“No shit,” Martin said, and the men cracked up.
The Land Rover had come to a stop at a gate set inside a massive, fifteen-foot-high stone wall. Completely covered with ivy and other vines, the wall appeared to have sprouted naturally from the forest floor. It stretched away from the gate as far as the eye could see in both directions and disappeared into the encroaching forest. From their position it was impossible to discern the wall’s length, but Martin had a sense that the enormous barrier went on for miles. The two huge doors that appeared to be the main gate were constructed of solid wood with a thick steel frame, similar to an entrance you’d see on an old frontier fort. In fact, Martin could have mistaken this mysterious edifice for some old, abandoned stronghold if not for some troubling features. Oscillating surveillance cameras were mounted every twenty feet along the wall. At the very top of the wall angry curls of stainless-steel razor wire glistened in the fading sunlight. And there was something else—a sight that really caused Martin’s flight instinct to twitch. Armed guards. Martin could see two men garbed in jungle camouflage patrolling the top of the wall. Both were armed with huge scoped rifles. What the hell were they guarding? Martin wondered. What the hell was behind that big fucking wall?
“Remember that night we mentioned Dr. Kasim?” Damon asked.
“Who?”
“At my wife’s party. We talked briefly about some of Dr. Kasim’s teachings. Do you remember?”
“Yes, I do remember. The underground philosopher. I think that was how you described him.”
Damon smiled. “That’s right.” He nodded toward the gate. “This is his place.”
“His place? What do you mean, his place?”
“His home.”
“What?” Martin gazed out at the expansive wall with new eyes. Never mind the desolate location and the armed guards, just its staggering size made it seem incredible that someone’s place of residence could be hidden behind that wall. Martin turned back and could see the others watching him with amused smiles. Relishing his reaction. “Your underground philosopher lives in an armed fortress?”
“He does indeed,” Damon said. “It’s kind of like a private retreat.”
“A private retreat for who?” Martin asked. “Ex-cons?”
The men cracked up again. Before Martin could ask any of the million questions that cried out in his head, the huge wooden double gate began to open. Martin tried to glimpse what lay beyond the slowly parting doors, but all he could see were tall hedges and a lone black man standing in the gateway. The man was garbed in all black, from his combat boots to his hunter’s cap, and had a scoped rifle of his own slung over his shoulder. Martin watched as the man strode toward them, moving with a military precision, apparently in perfect physical condition. He reminded Martin of the two guards at the landing strip, but those men were younger. Martin guessed that the guard approaching them now had to be at least in his midforties.
Tobias powered down his window to shake the man’s hand. “Hey, Frank. How are you?”
Frank barely cracked a smile, enduring Tobias’s enthusiastic handshake almost as if the gesture were somehow inappropriate. “I’m fine, sir. Welcome back, gentlemen.” Then, standing so rigidly that he almost appeared to be at attention, Frank made it a point to nod a greeting to each man in the vehicle. “Mr. Aarons, Mr. Lewis, Mr. Jones, Mr. Darrell.” Frank turned last to Martin without missing a beat. “And a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Grey.”
Martin nodded back, a bit surprised that the guard already knew his name. No, it was more than that. What gave Martin pause was that he was expected. On the guest list, as it were. They were smack-dab in the middle of God knows where and some goon with a big gun was greeting him by name as if the man were the doorman at the Ritz-Carlton. What world have I stepped into? Martin wondered. No, I didn’t step into anything. They brought me here. They lied to me and brought me here.
Martin was torn. He burned with curiosity to see what lay beyond that wall, to know why his companions had gone to such extreme lengths to conceal their true destination. But there was also a fluttering in his gut that didn’t want to know. A part of him that just wanted to be back home with Anna, snuggled on the sofa.
The guard pivoted back to Tobias. “Mr. Lennox has been made aware of your arrival and will greet you at the main house. Enjoy your stay, gentlemen.”
“Thanks, Frank,” Tobias said, shifting into gear and speeding toward the waiting gate.
