Retreat

by J. F. Gonzalez

  CHAPTER 22

  Ten Months Ago

  Joe Taylor was seated at the bar at the Crescent Country club in Kansas City, Missouri, enjoying a martini when he felt the presence of somebody approaching him from behind. Joe turned around and nodded as a blond-haired man in his late thirties dressed in a tan suit with a white shirt smiled at him and stuck out his hand. “Bob Garrison?”

  “That’s me,” Joe said, taking the guy’s hand. Dean had secured the Bob Garrison identification for him two months ago and Joe had spent hours perfecting the details of his alter-ego, including learning how to respond to his new name. It has to come to you naturally, Dean had said during one of their training exercises. You have to become Bob. You have to respond to that name when someone addresses you as Bob. Joe had been a good student, and had employed earlier lessons he had taken in high school drama classes. Method acting worked well in business situations, too. “You’re George Spector.”

  “Yes,” George said. His grip was firm. Confident. “Good to meet you.”

  “You too. Have a seat.”

  George took the barstool next to Joe and signaled the bartender. “I’ll have what he’s having.”

  The bartender nodded and got to work.

  “How was your flight?” George asked.

  “Good. I’m down here every few months anyway, so it’s like second nature to me.”

  George was nodding. “Yeah, I hear you. I fly between New York and Los Angeles every four months.”

  “Where do you stay when you’re in Kansas City?”

  “At the Crowne Plaza.”

  Joe nodded, sipped his martini. “I’m at Sheraton.”

  They made small talk as the bartender brought George his martini; where they went to school, their current status in their respective industries, the trends and uncertainties of the marketplace each industry was facing in the rapidly changing global business world. The conversation segued into the heart of what Joe wanted to meet George about quite naturally. “I can see why you would want to invest in cloud computing,” George said. “That’s where everything is going. The market is very small now, but it’s expected to grow by—”

  Joe nodded and listened, and the conversation flowed naturally. He was keenly interested in what George had to say about the company he represented. After all, Joe was a serious investor. He sat on several boards for different companies. He knew the business world. Last year, he’d made forty-three million dollars from his stake in the world of finance and technology, most of it coming from Capital Gains and Dividends. This year would be no different. But he had another agenda too, one George wasn’t aware of. One he wouldn’t be aware of, and might not learn about at all until everything was over.

  For now, Joe Taylor played the role of Bob Garrison. And when the evening was over, the two men shook hands outside under the awning of the Crescent Country club. An agreement was made.

  Joe Taylor was on a mission.

  CHAPTER 23

  When Emily Wharton’s cell phone rang, she was expecting Paul Westcott’s name to appear in the LED readout. Instead, she was surprised to see the call was coming from Jim Munchel.

  She picked up on the third ring. “Yes?”

  “We have a problem.”

  “What?”

  “Gaiman is missing.”

  Emily felt a worm of unease roll through her belly. She’d returned to her suite to await Paul’s phone call and was wrapping up board member business on her laptop. She leaned forward over the desk, her work forgotten now. “What do you mean he’s gone?”

  “I followed your instructions. He was tied up and gagged, very securely I might add, and he was placed in the freezer next to the others. Somehow, he slipped his way out.”

  Emily’s first instinct was to explode in anger; the way the Chef had said, I followed your instructions suggested he was laying blame on her. Emily quickly dispelled her anger and went into full I have to take care of this problem mode. “You just found out?”

  “I’m at the storage facility now.”

  “When was the last time you checked on him?”

  “Yesterday afternoon.”

  “And you couldn’t tell he was trying to escape? You didn’t notice?”

  “I was on dinner service last night,” Jim said. She could tell the chef was trying to hold back his emotions too. “Last night of the season, first night I had to begin preparations for your event. I had a lot on my plate. He looked completely secure.”

  Obviously, he wasn’t, Emily thought, but held her tongue. She closed her eyes, trying to think this through. “He could still be on the grounds, then,” Emily said. “Have you called Paul yet?”

