Chapter Four
Board Revelations
Artie and Leena visit the West Palm Beach Offices of Community Board Four, situated in the left side of the third floor of an undistinguished business building, neither large nor impressive and which was probably selected for its rent. If not for the guidance of the Directory in the lobby, this office would have been lost among the other three business tenants on this floor or the scores of other businesses that lease space throughout the building.
There are two desks in the outer room facing the door and the one to their left is occupied. The agents note both have the expected collection of computers and monitors, while in addition to the printer on the right desk is a closed laptop computer.
Their introduction to Carol Estes, a handsome woman whose appearance puts her in her high 40's, is cordial but reserved, which is unsurprising considering the fate of their president. The Agents wonder if this is going to be for them an example of the fairly common trope of the Secretary knowing more than the boss does. They hope so, for sometimes such a person can be a wellspring of information regarding possible artifacts.
Their reception is brief, and after they present their bona fides, in Leena's case excellent facsimiles of NSA credentials, business is conducted with reasonable dispatch.
There is a very welcome air conditioner in the window and they can hear at least one other doing its job more deeply into the complex.
But in the few seconds they have, Artie looks back to the door frame and locates the Security Alarm controller established head high on the wall beside the door's open side, where it can be set and the door closed immediately.
x
"What does the National Security Agency have to do with what happened to Mr. Ganze?"
Artie doesn't need his partner's ability to see auras and read their meanings to know how bad things can get if she conceives that 'their' Agency had anything to do with her boss' condition.
"Have you received," Artie asks, "or come into contact recently with, anything old or in some sense unusual?" It's something of a standard opening question, and having seen the position in which the man had been flash frozen, it's a likely prospect. He had been found frozen solid in his office, his hands and posture that of someone standing and looking through a set of envelopes, or so the Warehouse's 'ping' had told them.
"Not that I know of. What happened?" had been very close to the surface, so it's not surprising that it would come up immediately.
"We don't know," he admits. "We're doing our best to find out."
x
Leena steps an inch forward. "We understand your boss had been checking the mail." The mailing of an artifact was hardly unheard of. In fact, it has happened too often for their tastes, the incident with the 'Brother Adrian' springing instantly to mind.
"He came in about 8:30, went in his office and I didn't hear from him again, which wasn't unusual. But a few minutes later Mr. Paul Carson called, he wanted to talk about an issue. I rang up Mr. Ganze on his intercom, he didn't answer, I went in and saw him standing at his desk.
"I told him again that Mr. Carson was on the line, he… I thought he was ignoring me, he does that sometimes, but when I went up to him, he was standing … well, he was frozen."
"What had he been doing?"
Perhaps the woman wonders at how easily Artie can take the news that her boss had been frozen. All he cares about are that the unusual incident, coupled with their NSA 'connection' have made her more willing to answer their questions - for the moment. "He was sorting through his mail."
"Would it be all right if we saw it?" He and Leena follow her into the large office and to the desk at the far side of the room, upon which lie an assortment of papers and sealed envelopes. She reaches out to the latter. "Please, don't do that."
While Estes watches, both agents put on purple latex gloves. Catching her expression, he says "Fingerprints. Did you touch any of these with your bare hands?"
"Before the ambulance brought him downstairs on the stretcher, I took them out of his hand and threw them here."
"That should be okay." Leena has a transport bag ready and, looking away but trying not to flinch, he drops all three in.
No flash of purple and yellow force, no hiss of expended energy.
x
"We'll get these back to you as soon as we can."
"I don't care about them. What happened to Mr. Ganze?"
"I think I have a few ideas. For instance, has Mr. Ganze come into contact with anything old or antique?" His scan of the room revealed no obvious items but it could easily be in a drawer or the attaché case beside the desk, which he will probably have a difficult time convincing the woman to open for him.
"Nothing that I know of. Certainly not in here. Mr. Ganze is hardly the type to collect knick-knacks, and buying an antique would mean spending money."
He is ready to delve into the ramifications of that point when the outer door opens. "In here, Mary," Carol Estes calls, and a few seconds later a somewhat older woman, presumably the resident of the remaining desk as Estes had not had a view of the outer room past Artie, appears in the doorway. "Mary Stewart, these are NSA Special Agents Nielsen and Frederic." Her gesture gets the pair reversed but they don't care. "They're investigating what happened."
"How do you do?"
Both agents have noted that while Estes had availed herself of brown dye, though she had not indulged in two weeks longer than necessary, Stewart had not employed any efforts to mask the effects of time.
"Leena, if you would interview Ms. Stewart outside," Artie says with an extra layer of government formality, "I shall finish up with Ms. Estes."
