“Whoa, what’s this, Camp David?” George said.
“More like Camp Delta,” Ellis muttered, as four heavily armed men rushed out of the retreat’s guard booth to greet them.
The two sedans that had been tailing them parked off to the side of the road.
“Good morning, sir,” one of the two guards at Ellis’s window said. “Please state the nature of your business.” The other two guards had taken up positions at forty-five degrees to either side of the front of their vehicle.
“I’m Special Agent Ellis Cole and this is Special Agent Lauren Madison.” They presented their credentials. “We’re involved in an investigation and would like to speak with the manager of this facility.”
“And this gentleman?” The guard looked at George.
“He’s a consultant.”
George presented his driver’s license. The man barely glanced at it.
“Do you have an appointment?” the guard asked Ellis.
“No. We had no idea this was a military fortress.”
“I thought people up here in the mountains could keep their doors unlocked at night.” Lauren smiled at the man.
The guard stared at her. “Please remain inside your vehicle.” He returned to the booth.
“Well, it looks like you’re going to have to charm him,” Lauren told Ellis.
“What’s this guy up to?” George tilted his head in the direction of a technician who was walking past the car with a wand.
“He’s scanning us for weapons, bombs… whatever,” Ellis said.
A minute later, the guard came out of the booth, consulted with the scanning technician, and returned to Ellis’s window.
“Special Agents Cole, Madison: you have two standard-issue handguns each”—he read from a computer tablet as Lauren rested a hand on one of those weapons—”and six communication devices between the two of you. Your consultant has zero networkable devices.” He raised an eyebrow at George.
“They took them,” George said in his defense.
“I’m informing you of this,” the guard continued, addressing Lauren and Ellis, “because, in the event that you intend to proceed beyond the administration offices, you will be required to surrender all of your electronic devices.”
“Not our guns?” Ellis asked.
“No, sir. Not your guns.” He waved to someone inside the booth, and the gate opened. “Straight ahead; you’ll see signs for the office. Mr. Abrams is expecting you.”
“They only want our electronic devices?” Lauren said as they departed.
“Ha!” George blurted. “For the same reason you took mine. They don’t want you recording anything. To the politicians and celebrities vacationing here, a camera can be more dangerous than a gun.”
“To them, or to anyone trying to hide a major scientific breakthrough,” Ellis said. “And, by the way, those weren’t exactly rent-a-cops back there. Those boys were more along the lines of our friends back in Houston.”
After nearly a mile of dense trees, rocky ledges, and twisting turns, they came upon the parking area for the retreat. On the other side of the lot, above a circular drive, was the A-frame building Lauren had seen in the photos at Lisa Lee’s house.
They parked and stepped out of the car as an old man in a golf cart drove up. He was wearing what looked like a forest ranger’s uniform.
“Care for a lift up to the Administration Building?” The ranger indicated the stone structure at the top of a narrow serpentine drive. The place looked as if it had been built in the 1800s.
“We sure are out in the woods,” Lauren said.
“It’s part of the appeal,” the old ranger explained as they boarded his golf cart. “People come here from all over the world, looking to get away from it all. Their secret hideaway in the woods, I suppose.”
He drove them up to the Administration Building and walked them up the cement steps. Lauren took note of the building’s bulletproof glass and Security Scan doors. She wondered if this stone structure had been chosen specifically for its imperviousness to bullets.
The general manager, Mr. Abrams, came out of his office and welcomed them as the old ranger departed with a friendly salute.
Mr. Abrams reminded Lauren of her bank’s branch manager: ten-year-old suit, flawless hair, and a doughy body that practically screamed, “Why don’t we sit down?”
“That’s Hal,” Mr. Abrams told them. “Great guy. Knows every inch of these mountains.” Mr. Abrams reached out to shake their hands. “Oh, don’t worry. Every time you pass through a doorway here your body temperature gets scanned. You were scanned at the gate and when you walked in. You’ll find no superbug here at the Blue Ridge Artisan Retreat.
