Murdoch

by C J Matthew

  Annalisa scraped her front teeth across her lower lip. What choice did she have? Maybe if she hinted at the problem, Finnian would arrange a more secure way for her to inform him.

  She didn’t make it past Finnian’s personal assistant in Seattle.

  “I’m sorry, Annalisa,” the older woman said, “Finnian has been in meetings since dawn. One more and then we’re setting up for the big worldwide teleconference. I can give the boss your message when that’s concluded.”

  “This is extremely urgent.” She racked her brain for ideas, while she tried to slow her breathing. “He needs to get my message soon. Definitely before he goes into that big teleconference. Meanwhile, I’ll leave an urgent call-back request on his cell phone voice mail.”

  Calling his iPhone, she was sent directly to voice mail. “Finnian, this is Annalisa. I need to speak to you about a critical, time sensitive matter. Please call me here in Long Beach or on my cell as soon as you get this.”

  She tagged the message Urgent.

  Now, two problems remained. Since the system wouldn’t allow her to forward or copy the incriminating emails, how could she preserve the evidence? And how could she get said evidence to Finnian in Seattle?

  Still gripping her iPhone, she had a brainstorm. Take pictures of the emails and the attachment. Then Finnian could figure out how to access the originals and backtrack to uncover the real name and location of the sender.

  After saving the photographs in her phone, she closed the connection to the Muirdris server. And glanced at her Felix the Cat wall clock. 9:25 a.m. Time to try Finnian again.

  What if she still couldn’t get through to him? She needed a backup plan. Who else could she call? At least one person at Muirdris was a traitor. Maybe more than one. Hell, she was scared enough, tired enough, and paranoid enough to suspect damn near everyone.

  Maybe she needed to aim higher? Figure out which Muirdris executive she could bring herself to trust. She’d always considered herself a good judge of people, especially when she could look a person in the eye. Not happening. The only Muirdris big shot on this side of the U.S. was Finnian. The only east coast employee she knew, via phone, was Victoria in tech support. Not exactly executive level.

  She experienced a replay of the heart pounding fear and dread from last night. Damn, there was a hell of a lot at stake here. If she contacted the wrong person, was it possible both she and the emails would simply disappear?

  Cut the drama and concentrate. The longer it took Finnian to return her call, the more she needed an alternate plan. Shaking the tension out of her hands, Annalisa accessed the corporate listings in search of Victoria. No one with that name in Support.

  Wait, there was a Victoria in the Communications department…Oh my god. A vice president based in Boston. No, there had to be another one.

  There wasn’t. The chatty tech support woman Annalisa had reached on the help line that Saturday after the office phone line went dead? The woman was a VP.

  Annalisa cross-checked again, just to be sure.

  Since she couldn’t look into Victoria’s eyes, maybe a photo would help decide?

  Re-opening her browser, she skimmed for pictures of Victoria. Nada. Searching through Muirdris annual reports, and worldwide newsletters, she ran across The Muirdris Story. And chuckled. The first time she’d heard it, in orientation, she remembered thinking it sounded like a Celtic fable.

  Muirdris Shipping had been founded in Ireland ages ago by the Rudraige Family. Soon after the Pilgrims landed on Plymouth Rock, it expanded to establish headquarters in Boston. Jeez. Why not claim the Ark was a Muirdris ship?

  Still no images of Victoria.

  She plowed through internet gossip about the owner of Muirdris, Murphy Rudraige. Most of the stories used the same stilted photograph. The man was movie-star handsome, yet seriously allergic to cameras?

  Finally, she uncovered a photo spread on Muirdris published a decade ago in a glossy Japanese magazine. She’d couldn’t read the captions. Instead, she scrolled through pictures of Muirdris container ships, the offices in Japan, and found a different pose of Murphy Rudraige standing with several other hunks in suits. Below a brief article in Japanese, was one picture, taken with a telephoto lens, of a stone mansion perched on a cliff overlooking the ocean. The Rudraige Estate in Massachusetts.

  Her head buzzed with caffeine overload. She checked for a call back from Finnian. Nothing. It was decision time. What would her late mother advise?

