“Well, what is it?”
“Why Dead Man’s Chest Rum, neat,” replied Declercq.
“What is this? Some kind of a sick joke?” Phil sounded and appeared to be incensed.
“Oh, no, sir. I … there must be some kind of terrible mistake. I will take it back.”
“Relax, Phil,” Issaack said. “Mistakes happen. That happens to be one of my favorites and if you don’t want it, I will take it.”
“Me too,” Gladstone said. “I like that.”
The bluster seemed to go out of Phil and he relaxed and smiled. “I’ve never tried it.” He looked up at Declercq whose face showed that he was troubled, and it was a look that not even the best actors in the world could give easily. “Relax,” Phil said. “I’ll take all three. I sense it might be a hard day.”
The tension in Declercq’s face disappeared, and he put the three drinks on the table in front of Phil. Monica reached over and took the glass of Dead Man’s Chest.
“May I?” she said.
Phil smiled.
“Indeed you may, Ms. Bartlett. Indeed you may.”
Chapter 4
The tension within the group was completely gone eight minutes later when the door opened, and the sixth person entered the room. Her entrance was like her – there but not overpowering.
Unlike the others in the Billionaire Bundle, Gloria Grendel Mitchell was not self-made, but her wealth was in family money and she was currently the power behind Family Dollar Tree, a growing chain of merchandise marts. She was five feet nine, one hundred forty pounds tending more to flab than muscle, with non-descript features and a figure that said she was female but wasn’t the kind to draw attention. In her mid-fifties, she wore her hair short and was considered a dyke when people first met her. However, her three children by three different husbands – all of whom barely lasted past birth of their progeny – showed that not to be necessarily true. Put in that perspective, her name should have been Gloria Ann Grendel Wallace Forsythe Mitchell.
She was wearing a dark gray department store bought pants suit with a long sleeved pink blouse with a ruffle down the front and fire topaz cufflinks rather than buttons. She was carrying a large shoulder bag that had taken ten minutes to go through even though the scanner and all the other electronic gear installed for this meeting had indicated that she was clean. Symon Sheetz was leaving nothing to chance. Upon entering the room, she had looked at the table and then chosen a seat opposite Monica Bartlett.
“I’m Gloria…,” she began when the sound of gunfire could be heard and immediately thereafter, shutters closed over all the windows and the room’s illumination brightened. None of this was noticeable to the people at the table because to a one they were now under the table. Almost simultaneously with the closing of the shutters, there was the sound of a silver tray hitting the floor and the crash of at least one crystal glass. Declercq had just come out the kitchen door when the gunfire had sounded. He had let go of the tray and gone back into the kitchen, then returned with an automatic rifle in his hands and a bandolier with extra clips and what appeared to be hand grenades over his left shoulder.
“You’re safe in here,” Declercq said, only to have the period at the end of his sentence punctuated with an explosion that shook the room. “That’s a handheld missile of some type,” Declercq said as he took a stance beside the two doors from the foyer, the bolts of which had been thrown when the shutters started closing.
“What’s happening?” Issaack asked as he got up from the floor and started toward the doors.
“Stay at the table,” Declercq said, turning so that his weapon pointed in Issaack’s general direction. “You can’t do anything, and you are perfectly safe.”
In the background of Declercq’s words, the sound of more gunfire and sirens were evident.
“I’m too young to die,” Monica said, tears starting to pour down her face.
“Don’t worry, miss,” Declercq said, “You’re not going to die today.”
He stood still listening and then said, “It’s over.”
As the rest of the Bundle started to get up, the bolts in the door were withdrawn and Symon Sheetz came through the door followed by one of the security guards. Like Declercq, Symon Sheetz was armed with an automatic weapon, although his was an Uzi.
“Everyone okay?” Sheetz asked.
“What the hell is going on?” Gladstone demanded.
“We suspect that there was an assassination attempt on Mr. Esteves,” Sheetz responded. “We had hoped that he hadn’t been followed, but either they’re very good or Mr. Esteves was a little sloppy in his travels.”
The look on Ramiro’s face showed that he was not happy with the latter of the two choices.
“Who’s they?” Gloria asked.
“I don’t know for certain, maybe Mr. Esteves has an answer. We were aware that something might happen and were prepared as were the police. The assassination team – if that’s what they were – got off one round and then were silenced.”
“What if there are more?” Gloria asked.
“We doubt that there are, but, if so, they have seen some of what we can retaliate with and will probably take off.”
“Well, regardless, I need to use the restroom. Can someone point it out?”
Declercq pointed to one of the two doors at the rear of the room on the same wall as the kitchen and Gloria started for them.
“I’ll come also if you don’t mind,” Monica said. She giggled. “I haven’t peed in my knickers since I was … who knows, I was young that’s all I know.”
“We apologize for this unfortunate event,” Sheetz said. “Your host will understand if any of you decide to withdraw at this time. If you do, your deposit will be completely returned.”
“Withdraw!” Phil exclaimed. “Hell, I came here for some excitement although I wasn’t expecting this. I thought I might be on the shooting end, not the bullet end. Next time, give me a weapon. I know how to handle guns.”