Martin glanced at Damon and saw a smile on his face. Solomon, Kwame, even Carver, all of them were smiling. Faces full of anticipation, like kids on their way to an ice cream shop. Martin whispered, “Where the hell did you bring me?”
“Just sit back and enjoy the ride,” Damon said. “You can thank me later.”
The Land Rover cruised through the gate, and the two huge doors swung shut behind them.
CHAPTER 37
Tara. That’s what the huge house that stood in the distance before them reminded Martin of, that white-columned plantation house in Gone With the Wind.
After passing a small gatehouse that contained two more guards, the Land Rover started down a wide gravel road that was lined on both sides with the biggest oak trees that Martin had ever seen. The verdant canopy that hung above the road was so dense that the Land Rover appeared to be traveling down a vast shadow-filled alley. At the far end of this living corridor, a four-story mansion basked in the golden light of dusk. The huge whitewashed house with its massive Grecian columns was fronted by a vibrant flower garden and a fountain that sent a gentle spray of water high into the air. Like a light at the end of a dark tunnel, the distant mansion almost seemed to glow. The sight was so breathtaking that if someone had told Martin that he was on the road leading to heaven, he just might have believed them.
“My God,” Martin heard himself whisper.
Solomon turned in his seat and looked at Martin with proud eyes. His voice seemed to swell with ceremony as he said, “Welcome, Martin. Welcome to Forty Acres.”
“Forty Acres?” Beyond the colonnade of trees, Martin had a better view of the property’s picturesque features. A vast, sparkling lake to the left. To the right, what looked like an apple orchard in full bloom. In every direction the lush yet perfectly manicured landscape seemed to go on forever with no sign of the enclosing wall. “This place has got to be bigger than forty acres.”
The men laughed. “You’re right,” Damon said, “it’s much bigger. Naming this place Forty Acres is just Dr. Kasim’s idea of a little joke.”
Martin joined in the laughter. He understood Dr. Kasim’s “little joke.” As almost every schoolchild could tell you, near the end of the Civil War, after Lincoln signed the Thirteenth Amendment, the United States government promised that all former slaves would receive forty acres and a mule so that they could start a farm and become self-sufficient. What was less commonly taught in schools was that this new law did not sit well with white landowners. Less than a year later, before Lincoln’s corpse was cold, the succeeding president, Andrew Johnson, revoked Special Field Order No. 15 and took back the four hundred thousand acres of land that had already been deeded to the former slaves, leaving them with nothing but the rags on their backs. Now, as Martin gazed out at the palatial grounds surrounding him, every tree, every stone, every blade of grass owned by a black man, the irony of the property’s evocative name was so perfect that it tickled his soul.
Martin made a show of glancing out the window. “So where’s the mule?” he said, and after an exchange of glances, the men burst into howls of laughter. Martin was glad at the reaction, but he also found it a little overblown. As if they were laughing at a far better joke. A joke that Martin was not in on.
As they cruised down the final stretch of road, Martin could make out a few other smaller houses dotting the property. A boathouse nestled on the lake. A tack house adjoining a riding stable. Martin thought that if Forty Acres was located anywhere else, this place would make one hell of a resort. “So come on, w
hat’s the deal?” Martin asked. “Do you guys ever go rafting on these ‘rafting’ trips or do you just stay here?”
“We go rafting sometimes,” Tobias replied. “But the truth is, we usually don’t bother because there’s so much to do here.”
Solomon added, “Dr. Kasim created Forty Acres to be the perfect haven of relaxation, recreation, and reflection for the black man.”
“And what about your wives?” Martin asked. “Do they know about this place?”
The inside of the truck went silent. It was Kwame who finally turned to Martin. “It’s like this, brother. Dr. Kasim teaches us that far too often black men use their women as a crutch. This place is about building us up. It’s about getting the black man to stand a little straighter. No wives or girlfriends allowed.”
“In fact,” Damon added, “I wouldn’t bring up the subject at all around the doctor. For Forty Acres to have its full effect, he prefers that his guests spend as little time as possible thinking about their day-to-day lives in the outside world. And that includes wives. This is your time; he doesn’t want you spending it thinking about Anna. Trust me.”
