Chapter Seven
Names

Stephen was working his way through an excellent Belgian waffle, slathered with whipped cream and dotted with jewel-like strawberries, when Dominic joined him at the breakfast table the next morning. "Good morning, Dominic."

"Morning, boss." Dominic blew on his coffee, then sipped it. "I don't see how you can eat all that so early in the morning. Makes my stomach churn just looking at it."

"Well, Dominic," Stephen cut another fork full. "Perhaps if you were a bit less enthusiastic in your alcohol consumption before you retired..." He chewed the bite thoroughly, then continued. "But we all have to choose our indulgences." Dominic nodded agreeably. Each man knew exactly what the other's 'indulgences' were. Few things bring people closer together.

"Of course," Stephen sighed. "I will have to do penance for this in the gym." He took another bite, chewing with a meditative look on his face. "I think I will go to the company gym instead of my private one. Perhaps I will get a chance to observe some of my candidates, or even find a new one."

"Sounds like a plan. And it should give you a chance to check out their bodies, if you see them there."

"I suppose so." Dominic didn't seem to understand that body type wasn't as important to Stephen as personality. If all he wanted was blonde hair, big tits, and a tight ass, he could rent that easily enough. "Did you pull all the initial information last night?" The question was by force of habit. Dominic had never failed him yet on such a simple task.

"Um... not quite." Stephen stopped eating, put down his fork, and turned his full attention on his employee. "I pulled up files on all of them but one. I just couldn't find a Mina O' Connel anywhere in the company data base."

"Did you try variations in spelling?"

Dominic frowned. "How many different ways can you spell 'Mina'?"

"She looks as if she were born somewhere in the sixties. If her parents were hippies, you'd be surprised at the spelling they might have dreamed up. That might not even be her real name. She may be embarrassed by her legal name, and choose to go by a nickname. I know that if my parents named me something like 'Moonbeam' or 'Free Spirit', I certainly would. She will be listed in the database under whatever name is on her identification papers." He resumed eating. "I'll check before I leave for the office."

Stephen wasn't really displeased. In the beginning, he'd done all his own research and preparations, and had enjoyed it immensely. Over the years, as he'd refined his technique, he'd delegated more and more, and sometimes he missed it. There was no reason why he had to just sit back and receive the pet at the end of the process. He decided that this time he would be more active in the actually acquiring.

The thought energized him, and he was looking forward to his visit to the gym later in the day. Perhaps he could wheedle someone into a rousing game of handball. It always put him in a good mood to thrash someone. After winning several competitions at his private gym, some of them against much younger men, he wasn't worried about acquitting himself well.

Dominic accompanied him into the study, and Stephen went to sit at the computer that rested on a side table. His personal desk was a huge, handsome mahogany affair, no place for anything as crassly modern as a pc. Stephen sat before the computer and booted it up. The BEE logo came on the screen. Baxter Electronics Empire was a very lucrative part of the family business. Grandfather had recognized the way the wind was blowing, and gotten into software and microprocessors early in the game.

They also had an Internet connection service, which made things very convenient. Every Baxter employee who had a computer received a free access account. It was ridiculously easy to pull their information.

Stephen went into the company data base and did a search for 'Mina O'Connel'. Sure enough, no listing. "You just have to know how to talk to these things," he assured Dominic, who grunted. He tried 'Minna'. No luck. Time to go into the more esoteric spellings.

Minah, Meena, Meana, Mynah... Variations on a theme. None of them quite worked. So he tried playing with the last name. O'Connel, O'Connell, O'Connelle, Oh'Connell. Nothing. He stared at the screen, tapping his fingers thoughtfully on the table. This was interesting. The woman seemed to be better at hiding than he'd initially credited.

"There's one last method that should get a result. That is if I didn't just imagine her yesterday." He typed in 'O'Connel, M." and pressed 'Search'. Immediately a single name appeared on the screen. "Ah. As the woman said, looking at the line of tiddlywinks, 'Bingo'." He peered more closely. "Goodness. No wonder Mina didn't work. Her legal name is Miann`Aiteag O'Connel."

