by Frank Tayell
“She said that when bees are making honey, you don’t poke the hive.”
“Meaning you should shut up and stop asking questions. Yep, something weird is going on. But it’s better than Mrs Mathers just shutting down the store.”
“Did you know she was going to?” Pete asked.
“I knew she was thinking about it. I didn’t think she ever would. You remember when I helped her clear out that old cabin after her husband died? She said she’d lost interest in the business, but didn’t think anyone would ever want to buy it. Turns out she was wrong. Now, on your journey to the corporate ivory tower, don’t forget us little people. Actually, no, I don’t care about anyone else. Don’t forget about me. I expect preferential treatment. If you’re climbing the greasy pole, I’ll be clinging to your coat-tails the whole way.”
“If it’s covered in grease, it’ll be hard enough to climb as it is.”
“That’s why you’ll have to work twice as hard. With you as my boss, I’m going to start some serious slacking.” She grinned and laid a hand on his arm. “Seriously, though, congrats. You deserve this, Pete.”
“I don’t know that I do.”
“Nah, you’re right. You don’t.” Her grin grew wider. “Come on. Let’s get out of this dump. The remodel can’t come soon enough. Oh, for two paid weeks leave! That you’ll be spending them in Hawaii kind of takes the thrill out of my plans to watch TV in my PJs. You’re… um… you’re flying out Monday?”
“No, tomorrow,” he said. “When I spoke to Ms Locke, I asked if you could come, too.”
“You did not,” she said, all humour gone. “You’re not being serious? You can’t ask your new boss something like that.”
“I didn’t say it like that,” he said. “Not exactly. Ms Locke said it wasn’t a holiday. Despite it being Hawaii, it would be sixteen-hour days, seven days a week. But she said that there’s an annual conference in New York every July, a weekend thing that’s more of a party, and I get to bring a plus-one.”
“New York? It’s not Hawaii, but it could be fun. But seriously, Pete, you can’t mess this up. It’s the opportunity of a lifetime.”
“I know. I was just… um…” It was his turn to stumble to a halt. “Like you said, we’re not being paid. Time to leave.”
They got their coats, turned off the lights, and exited via the back door, this time without ceremony.
“Hey, it’s snowing,” Olivia said. A thin dusting of flakes danced in the orange glow of a sodium light older than the asphalt onto which the snow settled.
Pete locked the door, and handed Olivia the keys. “You’ll let in the work crew next week?”
“Bright and early,” she said. “But I’ll be wearing my PJs and soon as it’s done, I’m heading back to bed.”
“I always liked snow in February,” Pete said. “You can enjoy it more when you know that spring’s just around the corner.”
“And when you’re heading off to a tropical island,” Olivia said. “Does Hawaii count as tropical?”
“I guess I’ll find out.”
“Um…” she said.
“So…” he said.
“You know what?” she said with sudden decisiveness. “It’s not late, and neither of us have to get up first thing tomorrow. Let’s go and have a drink. We’ll celebrate your promotion properly.”
“Okay, yeah, that’d be… that’d be good. But the drinks are on me.”
“Oh, you bet they are.”
In the dark corner of the parking lot, furthest from the exit, two beams of light pierced the night, then dipped. An engine came on. Gravel crunched as the vehicle drove into the yellow glow of the security light above the door.
“That’s a limo,” Pete said.
“And finally we know why they promoted you,” Olivia said. “It’s clearly for your keen observation skills.”
The limo stopped ten feet away. The driver-side door opened. A tall woman, approaching middle-age, dressed in a chauffeur’s uniform complete with cap, stepped out.
“Mr Guinn,” she said, no hint of a question in her tone. “I’m to take you to the airport.”
“I thought the flight was tomorrow,” Pete said.
“There’s a weather front moving in over the Pacific,” the driver said. “The pilot wants to depart before flights are grounded.”
“Oh. Right. Sure,” Pete said. “But my clothes, my passport, they’re at home.”
“It’s a private jet on an internal flight,” the chauffeur said. “We’ll give you a corporate credit card when we land. You can buy yourself whatever you need.”
