The Tenth Justice - Brad Meltzer [102]
“I have no idea,” Ben said. “It was all in my planner.”
“What about the company’s name? Maybe I can find that.”
“It’s a start-up company,” Ben explained, hoping to convince the operator that she was his only hope. “They haven’t incorporated yet, so it’s all under the CEO’s name—which I can’t remember for the life of me. And since I can’t remember his name, I can’t find him in the telephone directory. Believe me, I’ve tried everything.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think there’s anything I can do to help you.”
“Please don’t hang up,” Ben pleaded. “You have to do something. If I don’t show up for this interview. I’m dead. Isn’t there a master list somewhere? Anything you have may save my life.”
“I’m sorry,” the operator said. “I’m not supposed to give out that information.”
“Please.” Ben tried to sound pleasant. “I’m not some kind of lunatic. I’ll give you my name and address and home phone number. I’ll give you my mother’s number. You can call her and ask her how nice I am. I just don’t want to lose this job over something stupid.”
“Well…”
“Please. If you help me, I’ll be forever in your debt. I’ll send you flowers. And chocolates. And individually wrapped kielbasa from Hickory Farms. Anything.”
“Here’s what I can do,” the operator finally said. “I can give you a list of the companies that are meeting in the suites that are run by the airport. There are only six of those, but you may find your company in there. If not, you’ll have to call all the airlines and beg each of them individually for the information.”
“You’re the greatest,” Ben exclaimed. “How can I thank you? Name your price. Diamonds? Pearls? Kielbasa?”
“How about you just leave me alone,” the operator answered.
“You got it.”
“These are the companies that have reservations,” she said. “Texaco has one room. And Brennan, Leit and Zareh has the other.”
“Isn’t that a law firm?” Ben asked as he put a star next to the firm’s name.
“I’m not sure,” the operator said.
“Are there any other companies?”
“That’s it,” she said. “The other four rooms are still open.”
“Oh, well,” Ben said. “I guess I’m off to beg. Thanks for all your help.”
“You’re welcome,” the operator said, sounding relieved.
Fourteen phone calls later, Ben had a list of thirty-four reservations for executive suites. Twenty-two of the reservations were made by major companies, eight were for individuals, three were for law firms, and one was for Congressman Cohen from Philadelphia. Ben pulled up the Lexis database on his computer, logged onto the Periodicals bulletin board, and entered the name “Stewart Moore,” one of the eight individuals who had reservations for Saturday. As the computer scanned through more than four thousand current periodicals, Ben knew the search was futile. Rick’s too smart to make a reservation in his own name, he thought, staring at the computer screen.
Eventually, the words “Twenty-six items found” appeared on the screen. Scanning the first item, Ben read a Wall Street Journal article about Stewart Moore, a Chicago bank president who recently restructured his company’s finance division. When he read that Mr. Moore was fifty-five years old, he knew he hadn’t found Rick. As he typed the second name into his computer, Lisa entered the office. “What’s going on?” Ben asked, looking up from his screen.
Lisa was silent.
“Hello! Earth to Lisa! What’s going on? How are you doing? Why aren’t you responding?”
Again, silence.
“Oh, c’mon, Lisa. Lighten up already. I said I was sorry about a dozen times.”
“Then I completely forgive you,” Lisa said coldly.
“Be serious.”
“Okay, the truth? I’m pretty pissed off that you don’t trust me anymore.”
“What are you talking about?” Ben asked. “I trust you.”
“Ben, look at it from my perspective: For the past three months, we’ve spent every waking minute talking about how we were going to catch Rick. Now I can’t get a single word out of you. What the hell am I supposed to make of that?”
“You can make of it whatever you want. But the truth is that there’s nothing to tell. I haven