He called his father, gave him a brief recap, then hung up and said that the senior Matheson would be coming down to join us momentarily.
“Fuck, why didn’t I put this together before now?” I said.
“You can’t really control inspiration,” John said.
“No shit, and after watching that show, I still couldn’t sleep and went for a walk.”
“Really? I usually jacked off after watching that show,” Beeber said.
“Why not during?”
“Living room was too exposed.”
“You should have installed blinds. Anyway, I did something I should have done in the first place, which was retrace the murderer’s steps. Using the security camera footage as my guide I walked from Jessica to Steven’s room. Then, I did it again, only the second time, I followed a faster, more direct route and shaved more than two minutes off my time. That means the killer, or should I say Melissa, walked the longest possible distance between Jessica and Steven’s rooms, which made no sense until I realized something.”
“What?” Corn, John, Beeber, Doug, and Jerasian asked at the same time.
“The security cameras of course! Our killer obviously wanted to be seen, otherwise she would have taken the other route. If I shared this and the other revelations with the lead detective, I’m pretty sure he would consider dropping the charges.”
“At least we now have something to tell the police.”
There was a knock at the door, and in walked John’s father—the esteemed Senator Matheson. He immediately came over to the bar and asked for a drink, and I filled his glass then proceeded to tell him all that we had uncovered. When I was done, he lowered his head and rubbed his temples, as the news appeared to be both physically and emotionally painful.
“Frank is my best friend. I’m the godfather to his children for God’s sake. How could he do this?” he asked.
“Blood is thicker than water, and the man’s ambition and ruthlessness apparently knows no bounds.”
I finally had a moment and looked at my phone and saw that the missed call was from Violet, and she had fortunately left a message. I hit the play button and listened as she relayed that the girls were all having a lot of fun, but she had received a call concerning the partial print we had gotten off of Jessica’s sweatshirt zipper. The FBI had found a match, and the answer was, of course, Melissa Williams. Initially, there hadn’t been any matches in any of the criminal databases, but they finally cross checked the public ones—namely those used for vetting teachers and various government employees. Melissa’s short stint as a teacher would inadvertently be the vehicle of her undoing, though it was surprising she had managed to make this one little mistake. Of course, it was always alluded to in murder mysteries that the culprit, no matter how clever, always overlooked one tiny detail and eventually got caught. In this case, I was guessing it was simply a matter of convenience. The sweatshirt had gathered sleeves, so she probably removed her gloves first figuring it would be easier to get her hands free of the garment. Either way, we had her by the short hairs.
“Hot damn! We finally have physical evidence!” I called out excitedly.
Everyone became quiet and looked over at me, as they were obviously curious to hear my news, but I continued to listen, as Violet’s message was still going. Suddenly, my heart skipped a beat, and I looked down at the time of the message and immediately hit the call button, hoping to God that I might reach Violet in time. The phone rang three times, then I heard a familiar voice say hello. It was Frank Williams.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The Orc Lord
I STOOD THERE utterly transfixed in thought with my heart pounding in my ears as I waited for Frank’s next words. I couldn’t believe that I had not checked my phone sooner and warned Violet, but fate, as usual, had its own cruel agenda. While she had been out with the girls, she received the news about the fingerprint, and, not having been able to reach me, took it upon herself to tell Frank the terrible news that his daughter was very likely the real killer. Unfortunately, she didn’t yet know that he too was a part of the conspiracy, and she had unknowingly dragged herself and all the women into the Lion’s den. Things had just taken a major turn for the worse.
“You might want to put your phone on speaker, as I imagine the others will want to hear this,” Frank said.
I hit the speaker button and placed the phone on the bar.
“Hello, friends, I suspect that it’s about time we had another damage control meeting, though this one is about the fate of five very lovely ladies who are currently at my house.”
“Frank, we’ve been best friends for forty years. You’re John’s godfather for fuck’s sake! How can you have done this?” Douglass asked.
“I imagine you must be a little shocked, but so was I when John called off his marriage to Melissa ten years ago. It didn’t matter who he was. He broke my little girl’s heart and, worse still, ruined what would have been the single greatest consolidation of power and influence this country has ever seen. The Mathesons and the Williams officially entwined in holy matrimony would have been the next Camelot.”
“I’m sorry, Frank, but what can I say? Melissa and I just weren’t meant to be,” John said.
“Your loss, young man. Now, to our current problem. In a perfect world, I would have been satisfied just destroying your political career, but seeing as Finn and his friends have proved to be more capable than we thought, we’ve reached a different outcome.”
“What do you want, Frank?” the senior Matheson asked.
“A meeting, as I suppose we might still be able to come to some kind of resolution.”
Douglass looked around the room for a consensus, and everyone nodded, as there really weren’t any other options at the moment.
“Where and when?” Douglass asked.
“Tonight. My place around eight, and I expect all of you to be there.”
“All—meaning?”
“Meaning everyone—John, Douglass, Corn, Finn, and of course his team of nerds, and I want all of you in one vehicle. When you get to the gate, my guards will do a headcount and search your vehicle for weapons. If you’re all not here or they find anything, all your ladies get a very unceremonious bullet to the brain, so please don’t do anything stupid, and, just to be clear, make sure you don’t involve the Secret Service or FBI in this matter.”