Martin fought the urge to laugh as he searched their faces. “Is that a joke?”
Solomon glanced back at Martin. “Dr. Kasim might be the funniest man that I have ever met, but when it comes to his views on certain things, he’s also the most serious. You’ll see.”
The circular driveway that encompassed the sprawling front garden and fountain was so big that it felt to Martin almost as if they were taking a slow lap around a NASCAR track. Martin spotted several gardeners kneeling in the dark soil, tending to the endless beds of colorful blooms. A rifle-toting guard strolled the garden’s gravel walkway. He was dressed in the same black khaki uniform as the guards at the wall. “Some serious security here,” Martin observed.
The men looked at one another as if to see whose turn it was to answer. This time it was Carver. “Think about it, Grey. A wealthy brother living like this in the middle of nowhere. America’s changed a lot, but not that much.”
Martin understood Carver’s point. When you looked at it that way, Dr. Kasim’s private little army actually made a whole lot of sense.
As they continued around the huge driveway, Martin noticed another worker, a young woman, using a leaf skimmer to clean the fountain’s basin. The woman was blond, and despite her baggy coveralls and bored expression, she was unusually pretty. Martin couldn’t help wondering why an attractive woman would want to work way out in the middle of nowhere. Maybe she really loves the outdoors, he thought. As if she could hear Martin’s thoughts, the woman glanced up at the passing vehicle and their eyes met. Martin smiled and waved. Startled by the gesture, the woman dropped her gaze and returned to her chore. He thought he caught a flicker of nervousness on the woman’s face. Perhaps Dr. Kasim had a rule against his staff interacting with guests.
Finally the Land Rover rolled up to the front of the mansion. Three uniformed valets in snappy vest coats, two about college age and one a few years older, were lined up at the bottom of the steps, standing at attention. Martin noticed that all three were Caucasian. Whatever Dr. Kasim’s views were on race, Martin thought, he appeared to be an equal opportunity employer.
On the porch behind the valets stood a tall black man garbed in a crisp white linen suit. His clean-shaven head, chiseled features, and perfect athletic physique gave him an imposing presence.
Martin turned to Damon. “I thought Dr. Kasim would be much older.”
“That’s not Dr. Kasim,” Damon said. “That’s Oscar.”
“Who’s Oscar?”
Before Damon could reply, Oscar clapped his hands twice and the three valets pounced on the Land Rover. While the senior valet opened the rear lift gate and began to unload luggage, he ordered the other two to open the side doors. As each passenger climbed out, he was greeted with a very cheerful, “Good evening, sir.”
When Martin thanked him, the skinny, freckle-faced kid who had greeted him registered a look of surprise before hurrying to the rear of the truck to help with the unloading.
“Welcome back, gentlemen,” Oscar said as he descended the stairs. “It’s been a while.”
“You’re right,” Solomon said. The two men embraced. “Too damn long.”
Martin watched as the others each took turns greeting Oscar with a hug as well. What struck him was how stoic Oscar appeared. Even while he was engaged in a brotherly embrace, the man’s expression remained unchanged. An unreadable cool.
“And you, of course, are Mr. Martin Grey,” Oscar said as he turned his piercing gaze on Martin. His voice was deep and his diction precise. “I’m Oscar Lennox, but you may call me Oscar. On behalf of Dr. Kasim, I welcome you to Forty Acres.”
“Thank you. It’s nice to meet you,” Martin said, extending his hand.
Oscar ignored the gesture. “That European custom has no meaning here. In our world we greet each other as brothers.” With that, Oscar pulled Martin into a firm hug. As Martin returned it, he was surprised to feel the rock-solid lump of a shoulder holster beneath Oscar’s fitted jacket. So Oscar too was carrying a gun—but why? Martin could understand the armed guards, but Oscar, in his perfect white suit, clearly wasn’t a guard. But what was he then? When they parted, Martin rejoined the men.
“You guys could have told me about the no-handshaking rule,” Martin said.
“That’s true. We could have,” Tobias said with a smirk.
