A Shift in Sands
By A. Phallus Si
Text copyright © 2017 A. Phallus Si
All Rights Reserved
For my believers and friends
Blurb:
Special Agent Jacob Sands just landed the case of his FBI career. Eager to prove himself, Jake’s willing to play Carlyle’s games to get what they need. What if he gets more than he bargained for?
Edward Carlyle is slick, but trouble’s brewing at The Fronds when a second body is discovered on their grounds. Then in stumbles Sands providing an irresistible diversion. A little quid pro quo and suddenly the stakes have changed.
FBI Washington Field Office
A slideshow image illuminated the room, blue-grey light reflecting, pushing back the gloom. A gruesome looking body or what was left of it was splayed across some palm fronds on a beach. Large chunks, as well as most of one leg missing were shocking, but the bloating and predation of the face meant it was barely recognizable as human.
“I’m sure you all remember John Doe 41.
“The victim has been identified—finally, as Bruce McCormick. McCormick was a mid-level lobbyist for various munitions manufacturers. His family has been notified. Interviews yielded little. The missus, Jane McCormick, believed he had been on a business trip to Thailand and reported him missing when he failed to make the return flight 12 days ago.
“He never took that flight according to the manifest. So where did he go? The coroner’s window for time of death is eight days before the body was discovered. That’s five days McCormick is alive, talking to people, buying things—except none of his credit cards or bankcards were used from the time he said goodbye to his wife and his body washed up on the beach at The Fronds.
“The IRS has an open case on some unreported earnings, but other than a few traffic violations his record is clean. That’s not to say that there haven’t been rumors over the past decade.” Assistant Director in Charge, Johnson turned off the slideshow and the lights flickered back on. “And this is where we assume lead on the investigation, McCormick’s been on the radar for his alleged interactions with Ziehe.”
The shuffling of papers and murmuring stopped with Johnson’s revelation. A couple smart phones were lowered.
“So, one of Ziehe’s supposed associates suddenly showing up dead under suspicious circumstances at the same resort Meillier’s body was found two months ago means we need more information about what’s going on there.”
Smelling opportunity, spines straightened and waited with anticipation for the assignment announcement. “We don’t need suits descending; it didn’t work last time. So I’m sending in an agent to covertly amass some data.”
The murmuring kicked up volume.
“Special Agent Sands, you’re up.” Disgruntled, chairs pushed back as the exodus began.
“Thank you, sir.”
The Fronds, South Carolina
The Fronds wasn’t a large resort, catering to 125 guests with thirty-five suites in the main hotel and another ten villas spread around the grounds. They weren’t exaggerating when they said exclusive. Jake had a concierge assigned to him when he checked in to attend to all needs he might have from scheduling activities and services to personalized menus. All he had to do is ask and *poof* it was taken care of.
Like the pair of sunglasses an attendant was delivering to him by the pool. An unfortunate incident while handing off the keys to the valet resulted in his pair falling and being scratched. Waving off the valet’s apologies, Jake didn’t even notice until his concierge picked them off the side table where he was lounging while being checked in.
“Really, it’s not a problem,” said Jake; sipping the peach Bellini he was offered.
“Nonsense, sir,” Gregory politely disagreed. “You can’t be at the beach without sunglasses. I’ll have a replacement pair couriered,” he said with a breezy smile.
“That’s not necessary. I’m sure the gift shop has a fine selection.”
“Of course, but I’m afraid we don’t carry these.” He smiled and pocketed Jake’s glasses. “In the mean time, I’ll have some similar styles sent to your room to choose from. Our gift, while you wait.”
That same competence and handling assured that Jake had enjoyed an egg white omelet, turkey bacon and fresh fruit delivered for his breakfast and had Jake signed up for windsurfing later this afternoon. In fact, Jake had a calendar to input whatever he desired through his room entertainment interface, which to be honest, was more comfortable than calling Gregory for each little thing. Not that Gregory didn’t answer cheerfully, every time, like Jake was an old friend he didn’t hear from enough.
Jake thanked the attendant and slid the pair on. Perfect. Just like his old ones, but new.
The patrons enjoying the pool were exactly the mix one would expect. There were a few families with their children leaping and splashing about under the lifeguard’s watchful eye. Then there were the beautiful young things parading the perimeter, meandering back and forth, attracting the gazes of the bored husbands and wives. Though the young unattached females outnumbered their male counterparts, the buff men were definitely garnering their fair share of admiring gazes. Finally, there were a handful of unaccompanied mature males peppered throughout the lounge chairs and gazebos who seemed be viewing the proceedings as an all-you-can-eat buffet.
In fact, there was one gentleman across from Jake who was cataloguing everyone. Quietly surveying, observing, a few looks lingering, and Jake had to admire his taste. The brunette with caramel-colored skin filled out her bikini perfectly, something about it reminded him of ripe fruit. It wasn’t until he managed to look away that Jake realized that he was now being observed more than casually. Those eyes seemed to stay a bit longer than Jake was use to from men; they didn’t usually scope him out. The man smiled. Jake fumbled his book, dropped it, then pretended to read it until he was gone.