Dominic whistled softly. "That's a mouthful. No wonder she goes by Mina."

"Very Gaelic. I wonder."

"What, boss?"

"Well, she's a natural born citizen, but her name is very, very ethnic. Her parents must have been immigrants, or first generation Americans. When someone chooses a name with that obvious a nationalist sound, it usually means something significant. Something they're trying to say about their child, or their hopes for them. I wonder what Miann's parents were thinking?"

Stephen got up and went to one of the bookcases that lined the walls. He ran his finger over the leather bound spines, half pulling one book from the shelf before changing his mind and replacing it. Finally he settled on a book that was as thick as a good dictionary, and brought it back to the table, showing it to his young helper. "Brouard's Compendium of Names and Meanings."

Stephen sat again and opened the tome. "Let's see. O'Connel, so we'll start with Irish names, of course. `Aiteag. That's an unusually one, for sure. Mm. Aileen, light. Ailis, form of Alice, truth. Here we are, `Aiteag." He smiled slowly. "A shy girl."

Dominic grinned. "Oh ho."

"Yes, oh ho. Now, Miann. Maille, Maire, Meara. Miann." Stephen's eyebrows rose. "My, my, my."

"What does it mean, boss? Butterfly?"

"No, Dominic, but it's just as good." He looked up, eyes glittering. "It means 'desire'. Miss O'Connel has just risen several notches in my estimation. But it DOES make me wonder what on earth her parents were thinking when they named her. It's quite a lot for a girl to live up to."

"Do you think she knows what her names mean?"

"I think we can be relatively sure that she does. Almost everyone looks up the meaning of their name at some time or other, especially if it's a bit unusual. I'd say that the reason she's going by Mina is that she does know the translation." He closed the book. "My own name means 'crown'. Yours, Dominic, means 'belonging to God'." Dominic snorted derisively. "Yes, well, we don't always grow to suit our names. I rather hope Miann `Aiteag did, though."

Stephen copied the information over onto the CD of other information that Dominic had prepared for him, and slipped it into a case neatly labeled 'CANDIDATES'. "Drive me in to work today, Dominic. I want you to be available for lunch with our investigator, and I'll probably be having you pick out some new surveillance equipment with him."

"I'm pretty sure he can provide whatever you need, boss." Dominic observed as they walked to the car.

"Yes, but I like the idea of having my own equipment. It may come in handy in the future. After all, I never know how long a pet will last. I'm hoping that this one will live a long and healthy life, but you never can tell."

He thought sadly of Renee'. He'd let her have a plastic fork to eat. Apparently she'd broken it and swallowed it in a suicide attempt. She was successful. The jagged shards of plastic had torn a vein or artery in her throat, and she'd choked to death on her own blood before they knew what was happening.

At the office, Kenya Desmond was polishing the glass in the front door, and he stopped to chat with her for a moment. He noted the bright orange T-shirt she wore under her housekeeping smock, and mentally deducted points. She lost even more ground when she proudly showed him a picture of a handsome, fat infant: her son. That effectively put her out of the running. People with such close ties were searched for much too frantically.

The field was narrowing already. This might not be too difficult, but he decided to take his time with the selection. It was one of the most pleasant aspects of his hobby.

In his office, his private secretary, Donald, had several reports ready for his inspections, and a stack of orders for him to sign. He skimmed them briefly before setting his signature to him. He had so many buffering layers of people looking out for his interests that it was scarcely necessary, but some of the old line caution held over, and he never let anything go by without checking it personally. He was a swift reader, getting every scrap of meaning in one quick viewing, and retaining it. His grades at school had been outstanding. His grandfather had been a bit disappointed that he hadn't pursued a Ph.D., but didn't hound him about it.