“Please, come in. When the main gate told me that there were two FBI agents and a consultant here to see me, I got pretty excited. I’ve never met an FBI agent before—and now I’ve got two in my office.” He indicated the seats in front of his desk as he settled into a huge, plush chair. He clasped his tremulous hands together. “How can I help you?”
“Mr. Abrams,” Lauren said, “we’re interested in your neighbor, Accel-X Industries.”
“Oh? How so?”
“Well, for starters, how exactly does a luxury retreat end up with a precious metals reclamation company as its neighbor?”
“Yes, that is an odd situation.” Mr. Abrams looked out his window. All Lauren could see from where she was sitting were mountains. “I wasn’t around when the details were worked out, but there are very specific and very strict rules that Accel-X must adhere to: minimum operational distances from the property line, noise restrictions, quarterly groundwater and air pollution testing—those reports we get quarterly.”
“From whom?”
“There’s an independent company, Quest Source Analytical Laboratories, that does all the testing.”
Lauren was certain that if she dug deep enough, she’d find that the Lees owned this company too.
“When did these original negotiations take place?” Lauren asked.
“About twenty years ago. The entire south side of the mountain is owned by a company that leases—”
“AXI Corporation?” Lauren asked, referring to the Lees’ holding company.
“Close,” Mr. Abrams said. “It’s actually AXI Development Corp.—commercial land developers. Both Accel-X and the retreat lease their land from them.”
“So you must know Lisa and Stephen Lee.”
“Of course. They’re on our board of directors.”
“They come here often?”
“I suppose. Why, is there some kind of problem?” Mr. Abrams furrowed his brow.
“What about access to Accel-X?” Lauren asked. “Can their property be accessed from yours?”
“I’m afraid they’re even more secure than we are. They recover precious metals—gold, silver, palladium, and who knows what else—so it’s like Fort Knox up there. But since they’re higher up on the mountain, and with all the trees… to us, it’s like they’re not even there.”
“Armed guards?” Ellis asked.
“Oh, yes.” Mr. Abrams nodded emphatically. “And a huge security fence. But,” he held up his index finger, “according to their lease agreement, all industrial operations must be conducted at least one thousand feet from the property line.”
“Then their grounds must be tremendous,” George said.
“It is—they are.”
“Have you been up there?” Lauren asked. “Have you been inside their facility?”
“I took a tour with the Lees, oh… about two or three years ago. It was a PR thing. They had three state senators and a number of local officials there. Both of our operations—Accel-X and the Blue Ridge Artisan Retreat—pump a lot of money into the local economy.”
“I bet,” Ellis said.
“Would you care to tour the retreat?” Mr. Abrams asked. “And if you’d like, I could have my secretary make a few calls up to Accel-X—see about having someone take you on a tour of their operat
ion. How would that sound?”
It sounds like bullshit, Lauren thought. A tour of the retreat kills an hour; a tour of Accel-X kills a few more. Both tours, thoroughly sanitized, of course, will be a complete waste of time.
Unfortunately, they had no evidence to justify a show of force. So, if they ever intended to get through this Wall before three o’clock, the only way to proceed was to play along. Play along until they saw an opportunity they could exploit.
“A tour sounds great.” Lauren looked at Ellis. Just go with it.
“Wonderful,” Mr. Abrams said.
“And if you could have your secretary make those calls…”
“Absolutely.” Mr. Abrams hesitated. “I, ah—I trust our rules regarding electronic devices were explained to you?”
“Your guards informed us,” Ellis replied. “But we can’t exactly go into the field without any means of communication.”
“They’re federal agents,” George said helpfully.
“Yes, well, I’ll have my satellite phone with me.” Mr. Abrams held it up. “You could always shoot me and take it.” He laughed.
Lauren looked at Ellis.
Ellis shrugged.
They placed their watches, phones, and tablets on Mr. Abrams’s desk. Lauren showed him her holographic ID. “These can’t transmit or record.”