“You do need new clothes,” Olivia said. “Give me your car keys. I’ll get Nicole to bring me here tomorrow, and we’ll pick up your car.”
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Quick now,” Olivia said. “The snow was fun for a bit, but now I’m just getting cold. Keys. Thanks. Now you have to come see me when you get back. Have fun. And bring me back something other than a tan.” She stepped back. “Go on.”
The driver stepped to the side, and opened the door. “Mr Guinn. Thank you.”
Pete climbed in, taking the rear-facing seat that backed onto the driver’s partition while keeping his eyes fixed on Olivia. The driver closed the door behind him. Outside, Olivia stood beneath the sodium light, her arm fixed in a wave, her smile oddly wistful. Pete raised a hand to wave back.
“Do you think she can see you through tinted glass?” a woman asked. Pete spun around. He’d been in such a whirl, he’d not realised the car had another occupant. It was a woman dressed in a navy-blue suit trimmed with gold. Pete had never met her before, but he recognised her instantly from the covers of magazines, from interviews, from profiles, from the information packet that had come with news of his unexpected promotion. It was his new employer, the billionaire, Lisa Kempton.
“Sorry. I mean, um… ma’am. Pete Guinn. Pleased to meet you.” He thrust out a hand.
A bemused smile flashed across Kempton’s thin lips. “You don’t think I know who you are?”
“Oh, right, no, of course you do.”
The limo pulled out. Pete glanced out the window, but he could no longer see Olivia.
“Is she a romantic attachment of yours?” Kempton asked.
“No. I’m not sure. Maybe. I mean— wait, sorry, is that a problem? I guess she’s working for me now.”
“It really isn’t a problem, not in the slightest,” Kempton said. She leaned back in her seat.
Pete relaxed into his. “Never been in a limo before,” he said. “We thought of hiring one, back in high school, for the prom, but in the end, I never went.” He stopped, realising what he was saying. And then he realised where he was and in whose company. “Sorry, do you usually give a ride to people you promote?”
“He didn’t ask,” the driver said, her voice coming clearly through the intercom. “That’s five bucks you owe me.”
“Tamika and I had a wager on what your first question would be,” Kempton said. “I thought you’d ask where we were going.”
“But you didn’t,” Tamika said. “So I win, and you’ve just made a friend for life.”
“Do you make a habit of getting into cars with strangers?” Kempton asked.
“No, of course— I mean.” He stumbled to a halt, confused, but Lisa Kempton smiled, while from the front of the vehicle, Tamika Keynes chuckled.
“So… um… where are we going?” Pete asked.
“Where do you think we’re going?” Lisa Kempton asked.
“The airport?” Pete guessed.
“And then?” Kempton asked.
“Hawaii.”
“Just tell him, Lisa,” Tamika Keynes called from the front. “We’ll be at the airfield in thirty minutes, and they’re waiting to take off.”
“Tammy rather does like to spoil my fun,” Kempton said. “But she has a point. Time has run short, which is why we are collecting you ourselves. If the first question I expected from you was where are we going, the
second was why I purchased the company in which you were employed.”
“I did wonder,” Pete said. “Olivia thought it was for the real estate. Is that it?”
“She sounds like someone to watch,” Tamika said. “Twenty-eight minutes, Lisa.”
“Thank you, Tamika, but allow me some theatrics? But, yes, time is pressing. I bought the carpet firm because you worked there, Mr Parsley Guinn. But why did I buy it?”
“I changed my name to Pete,” he said. “Like, the moment I was legally allowed.”
“Pete Guinn,” she said. “Why did I buy the firm?”
“I…” And then he realised. His face fell. His heart skipped. All enjoyment and excitement at the promotion, at Olivia’s possible response to a question he’d not asked, at the idea his life might, finally, be turning a corner, fled. “It’s my sister, isn’t it? Wait, Corrie’s not dead, is she?”
“Why would you think she was dead?” Kempton asked.
“She’s not,” Tamika said. “Your sister is alive. There’s no traffic, Lisa. We’re making good time. I’d say you have twenty minutes.”
“Corrie works for you?” Pete asked.
