Wake Me When It's Over Read online

  “Hey, remember me? Don Rutkowski? Pressley introduced us.”

  “I remember you. Come on in,” he said. He turned back to his panel to press and hold a button, and then grab a clipboard that hung on a wall hook next to the console. “I’m monitoring the climatological data, and I have to time-stamp my reading.”

  The room was a high-tech maze of circuit boxes, gauges, illuminated buttons, and electronic circuit diagrams. The fluorescent lights and aluminum-paneled ceiling gave the place a science-fiction feel. Don felt he’d entered a scene from the movie Alien.

  “I see you’re checking out the building innards,” the man said. His name tag read “Fletcher.”

  “I am. We’ve been studying the blueprints, and I wanted to get a firsthand look. Is this the main room for Cobo’s engineering?”

  “No. For a facility of this size, we have two control centers for redundancy. We call them MEEP rooms, short for the mechanical, electrical, energy, and plumbing systems.”

  “What can you control from this room?” Don asked. “For instance, can you turn off the heating systems and lock down the elevators?”

  “Oh, sure. There are security codes I need to enter, but with those codes I can do lots of things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, I can control the hot-water circulating systems, turn the exhaust and sprinkler systems on and off, lock the escalators, turn lights on and off. Those sorts of things.”

  “So, if someone got in here, they could really do some damage to Cobo.”

  “Well sure. Is that what you guys are worried about?”

  Don hesitated. He wasn’t sure how to answer that question without compromising the confidentiality DADA wanted.

  “You don’t have to answer the question. But it must be some big deal, ’cause I have to come in for a meeting tomorrow morning— on my day off,” Fletcher said with emphasis. “Well, I’ll tell you what I know. Somebody would really need to know what the hell they’re doing to mess with any of our systems. We’re state of the art. I’m only using that clipboard so the chief engineer can come in here and see that I’m making my rounds. Any system that is touched is tracked on a computer program. When I pushed that button to test the temperature in the People Mover corridor, the computer knew what I was doing, why I was doing it, and that it was a routine protocol. If I tried to do something out of the ordinary, like turning off the HVAC systems, I’d have to input my personal security code to do that.”

  “But what if someone had the personal codes?”

  “We have many fail-safes. If an operation is initiated that is contradictory to the protocols, the computer will begin an authorization check. If there’s an emergency, depending on what it is, the computer can call the fire department, the police department, the water treatment plant, the power company, even the People Mover control desk.”

  “Got it,” Don said.

  “Did you see the camera when you came into the mechanical room?”

  “I saw the ones in the corridor.”

  “Well, they’re 360 cameras. As soon as you activated the outer door with your ID, that camera took a picture of you. Since it’s Sunday, the door also sounds an alarm here in the control room, and at Spectrum. I saw you come in on this camera,” the man said pointing to one of the small monitors atop the console.

  “So that’s why you weren’t surprised when I knocked at the door.”

  “Correct. Other cameras and alarms are triggered if someone enters the mechanical room from one of the other doors. The computer knows we’re here, Spectrum security staff know we’re here, and the engineer in the west control room knows we’re here.”

  “That gives me comfort,” Don said.

  “Me too.”

  Gil returned to the Mack Team’s temporary office a few minutes before six. Charlie was studying Cobo blueprints at her desk, and freelancer Carter Bernstein was staring at the white board in the conference room.

  “Where’s Judy?”

  “She’s with Tyson in the General Manager’s office. They’re still trying to contact all the managers for tomorrow’s meetings.”

  “Anything interesting in the blueprints?”

  “Only that there are so many hallways, corners, and recesses in this building that even if we had a hundred guys we’d still be at a disadvantage,” Charlie said, sighing.

  “I know what you mean. It’ll be sheer luck if we can stop any organized threat,” Gil said. “I took a slow drive around Cobo’s exterior, then stopped at the loading dock. It’s closed for deliveries today, but a trash truck was doing a pickup, so I watched them empty the trash bins. There were a few cars in each of the parking garages, but nothing that looks suspicious. The problem is, I don’t know what suspicious looks like.”