“You know as well as I that John can’t take a piss without the secret Service knowing,” Douglass said.
“I’m sure you’ll figure something out, and remember that I have eyes and ears everywhere. If you alert anyone—I’ll know. If even a whisper of this travels beyond out little group here, all the women are dead.”
“Speaking of the women. We’re going to need some kind of proof of life. How do we know they’re not already dead?” I asked.
Frank was quiet a moment, then Jessica came on the line.
“John?”
“I’m here.”
“John, don’t trust him. I’m pretty sure he’s going to…”
Her voice trailed off, but John called out to her anyway.
“Don’t worry. We’re coming for you!” he said, frantically.
“All right then, gentleman. I believe we’re done talking for now,” Frank said.
“Yeah, fuck you very much, Frank. We’ll see you at eight,” I said.
Frank clicked off, and all of us stared silently at each other.
“What now?” Douglass asked.
“Well, I think it’s hardly a stretch that he plans to kill all of us the minute he get’s us to his estate,” I said.
“Maybe he just wants to arrange something. Perhaps force the wedding that never happened.”
“Highly doubtful. What’s to keep us from calling it all off the minute the women are safe? No, he wants us all there so he can kill us and be done with it in one fell swoop,” I said.
“True, but how in the hell could he think that he’s going to get away with killing all of us, let alon
e the vice president of the United States?”
“You know the saying about absolute power corrupting absolutely. Well, think about it—Frank’s lived with a whole lot of power for a whole lot of time. It can warp a person’s mind, as he clearly has no compunction about murder. He killed Steven Green, Roofie Rudy, and the spear fisherman, so why not kill a few more, and it certainly makes it easier when he’s got a personal hit squad at his beck and call.”
“It’s just so hard to believe this is the same man I’ve known all these years,” Douglass said.
“Indeed, and I suppose we should call Babs and tell him his fiancée is being held hostage by the godfather of the groom.”
I picked up my phone and rang Babs, who just happened to be only a short distance away lounging on the resort’s beach. Five minutes later, he was at my door wearing a red and white striped Speedo and a T-shirt, and his feet were still covered in sand.
“Nice outfit,” I said.
“I was at the beach.”
“In America.”
“I’m still French.”
“Obviously, now hurry your ass in here before you catch a cold in that thing.”
He walked inside, and I explained all that happened, and he immediately poured himself a drink then took a seat.
“Merde,” he said, which was French for shit.
“Merde indeed,” I responded.
“So, what the fuck do we do?” Babs asked.
“Yeah, what?” John added.
“Seems pretty straightforward to me. We go rescue our fucking women,” I said.
“So says the low rent James Bond, but you’re forgetting that Frank holds all the cards here. One false move and they’re dead.”
“He’s going to kill them anyway. We have to do something.”
“That’ll be hard with all of us driving into his estate in the same car and without any weapons. You heard him—any shenanigans and the women are dead, then, once we’re all inside, I imagine we’ll also be killed soon thereafter.”
“He’s not going to do anything too rash. He has neighbors, so he’ll need to at least be a little subtle and probably take us all somewhere nice and remote before he kills us.”
“That’s not very reassuring,” John said.
“Trust me, it doesn’t matter—it’ll never get that far. Now, enough nay saying. Let’s look at the logistics here. How many security men does Frank actually have?”
“Including Rex, I’m guessing between eight to ten, and they’re all ex-Delta Force,” Douglass said.
“Well, let me tell you—eight isn’t enough. Not this time and not against this group.”
“I like your enthusiasm, Finn, but do you honestly believe what you’re saying has any merit?” Douglass asked.
“I do, and not to sound harsh, but you pussies are all forgetting that we have a veritable platoon of ex-special operations soldiers and trained intelligence agents in our very midst,” I said.
“I think you’re forgetting that most of us have been out of the game for quite a while,” Corn said.
“And some of us were never really in the game. At least not in the field anyway,” Beeber said.
“Don’t be so defeatist. We can do this. Think about it,” I said.
“We’re talking about going up against a trained cohesive group of killers on their own turf, and these men have seen combat and have no problem pulling the trigger.”
“I know, but don’t forget that we’re also trained—and more importantly, smarter.”
“Well, Doug and I are anyway,” Beeber said.
“You’re more than smart—you were a gun toting badass on the Pickles case and took out a dangerous Chinese agent all on your own.”
“That’s an exaggeration,” Beeber said, as he smiled impishly.
“It’s still too dangerous. We’re going to need help,” Douglass said.
“You heard Frank, he has too many connections. We alert the Secret Service or FBI, and he’ll know it before we even hang up the phone. We are lone wolves on this one, but buck up, little campers, we have a few wild cards up our sleeve.”
“Such as?” Douglass asked.
“He didn’t mention Babs,” I said.
“Excusez-moi?” Babs asked.
“Oui, vous. Are you forgetting that you’re an ex naval commando, third world president, and maker of fine rum?”
