Hunted

Chapter 3: The Boss

When Wayne Gilger stepped into the elevator, he vaguely noticed the instant uneasiness that always settled over other employees in his presence. They smiled politely and said "Good morning" as confidently as they might, but their eyes tended to fall to the floor, and they struggled to stay relaxed and find something meaningful to say. An approaching quiet could be felt, coming like a summer thunderstorm, which only enhanced the discomfort of Gilger's underlings. Normally, Gilger took some pleasure in quizzing them about their various projects—he knew those really on top of their work were always more eager and prepared to report—but today he only returned their greetings and went back to his silent brooding. When he touched the top portion of the control panel, all attempts at discussion stopped.

He was alone by the time he reached the fifth floor, despite the fact that Sam Newman worked on the sixth level—Newman had left with the others on the fourth. Gilger spent no time being amused or even considering the fact, being far too focused on the reporting task at hand. Without realizing it, Gilger now understood how the others felt in his presence, and being unsettled by a superior suddenly lost a lot of its humor.

The elevator stopped one floor short of the top, and Gilger mechanically entered the authorization code to complete the journey, knowing it well through repetition over the last seven years since his promotion to Second Executive. As the elevator reached its destination, he distractedly plucked a few stubborn pieces of lint from his neatly pressed striped charcoal -gray bodysuit. Once the elevator doors slid open, he passed through a series of detectors built into the walls so as to be noticeable only upon close inspection, and showed his ID badge to two security guards. A third guard accompanied him down the hall. Security here wasn't as detailed as it was on the ground floor, where everyone coming into the building was checked, but it was a close second.

The floor itself here, like the walls, was a thin but sturdy aluminum used in many high-rise buildings. On this floor, it was exposed, as were structural beams every five meters. The only hint of decoration was a deep blue paint that gave the place a cold, dark, dungeon-like appearance. Gilger listened to the echo of his and the guard's footsteps as the sound ricocheted off the walls. From the first time he had walked down this twenty-meter hall, Gilger thought it sounded like a tomb. Perhaps the boss wanted it that way; the floors throughout the rest of the building were covered with carpet or vinyl, the walls with sound-absorbing paneling.

The hall was windowless and yielded only one possible destination, a single black metal door. The guard and Gilger both placed a hand on separate scanners on either side of the door and waited. The scanners flickered to life, a soft white light reaching out and around their hands. When the sensors fell dark, a few seconds passed, then the door silently pulled aside—the boss had received their identifications and given a verbal command or pushed the button to give them admittance.

Gilger moved forward alone as the guard fell back and touched the control to secure the door behind him. He stood tall, swallowed softly, and waited in silence.

The office was opposite in many ways to the hallway. Here, the lighting, both artificial and natural, was stronger. Six handsome paintings were hung and a case of fine vases and china was placed against the far wall. Plush carpeting muffled the sounds of movement. The west wall was covered from top-to-bottom and end-to-end with massive carved, wooden bookshelves filled with thousands of titles. Close by, file cabinets were built into the wall so as not to detract from the room's decor. A large cherry desk with only a few neatly arranged items on top stood before a leather-upholstered executive's chair.

The boss had his back to Gilger as he looked out over the city through a large glass window, made virtually unbreakable by a thin coating developed a few floors below. His hands were clasped behind his back, and while he was short of stature, he stood perfectly straight and proud, as if he owned the city called Peace that he presently surveyed. "Good morning, Wayne," he said simply, yielding no hint of what his current emotional state might be.