The Secret Page

by Al Turner

  “I really need to take better care of my investments,” he said. He had bought the house years before and planned to use it. But like many of his possessions, he allowed someone else to enjoy it. It appeared his friend hadn’t used it in some time, though.

  Pops called the skipper of the Abril, Captain Ed, and ordered his seaplane to be sent to some coordinates nearby. He had to argue with the man initially because the plane had already been scheduled out. As usual, however, he won the debate with his point that he owned the damn thing.

  Pops informed Captain Ed that he needed transport to the Pensacola area. He also wanted a sea vessel with men properly attired for the occasion standing by when he arrived.

  Typically, Captain Ed complained he wasn’t the Almighty and Pops expected too much in too little time. Also typically, the response was, “Just make it happen, Ed.”

  Upon ending the call, Pops turned his attention to the yellowtail. It was well over the state-required twelve-inch length for keeping. He examined it but couldn’t see a hook down the thing’s mouth. Some quick work with a fillet knife still didn’t produce a hook—not that he expected to really find one.

  But as he continued to clean the fish, he discovered a small glass tube that contained something rolled up inside. Pops removed the lid from the tube and tipped it to one side. After some effort, he freed the rolled-up paper.

  The note was handwritten. On one side was a series of numbers. On the other side, a single word. “Doppelgänger,” Pops said.

  He knew the general definition of the word. Beyond that, the word and the series of numbers were a mystery. He spent some time thinking about it but came to no conclusion; the meaning wasn’t obvious so he put it away for later. He decided to travel back up the canal, dock at his place, and take a nap.

  JUST BUSINESS

  Victor Lloyd sat in his high black leather chair at the end of the large mahogany table, pondering. If the devil had a cousin, Victor’s employees would have sworn it was their long-faced, beady-eyed boss. While a goatee might have accented the look, the man preferred to be clean-shaven. Still, the red silk shirt he wore did nothing to hurt his long-standing devilish reputation.

  On his thirty-inch hi-res screen, the image hadn’t changed, yet he stayed focused on it, as if memorizing every feature. The image was almost thirty years old, but it backed up the old saying that a picture is worth a thousand words.

  There were two men in the photo. One was his late father, Alan Lloyd. He was a proud man who had built his company from scratch. The other man was Pops Page, a former friend and business partner of his father’s. Page had managed to build a small empire, mostly under the radar. He had also betrayed and almost ruined Victor’s father.

  The five others at the table, Victor’s personal staff, were silent as he sat going over various images on his personal monitor screen. They also had monitors in front of them, which were dark. While the content was related to the reason they were all there, he would decide when and what to share.

  Victor wasn’t concerned that he had called in his executive team on a Saturday. He had given no thought to their personal lives when he allowed them all one hour to report in. His reputation for being a bastard was secure, if not legendary. He hadn’t earned the right to be CEO of his own company; it had been given to him when his father had died. Regardless, he exercised absolute power over his company.

  Neither the president, Victor’s half-brother, nor the VP were invited. Neither would ever approve of the questionable project that was worth millions, and this was the sole reason they would never hear of it.

  “You have a call from a Dr. Maynard.” It was the voice of Victor’s lovely assistant June coming over the intercom. He wished she had done a vid call on the monitor in front of him. He might have chastised or berated her for doing so, but he also would have enjoyed seeing the low-cut blouse she wore. She had been his personal assistant for years, mainly because she was so good at what she did. There was a time when the strawberry blonde was also an afternoon treat on the leather sectional in his office, but he’d moved on to younger and more hard-bodied women over the years. June still has her uses, he thought.

  “I’m busy,” he said without looking up. He knew the others in the room were probably disappointed they wouldn’t get a break while he took the call. He could hardly have cared less. “When he finishes whatever he has to say, take notes and hang up.”

  There was a low chuckle at the table. Victor however, was well aware that June knew him too well to find anything he said humorous. He had expected her to quit years ago when she first found him being serviced by his new interest while he sat, of all places, at her desk. It was his way of letting her know she was nothing special to him. He spotted her and requested a cup of coffee once he was done with his “meeting,” which of course added insult to injury. She was furious but refused to quit. Was it the money, or did she know he would have gone out of his way to punish her for leaving? She, like many others, loathed him. He suspected she’d spat in his coffee that day.

  “Okay,” June answered and, with a click, left the executive team to themselves.

  Victor flipped through a few more photos. His eyes narrowed as he came across a more recent picture of Pops. The old man stood on the bow of his personal ship, unaware of being watched or having his picture being taken. His squinting eyes looked elsewhere, as if surveying the sea kingdom he probably thought was his.

  “Pops Page,” he said. The eyes in the room shifted upward at him. Maybe they hoped he was ready to include them in something. Soon they seemed to realize he was just talking to himself and returned to their phones and tablets. Conscious the others were listening, Victor lowered his voice to a soft hiss. “Your legacy is coming to an end, old man.”

  He doubted the old man even remembered who he was. That alone bothered him. Pops certainly remembered his father and even knew his half-brother Charlie, but Victor was always an afterthought known simply as Alan Lloyd’s bastard. That would soon change.