Leena doesn't say anything, uncertain how to answer within her adopted persona. She simply joins the other woman outside the then closed door, preferring to be herself.
x
Inside the inner room, the first thing Artie asks is "What does this office do?"
"We're the headquarters of Community Board 4, which handles the southeastern quarter of West Palm Beach. We're the first line between the Community and the City Counsel. All business concerns for the area are routed through us.
"We handle applications for business licensing, any issues involving building, community operations, parades and special events, health care, schools, everything that would ultimately go on to City Governance is handled first on the Community level."
"Big job."
"Very big."
"I imagine this brings you into contact with a lot of people, like Mr. Carson."
"All right, using him as an example, he wants to open a Bar on Belvedere Road, but … well, let's not use him."
"I get the feeling he won't be getting his bar." Thank you, NSA ID.
"… No, he won't, and he's really upset. He's been here half a dozen times trying to negotiate, but the property is six blocks from an Elementary School."
"A whole six blocks."
"He's getting a Liquor License, that went through the State Liquor Authority, but the Board is going to forbid him to open."
"They can do that?"
"The Board goes through the City Counsel, the City Counsel goes through City Hall, so City Hall is heavily influenced by us."
"I imagine Mr. Carson is not happy with your Board," Artie says, truly grateful more than surprised by the woman's willingness to discuss private business concerns with perfect (well, not perfect) strangers who flash official government badges.
Of course, having your boss flash frozen can change a lot of normal behavior.
"He's really pissed. He's sunk a lot of capital into that project. The Board as a whole doesn't care one way or another, but the issue isn't going to come up for discussion. Ever."
xx
In the outer room Leena has also asked about the governance of the organization.
"The Board is open to everyone in the Community; anyone can attend public meetings, but to be a Voting Member you have to be Appointed by the Mayor or the City Council to a two-year term. Then from the Voting Members, Officers are chosen: President, First and Second VPs, Treasurer, Corresponding and Recording Secretaries. They comprise the Executive Board."
"How long has Mr. Ganze been President?"
"He's in his fourth term, this is his seventh year."
"Wow." Someone can amass a great deal of power from being in charge for seven years, but for now she'll keep this observation to herself.
"Then there are nine Committees, they deal with things like Education, Health, Special Events, Zoning and Licensing, Buildings, Land Use… pretty much anything that isn't run directly by City Hall goes through us, and we make recommendations to City Hall."
"So all the Voting Members vote on every issue?" She counts the minutes, but with the boss frozen she'll play the 'we can help' card for as long as she can.
"Not… exactly. The Committee Chairmen report to the Executive Committee, then the Executive Committee votes. Things might come up on the floor at a General Meeting, but only after the decision is made."
"After."
"When it comes up, well, Mr. Ganze frames it in such a way that the General Vote matches his decision."
"So the six members of the Board have the actual Vote, even in a General Vote?"
"Yes."
"What happens in a tie?"
"There's never a tie."
That has an ominous ring. "So, the power is vested in six people?"
"Ummmm, not really that many."
"Ah."
"Why are you asking all these questions? What can all this have to do with what happened to Alfred Ganze?"
x
Leena can barely believe she's been taken this far and have Mary ask this question now. She tries to pass it up. "I take it Mr. Ganze is an affable, winsome kind of man?"
"Oh, he likes to win."
Maybe the term is not often used here. "Suppose that I wanted to be on your Board. I'm a resident, a good Community person, I pay my taxes and pick up after my dog. How would I go about joining?"
x
"Agent Nielsen, I… I don't know you but assuming you were actually serious, I would tell you, between the two of us - and I'll deny it if you repeat it - but I'd tell you not to waste your efforts."
"Why is that?"
"Because, and believe me I am saying this with the deepest respect, you could never be on this Board."
"Why would that be?"
"All Applications must be approved by Mr. Ganze, and you already have the three strikes against you, and if and when you meet the members of the Board, and most especially the Executive Committee, you'll see those three strikes."
"And they are?"
"You're under 50, you're black and you're a woman."
"How would this rate from mild to worst?"
"That's how I gave them to you."
xxx
When the loud, brief 'whoop' of one of the white and blue's speaker cuts through the Prospect Park field, it's a signal for activity among the NYPD Officers to cease.
Deputy Inspector Barbara Harris has her radio's hand microphone to her mouth and a few moments later a third of the widely spaced men and women turn and head quickly to their cars parked along Prospect Park West.
Myka and Pete had been crossing the field to rendezvous with Megan Hunt near the right end of the field, but though they had not been in range of the radios, they want to be wherever that third of the force is going.
