Built in 1995, the Carravaggio Center became a very popular structure. Dominating the Van Buren skyline, the building was the unique creation of an Oslo born architect of no small skill. Rising more than 50 stories into the air, it was the tallest building in VBC, second tallest structure to the 62 story WVBC radio tower near the docks. The main feature of the building was a keyhole six stories tall and twenty feet wide.
The Westerland Lynx perched gracefully atop the building, delivering its cargo of two xeos to the building. A small groud crew met the helicopter and began to prep it for parking. One side of the top of the building was a helicopter hanger, the other half being the helipad. A carpeted stairwell lead into the building, away from the high pitech whine of the slowing turbine engine, the decreasing thump of the rotors.
Perceptor lead Trevor through several hallways before coming to an elevator. He inserted a key into the button panel, it beeped once, and the doors closed. It was hard to tell the distance, but the elevator descended only a floor or two. If it was a high speed, maybe three or four. The two entered a small but poshly decorated room. All of the furniture was overstuffed and leather upholstered, and the carpet was thick enough to be considered padding for a fall zone.
"If you need anything, you can call out for room service, but it will take a few minutes, the kitchens are on the ground floor." Perceptor said, stepping out onto a small balcony and liting a smoke. Apparently his employer didnt approve of his smoking inside.
George made his way to the Carravaggio Center, half of his remaining fifty dollars going to a cab driver who managed to get lost for ten miles claiming he couldnt find the center. It was an impressive building, a towering monstrosity of gleaming steel and glass, with a huge keyhole in the center. All he needed was for Superman to fly through the keyhole while he snapped away with a camera...
"Mister Michael?" A long legged redhead asked, her hair forming a thick mane around her round and inviting face. "I'm Ms. Dubois, Arazi. If you'll come with me, Mr. Cranston will be seeing the team in half an hour." she said. THey walked through the sixteen door lobby, facing a granite topped receptionists' desk roughly the size of a WWII carrier. The receptionist and quartet of security men nodded the duo through the interior doors. They proceded up a long promenade, overlooking the corridor that run under the building and the road. Several shops lined the aisle. Sandwiches and luggage boutiques jostled for space as people by the dozens bustled by on their lunch breaks. The smell of coffee was both strong, and appealing to a man who had subsisted on burnt convenience store coffee.
The elevator ride was fast, the cubicle whisked rapidly away into the heights of teh building, disgorging them into a large foyer. Arazi lead the reporter through a set of stained oak double doors into a small sitting room. A central table dominated the room. A teenager and a chainsmoker were the only occupants, the smoker scowling at the city from the balcony in a manner that would have made old Sam Spade proud.
The ride to the Carravaggio center was old news. The car was old, not one of the new models. Guess those were reserved for the CEOs, CFOs, and WTF's of the various companies housed in the beast of a building. Lucita, the receptionist smiled at David as he walked in with the goon squad. He knew the other four goons on guard detail.
Watkins and Schaeffer, Ange and Simms. They were good guys, painfully republican and lacking in imagination. They might go far in the company, so long as they didnt mind being stuck in security until they were on a meager pension and grousing about the good old days drinking free refill coffee in the local IHOP.
Spruance and David took the express elevator up to the executive level, and broke into the main waiting room. He had been here before, several times, but he had never actually met Cranston...Ultraman, before. Four people were in the room when they finally arrived. Perceptor lit another smoke, leaning against the rail, while the others seemed to have taken their lean.
"Welcome," A short woman said, brushing her auburn hair out of her eyes. Her orange sweater clashed with the red and brass motif of the conference room. "Mister Cranston will be able to see you in twenty minutes. There is fresh coffee in the carafe, and should anyone need anything the building service has been authorized to use the express elevator." she said with a smile.
"If there is anything I can personally get for you, dont be afraid to ask." she said.
"There is something," Perceptor said.
"No problem Mr. Waltrip," she said, extracting an unopened pack of cigarettes from her attache. "Mr. Cranston said you went through these very quickly."