“They’re fine.” Mr. Abrams looked at their pile of devices. “Okay, that seems to be everything.”
“I have stuff too,” George explained. “But they took it from me—and sort of for the same reason. Pretty ironic.”
Mr. Abrams nodded.
“They locked it in a cabinet on the plane.”
“I see. Well, these items will be safe here. I have to leave my stuff, too. Our staff can only take these monitored satellite phones out on the grounds. To our clientele, recording devices are actually considered more dangerous than guns.” Mr. Abrams stared at Lauren’s thigh-holstered Glock.
“So we’ve been told.” Ellis glanced at George.
“Shall we go?” Mr. Abrams pulled his eyes off of Lauren’s legs and stepped around his desk. He held the door for Lauren and Ellis while George lingered at the window.
“George,” Lauren called.
George rushed out.
Mr. Abrams locked the door.
Their tour began with the A-frame building Lauren had seen in Lisa Lee’s photos. Called “the Overlook Lodge,” it was the retreat’s main clubhouse. Out on its entertainment deck, they gazed down at the valley and its serpentine arrangement of cabins, pools, tennis courts, and the workshops Lisa Lee had mentioned. Distantly, maybe a quarter of a mile off, they could see a large lake. Beyond that, nothing but mountains.
The retreat and the people milling about were interesting, but Lauren’s attention was drawn to the northern property line, which was delineated by a steep hillside and a dense wall of pines. At the foot of that hill was a road.
Minutes later, Mr. Abrams took them into the valley in a golf cart. He followed a southern route; they passed a garden, a manmade waterfall, and a woodworking workshop.
Twenty minutes into their tour, they stopped at the Blue Ridge Artisan Coffee Shop.
Lauren glanced at Ellis, surreptitiously pointing at her left wrist.
When they returned to the cart, Ellis hopped into the driver’s seat. “Why don’t I drive?” he said.
“I’m afraid our insurance wouldn’t—hey!” Mr. Abrams jumped into the back seat next to George as Ellis gunned it. “Please stay on the path at least.”
Ellis cut across the retreat, jostling his passengers unmercifully until they pulled onto the northern roadway.
“You really can’t see much through those pines,” Lauren said.
“I told you.” Mr. Abrams leaned forward, clinging to the front seatback. “To us, it’s like they don’t even exist.” He tapped on Ellis’s shoulder. “We actually have a speed limit for these roads—”
“Up there.” Lauren pointed. “See it?”
“See what?” Ellis and George replied in unison.
“There’s a gate in the fence.”
“I don’t even see a fence,” George said.
“It’s locked, and there are guards,” Mr. Abrams warned.
Ellis drove another fifty yards and stopped. He and Lauren got out.
“You won’t be able to see anything—and you won’t be able to get in,” Mr. Abrams shouted as they charged the hill.
At the top of the ridge, Lauren and Ellis made their way through rows of scotch pines to a diamond mesh fence. Peering through the wire weave, they could see several stone buildings that looked as if they could have been barracks from the Civil War. Far off, up on another ridgeline, were a number of modern buildings. One had a large outgassing storage tank attached to it.
“Fort Knox,” Ellis said, pointing at the camera mounted above the fence’s barbed wire overhang. “And the gate’s locked.”
“I told you it was locked,” came an out-of-breath voice from behind.
Lauren drew her weapon and shot the padlock dead center from where she stood. “Now it’s unlocked.”
Ellis yanked the lock off the gate and tossed it into the grass.
“You two stay here,” Lauren told Mr. Abrams and George.
Ellis swung the gate open as two guards, rifles at the ready, came running around the closest of the stone buildings. “Stop or be shot,” one of the men called out. “You’re trespassing on private property.”
“FBI. Easy,” Ellis said. “We’ll show you our credentials.” He and Lauren cautiously reached for their IDs.
