The Secret Page

by Al Turner

  “I hear this area is known for its music culture,” Tripp said as he continued working on the lock.

  “That’s some trivia I don’t mind hearing. Some music and a cold beer would be nice right about now. You got that lock yet, bro?” As she said it, the deadbolt clicked and the door opened. “Oh, good.” Carson turned around and stopped in surprise.

  “Can I help you?” asked the young man curtly from behind the door. He pushed the glasses up his broad nose and glared at Tripp with magnified eyes.

  Tripp froze in his hunched-over position. Glancing up and feeling terribly awkward, he read the word “Dentonite” on the man’s stained white T-shirt. “Sorry, we were told we could find something of our father’s here.” It was all he could think to say.

  The man eyed him suspiciously. “There’s nothing here for you. You should go.” He started to close the door.

  “Wait,” said Carson before the door completely shut. “Our dad is Jack Page. I believe our uncle Joe actually owns this place.”

  The man didn’t seem to hear what Carson had said as he stared at her for the first time. He seemed suddenly enchanted with her and hesitant. Unconsciously, he started combing his unkempt hair with his hand while scanning every part of her body. “Who are you?” he asked. It was as if Tripp wasn’t even there.

  “I’m Carson Page,” she said and extended a hand.

  The man, his eyes glued on her, shook it. Gradually, he snapped out of his daze. “Page, huh? I guess you can come in, for a moment anyway.”

  Carson walked past Tripp and winked. She swayed her hips as she walked past their host, whose eyes were on autopilot as they traced her steps. Feeling he might as well be invisible, Tripp shook his head and followed her inside.

  The loft was much longer than it was wide. Carson continued her swaying down the hall and entered a living room. She was met by Daniel and Joe, who sat on the sofa and cheered.

  “What did I tell you, Daniel? Carson worked an angle to get in.”

  Daniel laughed. “Wow, Carson, you really put on the moves.”

  She looked embarrassed at first but shook it off as if it were nothing. “When did you guys get here?”

  “Before you,” Daniel said, laughing.

  “I see you’ve met Putter,” said Joe, who introduced him to Carson and Tripp.

  “I call myself that because I like to putter around with everything from cars to computers.”

  “That’s nice.” Carson glanced at him and turned back to the others. There was no longer any need to act interested in the man.

  “Putter is the administrator of your dad’s server room,” Joe said.

  Tripp and Daniel exchanged glances; both knew where Daniel would be later. Putter stood around for another moment, then found a reason to excuse himself for the night.

  After he left, the others crowded together on the sofa. Carson told of how she and Tripp had to outrun some more bad guys. Joe was concerned and agreed with Tripp that her vehicle was probably no longer safe to drive around. They would use Joe’s car the next day.

  “Anyone hungry?” Joe asked.

  Carson was the first to confirm that food was the next order of business. They all left the apartment and began their hunt for a place to eat on the square.

  TO ERR IS DEADLY

  From the thirteenth floor of the Lloyd Tactical Forces Tower, Victor would be sitting in the tall mahogany and leather chair behind his massive oval desk, staring at the twenty-seven-inch monitor. The back of his seat would rise high above his head, as if some medieval throne was its inspiration. His office was roomy, but it was tough to grasp its size since he kept it dark. There were no windows in the circular room within the center of the cylindrical office tower his father had built years before. Even if Victor did have a window, Carl thought, he wouldn’t care for the view of metropolitan Atlanta, Georgia.

  The walls had dim red and orange lights that changed patterns, giving the impression you had walked into the devil’s den. Wrought iron and stone furniture accentuated the motif. His desk, a solid surface made of obsidian, was raised above the rest of the floor. When people paid him a visit, they would be looking up at him. In addition, a motion-activated floodlight would temporarily blind the visitor.

  Carl hated walking into his boss’s office. He was used to the whole Hades theme, but Monday mornings were bad enough without it. If only people referred to the place as a hellhole because of the decor, but he was well aware that its occupant had more to do with the label than anything.

