Retreat

by J. F. Gonzalez

  “And now that he’s found out, you are going to be sorry you ever met me, motherfucker,” Anna said. She stepped forward, emboldened and angry now. Chef Munchel turned to her and before Dean or Clark could stop her, she continued. “The Johnson’s may have chosen me for you to prepare as exotic meals for them, but they picked the wrong bitch and you know it. I’m guessing some of your friends know that now too. Emily Wharton, some of those other fuckbags on the board.”

  “I’m sure they do,” Chef Munchel said. His features still bore that beaming devil-may-care look, but was there also a slight tinge of fear there now? “And I can assure you that they will work at uncovering your crimes and finding you.”

  “They’ll have a hard time,” Anna said.

  “I seriously doubt that.”

  “First, they’ll have to learn my true identity.”

  Chef Munchel looked as if he’d been hit over the head with a brick. Anna grinned at the chef’s expression of shock. “I’ve got all kinds of tricks up my sleeve, Chef Munchel. If you’d been successful in killing me and feeding me to the Johnson’s, a woman named Anna King would be legally dead. She might have even been reported as missing. But that’s not my real name. And that’s why, when you hired me at this place, you let in a real Trojan horse, you stupid piece of shit.”

  “That’s not true,” Chef said, speaking rapidly. “Paul ran a background check on you. You were vetted.”

  “An illusion was vetted,” Anna countered. “A conjuration. A person who only exists on paper!”

  The color ran out of Chef Munchel’s face. She could tell he believed her. It was in his eyes, which never wavered from her.

  “You told me that you started this little cannibal club after meeting Wayne at some weird sex thing,” she continued. “Correction: some sick criminal underground thing. Torture clubs? Snuff films? That’s more twisted and more wrong than anything you can pin on me.”

  “Snuff films?” Joe looked like he’d been slapped in the face with his own bladder. The tension in the air definitely changed when Anna brought up Jim’s earlier confessions to her. Jim appeared to shrink visibly at the accusations and Anna took advantage of it.

  “I’m not gonna repeat everything you told me earlier,” she said, “but that’s the gist of it, right? You met Wayne at one of these things. I think you told me you watched some guy eat a human being in one of those sick films, right?”

  Jim Munchel said nothing. He looked nervous.

  “Wayne later asked if you could prepare somebody for him to eat. He wanted to try human flesh. You named your price and you indulged him.”

  “It was never about the money,” Jim Munchel said.

  “Shut up!” Anna snapped. She was on a roll now, her gaze directed entirely at Jim Munchel. “Long story short, you and Wayne formed this separate club. One that consists of rich bastards like you who like to dine on human flesh prepared in a manner that most five-star chefs prepare, oh, I don’t know... normal meat items like chicken and fish? Maybe lamb?”

  Anna waited for a response. Jim didn’t provide one.

  “So we’ve got you guys, then we have the other sick fucks you alluded to before. The guy that ate somebody in a snuff film. The people that paid for it. They’re still out there, and your other friends are still out there. Wayne Sanders and Emily Wharton and all those other freaks. I’m going to find them.”

  “You’ll never find them,” Jim Munchel said.

  “We can find them,” Dean Campbell said. He was standing by Anna. She sensed the rage coursing through him. “I have all I need to track them down.”

  “And I have all their bank records,” Anna confirmed. “Everybody who was here this season...I have everybody’s bank records and log-in data. I may have stolen money electronically from only two of your friends, but I have all their data. Including Wayne’s.” Anna leaned toward Jim and smiled. “And I have yours too!”

  Jim Munchel’s face turned into a mask of horror. “No...”

  “Yes. I do.”

  “You’ll never get away with this,” Jim stammered. “We’re too well-connected. Wayne’s probably working at a contingency plan now—”

  “There is no contingency plan,” Anna said, seizing on this window of opportunity. “People like you and Wayne don’t have backup plans. I’ve worked at enough corporate jobs to know that even the so-called biggest firms don’t do shit when it comes to a complete disaster recovery plan. They may have one on paper for Sarbanes-Oxley purposes, but they don’t put the necessary money or training in implementing them. They don’t want to because that will take up too much precious money for their senior executives and their bonuses.” Anna cocked her head at him. “Am I right, Chef Munchel?”