  He had been tapping the touchpad on his desk rather loudly. He wasn’t quite ready for the attention of the room, but they were all staring as if they thought he wanted to say something. He had just come across a picture of Pops’s son and his family. Everyone seemed happy in it. A middle-aged man put his arm around his wife. She was a looker, but a bit too old for Victor’s taste. The two children, probably in their late teens at the time the picture was taken, were squatting in front. The fraternal twins, as he understood them to be, held hands. His attention focused on the lovely wife and Daddy’s lil’ girl.

  Victor’s smile faded as he thought about the events that hadn’t gone as planned. He should have handled it personally instead of allowing fools to run the operation. It was just another example of how hard it was to find good help, people willing to bend the rules.

  His thought was interrupted by someone at the table. At first, the man cleared his throat, as if finding the courage to speak. He finally heard the word “sir” and glanced up. It was his director of special operations. “Yes, Ron.”

  “Sir, I have an important conference call in thirty minutes. If we can—”

  “On a Saturday night?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You really are a workaholic, Ron. That is, assuming this is a business call.”

  Ron paused as if worried his words might trap him. “Of course it is.”

  “Then it’s my business, is it not? It can wait until I’m ready for you to leave. Right?”

  “Of course,” Ron said and went back to looking at his phone.

  Weak idiots, thought Victor. All except Carl, of course. In his hideous brown sports jacket, his chief operating officer was long past his prime. Still, the old fart spoke his mind and gave good counsel. As a show of respect, Carl would always wait until he and Victor were alone before challenging him.

  “Another call for you, Mr. Lloyd,” came June’s voice suddenly over the intercom. It was unusual for her to just break in without good
reason. And only one caller would likely cause her to show such urgency.

  “I’m busy,” he said and hoped he was wrong about who was calling.

  “He said he tried to call your personal cell, sir. You did tell me this was the one call you’d take. I’ll let him know to try your cell phone again,” June said and disconnected. Victor could almost picture her smiling with the knowledge that he would soon be made uncomfortable.

  With a loud sigh, Victor reached for the pocket he had placed the switched-off cell phone in. He turned it on and put an earpiece in to keep things private. He wanted to retreat to his office, but the phone rang almost immediately. As he answered, he walked over to the window and looked out at the view of the stadium in the distance. Victor was neither a fan of football nor views of a stadium—nor anything else for that matter. He preferred dark, windowless areas.

  “This is Victor,” he finally said. He tried to ensure the others in the room couldn’t see his face.

  From the corner of his eye, he noticed the others in the room trying to pretend they were paying no attention, but obviously the desire to get even a hint of what had made him jump on the phone—and cause a small bead of sweat to appear on his forehead right before he turned away from them—was too much to miss. Still, they tried to act discreet and appear not to listen.

  Victor heard the man’s voice say his name. It was not menacing but had a commanding quality to it. He had never actually met him in person, but they had spoken by phone on several occasions. Victor had no idea where he fit into the hierarchy of his client, but he seemed to be their voice.

  “Yes, hello, Joshua. I was going to call you back,” Victor said.

  “I’m hearing some disturbing news come out of Florida, Victor. You were supposed to do one simple task.”

  “Right, I did that little task—“

  “Your people failed miserably on the one task you were given and even botched the one you decided to go off and do yourself. My superior is quite displeased,” said Joshua, obviously upset — but irritatingly calm.

  “I was very disappointed as well with the results,” said Victor.

  “We pay you for results, not making the situation worse,” Joshua said, his tone effectively conveying the threat.

  Victor tried to keep up his confidence, but it quickly faded. “No, I completely understand. There was no excuse for such sloppiness.” The pause was long as Victor listened and said nothing.

  “We thought you were the right resource to handle this little project,” said Joshua. “If you are not, then let us quit wasting one another’s time. There is no further room for these type of mistakes.”

  Victor gazed out the window, conscious that the others probably enjoyed seeing the arrogant man uncomfortable and frightened—and from a phone call, no less. Maybe they had even decided that this Joshua person was their new hero.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Victor said. “I promise to rectify the situation. Let’s forget the little mishaps and move forward, shall we?”

  He noticed Carl watching him pace as he listened to the call. The man probably wished he had taken the call somewhere else, as it was always a little embarrassing seeing someone squirm.

  “Perhaps I should come meet you in person— to satisfy the burning question as to whether you are the right man for the job.” Joshua was obviously quite good at subtly getting a point across.

  Victor knew a visit only meant one thing. He had no intention of meeting the man. “While I’d love the chance to meet you in person, your presence here is hardly necessary.”

  “Then we understand one another?” asked Joshua. “If so, you will welcome some resources I send your way. These people will make your job more efficient.”

  “Yes, completely clear. I’ll, of course, cooperate with anyone you send.”

  While he was used to being the one to abruptly end a conversation, it was Joshua who hung up. Victor stood momentarily in silence and collected himself. He took his seat again. The others at the long table watched him as he sat and tapped the table with a finger.

  Finally, he cleared his throat, signaling he was about to speak to the group. “So things didn’t go exactly as planned today.” He tapped the pad in front of him and everyone’s monitors came alive. A PowerPoint presentation filled their screens.

