Security Dan Satpam Novels & Stories

He was something else entirely. Something none of us fully understood. And Giovanni wanted him. Or worse, feared him. “We keep security doubled,” I said. “I want patrols rotating every three hours. No set schedules, no gaps. No one in or out without my say-so.” Mateo nodded. “And if you even suspect someone is slipping through our lines…” I looked him dead in the eye. “You end them. No questions asked.” He nodded once more, then left, the door clicking quietly behind him.

We stepped farther into the lot just as the night erupted into motion. Black SUVs rolled in from every entrance, tires crunching over gravel. Men poured out of them, alert and armed, spreading out in practiced formation. At the front was Damian’s head of security, moving fast, eyes scanning for threats. “Sir,” he said the moment he reached us. “We have the whole place surrounded. Ready to take action on your command.” I raised a brow. Damian didn’t even blink. He waved a dismissive hand. “Stand down. There won’t be any need for that.”

I whispered. "That's because most security is about appearance, not function." Kim was already pulling tools from her bag. "People see a uniform and a clipboard and they assume authority. We'll be in and out in twenty minutes. Thirty if the safe is complicated." Carter's office was at the end of the hall, corner space with windows overlooking the city. I'd never been inside it, had only seen it through the glass door that one time. Now, standing there with Naomi picking the lock and Kim setting up some kind of jammer for the security cameras, it felt surreal. Like I was in a movie about someone else's life.

, Jake replies “Hi Jake, my name is Josh Stones, and I’m the head of security in the A&E department at The Mansfield Hospital; the hospital is under a terrorist siege.” “Are you safe to Talk, Josh?” Jake asks as he records the conversation. Josh replies, “Yes, I’m currently in the security control room; we are locked inside and safe at the minute.” Jake nods as he asks, “How many are there with you? Can you confirm the names and numbers, Josh?”

“Any suggestions?” “Increase nighttime security?” Bateman said. “I’m worried about causing a panic, but I thought I’d tell the line managers so they could be more vigilant and strict about safety.” Damien frowned. He didn’t have much pull around here. “I’ll see what I can do about getting some authorities involved,” he countered. Bateman’s face echoed his own worry. “I’m afraid it is time for that, though all I have is the tech’s word. No real proof.” Damien stood. His mind worked over the puzzle.

Greg grinned and closed the door behind him. Mr Dumber was seated in the receptive swirling chair which was opposite the CEO's chair while Mr Springdam sat on one of the couches in the middle of the office. Their guards, including Linda's guard, Grant, were all standing respectively by the doors and windows of he office. This seemed to be the symmetrical order their team had come up with for security. Half of the room stay by a door and window on the right hand side while the other team do likewise om the left hand side. They do interchange sometimes when they are hosting something big, but nothing got past this. They were firm in their formation and order.

Damien leads the way from the entrance to a security desk, where they greet us hello. I must present my identification and sign in as a long-term guest. I’m given a key for the elevator and door codes. They also run down the amenities with me and provide a number to call in emergencies. These guards are comprehensive, taking my picture and asking a few questions about possible emergency services. It’s strange, but I go with it. Damien stands tall nearby, nodding in approval to them, helping me. That’s when I noticed the patches on their jackets; The Guard’s Private Security. These men are employed by his agency, and I feel even safer now.

Because if Dianne thought she could touch Jana, she hadn't yet understood what lines I would never let her cross. The door had barely stopped rattling from Dianne's exit when I pressed the intercom on my desk. "Have security double the watch around the building," I ordered. "No one enters without clearance, not even if they carry the Pitman name." "Yes, Mister Dankworth," came the prompt reply.

​Later that evening, in the sanctuary of my office, I found her staring at the corporate security report, tracking the movements of her own personnel. ​"I feel like I'm running an internal security service, not a construction project," she confessed, rubbing the tension from her temples. "I've ordered a full physical sweep of the building every night. No phones in the server rooms. All key access codes rotated bi-weekly." ​"Good," I said, handing her a whiskey. "Paranoia is a necessary tool of this trade. We are building the most high-profile target in London. They want us to fail. We give them no data."