"And Garrett—keep your hands where he can see them."
Through the tall glass doors, Harlan watched Garrett step out onto the sidewalk with the unhurried dignity of a man who had spent most of his working life standing in one place and being underestimated for it. He walked to the sedan at the pace he had always walked, raised one gloved hand in a small wave that he had given to a thousand drivers across two decades, and bent slightly at the waist to speak through the lowered window.
Harlan could not hear the words, but he could see the angle of the conversation. He could see the small, polite tilt of the driver's head. He could see Garrett's other hand—the one not gesturing toward the building—resting comfortably and visibly on the frame of the open window.
The driver said something. Garrett nodded. Garrett pointed toward the lobby as if explaining where Harlan had gone, then mimed the universal shape of a phone call. The driver leaned back slightly. He nodded once. Garrett straightened, gave a small wave of acknowledgement, and walked back toward the doors at the same unhurried pace.
When he came through the revolving door, his face was composed, but his eyes were not.
"He's nervous, sir," Garrett said quietly as he passed Harlan on the way back to his post. "He kept looking at the side mirror. He has a phone face-down on the passenger seat. The screen lit up twice while I was standing there; he didn't pick it up."
"Did he say anything?"
"He said his name was Patrick. He said the car was a Hadley vehicle, but the company decal on the dash was wrong. Hadley uses a blue circle with a white H. The decal on his dash was a green diamond. I've been opening that door for Hadley drivers for nineteen years, sir. I know what the right decal looks like."
Harlan nodded slowly. "Stay at your post. Do not look at the car again unless he gets out."
"Yes, sir."
Harlan turned and walked back to the security desk. Isaiah was still standing exactly where he had been told to stand. He had not moved. He had not looked toward the windows. He was watching Harlan with the kind of patient attention that adults often mistook for shyness, and that Harlan was beginning to understand was something else entirely.
"Frank," Harlan said, "anything from Pell?"