Retreat

by J. F. Gonzalez

  “Let’s grab them,” Dean said.

  They headed back to the server room and showed Bob the backup tapes. As Anna opened her backpack and stored the tapes inside next to her laptop, she heard Bob and Dean go into the server room. “What about what’s recording now?” Bob asked.

  Anna joined them in the server room. Dean was surveying the server rack. One of them contained a computer monitor and a keyboard on a pullout tray. He turned to Anna. “It sounds like you’ve been in computer rooms like this before.”

  “I have,” Anna said. She stepped up to the server rack and pulled the keyboard tray toward her. Using the mouse and several keystrokes, she quickly gained access to the system. “There’s tapes in the other servers, but the backup jobs aren’t scheduled to kick off until tonight.”

  “We need to bring down their security system first,” Dean said. “Do we do that from here?”

  “Yes, I think so,” Anna said. She was scrolling through each server. “Give me a minute to see what is what.”

  “So what are we going to do with Charlie?” Brian asked. He had followed them into the server room and he looked worried.

  Dean looked at Bob Garrison, then back at Brian. Clark looked indifferent. “Where’s his room?”

  “You aren’t going to shoot him in the head like you did Chef Munchel, are you?” Brian asked.

  “Only if you think I should.”

  “Fuck!” Brian turned away from the group and began to pace the room.

  “What are Charlie’s work hours?” Dean asked.

  “Four a.m. to Nine a.m.,” Brian said. His mouth was a grimace of distaste. “I like Charlie. I don’t see him as being involved in this.”

  “He isn’t,” Anna said. “They tapped me for duty this week too, remember? Only that was just a ruse. I remember hearing Paul tell somebody that all Charlie was supposed to do was clean the ashtrays and the public toilets and change lightbulbs in the dining room when they went out. He wasn’t supposed to set foot anywhere in the kitchen or pantry at all this week. He was basically supposed to be on call if something major went wrong—you know, something electrical, or with the plumbing.”

  “They would have restricted his access from the kitchen and the dining room,” Dean said. He shook his head. “And we don’t have time to go look for him now. Where’s his room?”

  “On the other side of the grounds,” Brian said. “Everybody on staff here, including the office people, they had access to their living quarters through the rear of the building. We weren’t supposed to be seen anywhere the guests mingled during our off hours. That included the dining area and kitchen.”

  “So your quarters are tucked away from the employee parking lot?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then we’re good.” Dean turned to Anna. “Can you crash their system?”

  Anna grinned. “I’d be happy to.”

  * * *

  It took them thirty minutes to completely bring down their network.

  Anna handed Dean a USB memory stick she’d pilfered from one of the workstations in the data center. “I’m going to give you a quick lesson in erasing a hard drive so the data is not recoverable,” she’d said. “The tool you’ll use is on this memory stick.” She’d downloaded the application a moment before and jotted down a quick set of instructions on wiping the Windows servers. “If they want to pay for it, Wayne and his cronies can hire a good forensic computer specialist to retrieve the data on these hard drive, but if we’re lucky they won’t be able to retrieve anything.”

  “This won’t do the trick completely?” Dean asked.

  “To make it completely unrecoverable we have to set the number of times to wipe the hard disk at 10,” Anna explained. “That will require ten reboots and we can’t be here to manage that. We’re going to have to set these all in motion and hope we can at least cripple them.”

  Bent Creek had seven Windows and Unix servers and one SAN server. Anna wiped the SAN first, then she and Dean went through each server from two different terminals and keyboards. It took them five minutes each to access each server and begin the process of doing a complete wipe of the hard drive. Once they set the wipe in motion, they moved on to the next. While Anna and Dean brought down their system, Clark, Brian, and Bob made their way to the Administrative area and rifled through various desks. They returned bearing armfuls of file folders.

  The phone in the data center began to ring when they were almost finished. Dean and Bob Garrison looked at it nervously, but Anna ignored it.