  “Darling, you’re letting that vivid imagination of yours run away with your common sense. Go ahead and forward the emails to someone in security. Get back to work on your job.”

  Screw that. A potential disaster for her employer had landed in her inbox. She wasn’t about to forward the responsibility and hope for the best.

  Annalisa pulled up a budget airline website to price tickets. Holy shit. A seat on the midday flight from Long Beach, California to Boston’s Logan International would literally empty her savings account.

  She stared at the screen, chewing on her bottom lip. Sure, the person sending the email had set a deadline to respond. Was that enough to trigger the acute sense of urgency she felt? Damn, she was one click away from totally emptying her hard-won savings account.

  Holding her breath, she pressed Purchase. And immediately, a wave of giddy relief swept over her. Relief that was way out of proportion. What was drawing her to the east coast? She admired Murphy Rudraige in the photo she’d seen, still, she wasn’t attracted to him.

  She pre-checked-in online and printed her ticket. Gripping the boarding pass, she vowed, after she rescued Muirdris, she’d file for reimbursement on the ticket. She sent an online request for personal leave, starting immediately, to Finnian and HR. Then she raced home to pack and catch a ride to the airport.

  In the departure terminal, her phone rang.

  “Hey Liz.”

  “What’s the fuck is going on?” Her best friend could be short on tact.

  “I won’t be at volleyball practice tomorrow. Business trip to Boston. Boarding in a few minutes.”

  “I call bullshit. Your job doesn’t have business trips. What are you up to now?”

  “Can’t give you details over the phone, but my trip is for Muirdris. Meeting with the VP of Communications in the Boston corporate office.”

  “I knew it. Delusions of grandeur.”

  “I may end up seeing the company president.”

  “My ass. Be careful, Annalisa, and I beg you, for once in your life, try looking before you leap.”

  Annalisa disconnected and smiled. Too late. Besides, at this point, she pictured herself in the role of heroine, a woman on a mission. She might single-handedly save Muirdris.

  Since it was her first trip to Massachusetts, to compliment the cheapest car she could rent at Boston airport, she forked over extra for a portable GPS unit. That baby paid for itself leading her from Logan to the Muirdris corporate offices overlooking Boston Harbor.

  Unfortunately, the computerized voice didn’t offer bargain parking advice and she drove around an extra thirty minutes looking for a place to park that didn’t charge big bucks for fractions of minutes.

  She hiked the long blocks to Muirdris and managed to sneak past the lobby security guard to the elevator banks. On the floor designated Communications, she was greeted by a slender, dark-haired receptionist.

  “How may I help you?”

  “Hello. I’d like to speak with Victoria. I don’t have an appointment but I ‘m sure she’ll want to see me.”

  “Your name?” the young woman smiled.

  Crap. She really didn’t want to tell these people she was an employee. With a sinking stomach, she told the receptionist her name.

  After a moment the woman was back, “Victoria is still in the teleconference but her personal assistant, Darren will see you.”

  And again, decision time. She didn’t want to talk to the assistant of a person she didn’t really know. “Okay.” She’d have to ditch thi
s woman before they got to Darren.

  “I’ll escort you to his office.”

  Annalisa followed the woman deeper into the labyrinth of office space until she spotted a rest room. “Excuse me. I need to use the ladies. I’ll be right out, or you could just point me from here.”

  “It’s right around the corner.” Her smile faltered. “However, I’d better wait for you.”

  More trust issues. Annalisa took her time. When she slowly cracked open the door to the hall, her escort was angled away, leaning against the far wall, and engrossed in her iPhone. Slipping out, she hurriedly tiptoed around the corner. Down the hall, she spotted an shiny plaque with Victoria’s name and Vice President of Communications.

  The door wasn’t completely closed, and creeping closer, she overheard a man on the phone. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. He was sharing details of a top-secret port security project she was familiar with. He called the person he was speaking to Ji. Who was Ji?

  Hurrying past the doorway, she turned the corner at the far end of the hall and circled back to the elevators. She rode up as many floors as she could without an executive keycard.