  Jim Munchel said nothing.

  “I am going to take them down,” Anna said, speaking directly to Chef Munchel.

  “And I said you’ll never get away with it. They’re too powerful.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “I don’t care, either,” Joe said. “They can try putting up a defense, but they don’t know who they’re fucking with. I’m taking your entire network down.”

  For the first time, Jim Munchel looked nervous. He licked his lips, his eyes darting from Anna to Joe, then to Dean and Clark, who had largely kept silent during this exchange. “You can do whatever you want,” Jim said. “But you aren’t getting anything from me.”

  “I don’t need to,” Anna said. She stood up, patted the pockets of her waitress uniform and remembered that her cell phone was still in her room. She turned to Dean and Clark. “Do either of you have a cell phone? I have to call somebody.”

  Clark frowned. “No police.”

  “No police,” Anna said. “But I need to talk to my partner.”

  Dawning realization spread across Jim Munchel’s features. “You...you were working with somebody else?”

  “Maybe I was, maybe I wasn’t,” Anna said.

  Dean and Clark glanced at Joe Taylor, who had risen to his feet. He nodded at them. Clark reached into the front pocket of his slacks and handed Anna an iPhone.

  “Thanks.” Anna took the phone. “I’ll be right back.”

  Then she turned and headed out of the dining room into the entry hall to make her call.

  CHAPTER 43

  Mark Copper answered the phone on the first ring. “Yes?” He sounded worried. Panicked.

  “It’s me,” Anna said.

  “Hey! I’ve been trying to call you!”

  “I can’t talk for very long. I need a big favor right now.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” Anna took a deep breath, her ordeal flashing quickly through her mind. She took another breath. “I’ll tell you all about it later. Right now I need your help.”

  “What is it?”

  “Jim Munchel’s corporate network. Do you still have access?”

  “Of course.”

  “I need you to get some information for me.”

  “Sure. Hold on.” She waited a moment, glad to hear Mark’s voice on the phone. She could hear him typing away at the computer keyboard eight hundred miles away in California. “Okay, launching VPN access now...just a minute...”

  A moment later, Mark gained access. “I’m in. What do you need?”

  “Grab everything.”

  “Everything?”

  “There’s not much on that file share. There’s a Payroll folder, a folder for Marketing, a folder for Jim and we’ve seen much of that. Just grab everything and then disconnect.”

  “Okay. Give me a minute.”

  Anna sighed. This was going to work. It had to work.

  “Transferring everything now. You want the Outlook contact folder?”

  “Yes. Everything.”

  “Okay. That might take a few minutes longer to download.” Beat. “Uh...you okay? You sound...kind of frazzled.”

  “I was, but it’s wearing off.”

  “Nothing bad happened, did it?”

  “Noth
ing we can’t fix,” she said.

  “Oh.” Mark was silent. She could tell she’d alarmed him. When they’d set this job up, part of the protocol was they weren’t supposed to give each other away nor allude to any potential danger on either end. She had to stick to that script even though it appeared she was home free.

  “Everything’s okay,” Anna said. “In fact, we’ll probably need to reschedule our meeting.”

  “Again?”

  “Yeah. How’s tomorrow night sound?”

  “Tomorrow night?” Another beat. “Jesus Christ, I’m just dying with anticipation here, baby. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Files are downloaded,” Mark confirmed. “I’ve got everything. Disconnecting VPN as we speak.”

  “Great. Encrypt that data and then wait for my call.”

  “When will you call?”

  “I don’t know.” It was the truth. She wasn’t sure what was going to happen next. It was her hope that she could call Mark later tonight and tell him she’d be seeing him tomorrow.

  “Okay.” Once again, Mark sounded worried. “Be safe.”

  “I will.” She broke the connection and headed back to the dining room.