Idiot. Real smooth.
He’d toured the resort, made mental notes on both the guests and the staff that he’d typed up and saved to a flash drive. It wasn’t until he was reviewing the notes from Meillier’s investigation that he recognized the man from the pool: Edward Carlyle. Carlyle was listed as the owner of the resort, apparently very hands-on since he seemed to also be the directing manager when the FBI investigated earlier in the year. Tomorrow Jake would attempt to make contact.
Relaxing on his bed Jake flipped through the channels. Bored, he checked out the available movies. Scrolling through action, adult, comedy—wait a sec—adult. In an all-inclusive resort no individual charges would appear, like movies. No explanations on the expense report. Feeling a bit on edge, it had been several… months? Jeez, really? Five months since he’d even been on a date, and longer than that since he’d been intimate. Yeah, a little self-loving would help him relax.
He grabbed a little bottle of lotion and lay back against the headboard. What Jake didn’t expect was the range of options. There was stuff listed he wasn’t even sure what it was. Finally, he settled on one that seemed to be an orgy at a resort like this one with a dozen participants, all ridiculously attractive, fucking and sucking in every imaginable combination.
It wasn’t long before Jake was hard. He’d muted the sound, but every thing looked good. The guy eating out that gorgeous pussy loved it as she bucked up into his face. Glistening, plump and deep, pink just begging for attention. Yeah… the guy was panting hard, his cock dripping and when the camera panned out Jake saw why. There was a dude licking the guy’s ass, biting a cheek and then tongue fucking him—Holy fuck! Damn that looked good. Jake stroked his own dick harder.
Pretty soon, the girl was smashing her pussy into his face and screaming. The guy panted and groaned. He looked back, face wet with juices just
in time to see the dude’s cock sliding into his ass. Slamming into him, over and over.
The first stripe of cum hit Jake’s chin as he stroked himself off. A couple more spurts and he slumped back breathing deeply. Having lost interest he flicked the screen off, grabbed some tissues and wiped off the cum, rolled over burying his face in the pillow and drifting straight to sleep.
Salt air, fresh, clean, and untainted made the third mile on the beach easy. Unlike the rotting seaweed and fish stench that permeated the air near the docks at home, this was pure ocean. The gentle give of the sand as he ran, the strain on his muscles to push forward, all helped Jake clear his mind. Focus on the case.
He’d located his target. Carlyle was more impressive in person and certainly not lacking in self-assurance. Hopefully, another opportunity, one where Jake could speak with him would happen soon. It looked like he was in for more time around the pool and bar. But first, he was going to check out the computer system. With any luck there might be some backdoors he could sneak through to access data on Carlyle and SeaQuest Investments.
Jake scrambled up a rocky promontory with unparalleled views along the coast and to the sandbanks offshore. He took a perfect scallop shell from his pocket and placed it inside a weathered crevice, wave-worn and pitted. Task complete, he started the run back.
Passing his villa, he continued along the main beach. It was still empty at this early hour, but the staff was putting out chaise lounges and umbrellas. Jake made a note of their routine and numbers. He slowed to a walk, using his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face, a cool down as he approached a cluster of palm trees. He stepped on fallen fronds between trunks so close together that light didn’t dapple through. This was where McCormick’s body was found; he recognized it from the photographs.
It was darker than he expected; unsettling, almost. Jake wondered how it was a guest that came across the body and not a security patrol. He wouldn’t describe the area as welcoming or romantic—dark, dank, and forbidding, maybe. Why would they have been wandering here? A shuffling noise emanated from the deep shadows; he wasn’t alone. It only looked desolate and forgotten. Jake peered into the shadows, turning quickly at the scrabble of claws on the trunk beside him—just rats.
Into the Lion’s Den
“Ahh… Mr.—” There’s a slight pause before he continued,“—Mr. Davidson, thank you for allowing Wallace to escort you. I am Edward Carlyle, the man in charge here.”
Target acquired.
Jake nodded. Carlyle was controlled from his styled hair to the shine on his leather shoes peeping out from the trousers of his navy suit. Even in this heat, he looked cool and calm. The intricate knot of his silk tie lay perfect on his crisp shirt His only concession to the climate was that he’d unbuttoned his jacket.
“Wallace here mentioned that you had some problems with the equipment in the business center.” A small smile curved his lips. “While we try to discourage work here, I understand that one can’t always be off the grid. Can one?” Carlyle’s look was more pointed.
“Yes, just checking to make sure the world wasn’t imploding without me.” Jake did his best to seem at ease, grinning broadly, and mimicking Carlyle’s body language. “It’s actually disconcerting to find out that they’re doing just fine without me.”