  “We about ready?” Clark asked, setting the files down.

  “Just about,” Anna said. She was on the last server, the data warehouse server that tracked and recorded all the financial data.

  “You sure we have all the backups?” Bob asked.

  “We have them all except for last Thursday’s. Looks like an outside service picked up the tapes on a weekly basis.”

  “So they could technically recover,” Robert said.

  “Yeah, but it would take them weeks,” Anna said. The screen of the computer she was sitting at went blank and she pushed her chair away from it. “I didn’t see any signs that they had a fallback system in place, like backing up remotely to an outside data storage center. And I don’t think Wayne will have the resources or the cojones to even try bringing this system back up.”

  “Wouldn’t it have been faster to just trash the place?” Clark asked. He was gathering everything together for their trip outside.

  “We could’ve trashed it, but that wouldn’t have guaranteed the drives would have been destroyed.”

  Now with the drives in the process of being wiped and the DVDs and tapes in place, they divided various media and file folders between the three of them. Clark took over, speaking with authority. “I’ll lead. We head out in single file formation to the van. We’ll leave the vehicle Bob drove up in, since it’s a rental. If Bent Creek gets their hands on it, they won’t be able to trace it.” Clark turned to Anna. “Do you have a vehicle in the front employee lot?”

  Anna shook her head. “No. Mark dropped me off.”

  “Okay. Then we all get in the van. I drive. We’ll circle the grounds and exit by the rear.”

  “The same exit they used to sneak out?” Dean asked.

  Clark nodded. “Yes.” He grinned and held up another keycard. “I lifted this from Mitch Johnson. I’ve got the Johnson’s cell phone too.”

  “The security system—” Bob said.

  “Is controlled by an outside company,” Anna said. “All we did was kill the servers and swiped the DVDs with recorded data. The company that mans the front gates is still running things here, it’s just not recording data. In fact...” She glanced at the phone. “That might have been them calling. I bet one of the servers we just killed was theirs.”

  “What does that mean?” Dean asked.

  “It means they’re trying to contact somebody here to see what’s wrong with their server,” Anna said. She pushed the keyboard tray back in the server rack. “If this place is closed for the season, I bet most of this stuff is shut off except for the server that manned the security system. I’m sure this system is monitored by somebody, whether it’s an outside company or one of Bent Creek’s own IT people. They’ll probably try remoting in to see what’s going on very soon.”

  Bob looked visibly relieved. “All this technical stuff...I never thought it would be so complex.”

  Clark held an armful of file folders in a cardboard box. “We ready to go?”

  “I am,” Bob said. He picked up a box of files, too.

  “We’re just going to leave the bodies here?” Brian asked.

  “Yes,” Clark said. “With one minor detail.” He reached into his pocket and brought out a knife. “Give me five minutes and we’ll be ready to go.”

  Anna understood immediately what Clark was going to do. “Don’t forget the freezer in the pantry,” she said.

  “I won’t,” Clark said. He reached for a roll of baggies and tw
ist ties that were on a nearby shelf and left the server room.

  Brian looked confused. “What’s he doing?”

  “You’ll see,” Anna said.

  Ten minutes later they were in a white paneled van that Clark piloted, heading toward the rear entrance.

  Once outside the rear entrance, they hit the secondary road that would take them to Route 7.

  Once they were on Route 7 heading toward the nearest town, Dean pulled out his cell phone and placed a call to the Willow Grove Sheriff’s department.

  Thirty minutes after that, they pulled over at a convenience store and bought two bags of ice to keep the meat from spoiling.

  CHAPTER 44

  Officer Chris Barnes got the call on his four to two a.m. patrol. The message from dispatch was clear—there was an armed conflict at the Bent Creek Country Club and Resort with multiple shots fired. Suspects were to be considered armed and extremely dangerous. Chris responded that he was on his way, switched on his lights and sirens, and made a U-turn on Highway 80 to head south.