  As he walked through the double doors, that infernal light hit him at precisely the moment he reached the middle of the room. It was expected that visitors would stand there and wait for Victor to take his time finishing whatever he was working on before he acknowledged them. Carl’s tapping foot was unlikely to annoy his boss, so he allowed himself the impatient habit.

  After another moment of studying his monitor, Victor glanced down at him, a trusted lieutenant. “Thanks for coming.”

  “You mentioned we have a new development?”

  “We do. Joshua, the esteemed rep of our highest-paying customer, has a new concern.”

  “You mean beyond the mess we created Saturday?”

  Victor hesitated uneasily before answering. “Yes, although I get the feeling they may be somehow connected. First, the young Page twins are on the move. I figured they’d be well hidden from us by now, but apparently they have different plans.”

  “Plans? That’s unlike Pops to not move everything out to sea.”

  “I’d tend to agree. The parents allegedly transferred to a ship called the Abril. Curiously, the children have gone a different route. This is a concern to our customer.”

  “Concern? What did they expect? We were instructed to monitor only.”

  “True, but that brings us to point number two. Did you see the reports of the yacht that caught fire off the coast of Miami?”

  “I saw something on the news yesterday. How’s that connected?”

  “I’ll tell you,” Victor said, pointing to the report he had just read. “The yacht was owned by one Fumi Yoshida. Ring any bells?”

  “He’s a member of the guild and a close friend of Pops Page.”

  “He was a member,” Victor said, jubilant. “Now he’s dead. That’s one less ally for our quarry to use against us.”

  Carl knew his boss had a terrible case of tunnel vision. “Victor, this may not be a good thing. Fumi was an important, if not infamous, member of the guild. These are powerful people. If they even suspect we had anything to do with this, we’ll have far more to worry about than Pops coming at us.” He was apprehensive about his next question. “We didn’t have a hand in this, did we?”

  Victor laughed. “No, Carl, this wasn’t our work. Which brings me to my point. Not only is our client bold, but they also must have impressive resources at their disposal.”

  “And here I thought Joshua was discreet.”

  “That’s a term used for those too afraid to act. In any case, Joshua informed me not to be alarmed by any new developments. We’re to focus on a new mission. It will require more resources, which equates to more billing on our end. We must now monitor the Page twins and also be ready to move in when the time comes.”

  “Move in and do what?”

  “Apprehend, kill, tickle, or invite for tea. I didn’t ask, nor do I really care about the minutiae. As long as this ends in a fat paycheck and I get the bonus of seeing Pops Page suffer.”

  “The details may indeed matter, Victor. The messier this gets, the more likely someone will be marked the patsy. It took us years to rebuild this empire but only seconds to watch it crumble. Your father learned that lesson the hard way.”

  “My father is dead,” Victor snapped. “If not for Pops Page, we wouldn’t need to rebuild it.” He lowered his voice. “For now, we’ll simply do as we’re instructed. Any questions?”

  “No,” Carl said as he started to leave, but he stopped halfway to the door. “There is on
e more thing. I hear Steve caught up to that screwup, Mark, and then sent him out again. He was supposed to track the Page twins.”

  “So?”

  “Well, he went silent again.”

  “Tell me he at least put a tracking device on the girl’s vehicle before he disappeared?”

  “Surprisingly, he managed to get that accomplished. I can only wonder what happened after that. As you know, to err is deadly in this business.” Carl gave a salute with his index finger as he headed for the door.

  Victor caught the veiled warning. “Do let me know if you’re not totally on board with this, Carl.”

  “I have a lot invested in this company, Victor. I’ll have a team follow whatever GPS trackers are active.”

  “You do that,” Victor said as he departed.

  ***

  Victor sat for a while, tapping the black desk. “June?” he said, which triggered a voice-activated call to his secretary. After a few seconds, she responded. “Tell my newly demoted projects lead, Steve, that I want him in my office right away.”

