Twelve

by Dustin Stevens

  Ahead he could see early moonlight reflecting off the roadway and leaned forward in anticipation. A moment later, the trees on either side of the road receded. Just like that, the forest gave way to a sprawling expanse of open grass.

  The aging Chevy rolled to a four-way stop. The roads to his right and straight before him framed a rolling swath of clipped lawn.

  Ahead in the distance he could make out a home, shimmering like a beacon in the night. It was the only light of any kind visible.

  “That must be it,” Heath said aloud and turned the car to the right. He followed the road along the edge of the property as the house grew closer. With each passing foot, it also grew larger.

  Just off the intersection the corner of a brick wall standing nearly eight feet tall began. It ran in a perfect square, sitting fifty feet back from the road and framing the property parallel to the road. A half mile down the wall was a single driveway of cobbled brick.

  Heath eased the Chevy onto the driveway and rolled forward. The brick wall turned at the edge of the driveway and followed it over twenty feet, creating a bottleneck.

  There, it stopped and a heavy wrought-iron gate stood with gates open.

  Heath crept through the gates, stopping only for a moment to inspect the symbol welded onto the front of it. Made of solid silver, it appeared to be an inverted cross. Through the middle of the intersection, a smaller cross of equal proportions was cut out.

  Heath gave a quizzical expression as he passed through and ascended up the winding brick driveway. A half mile further ahead, he reached a second brick wall.

  A smaller gate of stainless steel bars stood closed across it and as he approached, a handful of men in matching black pants and pullovers stepped forward. Heath idled to a stop and rolled down his window as a man with short hair and a goatee stepped to the window.

  “This is a private party. You should leave. Now.”

  Heath rocked back a moment at the brusque salutation. “Actually, I think I’m here for the party.”

  The man surveyed the Chevy. “And you are?”

  “Heath Honneycutt.”

  The man’s head snapped up and he shot glances at each of the others. They had taken up posts at each corner of the car. “Do you have some ID?”

  “Sure,” Heath said. He dug his driver’s license out of his wallet and handed it over.

  The man studied the license and Heath’s face for a moment and handed it back to him. Again he glanced up at the others. “It’s Honeycutt.”

  A moment later the steel gate began to slide open, parting from the middle in opposite directions.

  “Sorry for the confusion. The valets have left, so you’ll have to park yourself.

  “Follow the driveway up to the house. It will wrap around to your left and feed into a garage. I’ll call ahead and let them know you’re coming.”

  “Um, thanks,” Heath said and took back his license.

  The moment his car passed through the gate, the heavy steel bars slid back into place behind him.

  Just as fast, the men disappeared from view as well.

  Twenty-Five

  Everyone in the room remained motionless and silent.

  After a moment, the band began to again play soft background music. A low hum of voices filled in behind it.

  Winston stood beside Rosner and watched as the partygoers descended on the guests. Slow at first, but with increasing aplomb with each passing second.

  “What do you think so far?” Winston asked.

  “The Maori War Dance was a nice touch,” Rosner said.

  “Yeah, I didn’t see that one coming. Early favorite?”

  “Way too soon to project.”

  “If you were a betting man...”

  “We’re not betting men. At least not tonight.”

  Winston considered the words for a moment, then smirked. He patted Rosner’s shoulder and moved across the foyer.

  As he walked, it wasn’t hard to differentiate between the guests and the partygoers.

  For one, most of the guests were much, much larger than everyone else in the room. Second, their appearances contrasted with the people around them.

  Junior by at least twenty years. Features that bore the tales of the lives they led.

  Finally, each of the partygoers were dressed in strict black tie attire. The guests most assuredly were not.

  Winston could tell while approaching that Will Honeycutt noticed the differences and was self-conscious about it. For the time being, it appeared to be all he was conscious of.

  “Will Honeycutt,” Winston said. As he approached he stuck his hand out before him and plastered a movie star smile across his face.

  Will turned from the art he had been intently studying. He returned the handshake. “Yes sir?”

  “Eric Winston, Executive Director of the St. Rita’s Foundation. Thank you so much for coming.”

  “Thank you for inviting me.”

  “I noticed you studying the Renoir here. Are you an art fan?”

  Will opened his mouth to answer, closed it and smiled. “To be honest, my favorite piece of art in Portland is the Rose Garden.”

  “Ah yes, the horticultural test garden overlooking the city.”

  “Actually, the basketball arena.”

  “Yes, of course,” Winston said. A good-natured laugh soon followed.

  Will motioned to his attire. “Listen, am I dressed alright for this? The invitation said business casual.”

  Winston waved a hand at him. “Oh yes, of course. You have to realize that most of us are old friends that only get together once a year or so.

  “We look for any excuse to get guessied up. We would never dream of imposing that kind of dress code on our guests.”

  An awkward silence settled between them.

  “Well, I just wanted to thank you for accepting our invitation," Winston said. "We’re all very appreciative of it.”

  Will narrowed his eyes. “I’m just lucky I was able to lend a hand is all.”