Once the business was out of the way, he popped the CD into his computer and settled down to begin studying his options. First he deleted Desmond: no point in keeping the information if she was out of the running. Then he started alphabetically, with Barenski.

Baxter Enterprises kept fairly extensive employee records. By industry standards, they were quite nosy, but all questions were worded in a way that was not liable to prosecution. Their legal department boys were experts in covering corporate ass.

If he remembered correctly, Baranski was a dish-water blonde, barely escaping brown. She wore her hair in what he called 'The Corporate Bun', twisted into a knot at the base of her neck. It was a particularly old style for a young woman: she was only twenty-five, according to her statistics. That was in her favor. And the business suit she'd been wearing yesterday had been a particularly drab shade, somewhere between beige and grey.

He had hesitated a little before making a sweep through Accounting. After all, an accounting degree required a good bit of effort to achieve, and it would seem that someone willing to go to those lengths might automatically be too unique to suit Stephen's taste. But then he looked at it from another angle. There were, perhaps, only two professions he knew of more colorless than accountant: statistician and insurance salesman.

Baranski was single, that was good. He'd find out later if she had a boyfriend, or an active social life. Those two things wouldn't necessarily disqualify her, but they would have to be balanced out by more desirable characteristics.

His phone rang, and he answered it absently. "Yes?" There was no need to announce who he was. No one could get through to this line without being screened.

Donald said, "Mr. Baxter, I have a gentleman on hold. He won't give a name, but he said that you wanted to speak with him about some electronic equipment?"

"Put him through."

"Good day, sir. I'm calling in relation to a referral from a mutual acquaintance named Dominic. He mentioned that you have used our services in the past, and found them satisfactory. Also that you may have work for us now."

"That is correct. I would like to meet with you today in order to discuss this. Would it be possible to meet for lunch?"

"Of course."

"Good. Shall we say Templeton's, at twelve-thirty?"

"A good choice, sir." Templeton's was a discrete restaurant. There were private dining rooms, and the staff was attentive when they needed to be, but very forgetful of who had dined there, when, and with who.

Dominic came by a little later. When they arrived at the restaurant they were shown into a small private room. Stephen studied the neat man who rose to greet him. He was wearing a moderately priced suit: no designer name, but no chain warehouse drek, either.

Dominic did the introductions. "Lamont, this is Stephen. Stephen, Lamont." They shook hands. Last names were to be used as little as possible in a transaction like this.

Lamont hadn't met with Stephen the last time he had used the services, delegating it to a subordinate. But a return customer was fairly unusual in his line of work, and he'd been intrigued. Besides, it had been awhile since he'd been on the actual nuts-and-bolts end of the business, and he missed it.

Lamont, for his part, liked what he saw, and was prepared to do business on Dominic's recommendation. Stephen was obviously Old Money. The tasteful, expensive wardrobe, conservative haircut, civil manner and tone, and, perhaps most importantly, well kept hands told him this.

They ordered. When the waitress had left, Lamont said, "Well, Stephen, shall we discuss our business now, or later?"

"No reason to delay." Stephen folded his hands on the table.

"Dominic mentioned that this would be much like the last time you hired our services?"

"Very much. I have five people I'll need you to observe and gather data on." When he saw Dominic's raised eyebrow at the number, he reiterated. "Five. Desmond has proved unsatisfactory." He looked at Lamont. "I notice that you're not taking notes." There was no condemnation in his voice.

"No. I don't believe in writing things down. I record as little as possible, but I have a mind like a sponge. If I forget anything, or need any more information, I'll ask Dominic. The only records at all will be what I turn over to you, there will be absolutely no backup copies of anything." Stephen nodded his approval. That was a very good thing.

"I'll have to put you to work immediately, I'm afraid. I'd like a good, clear head shot of each of these individuals by the end of work tomorrow. I like to have something to look at while I'm doing my research. Then I'll need random shots of each one, without their knowledge, of course."