  Soon June’s voice returned. “He seems to be off campus right now, Mr. Lloyd.”

  “I don’t care where he is.”

  “I’ll bring him in, sir,” she said indifferently.

  Victor leaned back in his chair and cracked his knuckles. Although he hadn’t slept much over the weekend, he fought the urge to take a nap. There will be time to sleep when I’m dead, he thought.

  ***

  Carl continued down the hall and entered the elevator. Once he reached the ground floor, he checked his watch and headed toward the door. Strangely, the main lobby was more crowded with people than normal. He even saw a woman pushing a stroller. As he passed a man on one of the couches reading a newspaper, he thought he heard his name. He paused but continued onward. He heard it more clearly the second time.

  “Carl.”

  He didn’t recognize anyone in the lobby, just a few people waiting here and there. The man reading the newspaper shifted his body, but his face was still hidden. Carl approached with caution.

  “You talking to me?”

  The paper lowered and the man rose. It was an old associate. Known for being fearless, Carl nonetheless almost jumped as he came face to face with Pops Page.

  “Got a hug for an old friend?” Pops asked, and he raised a hand that had been concealed by the newspaper. Obviously a weapon lurked beneath the headline news.

  “Sure,” Carl said and closed the gap, giving Pops a quick but careful hug. Pops let the barrel of the pistol poke Carl’s protruding belly. Stepping back, the men eyed one another. “What do you want?”

  “Two things,” Pops began, his steely gaze piercing Carl. “One, leave my family alone. Two, I want Victor’s head for what he did to my friend.”

  Carl swallowed hard as he mustered the will to maintain his fortitude. “You’ll have to take up the first request with Victor. As for the second, we had nothing to do with Fumi’s death. We heard it on the news.”

  “Unlike your boss, I know you’re not deranged enough to start a war with me. Still, time and age can cloud a man’s judgment.”

  “You listen to me, you old sea gypsy. I warned Victor about coming for you. He wasn’t supposed to harm anyone, just get your attention. As for Fumi, you’re right—I wouldn’t be dumb enough to be standing here if Victor had given that order.”

  “You may not, but I never gave that little bastard much credit. I warned his old man about breeding with the whores he kept company with. Now you have to deal with the consequences.”

  Anger swelled up in Carl. “You’d do well to leave Alan Lloyd out of this. He was your friend, and you stabbed him in the back.”

  “Ruining him financially was an act of mercy, particularly after what he did.”

  “You can drop the self-righteous act. Alan made a mistake, and you made it a personal quest to destroy him for it.”

  Pops got straight to the point. “Who’s pulling Victor’s strings on this? I know the man’s ego exceeds the size of his gonads. When I check my list of enemies, who shall I include and who can be crossed off?”

  Carl said nothing but glared, his jaw locked. He wasn’t showing defiance; he was just going over the possibilities, the reality of consequences he had already thought about.

  Pops clenched his teeth and a vein surfaced on his forehead. He pressed the gun harder into Carl’s gut, producing a painful grunt from him. “Who gave you the false courage to come gunning for me?”

  A bead of sweat formed across Carl’s brow. “Neither Victor nor I know their identity, but it’s a shrouded entity with abundant resources at their disposal. They seem to have no fear of the guild, much less you. We figure they had Fumi killed to get your attention.”

  “Your mysterious client will regret not sending a more subtle message.”

  “As you well know, we all have our regrets.” Carl contemplated whether he should continue and decided he had nothing to lose. “They knew of Victor’s venom for you and even offered your head as a final bonus.”

  Pops pulled away from him. “I’m not the only one they’ll use to get what they want. Your client may not fear me or the guild, but they were reckless to engage on multiple fronts. The irony is, Fumi’s death may not be the worst of the two messages they sent.”

  This piqued Carl’s curiosity. “I assumed the cop was collateral damage. You must know something I don’t.”