“The doctor has heard a lot about you,” Oscar said to Martin. “He’s very anxious to meet you at dinner tonight.”
“I’ve heard a lot about him too,” Martin answered, “but I don’t think anyone mentioned you. Are you the manager here or like a concierge?”
That’s when Oscar smiled. It was only a slight smile and it didn’t last very long, but still—it showed the man was human after all. “Let’s just say that I oversee Forty Acres for Dr. Kasim. It’s my job to make sure that everything runs as smoothly as—” Oscar was interrupted by a sudden bang. The skinny valet had dropped a suitcase and some of its contents were now strewn about the driveway.
“Hey, you idiot! Careful with my shit!” Carver shouted.
Martin saw Oscar shoot the guilty worker a look. The glance was subtle but at the same time heart-stopping. Oscar’s emotionless demeanor had the effect of amplifying even his slightest expression.
“Well, pick it up,” the older valet barked at the younger man.
“Sorry, sir. So sorry,” the skinny valet apologized to Carver, practically groveling as he dropped to his knees and frantically repacked the suitcase.
The senior valet turned to Oscar wearing a tragic frown. “Sorry, sir. Won’t happen again, sir.”
Oscar said nothing. He just returned his attention to his guests. “Dinner is in one hour. I’m sure that you gentlemen would like to get settled in before then. Your usual rooms are ready.” As Damon, Solomon, Kwame, Carver, and Tobias started up the stairs, trailed by luggage-laden valets, Oscar turned to Martin. “I’ll have someone show you to your room.” He stopped the last valet. It was the same kid who had dropped Carver’s bag.
As Martin watched the wiry valet strain under the weight of several bags and cases, he thought that the kid looked kind of young to be working out here.
“Show Mr. Grey to his room,” Oscar instructed.
The valet nodded. “Yes, sir.” Then he flashed Martin a forced smile. “This way, sir. Please.” Martin could see that the kid’s load was getting heavier and he was anxious to get moving.
“Let me help you with those,” Martin said as he reached for one of the bags.
“No, sir,” the kid exclaimed, backing up so fast that the weight of his load almost tipped him over. “I have it, sir. No worries.”
“No, really. It’s okay,” Martin said as he reached again.
“No—” Oscar said, catching Martin’s wrist. Oscar’s grip was firm but gentle, like a padded vise. “Let the boy do his job. That’s what he’s her
e for. To serve you, and to learn valuable skills. You don’t do him any favors by diminishing his responsibilities.” Oscar released Martin’s arm. “Now, please, enjoy your stay.” He flashed that wisp of a smile again. The smile that wasn’t really a smile.
“Thanks,” Martin said. “I’m sure I will.”
CHAPTER 38
Martin was led into the cavernous foyer where a spectacular crystal chandelier sparkled overhead and a grand curving staircase ascended gracefully to the upper levels. Huge vases of fresh flowers welcomed all who entered with their delightful scent.
“This way, sir,” the valet said as he shifted the load of luggage in his hands to prepare for the ascent. “Your room is on the second floor.”
Martin followed the valet up the long stairway. Being empty-handed while watching the valet struggle made Martin feel awkward. He was tempted to offer some assistance again, but Martin resisted the urge. The scrawny kid did look wobbly, but what he lacked in brawn he made up for with sheer determination. Soon Martin was trailing the winded valet down a wide, carpeted hall lined with bedrooms. The valet paused twice to knock and drop off bags with Solomon and Kwame before finally reaching a closed door at the very end of the hall. “Here you are, sir,” the valet said, pushing open the heavy, wood-paneled door. Martin walked into a surprisingly spacious bedroom. The room was furnished in colonial and early nineteenth-century American antiques, which matched the old plantation style of the house perfectly. The forty-two-inch plasma television that hung opposite the king-sized bed was the only thing that defied the illusion of having stepped back in time. Two large windows overlooking the front garden let in the warm light of sunset, giving the cozy room the look of a sepia-toned photograph. Martin was reminded of an old bed-and-breakfast in Atlanta where he and Anna had once stayed.
Forty Acres: A Thriller Page 11
