Dr. Kasim signaled to a uniformed male house slave who stood by the door. The slave nodded obediently, then yanked open the library door. Four more uniformed house slaves, another male and three females, entered briskly carrying two silver ice buckets jammed with frosty bottles of Guinness and trays of hors d’oeuvres.
As he watched the men grab for beer and food, Martin realized the evening wasn’t winding down at all; no, the party was just getting started. By the look of things Martin would have to keep up the slavemaster act for hours before he’d be able to escape scrutiny. That meant more agonizing hours before he’d be able to shower off the dirt and blood of the crime that he’d been forced to commit. More heart-wrenching hours before he’d be able to burrow beneath the covers and acknowledge what he really felt about the girl bleeding to death in the barn.
“Would you like a beer, master?”
Martin looked up and his heart stopped. Either his eyes were playing tricks on him or the pretty girl standing over him, holding a beer and wearing a pleasant smile, was Alice.
CHAPTER 67
Master?”
Martin just gazed at the slave girl. He couldn’t help himself. Her strawberry-blond hair, her green eyes, the way her small body filled the maid’s outfit, even her voice was similar. She wasn’t Alice—that was clear after a few seconds—but the likeness was chilling.
“Are you okay, master?”
Lost for words, Martin nodded and took the beer. He was about to say thank you, then caught himself.
The girl flashed an awkward smile, then backed away. Martin watched as she and the other slaves began to file back out the door carrying away empty trays and the bowl of African beer. He recognized her four coworkers—he had seen them working around the house—but this girl was new.
Behind him, Martin heard Oscar say, “Her name’s Felicia.”
Martin turned and discovered that all the men, Dr. Kasim included, were watching him. They must have been well aware of Felicia’s resemblance to Alice and been waiting to see his reaction.
“They could be sisters,” Martin said aloud.
“Felicia and Alice are cousins actually,” Oscar said. “They were captured together. Felicia used to work the house grounds. Now she’ll replace Alice inside the house.”
“Hell,” Carver said with a crooked grin, “the way Grey eyeballed that, I’m guessing Felicia will take Alice’s place in his bed as well.”
Martin feigned amusement, but there was something that Oscar mentioned that jarred him. It was the way he said, “captured together.” He sounded as if he were talking about animals and not two human beings.
There was still a great deal about the logistics of operating and concealing a place like Forty Acres that was a mystery to Martin. Those details could prove crucial for the authorities to track down all involved and bring them to justice. Up until now, to avoid suspicion, Martin had kept his probing gentle. But now he was initiated and a full-fledged member of the club. Now he should be able to ask anything.
He turned to Dr. Kasim. “How does it work exactly? How do you capture these . . . slaves?”
Dr. Kasim smiled, amused by the question. “Well, son, I don’t do it personally.”
“Dr. Kasim actually has a special team for that,” Damon said. “Ex-military. Real badasses.”
“Are they members of Forty Acres as well?”
Damon shook his head. “No. Not like us. More like the guards who work here. Exclusive confidential contractors.”
“Yeah,” Carver added. “Our very own in-house hit men. Only these guys are more badass. Ask Tobias. He went on a hunt once.”
Tobias nodded. “Carver’s right. Those dudes do not play around. They’re like ghosts. They can get to anyone, anywhere, anytime. They don’t just abduct people, they break their will. And if they don’t break—” Tobias shook his head. “Let’s just say those brothers scared the shit out of me.”
The fact that Dr. Kasim controlled a private strike force that stalked the nation’s cities and suburbs chilled Martin even more. “Do these ‘contractors’ just grab white people off the street?” he asked. “How do they choose their victims?”
“It’s not their job to choose,” Dr. Kasim said. “It’s just their job to hunt and capture. I choose. The people brought here to serve us weren’t picked at random. I have researchers as well. They trace bloodlines and family trees. Even do genetic testing. Every slave here is a direct descendant of a major plantation owner or of an individual like a ship captain or slave trader who reaped enormous profits from the bondage of the black man.”
“Like the white man’s Bible says,” Kwame added, “the sins of the father shall be visited upon the sons.”
“And the daughters,” Carver joked. “Can’t leave them out. The white master used our great-great-grandmothers as sex dolls. It’s only fair we return the favor with their great-great-granddaughters.”
Tobias raised his bottle. “Sounds goddamn fair to me.”
Martin joined in as the men clinked bottles and sucked beer. But inside, these new facts burned in his brain. Apparently, Forty Acres was a far more complex conspiracy than he’d assumed. Slave hunters, researchers, and, according to what Damon told him earlier, about a dozen more secret members all over the country. Successful black men who crept away from society and civility for a few weekends each year to fatten their egos at Dr. Kasim’s hidden retreat. Making this place go away would have a devastating ripple effect.