  As he drove, he listened to the police radio as other officers responded. This sounds like a big one, he thought, feeling his pulse surge. Although why armed gunmen would want to storm a country club for rich snobs is beyond me. Chris knew that Bent Creek contributed vast amounts of money to the city coffers; they sponsored the Rotary Club in town, they hosted fundraisers and blood drives, they donated to various charities. Rumor had it they donated heavily to the police and fire department. Green River’s Police Chief, Andrew Walker, was very chummy with several of the big-wigs that ran the place. Every year around this time, shortly after their summer season ended, Chief Walker always made sure that patrol units pulled double duty around Bent Creek grounds and along the highways that bordered it. “I especially want you to pick up any hitchhikers you may see in that area and deliver them to our lock up,” he said. This was an edict that usually went against the grain for Chief Walker. Unless it was found that hitchhikers had a criminal record, Walker preferred they be taken out of town and told to leave, that if they were caught hitching in their jurisdiction a second time, they’d be formally arrested and transported to county. Chris surmised that the reason Chief Walker wanted them taken into custody during this particular week was that Bent Creek didn’t want to run the risk of vagrants converging on the area. There were probably clean-up crews and maintenance workers on the grounds the week after the resort closed, getting the place ready for the approaching winter. As far as Chris knew, there was no winter caretaker. Two weeks before the season started in late spring, work crews arrived to prep the place for business. Then the rich and the pampered descended on Willow Grove.

  Chris Walker was only a quarter of a mile away from the main entrance of Bent Creek when the call came in and he reached the country club grounds in no time. As he pulled up to make a left-hand turn into the entrance, another County Sheriff vehicle arrived from the opposite direction. The blare of headlights made it hard for Chris to see who it was, and he let the vehicle make its turn into the driveway and followed suit. He identified his fellow officer by the call numbers painted on the hood of the car—Officer Dan McCartney.

  Chris followed Dan down the long, winding two lane driveway, feeling his pulse quicken. They passed the employee parking area and a minute later they reached the guest parking and the large turn-around at the front entrance. Dan and Chris pulled up in front of it, dome lights swirling. Chris immediately reached for the shotgun mounted on the dashboard and exited the vehicle.

  Dan had his weapon out, a Glock 9mm handgun. He glanced at Chris. “Unit ten and twelve should be here any minute.”

  No sooner had he said that then they were. Both vehicles parked behind Dan and Chris and Officer Jane Hamilton and John Fish got out. Jane radioed in to dispatch that they were at the location and Dan nodded at them. “Let’s go!”

  They moved forward in a loose formation. Chris held back a little as Dan reached for the gold door handle and tugged. Locked. He nodded at Chris, who conveyed this to dispatch. A moment later the call came through: break it down.

  Dan and John went to Dan’s vehicle and opened the trunk. A moment later Dan approached the door with a large, black battering ram that they used to bust down doors during drug stings. On the count of three, Dan slammed the butt end of the battering ram into the double-glass doors. They fell apart in thick shards, providing ample entrance. Dan slipped through, followed by John and Jane and Chris.

  The early evening shade cast long shadows in the lobby, their footfalls hardly making a sound on the smooth marble floor. They all had a vague idea of the general floor plan, having been made to memorize it when they earned their positions with the Sheriff’s department. Chris still didn’t understand that one. Bent Creek supposedly had its own private security staff; they didn’t subcontract with a professional agency, they employed their own guys. Chris wondered if Chief Walker was in Bent Creek’s pocket just a little bit. It wouldn’t surprise him. Maybe they used Sheriff resources to provide some additional muscle when needed. That would explain the hitchhiker edict for that week in late September, when the season ended.

