Read Online Timothy's Game by Lawrence Sanders - Free Book Online
Authors: Lawrence Sanders
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work.”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” he explains patiently. “I’ll be out of the office the rest of the week. I’m supposed to investigate internal security at Pistol and Burns, and make suggestions for improvements.”
“Then do it!”
He slouches out of her office and ambles down Broadway to Wall Street. It’s a sultry day, and he’s happy he left his raincoat at home. He’s wearing his black leather cap and his old corduroy suit.
G. Fergus Twiggs must have spread the word because, after identifying himself, the Wall Street dick has no problems getting into Pistol & Burns. He’s allowed to roam the hushed corridors, examine offices, poke into closets, and check the fire escape doors to see if they can be opened from the outside.
Cone doesn’t leave the offices during the lunch hour because he wants to see if any high-powered executives come reeling back, their eyes glazed with a three-martini lunch. He strikes out on that; all the P&B employees seem sober, industrious, and dull.
“Look,” he says to Mr. Twiggs at the end of the first day, “I’ll put everything in a final report, but there are things you should do immediately, so I think I better pass them along to you personally every day.”
“It’s that bad, is it?” the cherubic senior partner says.
“It’s not a disaster,” Cone says, “but you’ve got to learn to operate defensively. I don’t mean you’ve got to make this place into a fortress, but you should take some more precautions. Or one of these days some outlaws are going to stroll in here and waltz out with the family jewels.”
“What kind of precautions?”
“Well, for starters, you’ve got one security guard on the front door. I’m sure he’s a fine old gentleman, but he is old and he is fat. It would take him a while to suck in his gut before he could get that big revolver out of his dogleg holster. Get a younger guy on the door. Get another two or three to wander around. They can be nicely dressed, but armed and maybe wearing badges.”
“What else?” Twiggs says, making notes.
“All your typewriters and business machines should be bolted to the desks. You can even get attachments with burglar alarms, if you want to go that far. But you’ve got a zillion dollars’ worth of portable machinery in here that could be carted off with no trouble at all. Bolt it down.”
“Good idea,” the senior partner says. “Anything else?”
“Yeah, those paper shredders you’re using to destroy confidential documents. … They’re antiques. Shredded documents can be pasted together again. The Iranians taught us that when they re-created CIA secret memos from strips of paper lifted from the shredders in our embassy. You need new models that turn paper into confetti.”
“Excellent suggestion. More?”
“Not today,” Cone says. “I’ll be back tomorrow and take a closer look. I’ll stop by at the end of the day and give you my report.”
“I think you’re doing a fine job.”
“It’s all practical stuff. It’s not going to stop insider leaks, but it may help. Like keeping a cleaning woman who’s on the take from delivering the contents of your wastebaskets to some wise guys.”
At the end of the second day, he says to Twiggs, “This one is going to cost you bucks. You’ve got your Mergers and Acquisitions people scattered all over the place. An office here, an office there. That’s an invitation to leaks. You’ve got to consolidate that whole department. They can still have their individual offices, but all of them have to be in the same area. And that area has to be behind a locked door that can only be opened by authorized personnel with a computer-coded card.”
“It’s beginning to sound more and more like a fortress,” Twiggs says with a wan smile.
Cone shrugs. “You want to cut down on the possibility of leaks? This is one way to do it.”
On his final day at Pistol & Burns, he says to the senior partner, “This one is
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” he explains patiently. “I’ll be out of the office the rest of the week. I’m supposed to investigate internal security at Pistol and Burns, and make suggestions for improvements.”
“Then do it!”
He slouches out of her office and ambles down Broadway to Wall Street. It’s a sultry day, and he’s happy he left his raincoat at home. He’s wearing his black leather cap and his old corduroy suit.
G. Fergus Twiggs must have spread the word because, after identifying himself, the Wall Street dick has no problems getting into Pistol & Burns. He’s allowed to roam the hushed corridors, examine offices, poke into closets, and check the fire escape doors to see if they can be opened from the outside.
Cone doesn’t leave the offices during the lunch hour because he wants to see if any high-powered executives come reeling back, their eyes glazed with a three-martini lunch. He strikes out on that; all the P&B employees seem sober, industrious, and dull.
“Look,” he says to Mr. Twiggs at the end of the first day, “I’ll put everything in a final report, but there are things you should do immediately, so I think I better pass them along to you personally every day.”
“It’s that bad, is it?” the cherubic senior partner says.
“It’s not a disaster,” Cone says, “but you’ve got to learn to operate defensively. I don’t mean you’ve got to make this place into a fortress, but you should take some more precautions. Or one of these days some outlaws are going to stroll in here and waltz out with the family jewels.”
“What kind of precautions?”
“Well, for starters, you’ve got one security guard on the front door. I’m sure he’s a fine old gentleman, but he is old and he is fat. It would take him a while to suck in his gut before he could get that big revolver out of his dogleg holster. Get a younger guy on the door. Get another two or three to wander around. They can be nicely dressed, but armed and maybe wearing badges.”
“What else?” Twiggs says, making notes.
“All your typewriters and business machines should be bolted to the desks. You can even get attachments with burglar alarms, if you want to go that far. But you’ve got a zillion dollars’ worth of portable machinery in here that could be carted off with no trouble at all. Bolt it down.”
“Good idea,” the senior partner says. “Anything else?”
“Yeah, those paper shredders you’re using to destroy confidential documents. … They’re antiques. Shredded documents can be pasted together again. The Iranians taught us that when they re-created CIA secret memos from strips of paper lifted from the shredders in our embassy. You need new models that turn paper into confetti.”
“Excellent suggestion. More?”
“Not today,” Cone says. “I’ll be back tomorrow and take a closer look. I’ll stop by at the end of the day and give you my report.”
“I think you’re doing a fine job.”
“It’s all practical stuff. It’s not going to stop insider leaks, but it may help. Like keeping a cleaning woman who’s on the take from delivering the contents of your wastebaskets to some wise guys.”
At the end of the second day, he says to Twiggs, “This one is going to cost you bucks. You’ve got your Mergers and Acquisitions people scattered all over the place. An office here, an office there. That’s an invitation to leaks. You’ve got to consolidate that whole department. They can still have their individual offices, but all of them have to be in the same area. And that area has to be behind a locked door that can only be opened by authorized personnel with a computer-coded card.”
“It’s beginning to sound more and more like a fortress,” Twiggs says with a wan smile.
Cone shrugs. “You want to cut down on the possibility of leaks? This is one way to do it.”
On his final day at Pistol & Burns, he says to the senior partner, “This one is
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