  “Exactly. I was saying to Mandy a couple of nights ago that this is the kind of case where our usual investigative techniques are limited.”

  Gil gave Charlie a smile. “So you two are an item, huh? Mandy. She’s really beautiful.”

  “Let’s stick to the business at hand, shall we?”

  “I, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep. I didn’t mean anything by it, really.” Gil stammered, struggling to apologize.

  “Forget it, Gil.”

  Gil sidestepped his embarrassment by turning toward the conference room. “What’s Carter doing in there?”

  “I’m not sure. He’s been playing with my notes and staring at the whiteboard for almost an hour.”

  Gil entered the conference room, followed by Charlie and Don, who had just returned. Gil put on a stank face. “Pizza again? Oh, well, guess I’ll have a slice.” He reached over the table to select a large piece with ground beef and green peppers. “What’s shaking, Carter?”

  “Not much, Gil.”

  Charlie sat across from the board, curious about how Carter had organized her Post-it notes. “You got something, Carter?”

  “Not yet, Ms. Mack. Nothing’s popping out at me.”

  Don grabbed the nearest box of pizza and took it to the far end of the table. “Well, I just spent an hour in the mechanical room. This place is really a masterpiece of engineering.”

  “There are two mechanical rooms aren’t there, Don?” Charlie asked.

  “No, just one huge one. But there are two control offices. Connected by more than a mile of pipes, ducting, electrical wiring, and catwalks. But they have all kinds of security precautions, so I’m a lot less concerned about a threat to the infrastructure.”

  “Well, that’s good news,” Charlie said brightly.

  The conversation turned to Cobo’s intricate layout until Judy and Ty joined the group. They reported that two managers’ meetings were scheduled for the next day. Hoyt, Mandy, and freelancers Josh Simms and Barbara Burnett checked in before their evening patrol shifts. While Judy offered pizza, Charlie pulled Mandy aside to ask about the Heinrich breakfast meeting.

  “I got nothing from him at breakfast, except he wants to sleep with me,” Mandy said.

  “He said that?”

  “He was pretty direct.”

  “Damn, I’m beginning to hate that guy,” Charlie said, her voice rising. She saw Don look her way.

  “No worries. I had things under control.”

  “I know you can handle yourself. I guess I’m just . . .”

  “Jealous?” Mandy winked.

  Charlie felt her cheeks burn. “Did he say anything about the investigation?”

  “He says there’s absolutely no threat to the auto show.”

  “Are you seeing him again?”

  “That didn’t come up.”

  When Charlie and Mandy returned to the conference room, Don assessed Charlie’s demeanor with a glance, then continued his advice to Hoyt Timbermann.

  “Remember, just keep moving, chatting with the guards, checking doors, stairwells, and the parking structure. We might even put a permanent team outside, riding the perimeter from time to time. Gil did that today.”

  “Yep, I covered both
garages, checked all the entrances, and spent some time at the loading dock. I got out of my car and just walked around down there,” Gil said. “I don’t think anyone even noticed me.”

  “Okay, I’ll step up the patrols in the loading dock area,” Hoyt said. “That reminds me, shouldn’t we have one of our people be with the Spectrum guys who monitor the cameras?”

  “I don’t think that’s necessary,” Charlie said. “Cynthia has said if they spot anything, she’ll call us right away.”

  “Okay,” Hoyt said, taking notes.

  “Don’t follow any particular routine, and don’t hesitate to be in touch if something feels wrong to you.” Don gave more instructions. “If anyone sends a message on the BlackBerry, it comes directly to us, right?” he asked, glancing at Judy.

  “That’s right.”

  “So, if we get an SOS, we’ll come running,” Don said, sweeping his eyes across the group.

  At 10 p.m., Hoyt and the freelancers left the suite to start their patrols, and Judy started packing up for the night. She pushed the carts filled with files to the side of the room, and shoved the extra pizza boxes in the refrigerator.