  All eyes were on her as Anna approached; Clark Arroyo; Dean Campbell, the man she only knew as Bob Garrison; and Jim Munchel, who remained seated on the floor, back against the wall, legs splayed out in front of him, hands tied behind his back. Munchel regarded her with a dead gaze. “Well?” he said. “Are we going to end this charade now and get on with whatever it is you’re going to do?”

  Dean nodded at her. “Who’d you call?”

  “My partner,” she said. She glared at Jim Munchel. “We have everything we need on this twisted motherfucker.”

  “Like what?” Dean asked.

  “I had my partner hack into Chef Munchel’s corporate network. I got all his financial information, marketing info, personal documents, and his email files.”

  Chef Munchel laughed. “Silly girl. There’s nothing about the group on that network.”

  “Sure there is. When Mark and I accessed it a few weeks ago, we found an encrypted file called WLTP. Mark was able to determine it came from another system, like it had been synched from another computer. A personal laptop maybe?”

  Chef Munchel’s face fell. Watching the color drain from his face did wonders to Anna’s confidence.

  “Yeah, I thought so. You used your personal laptop in the office. Used your network to save files, back shit up. Lots of small business owners do that. It makes sense to sync the personal laptop’s files with the network share, because the network stuff gets backed up, probably to an outfit like Moby or a larger firm like Iron Mountain.” She turned to Dean Campbell. “That file probably contains everything on the group, including personal contact information. Once Mark cracks the encryption, we’ll have that information.”

  “How sure are you that he can crack it?”

  “Chef Munchel alluded to my being a thief,” Anna said. “He’s correct. I am a thief. But I didn’t act alone. Mark helped me. He created an algorithm to crack the encryption of various financial institutions. Long story short, we stole a bunch of money from Munchel’s clients. That’s part of the reason he’s so pissed off at me.”

  “No kidding?”

  “No kidding.”

  Bob Garrison asked, “How much money are we talking about?”

  “Four hundred million dollars.”

  Jim Munchel was seething with anger. “You fucking bitch!”

  “Well, that convinces me,” Dean said. He regarded Jim Munchel on the floor for a moment, then turned to Bob Garrison. “I think we’ve taken this as far as we’re going to get. You paid me to help you get to the bottom of Carla’s disappearance. We learned the truth. I’m sorry it wasn’t what we’d hoped for but, considering our present circumstances, I don’t recommend we alert the proper authorities.”

  “I agree,” Bob Garrison said.

  “I believe we’ve learned everything we’re going to learn from Mr. Munchel,” Dean continued. “I don’t have the resources to have him transferred elsewhere.” He glanced at Anna. “You say he told you things? About this group?”

  “He told me enough. Being as he was so pissed off when he learned we had access to that encrypted file that contains his personal data, I think it’s safe to say we have quite a bit on this other group.”

  “You will share this information with us?”

  “I’ll tell you everything he told me and I’ll share whatever files from his network and his personal laptop you need.”

  Jim Munchel muttered. “Fucking whore. Should’ve gutted you like a sow.”

  “Very well, then.” Dean Campbell turned to Clark Arroyo. “I think we’re done here.”

  Clark turned to Bob Garrison. He gestured to Jim Munchel with a casual inflection. “Do we need him anymore, sir?”

  Bob Garrison shook his head. “No.”

  Clark pulled a silencer-equipped handgun from a shoulder holster beneath his jacket, pointed it at Chef Munchel, and pulled the trigger three times. Munchel’s body shuddered and jived as each bullet struck home, pulverizing brain matter, splattering blood, breaking skull like pieces of pottery. When he went down, rolling over onto his left side, Anna was amazed to see that the human skull was like a fine piece of pottery. When bullets hit it at the right trajectory it tended to pulverize into pieces and not even the network of skin and muscle and sinew that held everything together could hold it together. What was left of Chef Munchel’s head after three point-blank shots into his noggin had left him virtually unrecognizable.

  Clark Arroyo replaced his handgun. “Anything else?”

  Dean nodded. “Yeah. And we have to act quickly about this, but we need to make a plan.