“Are you suggesting I get them drunk?”
“No, I wouldn’t waste an ounce of your rum on those pricks, but I do remember how you helped take down a group of ornery terrorists back in Tunisia.”
“That was different.”
“Not really. It was about rescuing a damsel in distress from a bunch of assholes, so it’s exactly the same, except we have several damsels and approximately eight to ten assholes.”
“I suppose we must do what we must do,” he said, resolutely.
“So, what are our other wild cards?” John asked.
“Jerasian, for one.”
“Yeah, speaking of me—I’m really sorry to interrupt and all, but I can’t imagine I’ll really be of any help here, so it’s probably about time for me to leave,” Jerasian said.
“No chance, you’re on the team now, kid. Your country needs you, and we need you, so start thinking how you can help,” I said, patting him on the back.
He looked nervous, but soon his quiet demeanor changed into a nerdish form of resolve. The other people in the room, however, still appeared to be a bit apprehensive.
“Finn, honestly I think your balls are writing checks your dick can’t cash,” John said.
“Look here, people, we don’t have any other choice. We need to pull together and form our very own dream team. Fuck Frank and his evil minions, they don’t know who they’re messing with.”
“I think they do, and that’s the problem,” John said.
“Bullshit—everyone in this room has more than enough balls and ability to pull this off. Corn, do I even need to remind you of what we faced everyday in Afghanistan?”
He shrugged.
“And, John, sure you were a pilot, but you were also the pilot who spooned with me on a fucking riverbank in the Shah-i-Kot valley while we fought off an entire contingent of Taliban and Al Qaeda militants.”
“You two spooned on a riverbank?” Beeber asked.
“It’s a long story,” John said.
“You guys were in combat, but what the hell can I do to help?” Doug asked.
“Doug, seriously? You were one-third of the elite Three Amigos? The Agency’s best and brightest team in the Special Activities Division.”
“Wait, you guys were the Three Amigos?” Corn asked.
“The one and only,” I said.
“Your operations were legendary. I heard the stories, but your identities were always a highly guarded secret, even to senior staff.”
Beeber, Doug, and I smiled at each other and shared a brief, though knowing, exchange. We had done some legendary stuff together at the Agency but never dreamed anyone had the slightest inkling of our noble deeds—least of all Corn. The two of us had lost touch after leaving the service, and I had no idea he was working his way up the CIA’s management ladder. The Agency was obviously a big place, and because of compartmentalization and secrecy, it was easy for people to never cross paths.
“Come on, fuckers, let’s do this. It’s time to pool our brains and form a plan. Nerds, this is where you come in. Think of it like your D&D game. Now, what was the last thing you were trying to accomplish?”
“We were trying to sneak into an orc lord’s castle and steal his treasure.”
“Well, there you go, only Frank is the Orc Lord, and our women are the treasure.”
“And the Orc Lord’s men are ex Delta Force soldiers, which makes them like twentieth level fighters,” Beeber said, grimly.
“Exactly, they don’t have a wizard, a thief, or a Frenchman in a Speedo.”
I went over to the coffee table and looked at their dungeon map an
d figurines and suddenly had an idea.
“OK, nerds, let’s construct a D&D style mock up of Robin’s Nest. Doug, any chance you could quietly tap into any of the CIA’s spy satellites? Some real time intel would certainly help.”
“Oh gosh, I don’t know. Do you think anyone back at Langley might notice if someone suddenly repositioned a satellite?”
“Have you forgotten that you’re in the company of the deputy director of the CIA and the vice president of the United States?”
“I had, actually,” he said, smiling as his interest suddenly piqued.
Doug walked over to his laptop and started tapping keys, and Corn followed and watched over his shoulder as Doug started entering various passwords in order to work his way through the many firewalls that protected the Agency’s computer system. Minutes passed, and the two men were bonding like a couple of frat boys, which made sense as the CIA liked to instill a sense of fraternity in its employees.
“Perfect!” Corn suddenly blurted out.
“What?” I asked.
“Good news. Doug found us a satellite currently offline over the Pacific, as it’s in transition to a new target location.”
“I could easily divert its course for a few hours,” Doug said.
“Can you do it so none of Frank’s Agency contacts have any idea what we’re up to?” I asked.
“Yeah, no problem. As long as it’s in transition and not on any active target, no one will notice a thing,” he said.
“Leave it to the Agency guys to get us our first break,” Corn said, as he held up his hand to high five Doug.
The two slapped hands, then Doug reached down and pressed a number of keys before looking up and smiling.
“We’ll have eyes on sight in five minutes. No big deal.”
“Excellent! Now, gentle nerds, let’s use your graph paper and google maps and construct a mock up of Robin’s Nest.”
Beeber, Jerasian, Doug, and I started taking pieces of paper and laying it out on the table before taking pencils and accurately drawing Frank’s estate using a zoomed in view from Google Maps for reference. It also was a major bonus that we’d just been there, so it only took a matter of minutes before we had a pretty accurate representation. I grabbed several of their little figurines and set them on top of the layout.
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