in front of us and we got in.
“Ms. Westmann has given me explicit instructions that I’m
to facilitate any requirements you may have, Dr. Burke,” he
began. Roy opened the envelope and began pointing things out
to me. The hotel was a sprawling complex of stucco buildings,
pools, and pathways. “You’ll be staying in one of our detached
suites for the duration of your assignment. As a guest of the
house, your food and entertainment expenses are complimen-
tary.” He handed me a gold plastic card. “Simply use this card
49
John Donohue
when you sign for things. It’s also your room key.”
We drove sedately and silently along a palm-lined path. The
cart’s motor whined faintly, but the sound of the rubber tires
was louder than the engine. Roy traced our progress on a little
map of the grounds. “The health club is close to your suite,
and there are six pools at different locations around the facility.
Restaurants and shops here,” he touched the map lightly, “and
here, and here.”
“I’ll need high speed Internet access and computer gear for
research,” I indicated.
He nodded. “Arrangements have been made with our Exec-
utive Support Center. A laptop should also be waiting for you
in the room.”
We tooled by a pool, the water’s deep blue set off by the
almost blinding white of the surrounding cement. The sun was
hot and most people stayed in the shade or under the awning
of the outdoor bar. Machines in the bar’s eaves sprayed a fine
mist that kept the patrons cool. It would be bad for business to
have the guests collapse from heat stroke.
Our driver pulled neatly up a path and we got out. A small
flowering tree shaded the entrance to the bungalow. A dark
wooden door set in the stucco wall opened onto a spacious
living room. The furniture was finished to make it look like
it had been bleached in the sun. The color scheme was muted
pastels, and understated Southwest art was on the walls. The
AC had been on for some time and the place was about the
temperature of a meat locker. Roy ushered me around the dif-
ferent rooms in the suite, pointing out the wet bar and fridge,
the flat screen TV, the directory of services bound in some-
thing that was probably plastic but was meant to look like rich
Corinthian leather. Both the living room and the bedroom had
50
Kage
sliding glass doors that opened onto a small, walled-in patio. I
slid the glass doors open and the heat hit me like a hammer.
Small birds chirped in the greenery along the tops of the patio
wall. I could smell flowers and something very like dry herbs.
It was elegant, private, and restful. If Sarah were here, I would
have liked it a great deal.
Roy must have seen the expression on my face. “I hope
everything is acceptable?” he said anxiously.
I smiled. “First-class, Roy.”
He smiled back. His was very professional. Hospitality is a
serious business. “I’m so relieved,” he told me. I looked care-
fully, but could detect no sarcasm.
I tossed my bags on the bed and he handed me the enve-
lope filled with stuff. “Your research will mostly take place at
the Westmann estate,” he told me. “No autos are permitted on
these grounds, but a hotel car will be yours to use when travel-
ing. The bell staff at the main entrance are aware of this and
will provide you with the keys.”
“Where is the Westmann estate?” I asked.
Roy had a tight smile that was more like a grimace. “Ms.
Westmann has arranged for you to be briefed by our chief of
security on a number of items.” He looked at his watch. “Would
you care to freshen up or have a bite to eat before the meeting?”
“No, I’m good,” I said. I took a last look around the room,
pocketed my magic gold pass and went with him, back out into
the harsh light.
The hotel’s chief of security was a relief: you could see laugh
lines etched in the tanned skin around his eyes.
“Charlie Fiorella,” he said, shaking my
“Ms. Westmann has given me explicit instructions that I’m
to facilitate any requirements you may have, Dr. Burke,” he
began. Roy opened the envelope and began pointing things out
to me. The hotel was a sprawling complex of stucco buildings,
pools, and pathways. “You’ll be staying in one of our detached
suites for the duration of your assignment. As a guest of the
house, your food and entertainment expenses are complimen-
tary.” He handed me a gold plastic card. “Simply use this card
49
John Donohue
when you sign for things. It’s also your room key.”
We drove sedately and silently along a palm-lined path. The
cart’s motor whined faintly, but the sound of the rubber tires
was louder than the engine. Roy traced our progress on a little
map of the grounds. “The health club is close to your suite,
and there are six pools at different locations around the facility.
Restaurants and shops here,” he touched the map lightly, “and
here, and here.”
“I’ll need high speed Internet access and computer gear for
research,” I indicated.
He nodded. “Arrangements have been made with our Exec-
utive Support Center. A laptop should also be waiting for you
in the room.”
We tooled by a pool, the water’s deep blue set off by the
almost blinding white of the surrounding cement. The sun was
hot and most people stayed in the shade or under the awning
of the outdoor bar. Machines in the bar’s eaves sprayed a fine
mist that kept the patrons cool. It would be bad for business to
have the guests collapse from heat stroke.
Our driver pulled neatly up a path and we got out. A small
flowering tree shaded the entrance to the bungalow. A dark
wooden door set in the stucco wall opened onto a spacious
living room. The furniture was finished to make it look like
it had been bleached in the sun. The color scheme was muted
pastels, and understated Southwest art was on the walls. The
AC had been on for some time and the place was about the
temperature of a meat locker. Roy ushered me around the dif-
ferent rooms in the suite, pointing out the wet bar and fridge,
the flat screen TV, the directory of services bound in some-
thing that was probably plastic but was meant to look like rich
Corinthian leather. Both the living room and the bedroom had
50
Kage
sliding glass doors that opened onto a small, walled-in patio. I
slid the glass doors open and the heat hit me like a hammer.
Small birds chirped in the greenery along the tops of the patio
wall. I could smell flowers and something very like dry herbs.
It was elegant, private, and restful. If Sarah were here, I would
have liked it a great deal.
Roy must have seen the expression on my face. “I hope
everything is acceptable?” he said anxiously.
I smiled. “First-class, Roy.”
He smiled back. His was very professional. Hospitality is a
serious business. “I’m so relieved,” he told me. I looked care-
fully, but could detect no sarcasm.
I tossed my bags on the bed and he handed me the enve-
lope filled with stuff. “Your research will mostly take place at
the Westmann estate,” he told me. “No autos are permitted on
these grounds, but a hotel car will be yours to use when travel-
ing. The bell staff at the main entrance are aware of this and
will provide you with the keys.”
“Where is the Westmann estate?” I asked.
Roy had a tight smile that was more like a grimace. “Ms.
Westmann has arranged for you to be briefed by our chief of
security on a number of items.” He looked at his watch. “Would
you care to freshen up or have a bite to eat before the meeting?”
“No, I’m good,” I said. I took a last look around the room,
pocketed my magic gold pass and went with him, back out into
the harsh light.
The hotel’s chief of security was a relief: you could see laugh
lines etched in the tanned skin around his eyes.
“Charlie Fiorella,” he said, shaking my
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