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voice asked him to meet her at a place near his office.  She used the unique name the regulars applied to it, something that brought a smile to cops, but meant nothing to most civilians.
    Taylor increased his pace towards the beanstalk station.
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 6
     
     
    The Atrium was many places, organized around a hollow square that rose nine floors to a clear ceiling.  There were trees and vines twining green around stair wells and elevators between the floors.  Every once in a while, it seemed to rain, but it was a fine mist and only fell where the plants needed it.
    A well-managed jungle, the cops called it.  While people with too much money spent it among the greenery of the nine floors, the basement had several nice places were working folks might hang out.  Government types with only the pay voters saw fit to give them.
    Taylor would bet money that his caller didn’t intend to meet him in the basement.  The voice was too well manicured.
    He took a seat at a finely worked cast iron table and pulled out his reader.  He was way behind on his comic strips.  Mostly, he stayed to the strips that did their jokes in a day.  He could never count on following a storyline that covered a week, much less a month.  He caught up on the last week of his favorites, then turned to the one long plotted comic he enjoyed.  He had to flip back through six weeks before he could find the beginning of this particular story ark and follow the jokes.  Taylor was smiling happily at a particularly good running line of jokes when the woman who had sent him here entered.
    At least, he hoped she was looking for him.
    Likely, well over half the eyes in the Atrium followed her, hoping she had come to meet them.  While engineer Annie had fit in, using light makeup and a shirt and pants that were nearly the uniform of the civilian workforce, this woman stood out. 
    Her dress was clearly professional, but the tight sheath of several competing shades of gray drew the eye and made every step she took a celebrating of several million years of female evolution and locomotion.  Her makeup turned a lovely face into something striking and unforgettable.
    Clearly, today she’s not afraid to be remembered.  I wonder what she looks like when she doesn’t want to be so memorable? the professional in Taylor thought.
    As she passed his table she spoke softly, “Agent Foile, will you walk with me?”
    He pocketed his reader and rose to follow her.  In a moment, he was beside her.  “No agent today.  I’m on vacation.”
    “I am rarely asked to go fishing,” the woman said.  “I really doubt you are on holiday.”
    Taylor chose not to press the point.
    They entered an elevator and the woman pressed for nine.  Taylor had staked out a few stores on that level.  Most of them sold the most expensive works of art on Wardhaven.  However, she led him to a small restaurant.
    “Your usual, Mademoiselle M?”
    “Certainly, Charles.”
    “It’s ready for you,” was all the maître d’ said.
    Without looking back, Mademoiselle M led Taylor to a small room with a table and chairs.  She held the door open for him to enter, then closed it firmly behind her.  The room was something Tailor had only heard of.  Art work in gold frames, rich cream wallpaper with gold filigree running through it in a flower pattern, and a plush blue carpet enveloped his shoes.
    “Clear,” the woman said and suddenly all the falderal vanished.  The walls were spartan white and bare of anything.  The table, chairs and carpet were still there, but Taylor had seen interrogation rooms with more warmth than this room now exuded. 
    He took a chair.  She settled into the chair across from him.  From her small purse, she removed a compact and began to check her makeup.  She was careful to keep the mirror out of Taylor’s line of sight.
    The agent would bet money that the “compact” was doing a far more thorough check of the security of this room than