The Closers Read Online Free PDF

the bureau, Vernon had spent half in the L.A. field office on white collar crime and corporate espionage investigations.
    But Pierce viewed Vernon largely as a poseur. He was always on the move, charging down hallways and banging through doors like
    a man on a mission. But the bottom line was that there wasn't a whole lot to the mission of providing project security to a firm that employed thirty-three people, only ten of which could get through the man trap and inside the lab, where all the secrets were kept.
    "I've got a new phone number but I don't remember it," Pierce said. "I'll get it to you as soon as I can."
    "What about the address?"
    "It's over in the Sands on the beach. Apartment twelve oh one."
    Vernon took out a little notebook and wrote down the information. He looked just like a cop from an old movie, his big hands crowding the small notebook as he scribbled. Why do they always have such small notebooks? It was a question Cody Zeller had once posited after they'd seen a cop flick together.
    "I'm going to get back to work now, Clyde. After all, all those investors are counting on us, right?"
    Vernon looked up from his notebook, one eyebrow raised as he tried to gauge whether Pierce was being sarcastic.
    "Right," he said. "Then I'll let you get back to it."
    But after the security man had retreated through the man trap Pierce again realized he could not get back to it. An inertia had set in. For the first time in three years he was unencumbered by interests outside the lab and free to do the work. But for the first time in three years he didn't want to.
    He shut down the computer and got up. He followed Vernon's wake through the man trap
    ->    When he got back to his office Pierce turned the lights on by hand. The voice-recognition switch was bullshit and he knew it. Something installed simply to impress the potential investors Charlie Condon walked through the place every few weeks. It was a gimmick. Just like all the cameras and Vernon. But Charlie said it was all necessary. It symbolized the cutting-edge nature of what they did. He said it helped investors envision the company's projects and importance. It made them feel good about writing a check.
    But the result was that the offices sometimes seemed to Pierce to be as soulless as they were high-tech. He had started the company in a low-rent warehouse in Westchester, having to take readings on experiments in between takeoffs and landings at LAX. He had no employees. Now he had so many he needed an employee relations officer. He drove a fender-dented Volkswagen Beetle then- the old kind. And now he drove a BMW. There was no doubt, he and Amedeo had certainly come a long way. But with increasing frequency he would drift off to memories of that warehouse lab beneath the flight pattern of runway 17. His friend Cody Zeller, always looking for a movie reference, had once told him that "runway 1?" would be his "Rosebud," the last words whispered from his dying lips. Other similarities to Citizen Kane notwithstanding, Pierce thought there was a possibility Zeller might be right about that.
    Pierce sat down at his desk and thought about calling Zeller and telling him he'd changed his mind about going out. He also thought about calling the house to see if Nicole wanted to talk. But he knew he couldn't do that. It was her move to make and he had to wait her out- even if it never happened.
    He took the pad out of his backpack and called the number for accessing his home voice mail by remote location. He tapped in the
    password and was told electronically that he had one new message. He played it and heard the nervous voice of a man he didn't know.
    "Uh, yes, hello, my name is Frank. I'm at the Peninsula. Room six twelve. So give me a call when you can. I got your number from the website and I wanted to see if you're available tonight. I know it's late but I thought I'd try. Anyway, it's Frank Behmer, room six twelve at the Peninsula. Hope to hear from you soon."
    Pierce