Enemy In the Room

by Parker Hudson

  “Well, maybe he’s all right then. I’ll trust your judgment. But it’s bad when people start taking bribes. Decisions get made for the wrong reasons and pretty soon everyone in the company is stealing or cheating. We have none of it at USNet.

  “So let’s talk about next steps. If Polyanka is our first choice, let’s try to make a deal.”

  After the waitress took their order, Andrei said, “Actually, I’ve already drafted a proposal for your approval. Here’s the hard copy, and I also emailed it to you. You can make any changes you want in your room tonight, and I’ll deliver it to them before nine in the morning.”

  David smiled. “Great, Andrei. Great. Let’s eat now, but we’ll keep talking about the details.”

  “Fine. Na Zdorovy.”

  Late that afternoon Kristen was in her office reworking some of the figures for their final office negotiations in Singapore, after she and Todd talked through them. Her phone rang.

  “Ms. Holloway, this is Phyllis Jordan, Mr. Knox’s assistant. How are you?”

  “Fine, thank you.”

  “Good. Mr. Knox and Mr. Burke are doing some capital items budgeting for the next thirty-six months. With Mr. Sawyer overseas, Mr. Knox asked me to check with you to see if there had been any developments on the Capital Tower acquisition.”

  “No, unfortunately, there haven’t. As Mr. Sawyer probably explained when this first came up, we can’t do much about Bill Porter’s actions and ethics until he actually closes on the purchase. Then we’ll have been ‘wronged’, and we can sue. But of course at that point he will own the property, and we’d be tied up in the courts for years.”

  “Yes, I see.”

  “It’s terrible when you can’t trust people to behave honestly.”

  “Yes. Well, thank you, and I’ll relay your comments to Mr. Knox and Mr. Burke.”

  “Let me know if I can do anything else.”

  “Yes, we will. Thank you again.”

  Callie Sawyer’s desk at her uncle’s single story real estate office in the Westwood area of Los Angeles was near the receptionist. She had just finished proofing a flyer for a new home listing when her cousin, Yusef, came out of his office. Tall and a few years older than Callie, Yusef had a neat beard and was wearing a conservative blue suit. Unlike Callie’s mother, Yusef’s mother was of Persian descent, and so Yusef could easily pass for a local on the streets of Tehran, half the world away.

  Callie had of course known him all her life, but only as a distant relative at family gatherings. When she originally moved to L.A. to attend a fine arts college, he had been in the Army; and so she was doing her best to get to know him. So far, despite the family connection, he had been pleasant but “professional”.

  He came to her desk with keys in his hand. “Time to pick up the Ansaris for their home tour. Do you have the information on each property?”

  Callie stood and smiled. “Yes. Copies for each of them, and a map showing the homes, the schools, and the shopping areas, as you asked for.”

  He nodded and walked toward the front door to the parking area. She picked up her purse and the handouts and followed him.

  Several minutes later they were driving east in silence to the hotel where their clients were staying.

  Callie finally said, “I enjoyed looking up this information and putting it on the map.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Which house do you think they will like?”

  “Probably the second or third, because they are closest to the best Islamic school for their children.”

  “Oh. “

  They stopped at a red light. Callie asked, “Are a lot of your clients Muslims?”

  He turned to look at her. “Not all, of course, but most. Even though I came home from the Army only six months ago, I’m already getting a lot of referrals.” The light turned and he drove on.

  “Is that why you changed your name from Joseph?”

  He shook his head. “No, I changed my name back to its real name to honor Allah—God.”

  “Oh.”

  “But it does help identify me as an Iranian Muslim, which so far has been good for business.”

  “I see. Great.”

  “Yes, that’s what America is all about, isn’t it?”

  “I guess so.”

  He paused, then glanced over at her. “In the future, on a day that we are going out, please wear something a little less revealing. My clients are generally conservative, and a dress like that is inappropriate. When I have a chance, I will privately apologize to the husband.”