Symon Sheetz smiled. “That may be so, Mr. Parmalee, but I think it will be best to leave any armaments in the hands of professionals.”
His statement was punctuated with the shutters over the windows opening and the room’s illumination returning to its former brightness.
“Now, if you will excuse me,” Sheetz said, “I will go and see to our last invitee who had just gotten inside when the fracas began.”
He turned and walked through the doorway followed by the security guard. Declercq started for the kitchen as a woman dressed in a mid-length black dress with a white lace apron came out of the kitchen with a brush, dustpan and rag and started to clean up the mess from Declercq’s tray.
“I think a break to relieve myself is in order,” Issaack said and started for the restroom.
“Sounds like a plan,” Gladstone said.
“Certamente (certainly),” Ramiro said.
Phil Parmalee was left alone at the table – all of his glasses empty in front of him.
Chapter 5
“Anyone hurt?” The last invitee had taken a chair in the hotel’s foyer as he had been instructed and watched and listened to the sounds of the invasion. He heard the sounds of the shutters being opened in the Board Room and watched the ones being opened on the lobby windows. He looked up as he heard Symon Sheetz and the security guard return through the doors from the Board Room. The other security guard had been standing behind a section of the outside wall next to the exterior doors, weapon at the ready, eyes moving, alert for any attempt at intrusion.
“No, just disquieted a bit,” Symon Sheetz replied. “Sorry for the delay, Mr. Emerson. Now if you will please step over here and empty your pockets.” As he was talking, Symon Sheetz had put his Uzi and bandolier on hooks behind the desk where he would have sat if he had had time which he hadn’t since the first guest arrived.
Ralph Waldorf Emerson was an electrical engineer with a degree from M.I.T. He had gone to work for an automobile battery company where he had helped develo
p a longer lasting battery for electrical cars. Having to share his patent with his coworker Julian Hitchcock and his company did not make him happy. So, he borrowed money and started his own battery company using a much better variant in his batteries and then moved on to the place where the batteries were being used – electric cars. His first car was small but ideal for people who lived in cities and just needed a runabout. Though expensive, its sleek design, long battery life and fast recharging made it appeal to yuppies and it was difficult to keep up with the demand during the first year. At the end of the year, he released his bigger SUV and they sold like hotcakes. The IPO of his company’s stock made him a billionaire overnight and he began to enjoy life and the excitement that it offered.
As he had been instructed, Waldo – as he was referred to by his friends – walked over to the desk and put his wallet, change, money clip and handkerchief into a dish which Symon Sheetz put into a small scanner. As the disk disappeared through the small doorway carried by the conveyor belt, Symon Sheetz motioned that Waldo should step into the state-of-the-art body scanner. Waldo complied, raised his arms and stood motionless for the required three seconds. Then he exited and one of the security guards passed the handheld scanner over Waldo and then set it down.
“Body search okay, Mr. Emerson?” the security guard asked.
“Whatever you need to do,” Waldo said. “Can’t be any worse than the one I had at the Dubai airport.”
When the guard finished the body search, he handed Waldo the dish with his belongings. As he was putting them into his pocket, Symon Sheetz asked, “What was this ‘body search’ at the Dubai airport?”
“Well, it was equaled here” Waldo said. “Every part of my body was touched.”
“We leave nothing to chance,” Sheetz said. “Our host requires that.”
“Bet the women must have been a little upset with the intrusion,” Waldo said.
“Not at all,” Sheetz said, “Gretel searched the women,” he indicated the other security guard. Waldo looked and realized, upon more than a cursory examination, that the other security guard, while as big as her male companion, was indeed a woman.
“I would guess that your name is Hansel,” Waldo said to the guard who had searched him.
“No, but that’s what they call me when I work with Gretel. My given name is Harry.”
Waldo laughed and said, “Why didn’t they call her ‘Sally’?”
Then, without waiting for an answer, walked through the doors into the meeting room as indicated by Symon Sheetz. His entry wasn’t dazzling although his Honolulu Blue shirt under a dark blue sport coat, charcoal black Lee jeans and black topsiders with white socks wasn’t exactly subdued. He was greeted by six pairs of eyes fixed perfectly on him. “Hello,” he said feeling stupid as he said it, “I’m …”
“Ralph Waldorf Emerson” came out of five of the mouths. Only Ramiro didn’t know who he was. There was one seat remaining between Ramiro and Mitchell. He noted that, other than the six at the table, the only other person in the room was a woman dressed in black with a white bib apron with large straps over the shoulders. She was offering a tray filled with pastries to the beautiful blonde woman seated almost straight across from him. He did the math - seven people. 8.57 minutes per person. Using Harvey Gladstone as 12:00, he was sitting at seventeen past, so she was seventeen till or forty-three past, give or take some seconds either way. Pulling out his chair and sitting down he turned to his left to introduce himself to the dowager lady sitting there when he felt a presence behind him and to his right. Startled, he turned that way and bumped Declercq’s arm as he was setting down as glass in front of him.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Declercq said as some of the liquid spilled on Waldo’s pants.
“My fault actually,” Waldo said. “This is polyester, and it won’t sink in.”
