Caribbean Gold: Three Adventure Novels

by K. T. Tomb

  “We need to go to the Tinson Pen airstrip, please.”

  The driver nodded and got out to help with their bags. Karl opened the trunk of the taxi and put Rebecca’s suitcase inside.

  “You understand we’re here for business as well as pleasure, don’t you?” Karl said to Rebecca. “The heads of the company that built the Samsara Resort want us to review this hotel to prove to potential investors it’s going to be worth their money when they invest in it.”

  The driver loaded the rest of the luggage into the trunk as Karl and Rebecca got into the cab. On their way to the airstrip, Karl took in the beauty of the island: the ocean view, the lush greenery and the blue sky as the taxi drove towards Kingston’s industrial downtown area.

  “I talked to Steve and of course he tried convincing me that the hotel is the best they’ve ever built. State of the art, eco-friendly—this place is revolutionary in terms of its construction. Should be able to withstand any storm. So that means no worries about huge repairs or costs after a natural disaster.”

  Rebecca shook her head.

  “Sounds too good to be true, if you ask me. A building that can withstand a natural disaster, no matter how bad it is? I don’t know, it sounds shady. Besides, you’re a college professor. Why are you getting involved with this?”

  “For our retirement, of course. A professor’s salary isn’t enough for us to retire on. If this place turns out to be a good investment, are you trying to say they should invest in it as well?” Besides, it’s not like anybody’s trying to get their hands on our money before we’ve had a chance to see the place for ourselves.”

  Karl took Rebecca’s hand. “I need your support. Be on board with this.”

  The taxi pulled up at the tiny terminal at Tinson Pen.

  “Charter flights are in that building there,” the driver announced.

  Karl fished in his pocket for his wallet, pulled out some bills and handed the money to him. Inside the building, several well-dressed young ladies ushered Karl and Rebecca into a comfortable private lounge and quickly checked them in.

  “The flight to La Isla Samsara leaves in twenty minutes,” one of the attendants said.

  “Are we the only ones going over?” Rebecca inquired.

  “No, ma’am,” the lady replied. “We have eight other passengers on our flight today.”

  Rebecca picked up a thick prospectus of the Samsara resort from the coffee table in front of her and started to leaf through it.

  “From what I see, it looks like any other hotel: beautiful, but capable of getting destroyed in a storm like any other,” Rebecca said, sipping the glass of champagne the flight attendant had given her.

  “Do you have Wi-Fi in here?”

  “Yes, ma’am. It’s open so there’s no password required.”

  “Thank you,” Rebecca replied, logging on to the network and opening the browser on her little tablet.

  “Can’t you give that silly thing up even for a few days?” Karl asked sarcastically.

  “I just want to check the weather. It’s my luck the ‘Perfect Storm’ will brew this week and wash us all into the sea.”

  “You’ll see, when all this is said and done, there’ll be no regrets.”

  Rebecca glared at Karl.

  “Really? Have you been listening to me at all these past few months?”

  “Only too keenly, Becky,” he replied. “Have you heard a word I’ve said to you though?”

  Chapter Two

  Rebecca and Karl stepped into the lobby of the Samsara Hotel, and into a world of magic. The lobby’s warm-colored walls, along with the soft, radiant lighting, made the lobby glow. The space had an embracing feeling that Karl picked up on right away, as though the hotel wanted people to come in and never leave. The sun’s rays poured into the lobby and illuminated the pathways in front of Karl and Rebecca. They approached the front desk.

  A well-dressed man approached the couple.

  “May I help you?”

  “Yeah, room for two. Karl Winfred.”

  “Certainly, sir,” he said as he typed the information in his computer. “May I have your ID please?”

  Karl retrieved his wallet from his pocket and gave him a credit card and driver’s license. The man looked at both.

  “I see you’re from New York.”

  “Yeah, I am; a lifelong resident of the Bronx.”

  “And have you ever been to the Caribbean before, Mr. Winfred?”

  “It’s our first time.”