  “Of course! And how lucky for us that you were. Listen, I have a lot of folks around here I need to say hello to, but it was nice meeting you and I’m glad you could make it.”

  Will shook his hand again. “Likewise.”

  Winston began to walk away and turned for just a moment. “And relax. I promise this part is almost over.”

  “Hardest part of the night, right?”

  Winston paused for a moment, smiled, and continued walking without saying a word.

  Twenty-Six

  The call came in three minutes before the wheels of the plane touched down at Portland Hillsboro Airport. Manus could feel the vibration of the phone on his hip and snapped it up without looking at the caller ID. “Yeah?”

  “Sir, I have Agent Mark Nixon on the line for you.”

  Manus recognized the familiar voice of Brenda, but not the name she gave him. “Who?”

  “Agent Mark Nixon, Senior Field Agent there in Portland.”

  “Got it, patch him through.”

  Fuzz filled the line for a moment, followed by complete clarity. “Go for Manus.”

  “SAC Manus, this is Senior Agent Mark Nixon with the Portland field office. I understand this is you I see landing right now?”

  “That’s us. Should have wheels down in less than two minutes. What do you have for me?”

  “We’ve got four black Expeditions gassed and running on the tarmac. The minute you touch down we’re off and going. I understand you have nine men?”

  “Nine that will be going with us. We have a few analysts in tow that will be staying with the plane.”

  “Got it. I have four agents with me. They will take one car, your men can split between the other two. You can ride with me in the fourth, bring me up to speed on what’s going on if you don’t mind, sir.”

  Manus pulled the phone back from his face and made a sour expression. The last thing he wanted to do was hand hold somebody through everything that they’d been doing the last seve
ral months. “That’ll be fine.”

  “Do we have a destination yet, sir?”

  Manus turned to Heller. “Do we?”

  Heller stared at the screen for a moment. “It appears the signal has stopped. We’re looking at coordinates of-”

  “Hold on!” Manus barked, cutting her off. He switched the phone to speakerphone. “Nixon, you ready for coordinates?”

  “Go ahead, sir.”

  Manus motioned for Heller to continue.

  “Coordinates 45º37’10”N by 123º25’5”W,” Heller yelled.

  The sound of the landing gear lowering filled the plane.

  “You get that?” Manus asked. Silence was all that returned to Manus. “Agent, I asked, did you get that?”

  When Nixon answered, his voice rang peculiar. “Sir, are you sure about those coordinates?”

  Manus made a face. “Damn sure, why?”

  “Sir, those coordinates are for Idiotville.”

  “You have a town out here called Idiotville?”

  “That’s just it, sir. Not really. Idiotville is a ghost town.”

  Twenty-Seven

  Everything was right where the guard said it would be.

  Heath maneuvered his dented Chevy Cavalier through the garage gate and parked it. He slid from the car and stood with his forearms resting on the hood and marveled at the autos parked around him. “Will, what the heck did you get me into?”

  Staring back at him was row after row of the finest cars he’d ever seen. Along the back of the garage were sports cars in canary yellow and Diablo red. Across from him, two even rows of glossy black Mercedes.

  “Mr. Honeycutt?”

  Heath spun around to see a man dressed in black, just as the others at the gate had been.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “You should be getting inside. The others will be waiting.”

  Heath pushed back from the hood and closed the door behind him. “Of course. But man, look at those cars. Have you ever seen anything more beautiful?”

  The man slid his eyes from Heath to the garage. “You need to get out more.”

  Heath smirked. “No argument there.”

  The man stepped just outside the garage and waited for Heath to exit. As soon as he did, he closed the garage gate behind them.

  “Heck of a nice place you folks have here.”

  The man glanced over at Heath. “The main entrance has already been closed. I’ll take you through a side door. You can join the others from there.”

  Heath grimaced, but said nothing.

  The man led Heath around to the front of the house and into an arched portico. He walked to the heavy wooden door and pounded on it three times with the ball of his fist.

  A moment later, it opened from within.

  The man passed through the door and into a narrow hallway. The floor was made of concrete and the walls of bare cinder block. Every few feet was a lit torch.

  “Wow, didn’t see this coming,” Heath mumbled.

  The man ignored him and walked straight ahead to an intersection of identical hallways. At the corner, he turned right and headed for a wooden door matching the one they had just passed through.

  As they got closer, Heath could begin to hear the low hum of conversation. A little further along, he could make out music.

  The man stopped just outside the door. "Right through here. Pull the door shut behind you as you exit.”

  Heath gave the man another look. “Um, okay. Thanks. Sorry again for being late.”

  For the first time, the man’s expression changed. A thin smile grew across his face. “You’re not late. Right on time, in fact.”

  Twenty-Eight

  Winston slid the Patek Philippe watch from his pocket and checked the time. The piece cost more than any of the cars in the garage and only came out for special events.

  Tonight seemed like such an occasion.

  “Seven Forty-Five. Shall we?”

  Rosner finished polishing the lenses on his glasses and perched them back atop his nose. “Indeed. I am famished.”

