Extreme Measures by Michael Palmer Read Free Book Online Page B

getting ready to dive the wall at Bloody Bay.
    “This is Scott,” she said. “It’s about five months old.”
    The woman shrugged and smiled politely.
    “How long have you worked here?” Laura asked.
    “A year. Longer now.”
    “And you’ve never seen this man?”
    “I’m sorry.”
    “This is crazy. I know he works here. He … he’s on the road a lot. Perhaps—”
    She was interrupted by the phone. The receptionist answered it, transferred the call, and then turned back to her.
    “Can I help you with anything else?”
    “Yes. Can I please see your personnel director? I think her name is Bullock.”
    “That’s right. Anne Bullock. She’s gone for the day.”
    “Well, who’s here?”
    “Pardon?”
    The woman glanced pointedly at the work in her typewriter.
    “Look,” Laura said, wrestling to maintain her composure, “I want to see whoever is in charge here.”
    “I’m sorry, that’s not—”
    “Please. I’ve come a long way. I’m trying to be polite about all of this, but I will not leave until I’ve spoken to someone who might know about my brother.”
    “What seems to be the problem, Alicia?”
    Startled, both women turned.
    A man, tall and balding, perhaps in his early fifties, stood ten feet away.
    “I’m looking for my brother,” Laura said quickly. “His name’s Scott Enders, and he works here. Only—”
    “I tried telling her that no one by that name—”
    “Please,” Laura cut in. “Please let me finish. This is my brother.” She handed over the photograph. “It was taken about six months ago at the club where I work.”
    “And where’s that?” the man said, studying the photo.
    “Little Cayman Island in the Caribbean. I’m a diving instructor at a resort there.”
    “I’ve always wanted to dive. You must love it.”
    “I do. Now, about my brother.”
    “Why don’t you come on down to my office, Miss …”
    “Enders. Same name as my brother. Laura Enders.”
    “Well, I’m Neil Harten,” the man said. “I’m vice-president here.” He extended his hand, which was large and warm. “Alicia, this woman’s brother did work for us once, but I believe he left before you arrived. However,” he added, looking pointedly at Laura, “he called himself Scott Shollander then, not Scott Enders. Now, if you’d like to come down to my office, I’ll be happy to tell you what I know of him.”

    On the way to his office, Neil Harten stopped at the locked personnel office and retrieved the file on the man he had known as Scott Shollander. He poured Laura a cup of coffee, then settled in behind his desk. His office was fairly large, but not opulent. Certificates from a number of chambers of commerce, service organizations, and business bureaus were spotted on the walls, along with framed advertisements for various Communigistics programs and equipment.
    Harten, who had a weariness about his eyes anddeeply etched furrows across his high brow, answered Laura’s queries with practiced patience. Yes, he was certain that Scott Shollander and Scott Enders were the same person. No, he had no idea why Scott would have changed his name. No, Scott hadn’t been fired—he was very good at his job. He had simply walked in one day and quit. And no, he had no idea where Scott had gone or for whom he was working.
    Laura reached into her purse and handed over a stack of postcards.
    “Here,” she said. “These are the cards I’ve received from Scott for the past two and a half years. There are nearly seventy of them from all over the world. He missed a week once in a while, but he’s never missed two that I can remember. Now, all of a sudden, I haven’t heard from him since February.”
    Harten flipped through the cards. Most of them contained just a line or two.
    “ ‘Wish you were here’… ‘Hope you’re okay’… ‘Casablanca is more mysterious now than it ever was in Bogey’s day.’ Your brother isn’t the newsiest writer, is he?”
    “There’s nothing in any