  The dispatcher had reported that the gunfire had come from the dining room. As they made their way toward the dining room, Chris’s pulse spiked. The lights had been extinguished in the lobby, but they were on in the elevator banks and in the rear hallway that led to the dining hall. They weaved their way in secure formation toward the dining hall and eased forward carefully, weapons ready. The entrance to the dining hall was wide open. The dining hall lights were off, but the lights were on in the gourmet kitchen beyond. Chris couldn’t see much—the edge of a few tables and chairs. Dan was in the lead, splayed back against the door. He nodded at the others, then weapon held out and ready, he entered the room. The other officers quickly followed.

  Chris brought up the rear and he stopped as suddenly as the others had, his mind taking in the scene with numb shock and horror.

  The body of a young man lay face down, a handgun lying a few feet away from him. Headshot, to the back of the head from the look of the spray pattern. In the middle of the dining room another body, male, multiple gunshot wounds. The body of a woman lay half in the kitchen, her blonde hair spilled out and matted with blood. Chris tightened the grip on the shotgun. His palms were sweaty.

  “There’s another victim against the wall,” Jane called out.

  Chris glanced to his left. Against the wall a middle-aged man, heavy-set, leaned over on his side, his head resembling a crushed watermelon. He was wearing white slacks and a red shirt. No, it wasn’t a red shirt, it was white. He’d bled out so much it had completely soaked his shirt.

  “Jesus,” Chris said.

  John and Dan had advanced toward the kitchen and they called back. “Two more victims in the kitchen.”

  Chris advanced forward, covering Jane as she finished her sweep of the dining room and the area just shy of the kitchen. He got a better glimpse of the woman now—definitely blonde, dressed to the nines, good-looking.

  From the kitchen, Dan called out. “Two more victims in the pantry.”

  John: “Oh my God, will you look at that!”

  Convinced that nobody else was on the premises, Chris moved the barrel of the shotgun toward the ceiling. He and Jane entered the kitchen, being careful to step around the bodies on the floor. “What do we have?” Jane called out.

  “Gunshot wound to the head for this guy,” Dan said. Chris quickly took in the scene in the kitchen—three bodies, blood everywhere, pots and pans lying all over the place, no shell casings as far as he could see. Jane entered the pantry and Chris followed suit. The first thing he saw was the body sprawled on the floor amid a pool of blood. Adult male, mid-thirties, dressed in business casual. His head was tilted back, revealing a gaping wound in his throat. Blood had poured out of the wound in a great cascade, staining his clothes and the floor in a wide pool. The man’s hands were tied behind his back and his ankles were lashed together.

/>   “What the hell do we have here?” John asked.

  “I have no fucking idea,” Dan said. He picked up his shoulder mike and called for immediate backup.

  CHAPTER 45

  Three Months Later, Manheim Township, PA

  When the raid on Carl White’s east coast residence was conducted, it was carried out with stealth and cunning surprise.

  Carl had been under surveillance since October. Between his five thousand square foot mansion in the ritzy, gated community of Parkwind Estates in Manheim Township, a small rural community in Beverly Hills, his apartments in New York and Chicago, and his mansion in Palos Verdes, California and condominium in Hawaii, federal agents had been able to cover all residences quite easily. All they had to do was gather evidence and wait for something stupid to happen. It only took three months, but it came with a phone call to his Pennsylvania estate LAN line.

  The phone call was immediately traced to Jake Chambers, who the FBI had been watching for several months on suspicion of securities fraud. The agent in charge of the investigation had been itching to tie White and Chambers together for two years and he finally had his wish. He hadn’t been able to do squat until just recently, when his superiors had finally green-lighted that investigation into Chambers and White warranted closer scrutiny. A court order had been secured with both of their cellular and their LAN phone carriers a few days ago, to try to tie the two together with phone calls. Once Jake Chambers made that phone call to Carl White, the connection between the two was firmly established and arrest warrants were issued, with Carl’s taking place in Pennsylvania, Jake’s taking place in the Hamptons. Both raids occurred simultaneously. The feds hit so hard, neither man knew what hit them.