"Through what, sir?"
"Through everything we have. Start with the building's visitor logs for the past six months, then move outward: vendors, contractors, deliveries, anyone who has signed in at the front desk. Then run it against the public databases that the company has access to through our security contractor. I want a name."
Frank's hands moved again. The faces on the screen multiplied into a column of comparison candidates. Most were rejected within seconds; a handful held, then fell away. A small wheel turned in the corner of the monitor.
"Sir." Pell's voice came through the radio, low and urgent. "I have her. 27th-floor service corridor. She is in the cleaning supply room. The door was locked from the inside. She let me in when I said your name."
"Is she hurt?"
"No, sir. She is shaking, but she is not hurt. She is asking about her son."
"Tell her her son is with me and that he is safe. Bring her down through the back stairs, not the elevator. Take her to the small conference room on three. Stay with her until I come up."
"Yes, sir."
Harlan turned to Isaiah. He had not realized how tightly he had been holding the edge of the security desk until he let go of it. He knelt again.
"Your mother is safe, Isaiah. She is upstairs. A man named Pell is with her; he works for me. He is going to bring her down through the back of the building, and I am going to take you to her in a few minutes. But first, I need you to be patient with me a little longer. Can you do that?"
The boy nodded. His shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch. It was the first time since the conversation on the sidewalk that he had allowed any small piece of his body to ease. Harlan saw it and committed it quietly to memory.
"Sir." Frank's voice was tight. "I have a match."