  Karl took back his cards and stuffed them in his wallet.

  “Are you here for business or pleasure, sir?”

  Karl sensed the discomfort welling up inside him.

  “Pardon me, but what’s with all these questions?”

  The man continued typing into the computer.

  “It’s nothing much to be worried about, sir. Here at Samara, we like to get to know our guests better. We are in the hospitality business, after all.”

  Karl nodded.

  “After all.”

  He surveyed the casual, welcoming atmosphere of the lobby. Some guests were dressed in athletic gear such as tennis or golf outfits, while others were wearing summer clothes and looked like they were going for a stroll on the promenade.

  “There seems to be a lot of people here. This place must be doing well since it opened.”

  “Yes, we have been. The resort was fully booked two months before it was scheduled to be opened and ever since, we’ve had people contacting us for reservations. We’re booked from now until the middle of next year.”

  Karl turned to Rebecca, who had her chin propped on her hand in observant boredom. “See, Becky, this is worth the investment,” he said.

  The concierge stuffed two key cards in a small envelope and slid them toward Karl, which he accepted.

  “Your room is on the fifth floor, number 5623. Room service is available whenever you need it, do let us know if you need anything.”

  The man pointed to the gold-plated tag on his blazer. “I’m Paulson, Head Concierge here at Samsara Hotel.”

  “Very nice to meet you,” Karl said.

  Paulson turned his back on them and returned to sorting out information on the guest computer.

  “Okay then.”

  Karl and his wife took their bags to their rooms by elevator. While walking through the hallways, Rebecca absorbed the atmosphere around her.

  “I like that they have their own spa here. Then again, they claim to be in the business of pampering their guests, so they would,” she said.

  “So you’re warming up to this idea of us investing in this,” Karl smiled.

  “I didn’t say that,” she smirked.

  After a while of winding through the long corridors, they finally reached room number 5623 and Karl slid the key card through the slot and stepped inside. As if on cue, the cell phone buzzed in Karl’s pocket. Rebecca pulled her luggage into the room and past her husband as he stopped to answer his phone.

  “Hello, this is Karl Winfred.”

  “Hello, Mr. Winfred, this is Mary, Steve Masterson’s assistant. How are you today?”

  “Great. My wife and I just flew in and are settling in at Samsara right now.”

  “That’s good, that’s good.” Her voice sounded reed-like and wispy. “I’m calling to confirm your attendance at the investors’ meeting tomorrow, in the hotel’s conference room.”

  According to the news reports, a lot of the workers died during the construction.

  Rebecca’s words resonated in Karl’s mind. He shook them out of his head, returning his attention to Steve.

  “I’ll be there,” Karl said.

  “All right, we’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Great.”

  Karl disconnected the call and put the phone back in his pocket.

  Rebecca reemerged and confronted him with tiny bottles of liquor. “I’m tossing these out. And I’ll tell these people not to stock our mini-bar anymore. You’re in recovery. We shouldn�
�t have these here.”

  Rebecca flipped the switch of the bathroom. The fan roared overhead. She set the bottles on the sink counter. One by one, she opened the bottles and dumped the contents into the sink. Karl’s heart sank as he watched her.

  “That’s not—” he began.

  “You know it is,” Rebecca interrupted.

  She emptied the last of the bottles, and then returned to the mini-fridge to get the rest of the bottles. She repeated the same actions in the bathroom.

  “Meanwhile, maybe there’s a 12-step meeting on this island.”

  “I checked the program’s website and contacted the regional directors; they don’t have that here. The Bahamas is the closest one.”

  Rebecca dropped the bottles in the trash can and left the bathroom, shutting the lights off. “Looks as though you have a lot of reading to do. You brought your books, right?”

  “Half my library of the self-help books.”

  Karl sighed as he pulled his luggage toward the bed and flipped the bag onto the bed. Unlocking the suitcase, he retrieved paperback after paperback, some of considerable size, others smaller.