“She did. A long time ago,” Kempton said. “But you have seen her more recently than I.”
“I haven’t seen her for six years,” he said.
“We don’t have time for this,” Tamika said. “Your sister used to work for us. We need her to look at some code she wrote, and make some changes. Over the years, we’ve approached her, but every time we got close, she disappeared. We almost lost track of her completely and can’t afford to do so again. We’re sending you in to talk to her. If she won’t listen to you, she won’t listen to anyone.”
“Oh.” Pete slumped in the seat. “Why buy the carpet store? Why not just ask me?”
“No one can know about this,” Lisa Kempton said. “While there are many plausible routes to the same goal, for me, for someone with my wealth, would anyone think it suspicious? You will fly to Honolulu. As far as everyone is concerned, you will be at our villa, undertaking an induction into our corporate structure. No one will question it.”
“Olivia will,” Pete said.
“And you will find a way to lie to her until the time comes when she can be told the truth,” Kempton said.
“Oh. And my sister is in Honolulu?” Pete asked.
“No. The plane will take you to her,” Kempton said. “On the plane, you will be given a phone. Give that phone to your sister. Ask her to call me. Then both of you, or you alone, will return to the plane, and to Honolulu, where you can enjoy the rest of your holiday. In two weeks, you will begin your new life, your new job, with a salary sufficient to impress your friend. It isn’t a complicated task. It requires little of you other than handing a phone to your sister.”
“Yeah, I don’t know Corrie will want to see me,” Pete said. “If she worked for you, why did she quit? Why did she run away? Why did she disappear when you tried to talk to her?”
“Good questions,” Kempton said. “Ones you should ask her.”
“And if she doesn’t want to talk to me?” Pete asked.
“You will have tried,” Kempton said. “That is all any of us can do. Try our hardest, and then try harder. But how hard will it be to hand her the phone?”
“And if I fail, if she doesn’t call, your company will go bust, right?” Pete said. “That’s what you mean. That’s what’s going on here.”
“Something like that,” Tamika said.
“She is not my only asset,” Kempton said. “Who can say what the world will be like next week, when we don’t know if it will end tomorrow?”
Which was an odd thing to say, but before Pete could ask any more questions, the limo came to halt.
“We’re here,” Tamika said. “All being well, we’ll see you in Hawaii next week.”
“You’re not coming?” Pete asked.
“Do you think I have so much free time I could enjoy a few days in the sun?” Kempton said.
“Right, no, I guess not,” Pete said, and climbed out of the limo.
He wasn’t at South Bend’s airport, but at a small airfield with a long runway. The limo had driven onto the runway and stopped a few dozen yards from a blue and gold jet. The runway was illuminated, as was a small control tower about five hundred yards to the north; otherwise, the plane and airfield were in darkness. As for the jet, there was only one engine on this wing. His limited knowledge of aviation told him there’d be another engine, and another wing, on the plane’s far side. He also would have expected windows along the cabin’s fuselage, but they were missing. Perhaps that was a feature of private jets, one of those facts the initiated all knew. He decided to hide his ignorance and so not to ask the man standing by the steep stairs leading up to the open door. There wasn’t enough light to make out the man’s features, but he was dressed in a similar uniform to the chauffeur, though without the hat.
Behind him came a mechanical growl. He turned around in time to see the limo drive away.
“Mr Guinn, I’m Gary Rampton,” the suited man said. “I’ll be your co-pilot. This way, please. We’d like to get underway within the next twenty minutes. There’s a front we need to out race.”
“Right, sure,” Pete said. He took one last un-illuminating glance at the darkness behind him, and followed Rampton up the steps and into the plane.
Rampton motioned Pete should step further into the softly lit corridor, then reached out and pulled the door closed.
“Don Jackson’s the pilot,” Rampton said, pointing through the open door to the cockpit. Inside, Jackson gave a casual wave, but didn’t turn around, nor did he take his eyes from his instruments as he ran through the pre-flight checklist.
“There are no other passengers?” Pete asked.
“And no stewards,” Rampton said.
“Is that normal?” Pete asked.