  “We got a lot done today,” Charlie said. “I could use a few hours of sleep.”

  “Me too,” Gil said, stacking folders on the table. “I must have looked at a hundred files.”

  “Did Mandy have anything to report about Heinrich?” Don asked, yawning.

  “Nope. Not much.” Charlie turned away from Don’s further questions. “You ready, Judy? Should we take one car again?”

  “Yep. That’s good. Looks like we’ll have a full house for tomorrow’s meetings.”

  “I’m going to stay here tonight if that’s okay,” Carter announced.

  “Appreciate your dedication, Carter. The cot’s all yours if you need it,” Charlie said, grabbing her parka.

  The Mack team padded along the deeply carpeted corridor. In the glass room, video monitors glowed on the faces of three Spectrum employees. The scene reminded Charlie of the images she’d seen of the NASA control room at Cape Canaveral. When they reached the exit, Gil stepped forward to hold the door, and Charlie was surprised to see Cynthia Fitzgerald standing in her office doorway watching their departure.

  “She works late, doesn’t she?” Don observed.

  Chapter 5

  Monday, January 2, 2006

  Auto Show: 6 days

  “What do you think of this one?” Ty pointed out the Aston Martin Rapide concept car.

  Don had asked Tyson to give him an early morning tour of the concept car installations. They’d already visited BMW, Audi, and Mitsubishi’s display areas, where engineering techs were molding temporary materials to mock up features of their concept cars, and design teams were standing by to add finishing touches.

  “That’s the James Bond car, Pressley. You really think that’s your type?”

  “Yeah. It’s long, lean, and dark like me. I could see myself in this ride. Either this one, or that 2007 Lexus LS460 over there.”

  “Your tastes run to luxury I see. But I have a wife and kid, so I don’t have luxury car money. I’m more interested in seeing the American brands. Where are they?”

  Ty pointed the way, and Don maneuvered the golf cart through the showroom areas for Lamborghini, Kia, Nissan and Toyota. When they got to the GM display, Don slowed the cart and let out a long whistle.

  “Now that’s a car,” Don said admiring a shiny bronze Buick.

  “Yep. It’s a looker alright. It’s one of GM’s new sports utility vehicles. You want to take a closer look?”

  The workers staging the General Motors vehicles knew Tyson, and exchanged friendly greetings with him as he introduced Don. These were not the stuffy business suit guys of GM’s executive offices. The men wore khakis and open collared shirts; the women were comfortable in slacks, or skirts with black tights, and wearing boots or stylish flats. Don nodded quick hellos, but saved his smile for the shiny cars around him that glistened like loose pearls. He opened the driver’s door of the Buick Enclave concept car and swept his hand across the console, then opened the back hatch and leaned inside. When he closed the door, he glanced across the showroom to the Dodge/Chrysler area. His face froze, and mouth parted.

  With no thought of Ty, Don glided across the gigantic exhibit hall as if beckoned by the pied piper. Ty saw Don on the move, bid his farewells to the designers, retrieved the golf cart, and tracked after him. He parked near the restroom, and walked over to where Don stroked the racing stripe on the Dodge Challenger prototype.

  “So, you like the muscle cars.”

  “This baby is a beaut.”

  “I thought you said you had a wife and kid?”

  “There’s room for them,” Don said defensively. He opened the driver’s door with reverence, and sank into the contoured black leather seats. “Now this is how a man should sit.”

  Ty was studying the specs on the display sign. “She has a 6.1 liter, Hemi V-8,” he said with approval.

  “I see you know a little something about real cars,” Don said as he lifted himself out of the Dodge and circled it. “Look at those beefy wheels and tires.”

  “Yep. Nice. And I like the grille work too. It’s a sweet ride.”

  Don and Ty moved next to the new Chrysler Imperial, trading their ideas about the pros and cons of American luxury cars. Later, they spent some time admiring Chevy’s new Camaro. Don’s BlackBerry had vibrated on his belt a couple of times, but he ignored it. When Tyson’s phone rang, he answered.