  “You can thank Carl and June for quickly putting together this deck,” he said as he advanced to the first slide. “I know you’re probably familiar with these people, some more than others. That said, I want to ensure we’re all on the same page moving forward.”

  The group reviewed the first slide.

  “This is Bradley Jack Page Sr., also known as Pops Page. He owns several businesses under an umbrella corporation known as the Seven Seas but spelled out as ‘Ccccccc.’ I know, it’s stupid.”

  There was a brief chuckle he ignored.

  “His son, Bradley Jack Page Jr., goes by Jack. He’s a small-town preacher who also happens to own a bar. We should probably sit in on one of his sermons someday.”

  The employees laughed out loud.

  Victor continued. “The grandson, Bradley Jack Page III, seems to simply be called Tripp. He’s apparently some kind of private investigator.”

  “Didn’t we recently try hire this kid?” asked Agnes, his projects administrator. She was an older woman with jet-black hair and spectacles that perched low on her nose.

  “I believe Carl reached out to him with an offer,” Victor said and shot a glance toward the man.

  Carl took a drink and cleared his throat. Before he could speak, however, Ron spoke up.

  “He can’t be older than his mid-twenties,” said Ron. “I see nothing we’d want in a potential prospect. Why actually try to recruit him?”

  “On the surface, you’re correct, Ron. Fortunately, I go beyond the surface,” Carl said as a mild slight to the man. “Months ago the idea was to gain access to the Page family. The young man is a bit of an enigma. He had tested for both college and the military. His scores were off the charts. He chose neither path. I’m not sure if that was his choice or his family’s. Regardless, he showed little interest beyond talking with one of our recruiters.”

  “The boy is nothing,” said Victor and waved Carl away. “Merely a link to the grandfather. Moving on, the next slide is of the preacher’s wife, Katherine Page. She owns a beauty salon and typically stays close to Viridian Square, their home.”

  “Is that the one Steve’s team missed?” Ron blurted out.

  Steve, a former marine and special projects director, was the youngest of the group at barely thirty-five. He shot Ron a dirty look but said nothing.

  Victor was irritated by the interruption. “Try to save your questions until after the presentation,” he said dryly. “That said, yes. She alone was our client’s target. Take a good look, people. She got away.”

  Victor’s gaze locked onto Steve as he said it, and the man shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

  “Let’s just skip forward to a group photo of who wasn’t today’s target,” Victor continued. A slide with Jack, Tripp, and Carson Page appeared on the screen. “Now Pops Page currently isn’t a target either, but I chose not to include him here because I do eventually plan to get the son of a bitch.”

  A brief chuckle broke the tense mood. The next slide came up—another picture of Jack Page.

  “Oh look, another pic of the preacher. I wonder why?” said Victor. “I know—it’s because our client made it extremely clear from the beginning that this man was not to be approached in any way, shape, or form.” He walked around the table and stopped directly behind Steve. “Yet I’m hearing he was almost shot by someone’s team today.”

  The room grew so quiet that Victor could hear himself breathe. Steve, looking anxious with his boss standing directly behind him, tried to turn before he spoke.

  “I made it crystal clear to my team leader that Jack Page was to be avoided like the plague. I’ll investigate what happened.” Steve paused to swallow. “As f
or the girl . . . in all fairness, she was added as an alternate target in case we missed the mom. She, of course, wouldn’t have been harmed. You approved of this alternate plan, sir.”

  Victor abruptly grabbed the back of Steve’s chair, which caused him to jump. “You’re right. I did tentatively approve of the daughter as a plan B, but only if we missed her mommy.”

  Steve seemed to resume his normal breathing pattern again.

  “But Steve, had you allocated all resources on the mother and not divided them, there would have been no need for an alternate plan. Let’s also not forget the most important detail: not getting the preacher killed.”

  “Again, sir, I’ll make sure my team knows there are consequences for this screwup.”

  “That’s good. Shit should, after all, roll downhill. I like that saying much better than ‘The buck stops here.’”

  Steve allowed himself a smile. “I do too, sir.”

  “I hired you, Steve, to get me quality people. Instead, I got mindless drones who can’t think for themselves when no one’s there to hold their hand.”

  Steve’s smile rapidly faded. “They were recommended, sir. I’ll deal with the one who made the recommendations.”

  Victor wasn’t impressed. He strolled back toward his chair and stretched before he spoke again. “This whole day has been one folly after another. We all find ourselves working late on a Saturday instead of having drinks and getting laid.” He scanned the table, staring down each person. Only Carl didn’t flinch. “Of course, Carl drinks more than he gets laid.”

  They chuckled again, and even Carl found humor in the remark. Steve looked relieved that the focus had shifted from him.

  Victor paced for a moment, then stopped. “This company survives on its reputation alone. If we don’t deliver to our customers, they’ll go elsewhere. Or worse. As you all witnessed, my best-paying client isn’t pleased at all. While I could take some of the blame myself, we did just discuss how shit tends to roll down hill. You’re fired, Steve. Clear out your office.”