  “The Recovering Alcoholic’s Guide to Regaining His Soul … You’re Not Alone: The Journey Back to Self-Acceptance … Quit Digging the Bottom of the Bottle!” Karl read off the title of each book and put them on the bed. Rebecca skimmed through each of them. “Personally, I think the Quit Digging the Bottom one is quite quirky with the title. For that reason I alone bought the book,” Karl said.

  Karl glanced out the window through the masses of the coconut trees and across the crystal-blue sea. He watched people engage in jet skiing, paragliding and boating.

  “There’s another reason we’re here,” Karl said, turning back to Rebecca.

  Rebecca finished reading the back-cover synopsis of Karl’s book and set it on the bed. “There is?”

  “Yeah.” Karl said, putting his arms around Rebecca’s slim waist and drawing her closer to him. “I want us to repair our marriage, simple as that. Well, it’s not so simple, but the way I’m saying it is simple.”

  Rebecca wrapped her arms around his neck, but no smile appeared on her face.

  “Seriously?”

  “You’re not excited about that thought?”

  “I am, but … this isn’t a recovery retreat. There are no recovery programs for miles around and who are you going to talk to if you have any … issues crop up. Remember, it was your alcoholism and your workaholism that got you into this mess. That got us into this mess. And we can’t even have as much fun as we should this trip because ‘again’ you’re working.”

  “We’ll have fun, too. It’s summer, we’re on a Caribbean Island, and we’re here for a week. What can go wrong?”

  Rebecca pushed away from Karl. She sighed. Picking up the hotel phone next to the bed, she pressed a button.

  “Concierge, please,” she said.

  There was a pause in the room.

  “Hello, Paulson, this is room 5623. Could you please make sure that housekeeping no longer, I repeat, no longer stocks our mini-bar with liquor … yes, we don’t drink … Okay, thank you.”

  She hung up.

  Karl’s face was crestfallen. “That wasn’t really necessary.”

  “Yes, it was.” Rebecca took his hands. “Now, let’s go explore the rest of this resort!”

  Chapter Three

  Steve Masterson strolled across the stage and up to the podium. He smiled a smug, satisfied smile. Investors sat in row after row of chairs before the stage. Karl sat up front with his hand on Rebecca’s lap. She sipped her coffee.

  “It’s too early for me,” she said, sipping again.

  “I wanted you to come with me so you can see where my investments are going.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Our investments, dear,” Karl said, squeezing Rebecca’s hand. “Our investments.”

  “Thank you all for coming out here today,” Steve Masterson said. “Welcome to the investors’ orientation of the Samsara Hotel. I hope you will find this meeting very informative and worth your time. As you are well aware, we began conceiving of the project …”

  For the next 30 minutes, Masterson explored every aspect of the project. Using a PowerPoint presentation, he presented the blueprints, photographs of construction and the numbers in regard to the resort. Karl wrote down notes while Rebecca watched.

  This is fascinating, indeed, Karl thought. I’m so glad I came down here.

  He looked over to Rebecca, who seemed entranced with the presentation. She sipped her coffee throughout, and her eyes never strayed from the stage. She leaned toward Karl.

  “Remind me afterwards to talk to you about your …about something,” she said.

  “That is why I brought you all here today in light of the pending storm.”

  Rebecca reeled her head. She shot a concerned look at her husband.

  “‘Pending storm’? What does he mean, ‘pending storm’?”

  “Up until a few days ago, the International Weather Data Service predicted there would be no hurricane in this area until possibly much later in the season, with chances of a 10 percent precipitation here. I must inform you, as of this morning, that now every weather service monitoring the area is saying otherwise.”

  Alarm washed over the crowd. Attendees shot glances of fear at each other, wondering about the weather. Karl didn’t have to know the details of their statements to be sure that he, too, shared the same concerns.

  “I understand your consternation, but I can tell you, there is no need for that.”

  “What the hell are you talking about, Masterson?” a man cried out from the back of the room.