“If you’ll let me, Mr. Emerson,” Declercq said as he set the wine glass on the table and picked up a white napkin off the silver tray he held in his left hand. He quickly wiped the liquid sitting on Waldo’s pants and then disappeared. Waldo tried to see where he had gone, but his vision was blocked by a dream in black and white. The waitress was standing between him and Esteves and holding a tray down so that he could see the pastry selection.
“I’m afraid the croissants are gone,” she said with a sultry voice that caused his toes to tingle and his manhood to start to harden. She might as well have said, “Why don’t we go to your room and get acquainted.”
“That’s fine,” he managed to say. “What I would prefer is some brie with crackers. Maybe some cherry preserves.”
“Oh, the cherry’s been gone a long time,” he expected her to say and had to blink and take a deep breath to get back to reality.
She picked up a saucer from the other side of the tray and set it down in front of him. A nice wedge of brie with four Townhouse crackers, and a tablespoon of cherry preserves. Then she put a white napkin on the table and set a cheese knife on top of it.
“Can I get you anything else, Mr. Emerson?”
“Uhm …” he couldn’t say anything without making it sound stupid. “No, I’m fine.” For now - but come back later … and bring your sister.
And just like a wisp of smoke up a well draught chimney, she was gone and replaced by Declercq who set down a fresh glass of Chateau Ste. Michelle chardonnay and like the waitress vanished like a magician’s illusion.
It was just a little too much for Waldo after the gunfire and … he turned back to the table and was reaching for the second glass of wine – the first glass having gone with Declercq – when a voice seeming to come from the center of the table said, “I would like to welcome you all. Thank you for coming.”
Waldo noticed that the others seemed to be looking around for the speaker but seeing no one.
“Look down in front of you,” the voice said.
They all did and saw the image of a man’s face looking up at them from the table’s glass cover in the place where their dinner plates would have been placed.
Chapter 6
Monica giggled. “He looks funny.”
Her comment was correct because the face they saw was not a real face but more like a cartoon drawing.
Harvey Gladstone said, “Who are you?”
The head laughed. “I am your host. Or, as I guess you would say, your host’s avatar.”
“Well, what is your name?” Phil asked.
“You can call me … Horus.”
“Why did you pause like that?” Monica asked.
Horus looked abashed. “Because I was going to make a bad joke at the expense of one of you.”
“I like a good joke,” Monica said.
“Then lean closer, so the others cannot hear,” Horus said softly, and a hand appeared on Monica’s screen as Horus disappeared from the others. The hand beckoned her to come closer.
“What happened?” was heard from several of the Bundle. “Where did he go?”
Monica leaned close to the table and turned her head so that her right ear with the ear bud was almost touching the glass top.
“I was going to say,” she heard, “You can call me Juan.”
Monica shrieked in laughter and sat upright.
“What’s so funny?” Gloria asked.
“Him. Horace,” answered Monica.
“I didn’t hear anything.”
“You weren’t supposed to,” Monica said.
Meanwhile, Horus appeared in front of Phil.
“Mister Parmelee, I must apologize for the drink order. It was not meant to upset you, but our research suggested that it was a favorite drink of yours. You might want to check the security on your computers.”
“Not a problem, Horace,” Phil said. “Looking back on it, it was funny. That’s water over the dam.”
“Or under the bridge,” Horus said, and his face appeared on all the screens.
“How you do zat?” Ramiro asked.
“Do what?” replied Horus.
“A
ppear on the table in frontz of uz and be able to talk individually to each of uz.”
“Oh, that. Cool, isn’t it.”
“Yes,” came a chorus of voices from the Bundle.
“How come zey can all hear ziz when I waz talking to you?” Ramiro said quizzically.
“Because I felt that your question was one that everyone had and so I wanted them to hear the answer.”
“Hear! Hear!” said Waldo.
“Under the table in front of each of you is a black box about the size of a small box of wooden matches, if you can relate to that. Or the size of some of those soap bars in some of the cheaper establishments. There is a small hole drilled in the table – I think 1/32nd of an inch in diameter and a fiber optic cable leads up to the top of the table where there is a network of very thin cables which permit the picture to be shown. Of course, the sound comes from the earbud and the built-in microphone is how you can communicative with me and others. No need to shout.
“Are there any other questions?”
There was a murmur of no’s and then Issaack said, “What are we here for?”
“Right to the point as usual, Issaack,” Horus answered. “No time for chit-chat. Okay. First, we will talk for fifty minutes and then take a ten-minute break for you to use the restroom and for Stefaan to replenish your drinks.”
“Who’s Stefaan?” Gloria asked.
“The waiter,” Phil said, not waiting for Horus.
“Yes, the waiter,” Horus agreed. “His full name is Stefaan Declercq. He prefers to be called ‘Declercq.’ You might as well know, because he will be around for the entire project. Your waitress’s name is Carmen Domingo, she is also the cook and will be around for the entire project. If you want something to eat simply say, ‘Carmen, I would like a cookie’ or whatever and she will get it for you.
“Lunch will be at 1:00 p.m.” A menu appeared on the screen. “Take a look at the menu. Not many choices, but we want to reconvene at 2:00 p.m.”
Predator Island Page 3