"Of course."

"Though I think I might set up some sort of line of gossip at work about starting a company magazine. That would give you or your operative an excuse to wander about with a camera with impunity."

"An excellent idea."

"Over the next week or two I expect to narrow the field. Eventually you will be dealing with only one individual, but on an intense basis."

"Dominic hinted that you might be interested in our video surveillance services?"

"Oh, yes. I'm VERY interested in that. I can tell you for sure that I'll want a set-up at my home. We'll have to wait and see if it would be feasible to install in the home of my final selection."

"All right. But I'll tell you now, if the security is any less than prison level, there are ways."

Stephen smiled. "The ones I'm thinking about are hardly likely to live in secured buildings. I don't think it will be a problem."

He supplied Lamont with the names of his chosen candidates, and they had a pleasant lunch. Lamont agreed to have the initial photographs the next day. After ascertaining that all the women would be at work, he commandeered Dominic to point them out to his operatives that afternoon as they left the building. "We'll take it from there."

Stephen returned to work satisfied, both physically and emotionally. He had eaten enough, but not too much, and his selection process was in motion. He worked a couple of hours to let his lunch settle, then went down to the employee's gym in the basement.

Baxter Enterprises was considered something of a leader in employee perks. Stephen didn't particularly CARE what his staff wanted, but he had learned from his grandfather that expending a little could save a lot in the long run. Let your peons see you as generous to a fault, and they'd be less likely to notice if one or two of them had less than ideal treatment. So the day care, subsidized lunches, free gym, and excellent health insurance neatly covered over the few arbitrary dismissals. And two unexplained disappearances.

Ever prepared, Stephen had a locker in the men's section of the gym dressing room. Each week a fresh set of gym clothes was exchanged for the old one. There were a fair number of people using the gym when he went down at two. Breaks were staggered, and many employees took advantage of the facilities.

Stephen warmed up with a quick set of exercises on a weight machine. No one had the bad taste to actually stand and gape, but there was a lot of covert observation goin on. He accepted it calmly. He controlled these peoples' livelihood, a certain amount of interest was to be expected. Different from when I was a kid Stephen thought absently. Eyes seemed to just glide over me without registering a human being, way back then. He speeded up in his chest curl repetitions, snapping the machine's arm resistors around with almost vicious speed. Those who observed him wondered what had given him the sudden burst of energy, and Stephen honestly wouldn't have been able to tell them.

Finally he found someone who was willing to give him a game of handball. It was one of the vice-presidents, slumming today by coming to the employees' gym rather than going to his private club. Stephen was pleased. The man was high enough ranked that he probably wouldn't feel the need to kiss ass by going easy in the game, and he was young enough and fast enough to be a serious competitor.

The game started out even, which told Stephen that the man was, indeed, playing his best game. It deteriorated quickly, though. Stephen was a ruthless player, and today he didn't feel like toying with anyone. He beat the man with hard over-head slams and drives that took the ball to the edge of his field, forcing him to dive for it.

A crowd gathered around the perimeter at the top of the sunken court. Stephen raked quick glances over them between serves, looking for hiders. He spotted two that he already had on his list: Sulynne Liang and Mina O'Connel. The women were at opposite sides of the pit. Liang was standing with a few other people, O'Connel was a bit apart from the others on her side.

Well Stephen thought, preparing to serve again. Does Liang gain points for blending into a crowd, or lose points for BEING in a crowd willingly? He smashed the ball into the far wall, and was moving before it struck, calculating where his opponent would have to dive to make a return, and the trajectory the ball was likely to take on the rebound. He proved correct in both instances, and his opponent missed the ball when it whizzed past his head after Stephen made a lightening return.

Retrieving the ball, he took the opportunity to look again, and frowned. Liang was chatting animatedly with a co-worker. They were apparently discussing his performance but that didn't mitigate the fact that she was choosing human contact when it might have been avoided. Now, O'Connell...