Olympus: It's Not Just a Game

Chapter 26

"This is going to cost a mint!"

"With all you've been shelling out on cybersuits, I wouldn't think a parking garage would bother you," Mr. Avery chided.

"I hate Manhattan," Mr. Huber grumbled in response. He looked up at the glass and chrome that towered overhead. "I don't trust anybody who works in a skyscraper." They pushed through revolving doors into an oppressively modern entryway. The names of the businesses were engraved in a polished marble slab that dominated the center of the lobby. "Atlantis GameWorks" was on the nineteenth floor.

"Atlantis GameWorks, sure," sniffed Mr. Huber. "What a name. Probably just a receptionist and a mail box."

"Pretty expensive real estate, for just a mailbox," Mr. Avery observed.

"Some rich kid with nothing better to do, you watch," he answered. "Spending Daddy's money and calling it a tax deduction." If so, it must have been a big deduction: when they stepped out of the elevator, they stepped into a deeply carpeted anteroom facing enormous glass doors. "Atlantis GameWorks" was etched into the glass in stylized gold script.

Beyond the doors was a receptionist's station the size of a small tropical island. Mr. Avery trekked up to it. "We're looking for Mr. Peter Antipas," he said.

The receptionist looked amused. "Did you have an appointment?"

"No," Mr. Avery confessed. "But it's urgent."

"Perhaps our Vice President in charge of Operations could help you," the young woman cheerfully suggested. "Or if it's a software matter, I might be able to squeeze you in with one of the senior analysts. Or does this have something to do with the new facility at Sand Creek?"

Mr. Huber's eyes were bulging. "How many people work here?" he asked.

She looked at them suspiciously. "Are you from the press?" She rummaged around on a shelf at knee level. "I have a press packet, but Mr. Antipas is not conducting interviews."

"We'd appreciate some information," Mr. Avery answered, and took the packet, "but we're not from the press. This is a personal matter. It has to do with a young lady named Nancy Avery. I believe Lord Peter—I mean, Mr. Antipas—is the only person who would be able to help us."

"Lord Peter, is it?" she asked, with raised eyebrows. "Hmmm. Let me check." She pressed a button on her desk, and waited. In a moment, a light blinked in front of her. She picked up a telephone. "Two gentlemen are here to see you," she announced. "They say it's about a Nancy Avery." A voice spoke in her ear, and her eyebrows reached for the ceiling. She looked up at them. "You may go in," she said, a little amazed, and pointed toward a large mahogany door at the end of the foyer.

The door led them, not into Peter's office, but into the anteroom to his office. A fierce-looking secretary guarded the door from behind a fortress-like desk. "Peter Antipas is a very busy man," she said sternly. "I trust this will be a brief interview. He can give you five minutes."

"We'll try to be brief," Mr. Avery answered, meekly.

He stepped toward the door beyond her desk, but she interrupted him. "No, no, no!" she spluttered. "Not that way! Over there." She pointed toward two chairs at the other end of the waiting room. Each one faced his own oversized monitor built into the wall. "Sit down," she commanded.

Mystified, each of the men settled themselves into a deep, comfortable chair in front of a monitor. The secretary spoke into a microphone. "The two gentlemen are ready, Peter."