“For Lisa Kempton? More normal than you’d think,” Rampton said. “You’re new to the company, but you’ll get used to it. We do things a little differently than most. If you like, you can join us in the cockpit for take-off.”
“No, thank you, that’s okay. If you don’t mind, I’ll sit in the back.”
“Sure,” Rampton said. He reached behind Pete and opened a door leading into the cabin. “Sit anywhere you like. We’ll depart in a few minutes.”
Pete stepped into the cabin, and into luxury.
He’d never seen anything like it. The cabin ran for twenty yards, but only contained four seats, two on either side of the aisle. Behind them was a pair of large white boxes, each seven feet long, four feet wide, with curving tops that made him think of coffins. Behind those was another closed door.
He took the nearest seat that was more a couch than an armchair, and far more comfortable than the two-seater he’d picked up at the flea-market. At the rear of the cabin was another closed door. There had to be more seats through there, surely. But maybe not. His eyes fell on the coffin-shaped boxes. Were they beds? If so, he wasn’t going to use one. On a folding arm next to the chair was a screen, which he decided it was best not to touch. Next to that was an extendable table, and a handle that suggested a storage locker, but there were no luggage bins overhead. Nor were there any safety notices.
“The stairs have been moved,” Rampton’s voice sounded loud and clear through a hidden speaker. “We’re about to taxi onto the runway. You’ll want to buckle up.”
After a moment’s searching, he found the seat belt, and buckled himself in.
“Thanks,” Rampton said. “Flight time to Honolulu is nine hours, ten minutes. If we can get ahead of this storm, we’ll have a good tailwind that should knock twenty minutes off that. Sit back, relax, and enjoy the flight. There’s a screen next to you if you fancy a movie. On your left,” he added.
Pete looked to the left, and then realised there had to be a camera in the cabin. He made a mental note not to do anything that might imperil his new career. Except…
Everything that
had happened in the last thirty minutes washed over him like a tsunami.
Lisa Kempton, a billionaire, had purchased the company he worked for just so she could send him to somewhere in Hawaii to get his estranged sister to call her former boss. That didn’t make sense, yet the ridiculously comfortable chair told him it was real.
His sister, Coriander, known to him and everyone else as Corrie, was four years his senior. As they’d grown up in one foster home after another, she had been his world until, fifteen years ago, when she was seventeen, she’d hacked into the DMV. She’d been caught, but instead of being charged, she’d been given a college scholarship. A week before his fourteenth birthday, she’d left him. She’d visited him, and he’d visited her, but a void had entered his life. Rudderless, confused, alone, his downward spiral had begun. From what he’d gathered during her brief visits, so had hers. Football had kept him in school, but it hadn’t kept him out of trouble. Trouble that worsened after Corrie hacked into NORAD. Again, she escaped serious charges and landed herself a job. She wouldn’t tell him with whom, but he’d always assumed it was a government agency.
With his graduation approaching, and college looking increasingly unlikely, he and some friends had broken into the old quarry, looking for a quiet place to drink a crate of stolen beer. They’d stumbled into a pair of on-duty cops who’d had the exact same idea. Pete had run. So had his friends, and they’d run faster. Pete had been caught, arrested, and charged with everything the cops could think of.
An odd thing had then happened. The judge had dismissed the case. Pete had been allowed to graduate, but not to attend the ceremony, nor ever return to the school. His hopes for a college scholarship were dashed, but he’d not cared. His parents had abandoned him, then his sister, and then his friends. He was truly alone in the world.
But then an odder thing had happened. Corrie had appeared with a new car and more cash than he’d ever seen before in his life. She’d moved him into a small apartment in South Bend, and helped him find a job. Then she’d left as abruptly as she’d appeared. That was how it had been for a couple of years. Sometimes she would appear out of nowhere, always with money. Since he’d had so little, he’d never asked where it came from, nor precisely whom she worked for. He’d assumed it was a government job, and that a few pulled strings explained why the judge had set him free. Now he knew differently. She’d been working for Lisa Kempton. That certainly explained the abundance of money his sister always had. It didn’t explain the judge. Or perhaps it did.