  Pops lowered the pistol. “I know Victor’s nothing more than someone’s marionette. He’s also too stupid to realize he’s currently the only target presenting itself.”

  It was an understatement, but Carl found no value in discussing it further. Instead, he rolled the dice. “Your son the preacher seems to have a considerable value to our client. As hard as I’ve tried, I can’t imagine why that could be.”

  Pops looked satisfied, as if that affirmation alone was worth the visit. “Well, they have a funny way of showing how much they value Jack—they attacked him near his home with automatic weapons.”

  “That misstep was with quality control, not our client’s directive. Heads will roll for that one. You’re avoiding the subject, old man. That tells me more than any words could.”

  Pops looked at him cautiously. “It boggles the mind as to why someone would be that interested in my son. I guess we’re both missing something.”

  Carl straightened his jacket and took a deep breath. “We can agree on that. Look, there’s no lost love between us, ya salty bastard. Still, I don’t want a war either. Regardless of what happens to Victor, I’ll always protect what Alan built. I owe him that.”

  “Victor won’t be running board meetings much longer. Who will take the reins after he’s gone?”

  It was a threat and a choice rolled into one. “I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”

  Pops put away his pistol and tossed the newspaper on the nearby couch. He stood, shoulder to shoulder with Carl, facing the opposite direction. “You may want to cast your vote while you still have time. Do I go after the head of the serpent or the entire beast?”

  Carl said nothing as Pops sauntered to the entrance and left. He felt a chill as he witnessed everyone in the lobby suddenly stop what they were doing and depart as well. The woman pushing the stroller was the last to leave. He’d bet good money there was no baby in there.

  Carl shuddered at how many enemies had occupied the lobby. How many more were outside, or worse, still in the building? Going forward, he would need either more daytime security or an extended vacation.

  He went outside and scanned the area. None of the people who had exited just moments before were in sight. His limo was close by, but the journey seemed longer than normal. Something arrested his attention in the parking garage across the street, but it was only Victor’s Porsche sitting in its private spot. The sun’s rays sparkled off the metallic silver paint.

  Convinced that the blinding light had played tricks on his eyes, Carl stepped into the limo after the driver opened
the door. He started down the road and called June’s desk. She had just answered when a fireball erupted behind him. The limo driver slammed on the breaks, jolting him forward.

  “What was that?” came June’s voice.

  Carl collected himself and peered back, though he already knew the answer. “That, my dear, was Victor’s prized car being engulfed in a fireball. Please be sure you’re done laughing before you remind him he was warned.”

  June giggled. “You can tell him that last part yourself. I’ll just say his car overheated.”

  MORNING MOURNING

  Carson and Tripp awoke on the stiff leather sofa. It looked far more comfortable than it really was. At least it was a roomy sectional that easily fit the two of them. Regardless, Carson had a tendency to flop around during the night, awakening Tripp a couple of times by striking him.

  She studied the room around her, trying to get her bearings. The decor seemed out of place for something her uncle owned. Paintings of prairies, deserts, and other landscapes adorned the walls. It was probably still decorated exactly the way her uncle Joe’s mom had left it over a decade ago.

  Carson stretched as she glanced over at Tripp, who rubbed his eyes. “Morning, sunshine,” she said.

  “That’s actually your nickname, sis,” Tripp said as he tried to fully wake up.

  “Only Mother really calls me that.” As Carson tried to stand, her mother’s diary dropped to the floor.

  Tripp reached for the small book. “What’s this?”

  “Nothing,” Carson replied as she tried to scoop it up. She retrieved it first, but Tripp seized it from her hand.

  He examined it. “Where did you get this?”

  “That closet in Dad’s hideaway. I wanted some history, so I borrowed it.” She lunged for it but missed.

  “Borrowing requires permission. This is of a very personal nature and it destroys your integrity if you read it.”

  “Wrong.” Carson grabbed it on the second try. “Everyone knows I’d read it, therefore my integrity is intact.”