“Yes, it is.” Carlyle stood. “I apologize for the computer’s malfunction. I trust you lost nothing critical.”
“Nope. Nothing at all. Just accessing some mail servers to see if I had things pending for review or approval. The team just doesn’t seem to need me.” As if. Sure, Jake had logged into some dummy accounts to cover his tracks, but that wasn’t what he was doing at all.
“Odd that your actions triggered a system alarm, Mr. Sands.”
Jake nodded. “Most unusual—“ Fuck. Wallace moved to block the door and Carlyle rounded his desk to sit on the front of it, directly before Jake. His pulse raced, but he ignored the impulse to run. Noting the balcony door as the only means of escape, he would wait.
“I’m assuming we can dispense with your ridiculous alias, Agent Sands.” Jake remained still. Carlyle raised his brow. “Really? You don’t think I know exactly who’s in my resort, right now?” He grabbed a portfolio off the desk and proceeded to read.
“Special Agent Jacob Fritz Sands, fourth of five sons born to Annabeth Felicity Fritz and Admiral Jonathan Halsey Sands. Elder brothers Jack, Jared, and Jason followed your father’s footsteps and serve as Navy SEALs. Highly decorated.” Carlyle raised a brow. Jake was used to others being impressed by them.
“Jacob F. Sands broke family tradition to join the FBI.” Carlyle looked directly at him and then read on. “The youngest son, Julian, is a renown pianist, a veritable protégée having performed professionally by age 14, and now on tour.” He dropped the file beside him.
“Quite an impressive family, Jacob—or may I call you Jake?”
“Agent Sands.”
“Of course.” Carlyle reclined back folding his arms. “What I want to know, Agent Sands, is what is the FBI doing here? And an undercover investigation? Why, one would think you suspect us of something, agent.”
His uncanny stillness was worrying Jake more than the words coming from his mouth, like a coiled snake waiting to strike. He could outwait Carlyle until his intentions were clearer.
“More importantly, what did you think you were doing breaking into my computers without a warrant? This is all so very irregular.”
Jake had never thought Carlyle and his associates’ success was predicated on luck; the man was smart. He was disappointed that he and his team had underestimated Carlyle’s intelligence-gathering abilities. Clearly identifying human assets in his line of business was critical, especially with his off-the-books dealings, but the thoroughness and speed with which he’d broken Jake’s cover was disturbing.
“This is a dangerous game you’re playing, agent. I’m not convinced you know how deep you are right now.”
“If anything happened to me, you’d have the FBI ripping this place apart.”
Carlyle laughed. “That didn’t seem to make a difference with Agent Meillier.”
Meillier was the first body found at The Fronds. Even after the full-scale investigation, nothing had come of it. Maybe Carlyle could make people irrelevant. They didn’t have to disappear, just get out of his way.
“Relax, agent.”
Yeah, that wasn’t happening any time soon. His muscles were ready to act; his mind was just waiting for enough data and opportunity. After all, Jake’s primary objective was to acquire information. It might not be the computer systems that gave it to him, but Carlyle himself.
“You ardently seem to want something I have. Perhaps we can come to an agreement.”
“What kind of agreement?”
Carlyle tutted. He seemed disappointed in Jake’s terse reply. “It really depends on what you want? I was thinking a quid pro quo arrangement until we’re both satisfied.”
If Carlyle was hoping for the government to look the other way, then Jake had a lot of consulting to do with his office. There were presently a lot of files tagging Carlyle and SeaQuest Investments, and a lot of agencies with a finger in the pie.
“I could seek approval for what you want from the Bureau.”
“Oh, agent.” Carlyle leaned in. “I don’t want anything from the FBI—I want something from you.”
What was he going on about? Jake didn’t have anything worthwhile to offer. “What do you want from me?”
“I want to play.”
“Play?” Jake was confused. The dossier had shown Carlyle to partake in friendly games of poker, golf, tennis and some deep-sea fishing. Nothing Jake could imagine being particularly good enough at to interest him.
“Yes. I believe we share an affinity. You trade your time and I’ll trade you information.”
“What did you have in mind?” This case was taking a strange turn.
“After your browsing through our computer network, I am assuming
you are looking for something. What?”
“I want to know where the money from SeaQuest Investments is coming from and going to.” Carlyle looked suspicious.
“But you weren’t looking in the accounting department. You were searching the hospitality records.”
Jake nodded. “The events’ records.”
Carlyle smiled. “Very good, agent. The FBI seems to be improving.”
Jake shrugged. “The last audit proved worthless. Let’s face it, you’ve hidden what I need somewhere else. I figure the attendance sheets and supply manifests for the multitude of events over the last couple years might be interesting to review.”
“All right, I’ll give you the past three years of records in trade.”
That was suspiciously easy. Jake didn’t honestly expect Carlyle to agree to his blunt request that obviously cast doubt on SeaQuest’s accounting practices. “For what? Amnesty is going to take some time to workout.”
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