—
They walked out to the Lexus under a threatening sky, Lewis carrying the rack of cassette tapes. “Some dude calling himself WILKS, on a private chat with Sanjay Mishra?”
“Only one guy that could be,” June replied. “Isaac Wilkinson.”
Of the people KT had interviewed, he was the third person who’d disavowed knowledge of the Gun Club. From the messages above, he was clearly a part of this, too. June was pretty sure she knew where to find him. The question was, would he see her?
42
Part of the legend surrounding Isaac Wilkinson, the founder of Savant, was that he’d basically lived at the office for years, sleeping on a cot in a storage room, working impossibly long hours even after he’d spun off a half dozen companies and made a half dozen fortunes. Adding to the myth, when the new company headquarters was being constructed, the Savant publicity team had gotten a lot of press over the fact that Isaac, as he was universally known, had told the architects to include a personal residence on the top floor, so he’d never have to leave work.
Unlike many innovators who transitioned to investing in other people’s startups, Wilkinson had never stopped innovating. He’d had a hand in almost every significant technological development in the last thirty years. His current focus, according to a recent article KT had written, was artificial intelligence. And Savant was leading the pack.
The new eight-story headquarters in Fremont, just uphill from GasWorks Park with unobstructed views of Lake Union, was a surprisingly artful assemblage of glass, steel, and concrete that spanned two city blocks. It had won the Pritzker Prize for architecture the year before, and seeing it in person, June understood why.
Lewis found a parking spot across the street. The rain had started up again, beating steadily against the windshield. “You ever interview him?”
“Not me,” June said. “He’s notoriously private. KT is the only journalist he’s talked to in decades. They met when Isaac was fresh out of Stanford creating his first company and have been fairly close ever since. Everything I know about him, I learned from her.”
“So, what’s our in? Guy like Isaac’s gotta have serious security.”
“We wait,” June said. “Kill the engine.”
Lewis cracked the windows to avoid condensation on the glass, then did as she asked. “What’re we waiting for?”
“You’ll see.”
They didn’t have to wait long. Thirty minutes later, a man walked out of the headquarters main entrance at a rapid clip, then turned away from them and strode purposefully into the blowing rain. Directly behind him were two athletic guys hustling to keep up. They wore black ballcaps and stylish black hip-length raincoats that didn’t quite hide the pistols on their belts.
“That’s him,” June said. “Get me closer.”
“What’s he doing?” Lewis eased out into traffic and past the walkers.
“He takes three or four walks a day, rain or shine. He told KT it’s how he does his best thinking. Pull a U-turn at the next intersection.”
Lewis did as she asked, then double-parked, flashers on, as Isaac Wilkinson approached. He wore an ancient red raincoat, the color faded to a soft pink, over black rain pants and well-worn hiking shoes. His dark brown face was weathered. His felted wool rain hat lookedlike it had been sat on several hundred times. The overall effect was of a hiker who’d walked out of the woods after thirty years in the wilderness.
“You’re joking,” Lewis said. “That’s Isaac Wilkinson?” Isaac wasn’t one to pace the stage publicizing the company’s latest products. There were few pictures of him. According to KT, he didn’t care for publicity.
June opened her door and hopped out. “Stay in the car or you’ll spook his security.”
Wilkinson was moving faster than he seemed. By the time she walked around the Lexus and between two parked cars, he was already past her.
“Isaac Wilkinson,” she called to his back. “Can I have a few words?”
Wilkinson didn’t seem to hear her, but one of the security men pivoted with his palms forward, eyes assessing her with cool professionalism. “Back away, miss. If you want to speak with Mr. Wilkinson, call his office for an appointment.”
June gave him her best smile and picked up her pace, the treads of her running shoes gripping the wet pavement nicely. The guard’s lips tightened and he reached for her wrist, trying for a control grip.
She swept his arm aside, then slipped beneath it, thumping her elbow into the back of his head as she passed, the blow hard enough to make him stumble and begin to fall. Ever since a certain asshole had locked her in a car trunk a few years back, she’d been training in mixed martial arts. It was always fun to put her skills to use outside the gym.
Wilkinson kept walking as if nothing had happened. Behind her, she heard the first guard curse softly as he caught himself and began to recover. The second guard, slightly older, had already jumped ahead of her to shield his boss, backpedaling as he raised the hem of his raincoat and unsnapped his holster strap, fingers made clumsy by the cold and wet. “Stop right there or I’ll shoot.”
“Don’t,” Lewis said, suddenly there on the sidewalk with the big Beretta in his fist, staring down both guards. Something in his face or his voice froze them both in place. “Ain’t nobody need to get hurt. Five minutes and we’re gone.”
Wilkinson, a scarecrow in baggy clothes, hadn’t stopped or even seemed to notice, striding into the rain. Past the second guard now, June leapt forward to catch up, then put a hand on his arm. “Isaac. I know what happened to Sanjay Mishra.”
He stopped abruptly and stared at her. Lines were carved deep around his mouth and eyes. Raindrops beaded up on his round eyeglasses. “I don’t know you.”