  “No. I wanted to tell you first. Wayne is holed up in his suite, completely unreachable. I couldn’t find Mr. Westcott. You’re the first person I—”

  There was another call coming in. “Hold that thought for a moment,” Emily said. Without waiting for a response, she checked the LED screen of her cell phone. It was an incoming call from Paul Westcott. “Paul’s calling me right now. Let me get this.” Emily answered the incoming call and didn’t even wait for the Security Director to begin speaking. “We have a problem. Brian Gaiman escaped.”

  Whatever Paul was going to tell her crumbled away. “What?”

  “We need to move on this,” Emily said, quickly taking control. “Do you have Mr. and Mrs. Daniels?”

  “Yes. We have them in their suite now. Glenn and Pete are securing them for transport.”

  “What about Scott?”

  “He’s here.”

  “Have Scott make the transport. I need you and the others to supervise the check-out of the other guests and find Brian Gaiman. He probably headed into the woods. For all I know, he’s halfway to Highway 191 by now.”

  “Shit!” She could tell Paul sounded frustrated, scared, and angry. “Goddammit!”

  “I’ll alert Wayne,” Emily said. “And I’ll take care of Mr. and Mrs. Daniels. Have Scott bring them to Chef Munchel’s kitchen by the back way.”

  “Okay, I’ll get on it.”

  “Oh, and Paul?”

  “Yes?

  “Find him. Use every method available. Shoot him if you have to.”

  “But I thought that you—”

  “I said, shoot him if you have to!” Emily raised her voice in frustration and anger. “Change of plans, my dear. One got away. I can try again next year. But if there’s to be a next year, I need you to bring Brian back by any means possible, and that includes dead. You understand me?”

  “Yeah,” Paul said. “What about Carmen Hernandez?”

  Emily started; she’d completely forgotten about the maid. “Have Geri inform Carmen that her services are no longer needed,” Emily said. Geri Graves was the supervisor of housekeeping. “Have one of your guys and Geri escort Carmen to her room to collect her things, then escort her off the property. Make sure she’s picked up. And make sure Geri has HR cut her a final check before she leaves.”

  “Okay.” Paul sounded like he was overwhelmed.

  “Are we good? You sure you can handle all this, Paul?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m sure.”

  “Good. Give me an update in thirty.” She disconnected from Paul and went back to the other line to bring Jim up to speed.

  “Tell me about Mr. and Mrs. Daniels again,” Chef Munchel said. Emily had given him the cliff notes version of her meeting with Paul and Rick Nicholson this morning via email.

  “I instructed Paul to have them brought individually to his office for questioning as a ruse to Mr. Nicholson,” Emily said. “Wayne’s been keeping an eye on Rick. He’ll make a perfect Igor because he has such blind faith. Paul was going to tell him he’s on board full time, with full benefits, and was to give him the rest of the day and tomorrow off. He’ll be zoning out in his suite. Paul knows the protocol for breaches like this, though, especially when they’re made against a member of our collective.”

  “They stole how much from Carl White?” />
  “A tad over a million.”

  “And Rick thinks they did it out of some kind of petty spite?”

  “Rick’s very observant. He’s been an incredible asset to the team. And I must admit, I’ve heard my share of rumors regarding Mr. and Mrs. Daniels as well, none of them flattering, I might add. Mr. Daniels, especially, strikes me as the kind of childish, immature type who would resort to such petty activities. Yes, I do believe they’re capable of this.”

  “Suppose they aren’t, though?” Jim asked. “Suppose they’re just the complete assholes everybody says they are, but they have nothing to do with the theft of the money?”