They don't run to their rented car, their intent is to follow the phalanx of RMPs to their next destination, having no need to speculate between themselves what they will find at the end of the journey.
x
The loud sirens that together set up a din that can be heard a half mile away means that when they follow the end of the line outside the Park and make their way into residential Brooklyn, they have no worries about getting lost. They can therefore trail the last car by a half block or more, confident they will find the scene, which after several minutes seems unpredictable to non-New Yorkers.
"I've got a bad feeling about this," Pete says when they skirt the park southwest along Prospect Park West. "Not a Vibe, a very bad feeling."
x
That feeling is justified as they ride quickly, a dozen sirens clearing their path, south to a right turn on 9th Street, then another right onto 4th Avenue, eventually followed by another right onto Atlantic Avenue. When the assembling vehicles slow to stops, they have gone one more Avenue's length to stop beside the huge and very distinctive entry to the Barclays Center. Before it is a huge Plaza and they do not need to get any closer to see that the Plaza, not the tremendous building, is the focus.
x
When the Agents stop several car lengths short of the last RMP, there being no curbside spaces for all the vehicles, the scene is surreal for its near silence. More patrol cars, together with Fire, EMS and associated trucks and cars fill a street already sealed off and over-burdened by more varied uniforms than they have ever seen gathered into one place. The sun-lit triangle plaza is alive with multi-hued lights reminiscent of a nightmare disco, making it difficult to look along the length of the block.
The six lane Flatbush Avenue and all other surrounding Streets and Avenues have been blocked off, resulting in a deserted island where the huge Barclays Center complex dominates all.
The recent arrivals from Prospect Park have formed a line along Flatbush Avenue, and the plaza comes to a point at the intersection of Pacific Street and Flatbush Avenue. Pacific comes out at a broad angle, leaving room at the main entrance for the stupendous Resorts World Casino.
x
Near the above ground Subway entrance at the point of the intersection is a double large van, and to this the Agents, gold shields still affixed to belts, make their way past the huge Plaza littered with white sheet covered bodies.
"Myka, Vibe," is how Pete grasps her attention as he slams to a stop.
"What do you sense?" She's anxious to do something, whatever that might be.
"Like the park. Same thing."
She supposes the surprise on his face is because of her answer, and suspects she's taught the Marine a new word.
x
They wend their way past a score of Officers in armor, helmets and bearing large transparent shields, the men and women awaiting orders from their Command. The large truck they approach has painted on its side: 'Mobile Command'.
The rear door is open, the four uniforms inside hail from NYPD, FDNY, FEMA and OEM, each person manning a Communication station.
They lead with their shields. "What do you have?" Pete asks.
A fast glance by the FEMA Agent at them, with focus on his shield. "Active shooter, unknown number and location. No one heard a shot, but there are seventeen bodies."
"We have enough uniforms," the NYPD woman says. "Either of you have Medical experience?"
Pete detests having to say it. "No."
"Find Captain Wilson. Get yourselves posted." She resumes her radio duties.
"Hey," the Fire Coordinator says to the FEMA agent beside him, "that BLM Rally tonight at Times Square, is that on or off?"
"Off. Couple thousand people where they drop the ball? Definitely off if they don't get this guy by this evening."
When Pete and Myka can step aside from the open door, they look over not the scene of carnage but at that which forms the backdrop on the wide, intersecting streets.
Did the shells penetrate to do damage inside those stores across Pacific Street, and will aligning holes allow the investigating crews to triangulate on the shooter's position?
Beyond the plaza, and facing them on the street level of the Atlantic Center Mall, are a Burlington Coat 'Factory', a Best Buy Electronics, a Marshall's Clothing store, a large psychedelic mural, and each of the stores is riddled with webbed shatterproof glass. Any damage to the mural, which is the last thing visible to the right from their position before being blocked from view by the Center's expansive entrance, would have to be examined from a much closer perspective.
The huge windows, turned into thick spider's webs, the Agents already know have, in their geometric centers, 11-millimeter holes that will have the surrounding officers searching for .357 bullets and casings.
Myka is the first to spot, even from their vantage point, small holes in the metal façade of the building. She would very much like to examine those walls, particularly from the other sides. Did the shells penetrate the 'decorative' metal as they had trees, or will they finally get lucky enough to find the actual shells?
Pete guides Myka away; the last thing he wants is to say this beside is a Communications truck, but when he finds a spot between two of the Police cars that line the curb he can say: "The 'Men in Black' couldn't keep this quiet."
Neither, she suspects, could their Teslas, which as a side effect disrupt short term memories. "This is my worst nightmare; a WMD Artifact."