“You still have no right to be here,” one of the guards said. “If you have a warrant, you can present it at the front gate. As of now, you’re just trespassers, and we’re within our rights to shoot you.” The men leveled their weapons.
“Easy, gentlemen.” Lauren glanced over her shoulder at Mr. Abrams and George. They were out of the line of fire.
Ellis sidestepped out of Lauren’s way.
“We won’t ask you again—”
Lauren dropped to one knee and fired a single shot into each man’s solar plexus. They fell, gasping and writhing in pain.
Ellis collected their weapons and handed one of the rifles to Lauren.
“You shot them!” Mr. Abrams exclaimed. He and George were still on the retreat side of the fence.
“They’ll live.” Ellis kicked one of the men’s vests. “Body armor.”
“More company.” Lauren pointed at the two Jeeps approaching from the second ridgeline.
“You two get out of here,” Lauren told George and Mr. Abrams.
Lauren and Ellis ran for cover behind the stone building, where they found a padlocked door. Ellis struck the lock with the butt of his rifle and pushed the door open.
“Hang on,” Lauren said. From the other side of the fence, they could hear Mr. Abrams’s voice. He appeared to be talking on his phone.
“Two men down,” he was saying. “No, just the wind knocked out of them. How? No, they’ve already crossed the ridgeline. Yes, all right. Of course I’ll stay out of the way.”
“Great,” Lauren muttered as she and Ellis entered the building, finding it a veritable cave. There were no interior walls, just a dirt-packed floor, and three tall wood-frame windows at the far end provided the only light.
They moved along one of the rock walls, Lauren keeping an eye on the door. At the windows, Ellis ventured a look.
Gunfire erupted. Glass exploded.
“Well,” Ellis said, brushing glass off his shoulder, “they’re definitely out there. They’ve taken up positions on the ridgeline—four snipers and maybe six others.”
“And they just fired on a federal agent,” Lauren said.
“Yeah, I noticed.”
“Wait…” Lauren listened. “You hear that?”
After a moment, they heard the distinct whine of a fast-moving helicopter. It screamed thunderously overhead, then banked audaciously, slapping the air with a ground trem
bling whop whop whop, before settling into a hover just above the trees.
Lauren ventured a glance. She spotted the chopper’s open door, its gunner, and the high-powered rifle that was trained on them.
“They really take trespassing seriously around here.”
Lauren inspected her rifle, raised it to shoulder level, stepped in front of the window, and fired. Then she spun back behind the wall.
They waited and listened. Eventually the helicopter drifted east. Soon it was gone.
Ellis looked at her, furrowed his brow.
“I shot the pilot,” she told him. “Just a flesh wound. Hey, I didn’t want that thing coming down on us.”
“Why not shoot the gunner?”
“They’d probably just replace him. I figured a pilot would be more difficult.”
“Nice use of bullets,” he commended her.
“Thanks.”
“Makes up for that bear—”
Another barrage of gunfire erupted, bullets ricocheting off the stone walls, some hitting the floor and sending up plumes of dirt. Lauren and Ellis crouched low.
“Hold your fire! Hold your fire!” someone demanded. “Hold! Your! Fire!”
The shooting stopped.
“I think that’s Stephen Lee,” Lauren said.
“I’m unarmed,” the man called out. He was moving closer.
“I think you’re right,” Ellis said.
“Hello?” Stephen Lee was right outside. “I’m unarmed.”
“We’re not,” Ellis replied.
“May I come in?” Stephen peered through one of the broken windows.
“If you’d like.” Lauren kept her rifle trained on him.
He kicked out some of the glass and stepped down onto the sunlit, dirt floor. “Can we talk?”
“You going to tell us what’s going on?” Lauren set her rifle against the wall and took out her Glock. Ellis still had his rifle on Stephen.
“What’s going on is that you and your partner are trespassing on Accel-X’s property.”
“That’s a bunch of crap,” Lauren said. “This place is a fortress.”
“They reclaim precious metals—gold, silver, palladium.”
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