  The elevator doors slid open to a noticeably fancier floor. She swept past the empty reception counter then only made it a few steps into a plush common area when she was stopped dead by another assistant.

  She tried to charm him, but when he assured her that Murphy wasn’t in the building, she believed him and left promptly.

  Back in the car, she muttered, “What the hell.” Jokingly she typed Rudraige Estate into the GPS. The machine not only recognized the name, it also supplied the estate’s exact address. The computerized voice confidently led her north of Boston, up along the coast and then miles down a remote, windy road before it announced, Recalculating, recalculating… No matter what buttons she pressed, the GPA insisted it was Recalculating. Finally, she’d turned it off in disgust.

  Slowing the vehicle to a crawl, she scowled up at the dark clouds. Flicking the headlights from high beam to low and back again, she couldn’t discern any difference in visibility. Crap. This was her last option. She had to find the mansion. Had to locate Murphy and warn him.

  Still peering through the windshield, she searched the deserted two-lane highway for a road sign. Any sign, really, that would offer a clue as to where, exactly, she was.

  “Damn.” Disgusted with the GPS and frustrated by her lack of progress, Annalisa pulled over to the side of the road. Leaning back against the headrest, she closed her eyes and wished for an oversized mug of sweet, hot coffee.

  Her eyes flew open. No wonder she was drooping. Low blood sugar. She hadn’t eaten. She rummaged through her over-sized purse and wolfed down a bag of peanuts. Then she lingered over a candy bar and polished off the water she’d replenished in the Communications floor rest room.

  The chocolate kicked in. She apologized to the GPS for her stupidity, erased Rudraige Estate and instead, typed in the full address the machine had supplied earlier. She watched the map materialize and grinned when the voice said, continue to highlighted route. She let out a whoop when the GPS said, arrive at destination in nine minutes.

  Right on time, she turned into a spacious driveway and stopped at an ornate wrought iron gate, still debating the best way to get past security. She hadn’t had much success with Muirdris assistants today, maybe she’d have better luck charming a rent-a-cop in uniform?

  Annalisa eyed the spikes atop the gate. If she was turned away here, did she have the guts to climb Murphy’s fence?

  She jumped when a deep male voice said, “Can I help you?”

  “Yes, please.” She lowered the window and searched for a camera, a speaker. Where was he? She’d much rather do this face to face. “Where are you?”

  “Nearby. This is a private residence. If you tell me your name, I’ll see if you’re on the list.”

  “I’m not a guest. I work for Finnian at Muirdris’ Long Beach, California facility.” She held up her ID badge but wasn’t sure where to point it. “This is really urgent. I flew here today hand-carrying extremely confidential information.” She held up her airline boarding pass. “I need to deliver it to Murphy Rudraige in person.”

  “Please wait. I’ll need to get authorization for—”

  An engine roared behind her, accelerating into the short driveway.

  “Brace,” the deep voice yelled.

  She gripped the wheel and held her breath. A huge vehicle filled the rearview mirror. Smashed into the rear of the rental car. She pitched forward and was flung back as the steering wheel airbag deployed.

  Everything went black.

  Chapter 3

  Murdoch

  Murdoch eased back in a padded deck chair, sipping Jamison as he enjoyed the rhythmic crash of the surf onto the rocks below. The living room terrace was one of his favorite spots, perched out over the cliffs and his secret cave. Sitting here, he was as close to the strengthening power of his hoard as he could get in human form. When he felt the urge to exchange an item or occasionally, to sleep on his treasure, he’d shift, and his sea dragon would swim into the tidal cave.

  He took a drink and the whiskey left a warm trail down his throat and into his stomach. The sky was dark with clouds and he knew the sun was setting on the other side of the house. Day or night, stormy or clear, the view of the ocean from this terrace was stunning.

  As his muscles began to relax, his mind flashed back to the quarterly meeting. He gritted his teeth and his jaw tensed again.