  “Oh hi, Ms. Mack. Yes, he’s with me. We’re on the exhibitors’ level. Oh, sorry, we lost track of time. We’ll be right there.”

  “It’s time for the meeting with the department heads. The rest are already there,” Ty said, moving back toward the Challenger.

  Don looked at his watch. “Damn. Did you move the cart?”

  “Yep. It’s over here. We can be there in two minutes if I drive.”

  “Okay, Pressley. But I need to come back later to see the new Lincoln.”

  “And you definitely need to see the Jeep display. They plan to drive a Wrangler right off the showroom floor and through one of the front windows.”

  “You’re kidding me,” Don said, jumping into the passenger seat.

  “No. I’m not kidding,” Ty said as he sped up the corridor to the service elevator.

  “There are always security concerns about the auto show. What’s so important this year that we had to come in on our day off?”

  The question came from a manager in the Cobo Hall food services division. She was a middle-aged black lady with an ego as large as her hips. Charlie dealt with women like her all the time because, in truth, they ran the unofficial tier of power in Detroit. She respected these women, who were smart, outspoken, and skeptical for a reason. But today Charlie was short on patience for the woman’s head-wagging, and she rose from her seat at the front table to address her. Ty, who was sitting to Charlie’s right, pointed to a name on the sheet of paper between them.

  “Well, that’s a fair question. Mr. Heinrich and the show sponsors are simply experimenting with new protocols this year. It’s good to shake things up from time to time, don’t you agree, Ms. Hillman?” Charlie asked, smiling.

  Charlie was immediately aware her charm tactics had no effect when the woman added harrumphing and eye-rolling to her act. She glanced sideways to see, too late, that Ty had written “don’t mention Heinrich” on the paper. She looked to Gil for help and slid the paper toward him. He stood.

  “I think what Ms. Mack means is, the success of an event as important to Cobo as the Detroit Auto Show should not be left solely in the hands of a few people who think they have all the answers. Even a company as experienced as Spectrum.”

  Hillman uncrossed her arms and leaned forward in her chair to look at Gil. Charlie took a seat.

  “Ms. Mack, Mr. Rutkowski and I used to be agents at Homeland Security. The best tips in our investigations never came from the so-calle
d experts. The best intelligence came from those people who were on the front lines. That’s why we wanted to meet with you and the other managers, to seek your advice.”

  Hillman slowly revealed a wide gummy smile. Her eyes batted, and she stood to give her testimony. “Well, first of all, the Spectrum folks ought to pull themselves away from those TV screens and that high-tech stuff. They act like they’re in one of them Tom Cruise movies. Not once, since they got here, have they asked Bernie, the daytime guard, his opinion about anything. I run food services, and I have to sign off on every food vendor that comes in the door. But this year, some out-of-town vendors have been asked to provide food at the VIP events. I don’t know these folks from Adam, and when the food inspectors make a spot check, you won’t see my name on their work orders.”

  Her remarks were met with a chorus of “hmm-hmm,” “I know that’s right,” and “You tell ’em, Elise.”

  “Well, that’s just the kind of information that can be useful to us,” Gil said, smiling with enthusiasm. He had purposely dressed in his brown slacks, peach shirt, and suede jacket. He laughingly called the outfit his “suit of amour.”

  Suddenly, the room was animated, as hands shot up to offer information and suggestions. At the end of the hour-long meeting, Mrs. Hillman came up to the head table to offer Charlie a handshake.

  “I knew your mother. She was the principal at my high school. That was back in the day,” she said, smiling in memory.

  “I’ll be sure to remember you to her,” Charlie said.

  “Is she doing well?”

  “Mostly yes. But there are early signs of Alzheimer’s.”

  “Oh, I hope they find some kind of pill or shot for that soon. It is such a mean disease,” Hillman said with accustomed authority. She then joined the small group of women and two men who had enclosed Gil in a semicircle of appreciation.