  “We’ll find that out very shortly, won’t we,” Emily said. Her mind was racing on devising the best way to extract a truthful confession out of them. Once Paul’s team had access to any computers Shane or Jackie might have, it would be easy to have Glenn run some tests and perform some quick forensics to determine if they were responsible for the theft of Mr. White’s money. Scott or Glenn could conduct a search of the room. And, of course, she and Paul would question Shane and Jackie, too. If they confessed, they had their thieves. If not, and if no evidence was found, they’d deal with that.

  She relayed all of this to Jim, who listened silently. When she was finished, he sighed. “This is beginning to get too big, Emily. You know how I feel about safety in numbers.”

  “I know.”

  “And I was perfectly fine with working for you and the other seven members of the board,” Jim continued. “I trust Wayne explicitly, and you and I have become good friends. I like the other board members very much. But I’ve always been uneasy about opening the collective up to others unless Wayne or I have vetted them, even if they can afford—”

  “Mr. White is completely discreet,” Emily said. “He and I go back a long ways.”

  “It’s not Mr. White I’m worried about, and you know that,” Jim said. “Had news of the theft of his money attracted the attention of his financial institution, the authorities would want to know about every transaction he’s ever made. And that could only lead—”

  “And that is why we’re delivering Shane and Jackie to you.” Emily couldn’t help but grin. “In fact, I think Carl will be very interested in this bit of news, don’t you think?”

  There was a pause on the other end of the line. Then, “You know, as appealing as that is, I have to encourage you to be cautious about this.”

  “I will be,” Emily said. “And Paul will be too. He’s as much a part of this as any of us. He’ll be able to use his resources to make things right.”

  “I hope so.” Jim paused again. “Should I prepare for their arrival?”

  “I think you should. I’ll alert Mr. White, as well. I think he needs to be present when we question them.”

  “Very well,” Jim murmured. “I’ll see you shortly.” Jim hung up.

  Emily set her phone down. The screensaver on her MacBook Pro had started. She backed away from the desk, at a crossroads. What to do?

  Whatever the decision, she knew how the final outcome would be regardless. Thinking about it made her smile. They would get through this. They had a good team in place. She would inform Wayne what was happening. He would get other members of the board involved—they were all on site anyway, holed up in their suites, waiting for tomorrow night’s festivities to begin. They all shared the same goal, the same interests, the same concerns. Working together, they would fix this problem.

  Emily stood up. Time to take care of the problem.

  Besides, her stomach was rumbling. She was getting hungry.

  Emily quietly left her suite and headed down to Chef Munchel’s kitchen.

  * * *

  Paul gave them their orders in the entry hall. He spoke in hushed tones. He’d already instructed Scott to get a service vehicle and drive it around to the back entrance of the D wing. Paul had called the front desk and casually asked the clerk what the status was on guest check-outs for those staying in the D wing. The front desk clerk confirmed that all guests except for Mr. and Mrs. Daniels had checked out, most of them days ago. Since there was no direct view of the entrance from any other rooms from this section of the resort, Scott could work in relative privacy in transporting them. Paul explained this to him, making sure Scott understood it. Scott nodded, his features grim, determined. He was a good kid. Paul had liked him the moment he interviewed him four seasons back. He’d liked him so much he’d hired Scott for some freelance gigs during the winter months. The kid was reliable, discreet, and loyal. Paul made sure he was well taken care of financially in return. That’s all the kid wanted. To be respected. To have his financial needs met. It was a symbiotic relationship.

  It was all any of them wanted, really. Pete and Glenn were motivated by the same things Scott was, and Paul had put them through more intense things this season due to their length of tenure and experience. Last year, Glenn had single-handedly chased after and caught somebody that tried to get away during an abduction, risking his own neck to do so. That had been an intense moment that had taken place in downtown Minneapolis. Paul had been supervising the operation himself. Two other guys were working the abduction with them. The abduction itself had gone smooth, but the subject had not been rendered unconscious fully. He’d come awake as Glenn had paused to grab another coil of rope, and within seconds the subject was up and sprinting out of the van, running down the street toward an alley. Glenn hadn’t thought twice; he’d raced after him. Paul had scrambled to get the door to the van shut, then Pete had swung the vehicle around the corner and followed the pursuit while Paul watched out for the police. Luckily, the chase hadn’t lasted long. Glenn had tackled the subject at the end of a long alley. Pete had pulled in and they’d gotten the subject back in with no trouble. There’d been no witnesses, either. It had been a late night, in a bad part of town. Nobody had been out to see anything.

