The Storm Maker Read Online Free PDF Page B

dropped him off outside the gates of the House of Police. The gate was
open and four policemen stood guard, two on each side, armed with repeating
rifles on their shoulders. There were ten-foot tall concrete walls on either
sides of the gate that enclosed the main building of the House. Mr. Warwyk
walked up to the gate and inside without being stopped or asked about his
business. He was wearing his purple suit over a white shirt and black pants,
the unofficial uniform of the owners and head managers of the private
companies. In Starfirian corporate culture, only one person in an entire
company usually wore purple suits; two if the owner and the head manager were
two different individuals. A purple suit was the most commonly recognized
indicator of a person’s position as a big boss and Mr. Warwyk believed this is
why the gate police did not bother to stop him.
           There
was a large lawn on both sides of the road leading to the building. The
building was five stories tall and shaped like an equal sized cross. Its first,
third and fifth floors were colored with white glass while the second and
fourth floors were of red—King’s Red—glass, representing the colors of the
police uniform—King’s red shirt and hat, white pants, belt and boots.
           Mr.
Warwyk slowly walked the length of the road to the front doors. Here there were
more guards, four patrol cars with two parked on each side of the door and
twelve armed policemen patrolling the front. No doubt there were more on the
sides and the back as well. This was the national headquarters of the police
and the security reflected that.
           Mr.
Warwyk walked through the front doors and presented himself at the desk where
the middle-aged receptionists were just getting started for their workday.
           “I
am here to meet with Constellar Taktar,” he said to one of them.
           “Do
you have an appointment sir?” she asked and started looking through a calendar.
           “No,”
he replied.
           “Well,
you are lucky. You are the first private visitor today,” she said. “Even so, it
will be one or two hours before I can schedule you with Constellar Taktar.”
           “No,”
he said. “Tell Constellar Taktar that Mr. Warwyk, the owner and head manager of
the Warwyk Savings Bank is here to meet him.”
           His
firm reply raised a few eyebrows from the secretaries and turned a few heads
from the other visitors in the room. Almost everyone had heard of the Warwyk
Savings Bank, for all he knew some of them had deposits and loans with his
bank. He had learned over the years of his business experience that a show of
confidence could open otherwise closed doors. He smiled at her as she turned
around and picked up a phone.
           He
looked around the main reception area where sofas and comfortable seats for
visitors were arranged in a semi-circle around the central receptionist desks.
Ten to fifteen police chiefs were quietly sitting there. Big shots all of them
in their own towns; here they patiently and humbly awaited their turn to meet
their political bosses. Perhaps some were here to beg for more funds to hire
more police in their towns, others might be here to answer complaints filed
against them by someone in their towns, and still others to request help with
solving some case.
           “Constellar
Taktar will see you now Mr. Warwyk, in his office on the fifth floor,” the
receptionist said after putting down the phone. “The office is straight down
from the elevator. It will be the only one with lights right now.”
           “Grateful,”
Mr. Warwyk said and walked to the elevators.
           It
happened that Taktar was not in his office and it was closed. The floor was nearly
empty as the staff had not yet arrived. Mr. Warwyk walked the hallways till he
found a big conference room that was lighted with a person standing behind a
singular chair placed at the head of