  Callie looked down at the dress which she had picked out that morning because she thought it was so business-like. “Uh, OK. I’m sorry. I’ll be more careful in the future.”

  “Good. Now, here we are, and I think that’s them waiting by the entrance.”

  14

  WEDNESDAY, MAY 4TH

  Two mornings later, Bill Porter drove north in his expensive European sedan, talking on his cell phone most of the way. Dressed in khaki pants and a cotton shirt, this was the role he relished: a successful real estate mogul able to escape the city on a weekday to evaluate a tract of mountain land, prime for development. Hopefully it would eventually be his development. His only regret was that there would not be enough time for golf at one of several nearby clubs. He had to be back for a late afternoon board meeting. Oh well, at least when I arrive at the meeting in khakis, they’ll know that I had a better day than most of them, cooped up in offices…

  The River Inn was located in a valley surrounded on all but the south side by foothills. Porter parked at one end of the lot, far from the rustic wooden main building—enough people ate lunch early to fill the front spaces. As he got out, the driver’s door of a white SUV parked further to the side opened, and a medium-sized man dressed in khaki pants, blue shirt, and a light brown jacket stepped out and raised his right hand.

  “Mr. Porter? Hey. I’m Taylor Martin.”

  Porter locked his door and walked over to the SUV. Martin offered his hand and said, “My brother and cousin are in the truck.” Porter saw a man in the front passenger seat and another directly behind him. They smiled and said hello.

  “Glad to meet you,” Porter responded. Turning to Martin he said, “I’m glad we could get together.”

  “We appreciate you taking the time,” Martin replied. “Here, please sit behind me.” He opened the door. “Next to Tom. Stan has the plats. We can talk on the way out to the property.”

  “Sounds good,” Porter replied, climbing in the back seat. “Let’s go see it.”

  Taylor Martin started the SUV, and they headed east out of town. Two blocks off the highway the houses began to thin out, and soon they were on a wooded country road, heading toward the nearby mountains. They talked about rising land values in the surrounding area and the success of high quality mountain developments.

  I’ve got to figure out how to get a piece of this, if it looks good. A great excuse to spend Fridays and maybe even Mondays up here…

  As they started to climb, Porter said, “I thought you said the town is putting a sewer near the property. Aren’t we getting pretty far out?”

  Martin responded from the front seat, “The county’s doing it. They’re putting in a plant where Sand Creek meets the river, and the line will follow the creek down to it. Our land’s right on the creek.”

  “Oh. OK. Stan, can I see the plat?”

  The man in the passenger’s seat turned, handed him a paper, and said, “Sure.”

  Porter unfolded it and saw what appeared to be a three-hundred-acre parcel, split by Sand Creek; but it also appeared to be in the national forest.

  “It looks good, particularly if it will have sewer. But is this your land or national forest?”

  Martin replied. “Oh, sorry. The boundary on that map is drawn wrong. Our family has owned that piece for years. No sweat. We’ll show you all the deeds and records at lunch. The government just goofed when they drew the darned thing.”

  “Oh
.” The topo looks pretty good for single family development, and we might be able to get a small lake out of that bowl-shaped area near the southeast corner. Could be really interesting. But a sewer way out here?

  They drove upward for five more minutes, seeing no other cars on this weekday. They passed a sign announcing the national forest wilderness area. As if he were reading his guest’s thoughts, Martin said, “We pass through this piece of the forest and then hit our land.”

  Martin slowed and turned left up a hill on what was little more than an unmarked logging road through thick woods, recently green again with the coming of spring. In a few moments they were deep into the forest. “We’re almost there,” Martin announced.

  But they drove on and on, fording two shallow streams, bouncing with the rough road.

  “Are you sure this is going to come out near Sand Creek?” Porter finally asked. “I thought it was farther to the north.”

  “Not the tributary we’re on. It’s up here on our property. Just a few minutes more.”