  “Once Scott gets back, he’ll get these two over to the exit of the building and transport them to the north end of the grounds. He’ll assist Chef Munchel in getting them to the storage area, where they’ll wait for me to arrive with Mr. White. In the meantime, while this is happening, Pete, Glenn, and myself will fan out and hunt down Mr. Gaiman. There’s no sense in splitting up since time is of the essence. The three of us will start where Mr. Gaiman was last seen and we’ll look for any signs of where he may have gone. If it looks like he reached the main road, we’ll call the search off and regroup.”

  “What if he went deeper into the woods and we can’t find him?” Pete asked. Like Scott and Glenn, Pete was an ex-cop who was completely loyal to Paul. Paul provided him with a very good six figure salary. Pete had never disappointed him yet.

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Paul said. Truth be told, the possibility of that scared the crap out of him. He tried not to let his worry show, but he could tell his team could detect his unease.

  Glenn fingered the butt of his handgun, which sat in a holster he wore around his waist. His shirt usually concealed the weapon, but now it rode in full view. “We’ve got plenty of hours of daylight left,” he said. “We should be able to find him.”

  Pete nodded. “And he wouldn’t have been able to hitch a ride on a shuttle. We’d’ve heard about that by now.”

  That was something Paul hadn’t thought of. Pete was right. Had Brian stumbled on to the main and only road to the resort, the shuttle bus driver would have called it in. He hadn’t gotten a call. Which meant Brian was either deep in the woods, hiding out, or he was somewhere close to the grounds. “You’ve got a good point there. I just wish I had more men to help with this search.”

  There was a sharp series of raps on the door, three fast ones, followed by two long ones. Scott, returning. Paul verified it was Scott through the peephole and opened the door. “Van’s pulled up to the back,” Scott said, shouldering his way in. “Shall we get going?”

  Paul nodded. He regarded each of his team members. “Yeah, let’s get this show on the ro
ad.”

  And with that, they set out on their plans.

  CHAPTER 24

  Shane Daniels woke up to an extremely painful headache.

  He opened his eyes and the harsh light blinded him. He squinted and tried to raise his right hand to shield the glare, but he couldn’t move. There was extreme pain in his shoulder and he winced. As consciousness hit him more fully, he blinked rapidly, trying to get used to the light. He tried to move his limbs. Aside from his right shoulder, which hurt like hell, everything else was fine. He just couldn’t move his arms. Or his legs.

  He was lying on cold steel. He turned his head to the side and opened his eyes. The light wasn’t as harsh from this angle, and as his vision adjusted he made out the details of the room. There were metal shelves against the wall holding kitchen utensils—large mixing bowls, boxes of dried goods. He licked his lips—he wasn’t gagged, but he could tell he was tied down to the steel table he was lying on.

  He slowly moved his head up, wincing at the harsh light. He turned to the right to get a look at that end of the room and that’s when he saw Jackie.

  Jackie was lying on an identical steel table beside him. She, too, wasn’t gagged. She was conscious. She turned her head to Shane and he could see the confusion and fear in her eyes. “What’s...what’s going on? What happened?”

  “I don’t know,” Shane said. His throat was dry. He licked his lips, gathering his strength. His eyes darted around the room. He had no idea where they were, but somebody was going to fucking hear about this. Yes, sir.

  “Did they...are we...?” Jackie’s tone of voice mirrored her confusion. She was looking around the room, slow realization dawning on her features. “Are we being held prisoner?”