightly and reaching for a small Rolodex that sat on his desktop, “you say Francisco sent you?”
Nick nodded—he had been expecting this. “That’s right.”
“Mm-hm.” Adams flipped the rolodex open and, after leafing through it for a moment, settled on one card, wh
ich he removed and held cupped in his hand. “In that case, I hope you don’t mind if I ask for his identification number?”
Nick glanced at him mentally, then relaxed and smiled. “Not at all. It’s”—he glanced again, more closely this time, and repeated the numbers that he saw in the older man’s head—“six-eight-two, seven-four-three, eleven-seventeen.”
Adams nodded once and put the card back, and Nick had to admire the man’s resourcefulness—there hadn’t been anything on the card in the first place. The wily old goat had the number memorized, and used the card so that people would think that he was actually checking them; that way, if anyone ever stole someone else’s number, all they’d get would be a bunch of blank cards. Talk about paranoid! But he let that drop as he focused on the inevitable next question, the one he wasn’t prepared to answer yet. Unfortunately, that didn’t stop Adams from asking it anyway.
“Well, what does Francisco want to do now?”
That’s a damn good question, Nick admitted to himself. What does he—or rather, what do I—want to do now? He checked the memory of his talk with Lansford for clues, then scanned Adams mind as well—at least he now had both Daniel’s latest list of purchases and Francisco’ current assets to work with. He thought quickly, and began splicing bits together, a little here and a little there. He’d wing the rest.
“First of all,” he announced, “about those shares of Anex Chemicals. Let’s . . .” he paused to check his audience’s response.
About time, Adams was silently agreeing. Those stocks are plummeting fast, and it’ll get worse when the news of their merger goes public.
“. . . double them,” Nick finished, and enjoyed the brief flicker of disbelief that froze the broker’s face. Then he reminded himself not to show too much enjoyment over the prospect, and continued.