Troubleshooter

Chapter 33 - Scouting

WILKES WAS good at tracking cars, and in the thick London traffic he had home turf advantage. He knew which areas to stick closer to the subject and when he could fall back. They made it into the Canary Wharf area. Finally, the unknown man got out of his cab and walked into a building close to Canary Wharf tower.

Wilkes swore but only a little. No disaster, just inconvenient. He found a garage to park his car and then walked to the building.

A hundred-Pound note exchanged hands during the male receptionist's cigarette break, and Wilkes learned that his man was called Paul Trouble. Could that really be his name? Trouble worked with a company called Schwartz Associates, who just started business yesterday. Yesterday? Interesting.

Wilkes looked at the big directory wall. On the same floor was a law office. Wilkes went back to the car, retrieved his briefcase, and then entered the office building lobby once more, picking out the female receptionist for his request.

"Good afternoon. I have a special delivery for the offices of Layman and Sacks that needs to be handed over in person." He tapped the briefcase as if it contained important documents.

The front desk attendant briefly verified upstairs (in Wilkes' experience, no sane office ever said "no" to a delivery), issued a visitor badge to Wilkes, and opened the gate for him. The lift took him upstairs in a few seconds.

The office floor was deserted. Wilkes had to smile. There was a simple paper-printed sign scotch-taped onto one of the doors: "Schwarz Associates." The misspelling of Schwartz made it even more ridiculous. If this was a cover of some sort, it was so bad that it was almost good again. Wilkes took away the sign without making any noise and put it into his briefcase. Then he simply stepped up to the door, located the bell button, and pressed it, putting on a friendly business face.

After a few moments, nothing happened, and Wilkes pressed the button again. And banged on the door twice. "Hello, anybody here? Delivery! Legal papers!"

He heard someone approaching. A female voice said, "Just a second, just a second! I'm coming; I'm coming. That was lightning fast, Tomboy. Did you take a rocket? Our beloved troubled leader wants to tell us—"

A girl in her early thirties with dreadlocked blonde hair opened the door and looked at Wilkes in surprise. "Oops, sorry, you are not Tom, but who are you?"

"Excuse me; I have a hand delivery for Mr. Woods." Wilkes patted his briefcase again.

The girl peeked around Wilkes for a second and then addressed him again. "Sorry, there is no Mr. Woods here. Are you sure that you have the right address?"

"Sure, they gave me a badge downstairs. Isn't this the offices of Layman and Sacks?"

"We just moved in yesterday, but I can tell you that we are 'Schwartz Associates,' like stated here on this.... Oops, someone was very tidy. If you are on the right floor, it must be one of the other offices."

"Apologies, ma'am. Have a nice day."

Wilkes took a step back and then walked on to the next set of doors, about ten meters to the right. He heard the doors behind him close. He entered the correct law office, just to be sure. There, he repeated the game, this time claiming to look for Schwartz Associates. He was there just long enough to simulate a letter handover, and then he left.

The lift came whooshing and gave a bing. A young man with Asian features, not older than twenty, got out, nodded to Wilkes, and with the help of his badge entered the office of Schwartz Associates.

Wilkes smiled. A minimum of three people were in the office now: Paul Trouble, the dreadlocked girl, and the young man with the probable name of Tom or Thomas.

Time to make a report.