  Winston turned an irritated eye towards him. “And your hunger is what matters here tonight?”

  “Oh come off it. We’re all here for dinner and a show, yourself included. Don’t try to pretend otherwise.”

  Winston leveled a stare at him for a moment, then walked forward into the middle of the room. A simple wave of his hand brought the band to a halt.

  As the music ceased, the conversation died away as well. Many looked at him expectantly, as if they’d been awaiting this.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I hate to interrupt your conversations, but the time has now reached a quarter of eight o’clock.”

  Winston paused, clasping his hands together in front of him. “In order to stay on schedule for our eight o’clock dinner time, I must ask that all members please make your way into the banquet hall behind me.”

  As he spoke, three large doors opened along the wall behind him. A scene of opulence and decadence, including crystal chandeliers and china dishware, could be seen through the openings.

  “Guests, if you would be so kind, please remain here in the foyer for a few moments. After everyone is seated, the festivities of the evening will begin.”

  He paused and turned his shoulders perpendicular to the banquet hall and held an arm towards the open doors. “Please, be seated!”

  In unison, the crowd burst towards the door. Winston stood and watched the crowd moving forward like cattle at feeding time. For a moment, disgust for their blatant excitement to begin the evening played across his face.

  Just as fast he was able to mask it, movie star smile back in place.

  The crowd flowed past him as he pushed his way to the side. Rosner took up a post beside him.

  “Have you been able to identify them yet?” Winston asked.

  “Two of them identified themselves. The tall, bearded one and the short, bald one are both too interested in the details to not be on the Board.”

  “Hmm. That’s two of five. Any leads on the others?”

  “Few ideas. Nothing concrete.”

  Winston weighed the words for a moment. “How do you think we’re doing so far?”

  Rosner stood and watched the crowd file into the banquet hall. “I think we’re about to find out.”

  Twenty-Nine

  A rush of air and sound met Heath as he pulled the door open. He glanced back at the man in black and found him standing with his arms folded over his chest.

  The same thin smile was still across his face.

  Heath slid in through the door and pulled it shut. He pressed his back flat against it and took in the scene before him.

  He was standing on the edge of a grand foyer with an enormous staircase and chandelier dominating the room. The floor was made of solid hardwood, tapestries and art dotted the walls.

  Heath barely noticed these things though.

  Instead, he was taken aback by the throng of black tie partygoers pushing their way through the room and into what looked like a large banquet hall to his left. Almost all of the people were older than him and all of them were dressed much nicer than he was.

  Rising to his tiptoes he scanned the room and found his brother standing along the opposite wall. Will was an inch shorter than Heath’s six-foot-five frame, but as with most rooms they both stood out.

  Heath rocked back onto his heels and waited for the crowd to pass. As it began to thin out he pushed himself away from the door and circled around to his right. He walked behind most of the straggling partygoers and came up towards his brother from behind.

  Will was standing with his back to him, engaged in conversation with a couple that looked to be in their sixties.

  The man was of middle height, with cheeks that glowed red and receding white hair combed straight back. At his side was a woman with dark bouffant hair streaked with grey. His robust body type was offset by her bony structure.

  Heath approached and clasped his brother on the shoulder.<
br />
  “Hey!” Will exclaimed, relief plastered across his face. He turned to the couple and said, “This is my brother Dr. Heath Honeycutt. Heath, this is Duke and Duchess Augustus Klauff.”

  “Please, call me Augy,” the Duke said, extending his hand to Heath.

  Heath reciprocated with him, and then his wife.

  “Well, it appears the crowd is moving inside, so we’d better join them,” Augy said. “Very nice meeting you both.”

  “Likewise,” the Honeycutt's responded.

  Augy paused for just a moment. “And do try to enjoy yourself this evening Will. What you did for those kids was incredible. You’ve earned it.”

  Will smiled as the couple walked away. Through the smile he murmured, “Where the hell have you been?”

  Heath laughed aloud. “Told you I had a softball game tonight. And you didn’t bother to tell me I was driving to Idaho for this thing.”

  Will threw a glance around the room. “Yeah, no kidding.”

  Heath matched the glance and lowered his voice. “Are you sure everything's on the up-and-up here? I saw some really strange stuff on my way in.”

  Will turned back with eyes large. “You? You haven’t seen anything! Some of these people have face tats, red hair, piercings. That huge islander over there even did some kind of full on war dance. It was like watching the University of Hawaii football team!”

  “Haka,” Heath said.

  “What?”

  “The dance. It’s called the Haka.”

  Will raised his eyebrows and stared at his brother. "Really? Really?"

  Heath pulled his gaze from the room. “Oh, sorry. Heck, on the way in here I had to get through a maze of locked doors and an army of men in black pajamas. So far that couple was the closest thing to normal I’ve seen.”

  “Yeah, and they’re a damn Duke and Duchess!”

  Heath smirked. “They seemed nice enough.”

  “They were. Hell, compared to the rest of the room they really are royalty.”