  They turned again up an even less traveled trail, with tall grass growing between the wheel ruts. Where are we going? Porter wondered. As if in answer, Martin turned the vehicle into a small clearing, not much larger than the area needed to turn around, and stopped, shutting off the engine. He then opened his door and smiled. “Here we are. Let’s get out!”

  Once they were out and had stretched, Martin said, “We’ll spread the plat out on the hood, and I’ll get you oriented.”

  Porter looked around. The dense forest was impressive. You could not see far through it. People will love this. But we’re going to have to improve the access road.

  They gathered around the hood. Martin spread the plat out, and the men leaned over. Stan and Tom were on either side of Porter. Martin pointed and said, “OK, now this is where we are.”

  As Porter followed Martin’s finger, the other two men grabbed him. “Hey! What are you doing?” Before he could react, each wrist was in a cuff, and the cuffs attached by chain to a metal belt Martin pulled around Porter’s waist.

  As Porter turned, Martin grabbed him roughly around the neck from the back, bending his head down to the SUV’s hood, and the other two quickly cuffed his ankles and ran chains up to the belt. Then they felt his pockets, took his cell phone and keys, and backed off a few paces.

  Bending over his captured guest, Martin continued his hammerlock and whispered into Porter’s right ear, “Enjoying your trip to the mountains, Mr. Porter?”

  The real estate agent couldn’t speak. He shuddered.

  Slowly Martin rose, bringing Porter with him. He released his grip and turned Porter around toward him. Martin said to Stan, “Get the shovel and pick.” The cousin nodded and moved to the rear of the SUV. To Porter he said, “We don’t actually own any land. At least not around here. You’re pretty good. You almost figured out that something was dead wrong. And I guess in a little while you’ll be right!” The three of them laughed.

  Porter felt a chill, and pain from the cuffs, which were cinched too tightly around his wrists. “What…what do you mean?”

  “We mean, Mr. Porter,” Martin spoke calmly, “that we got you up here for your last property visit. In a little while we’re going to kill you.”

  It was the matter-of-fact tone of Martin’s voice. Kill me!?!

  “What?”

  Stan returned with the tools, and Martin locked the SUV. “How hard is that to understand? I said we’re going to kill you. And the reason is because we’re being paid well to do it. Come on, let’s go.” He pointed past the hood of the vehicle into the woods and turned Porter in that direction. Tom led the way.

  Stan pushed, and Porter started to walk but could not take a full step. He followed slowly, looking down at the ground and balancing with his hands out in front.

  “Why? What did I do?”

  Martin, following behind and watching his captive closely, said, “We don’t know. None of our business. We just get paid to do a job, and we do it.”

  Again he shuddered as they moved in single file under the trees, not on any path. That’s it! He raised his voice. “The building. Capital Tower. That stupid building! You’re threatening to murder me over that stupid building! Is that it?”

  “We’re not threatening to murder you. We’re going to murder you.”

  “Look—I’ll—I’ll do whatever you want. You can have the building. Give me my cell phone. I’ll call right now and cancel the contract. You can have it!”

  “Sorry. We don’t want it. In fact, we don’t know what you’re talking about. Well, here we are.”

  They had reached a small area that was almost flat with plenty of tree cover. Martin came around to face Porter. “Now here’s the deal.” From inside his coat Martin pulled out an automatic pistol fitted with a silencer. “We’ve got these tools here. Either you can dig your own grave, which means you’ll live a little longer. You can think, pray, whatever—while you dig. Or you can not dig, in which case I’ll shoot you now, and we’ll have to dig. Which will it be?”

  I can’t believe this! It’s got to be a bluff. They won’t really do it. They’re just pushing me to see what I’ll do because they want the building. When I get back I’ll get these people.

  “I told you. You can have Capital Tower. People don’t kill over buildings, for God’s sake! Do you have a paper you want me to sign?”