  * * *

  When it was over, they reconvened in the security room.

  Anna had never been in the security room. It was accessible from the front desk by way of a keycard. They used Paul Westcott’s keycard to gain access. Prior to that, they each set about on their own tasks, as coordinated by Clark Arroyo and Dean Campbell; retrieving their empty shell casings, wiping areas down to erase fingerprints. Dean told Anna and Bob to retrieve all of their personal belongings from their rooms and make a hasty retreat back to security. “There’s probably going to be some DNA evidence but—”

  “I was careful,” Anna said. “I wore latex gloves most of the time I was in my room. And housekeeping was very good about vacuuming and dusting. I’ll do a quick clean anyway.”

  Dean turned to Brian. “Was your room anywhere near Charlie Thompson’s?”

  Brian nodded.

  “I’m assuming after you were kidnapped, they cleaned out your room. We don’t have time to look for your belongings. Do you understand?”

  Brian nodded again. “I can get new clothes some other time, man.”

  “Good.” Dean clamped a hand on his shoulder and offered him a pensive smile. He turned to Anna and Bob and gave them thirty minutes to retrieve their belongings and meet him, Brian, and Clark back in security.

  Anna went back to her room, grabbed her things quickly, making double-sure her laptop and other paraphernalia was securely in her backpack, and all her things were in her suitcase, then she did a quick wipe-down of her room and headed back to Security.

  When Anna arrived back, she saw that Bob Garrison had beat her. Clark, Brian, and Dean were waiting for them. Clark was holding a cell phone in one hand—Chef Munchel’s, obviously—and Paul Westcott’s key card. He swiped the card and there was a clicking sound. Clark opened the door.

  The security room was quite impressive. Four computer monitors displayed screens displaying various areas of the grounds. The indoor and outdoor surveillance systems were still working and would continue working long after they left.

  Dean turned to Clark Arroyo. “Can this system tell you if the local Sheriffs have been called?”

  “Yes,” Clark said. He sat do
wn at the desk in front of a computer screen that was displaying some kind of system information. Clark grabbed the mouse and began scrolling through text. “And no, they haven’t been contacted yet. At least within the facility.” He turned to Dean. “There’s always the possibility one of them made a call while they were on their way out.”

  “Can you find out what suites Jim Munchel and Wayne Sanders were staying in?”

  Clark shrugged and turned to the computer. “I can try.”

  “Get their room numbers,” Dean said. “And do a quick sweep of their rooms. Grab anything you can that looks important. I doubt Wayne left anything behind, but if Chef Munchel brought his laptop or another device—”

  “I have his phone and I’ll check his room,” Clark said.

  And with that, Clark left the security booth.

  Bob nodded at the video monitors. “Do we even want to bother trying to find the backup tapes?”

  “Yeah, we need them,” Anna said. She’d set her suitcase and backpack on the floor near the entrance. She and Dean started looking around the security booth. Beyond the command center was a server room that held two racks of servers. The server room was fairly sophisticated—surely not the most high-end state-of-the-art server room Anna had been in with raised floors and good ventilation, but it served its purpose. She saw a door on the other side of the server room. “What’s back there?”

  Dean headed toward the door and paused for a moment. He drew his firearm and carefully opened the door. It led to a short hallway. Anna followed Dean carefully and just beyond the door and to the left was a large metal door with a large combination lock and a big steel lever. The door was only open halfway. Anna reached out, grasped the lever, and pulled the door all the way open.

  If this was a security vault, it was small. The back of it was lined with metal filing cabinets. Resting on top of the filing cabinets were dozens of backup tapes encased in plastic cases. “These must be their backup tapes,” Anna said. She pulled them down and began rummaging through them. They were labeled by day of the week and server name. It looked like only one day’s worth of backup was missing—the tape from the previous Thursday. Those tapes were probably stored off-site somewhere. “What a bunch of dumb shits. They were too cheap to store all these tapes off site. They must’ve only been willing to pay for an off-site courier to come once a week.”