  “This is the opportune time for us to test what this—” Masterson held out his arms, indicating the surroundings. His palms faced up, and Karl realized Masterson had a god-like quality about him, an aura that said he was in control of certain things that might not be humanly possible.

  “Can withstand,” Masterson continued. “This building is constructed solidly. The technology is state of the art. I wouldn’t be surprised if some decided to compare it to Noah’s Ark, only we won’t be floating away anywhere. Remember, that ark survived torrential rains and a massive flood to save the occupants from certain death. The only wood used in the hotel’s construction is cypress, the same as the Biblical Ark; because this building is made of the same wood, I can guarantee you the same fate will come about.”

  Masterson stepped away from the podium, locked into his convictions while he spoke. “The Hindu concept of Samsara symbolizes immortality. It is a Sanskrit word meaning ‘continuous flow’, the repeating cycle of birth, life and death. In essence, reincarnation; with that in mind, the immortality of this building will prove positive that our innovations and equipment here at the resort are every bit as magnificent as we have claimed once the hurricane blows over—pardon the pun.”

  Uncomfortable laughter from the audience responded to the pun.

  “I’m not quite sure what to make of that,” Rebecca said to Karl.

  “You’re not alone,” he replied.

  “Isn’t it also true that Samsara is a symbol of death and renewal? To be reincarnated one must first die, is that not so?”

  More whispers vibrated through the room.

  “I get the feeling this will be a common reaction for the rest of the meeting,” Rebecca said.

  “The Sanskrit literally translates to continuous flow. So, for you to say that the Samsara is a symbol of immortality, well, it’s somewhat ironic, don’t you think?”

  “Mr. Samuel Connolly, everyone, who has so generously invested in the last four projects my company has built around the Caribbean.”

  Slow applause ebbed throughout the room, and Connolly waved his arms in recognition of the gestures. He returned his attention to Masterson.

  “Yes, it’s true; I have invested in several of your company’s projects like the Dragoon Resort in the Florida Keys and the Lorenzo-Smith Hotel and Casino
on St. Thomas. And the reason I invested in such projects was because I have an eye for practical ventures. The Caribbean is still the hottest destination for people the world over to vacation, but to invest in something as foolhardy as a hotel that you claim can withstand any storm no matter what strength it reaches, is business suicide, if you ask me.”

  “The hotel is simply designed to weather the storms, so guests can come at any time and feel perfectly safe. This means Samsara can be open all year round and can therefore generate more revenue for the hotel and its investors. Here, we’ll always offer guests sunny beaches even when there’s a storm outside.”

  “But to build it in Hurricane Alley; this place is a sitting duck for tropical storms.”

  “Mr. Connolly, how many islands lie naturally within the region? La Isla Samsara is not unique in its location. How many of these islands have fantastic resorts built on them? We only have to look at our closest neighbor, Jamaica, to answer that question and I’m sure I don’t have to tell a soul in this room about their most famous all-inclusive chain. There is nothing wrong with your doubt in the Samsara Hotel—heck, determining the difference between taking risks and being plain stupid is what differentiates the boys from the men when it comes to business, am I right?”

  Masterson laughed, but noticed Rebecca in the front row, grasping Karl’s hand. Masterson cleared his throat.

  “Or the women from the girls, for that matter. As for acknowledging the, to use Mr. Connolly’s word, ‘foolhardy’ investment in this hotel, I want to point out for the record that we have the technology, highly advanced technology, to not only warn us when the storm is coming but to prepare the building, the staff and the guests for the passing of it. And we have already demonstrated that spectacular technology here today. This storm is huge, it’s on the radar, but we all know that when this hurricane comes, we will be ready. This hotel is ready. As I mentioned before, while we wait out the storm, there will be an unending cornucopia of distractions for the hotel’s residents; artificial suns for sun-bathing, indoor beaches to wait out the storm, all the accoutrements of outdoors to be found indoors. There are definitely premiere hotels in the Caribbean and all over the world, but everything I mentioned up to this point about the amenities here are what make the Samsara Hotel the premiere hotel of all premiere hotels.”