  “And I told you. We don’t know nothin’ about any building—or anything else. I’ve given you a choice. Dig and live a little longer, or don’t dig and die now.” He raised the automatic. “Which will it be?”

  “I—I guess I’ll dig.”

  Martin smiled. “Good. Stan, unlock his hands from the cuff. Just remember that I’ve got my gun on you. Here, Mr. Porter, dig over on this side, about where you’re standing. We did somebody else about a year ago over there.”

  Bill Porter looked down and was horrified to see that in fact the earth where Martin was pointing had been disturbed, although it was now covered with pine straw and would never be noticed unless someone pointed it out.

  “Thing about this place is, no one will ever find you! You’ll be missing for days. Then weeks. Years. Just gone. Picked a good place, didn’t we?”

  Porter felt his stomach turn, and his knees became weak.

  “Hey, Mr. Martin…seriously. What do you want? I’ve got a wife and three kids under ten years old. Please. I’ll double whatever you’re being paid. Triple it. I’ll give them the building. Just please don’t kill me.”

  “Hey, I understand. And I’m sorry. This is just business. If we renege on this deal, we’ll all be dead. So, we just have to go through with it. Now I suggest you start with the pickax. Don’t dig too slow. And I’ve got a round in the chamber, so don’t try anything funny.” Martin backed away and tossed the pickax at Porter’s feet.

  He bent down and picked it up. This can’t be real. His mind was running in overdrive, but his motions were in a dream, like he was watching someone else. The pickax came up and made a first cut into the soft dirt. The other men watched. He moved the dirt to the side, and as if on its own, the ax took another swing.

  What will Linda do? And the kids? Never see them again! This is insane. I have so much I want to do! All those projects. As he swung the ax again, his view of it was suddenly clouded by tears. They ran down his cheeks and onto his hands.

  In the silence of the digging, Porter heard birds and other sounds in the forest. Should I pray? I haven’t prayed in years. God…please, help me! Please get me out of this. I promise that if I get through this, I’ll give them back the building—no argument. I’ll just give it to them…and …and I’ll give ten percent of everything I own to the church…no, twenty percent. Please, God!

  Porter continued to dig—not too quickly—with both the ax and the shovel.

  “Needs to be a little longer, I think,” Martin said at one point, when the trench was about two feet deep. Don’t want you to be crowded!” The three men chuckled ag
ain. Porter shivered uncontrollably, then began to chip away at the end to make it longer.

  Should I pray for forgiveness? To ‘accept Jesus’ like they say on TV? I don’t know. What does that mean? God, I’m sorry I’ve done some things that weren’t maybe too good. Please forgive me. But please just get me out of this, and I won’t do anything wrong again.

  He continued to watch the ax swing…on and on…

  He had no idea when they’d say it was enough. He slowed down his pace. His lungs tightened, and he had difficulty breathing. From in the trench, he looked up at Martin. “Please. Look. One more time. People don’t kill each other over business deals. OK? I admit that I didn’t do exactly right. If you’re wearing a wire and you want to get that on tape. OK. I admit it. I’m sorry. I’ll give the building back. Let’s just stop this charade, and I’ll pay you five times whatever they’re paying you. Five times! In cash, this afternoon.”

  “Just keep digging, Mr. Porter,” Martin said, and took a few steps closer to look at the work.

  Porter bent down to plant the shovel. Unseen by him, Martin raised the pistol toward his head. People just don’t kill people over busin—

  The spit of the silenced automatic disturbed the birds in the trees overhead, but for only an instant.

  Earlier that day David and Andrei had finished intense negotiations in which they secured the Polyanka building for USNet’s expansion in Moscow. At an attorney’s office the two principals signed a simple but thorough dual language letter of intent.

  David, Andrei and Andrei’s wife had just enjoyed a celebratory dinner.

  “Thanks again for a great night, and for a great job,” David said, as he opened the door to Andrei’s car after their dinner.

  “Well, thank you, David, but we still have a long way to go to finish the space, starting with the lease.”