  The teleconference had been a never-ending nightmare. The cousins had been on edge, even more so after Devlin’s outburst, ready to fight over every damn detail, each fucking expenditure. After three hours listening to them yell, he’d called a halt. Acting like he had the authority to do so, he’d declared the meeting officially closed right in the middle of a spectacular shouting match between Kiernan in Germany and Brogan in Singapore.

  He’d skipped over his report and moved on to today’s final agenda item: distribution of the company’s third quarter profits. He rolled his eyes. Never again would that be last on the docket. They all knew it was a hot topic. No amount of logic or business wisdom could convince the Rudraige dragons to voluntarily reinvest a penny of Muirdris profit back into Muirdris Shipping. It was a miracle they were still in business.

  And the same damn thing happened—with differing levels of animosity—every time profits were discussed. All his cousins wanted to do was divide the money, convert their shares into gold or jewels, and add it to their personal hoards.

  He could empathize. He experienced the same urge, but Muirdris belonged to all of them. It represented a major part of the clan’s hoard. Investing in new ships, buying out competitors—or parts of competitors—financing port infrastructure and employee retention, and staying current with new technology would gradually pay even bigger profits. Benefiting all of them.

  Damn it. He slammed the whiskey glass down on the side table. Next year the First Quarter agenda would lead off with profit distributions. And the percentage reinvested back into Muirdris Shipping absolutely would increase. He formed a mental picture of that discussion and chuckled. Good thing he and his dragon cousins were oceans apart. And as hybrid sea serpent dragons, none of them had fire.

  Best news of the evening, Fate had granted him an extension on the Mykos deal. Sure, the fact that there might’ve been a Muirdris leak was bad. Or maybe Mr. Zor had been telling the truth. Simple logic would lead most savvy investors to assume there’d be lots of interest in a failing international business. Sharks circling a wounded competitor.

  He’d scheduled a private phone call with Devlin for later tonight—early morning in Japan. He had several follow-up questions about Mr. Zor’s unscheduled visit to Devlin. As far as rumors driving the price up—

  The sound of a distant crash brought him to his feet. He pressed the intercom to security. “What happened?”

  “Deliberate collision at the front gate, sir. I think the lady will
be okay, but the truck that hit her car is driving away.”

  “Signal for back up. And the doctor. If it’s safe to leave her, go after the truck. I’m on my way.”

  “Yes, sir. Line two.”

  In the hall Murdoch grabbed one of the Bluetooth earbud/mic sets he’d had Ji customize for internal use on the property, set it on channel two, and ran for the front door.

  He met one security guard, armed and alert, stationed just outside the front door.

  Murdoch gave him a nod. “Quick update on the crash victim and the truck.” He started jogging backwards to hear the reports.

  “It’s a young woman,” the guard talked fast, “26 to 30. Some bruises and cuts. She’s conscious and complaining.”

  “Sounds like a good sign.”

  “Her rental car is totaled. Unknown truck accelerated, hit it from the rear, and slammed it into the gate.”

  Ouch. He stopped, looked up at his house. “Anyone try to breach the fence?”

  “No sir. The truck reversed, sped away. Without more data, the woman would appear to be the target.”

  “Thanks.” Murdoch turned and ran toward the crash. “Keep a sharp eye out for intruders,” he called over his shoulder.

  “Yes, sir.”

  The front gate had been opened just wide enough for a man to squeeze through. The local retired doctor he kept on retainer for human staff and visitors, pulled his van into the driveway and slid out. “I was on my way home,” he explained, and tossed his keys to an approaching watchman. “Medical stuff’s inside. Don’t move my vehicle until I see what I need.”

  “Right, Doc.” The watchman jiggled the keys and stood by the van’s sliding middle door.

  Murdoch waved to the white-haired doctor and arrived at the driver’s side of the crumpled car just ahead of him. He tapped the arm of the sentry leaning in the car window, “Medic is here.”

  The guard stood straight and stepped away as the doctor moved forward. Whispering to Murdoch, the sentry said, “Ms. Bartello looks to be banged up a bit otherwise she’s in surprisingly good shape. Nothing broken that I can find. She’s adamant about no ambulance and insisting she needs to deliver an urgent message to Murphy Rudraige.”