It struck Martin that the most important piece of information that he could provide to authorities was something he still did not know. Where exactly was Forty Acres? Damon had refused him this knowledge earlier for the same reason they had drugged him on Solomon’s jet. Details about the location of their private slave camp were far more dangerous than accusations of its existence. Accusations could be denied, spun, and buried, especially by these powerful men. But to be able to direct authorities to the actual scene of the crime would be damn near indisputable.
Martin took a long swallow of his Guinness, then turned to Dr. Kasim. He made an effort to sound as matter-of-fact as possible. “So, Doctor, I’m curious. Where are we really?”
The men quieted. Dr. Kasim’s brow furrowed. “I’m not sure I know what you mean, brother.”
Martin glanced around from group member to group member. “I was drugged on the plane, I assume because you wanted to keep the real location of this place a secret. Am I right?”
Dr. Kasim looked at Martin a moment, then gave Damon a nod. Damon turned to Martin. “We all felt awful about doing that to you, but when you started questioning the flight plan, we had to do something.”
Dr. Kasim offered Martin an apologetic smile. “Certainly, you understand why we must be extraordinarily cautious.”
“Of course,” Martin said. “I get it. But I’m part of this now. And it’s really strange not knowing where I am.”
“You’re a smart young man,” Solomon said. “Think about it. Where do you think you are?”
“Well,” Martin considered, “when Damon took me to the mine, Roy mentioned that slaves used to work it. I assumed he meant African slaves, so I’m guessing we’re not out west. We’re somewhere in the South. One of the old slave states. Am I right?”
The men exchanged impressed smiles. Solomon said, “Not bad, son. Keep going.”
“Roy also mentioned the first gold rush being in North Carolina,” Martin said.
From the men came playful groans and headshakes. Carver made a loud “wrong answer” buzzer sound.
“Good try,” Solomon said. “You were close.”
“But we are in one of the Southern states,” Martin said. “Which one?”
Solomon deferred the question to their leader with a glance.
Dr. Kasim measured Martin for a cautious second, as if he were putting the final stamp of trust on the newcomer before proceeding. The old doctor turned to Oscar and said, “The map, please.”
With a wave of his hand, Oscar ordered the slave boy stat
ioned by the door out of the room. Then he crossed the library to an old floor safe that dominated an entire corner. The gray steel behemoth was half the size of a refrigerator and looked old enough to be a prop in a western. Oscar dropped to one knee, worked the dial, then yanked the heavy door open. An instant later Oscar returned to the circle of men, carrying a wide and flat leather binder. To Martin it looked like an oversized photo album that was missing most of its pages. There was no lettering on the cover and, compared to the antique safe, the binder looked fairly new. Tobias and Kwame cleared the coffee table of bottles and plates, making room for Oscar to set down the binder and flip it open.
The first page was a map of West Virginia protected by a clear plastic sleeve. This wasn’t a map torn from an atlas or printed from the Internet. This was a one-of-a-kind original.
The map was clearly drawn, lettered, and painted by hand, but its clean design suggested the work of a professional cartographer. Only major cities like Charleston and Huntington were labeled, preserving the map’s uncluttered design. The few colors used were applied sparingly, mostly to accent water features and forested areas.
“Welcome to West Virginia,” Dr. Kasim said with a smile.
Martin’s puzzled eyes dropped back to the map. “But where?” he said. “I mean, West Virginia isn’t exactly uninhabited. Where do you hide a place like this?”
Dr. Kasim glanced at Oscar, who leaned forward and tapped a large patch of green at the very eastern edge of the map. The label read George Washington National Forest. “This is where we are,” Oscar said. “Right here.”
“That’s a national forest,” Martin said, perplexed.
“That is correct,” Dr. Kasim said. “Largest this side of the Mississippi. Over one million acres. Can you think of a better place to preserve our privacy?”
“But you can’t own private property in a national forest.”
Carver made that annoying buzzing sound again. “Wrong again, Grey.” Carver’s voice took on a rapid clip that Martin recognized from his late-night infomercials. “Timber mills, ranches, farms, fisheries, you name it. All private companies allowed to own land smack-dab in the middle of a national forest. What most people don’t know is that private individuals can too, if they have enough money and the right connections.” Carver glanced around at the titans in the room, then turned back to Martin wearing a smirk. “Need I say more?”
Martin shook his head in amazement. He turned to Dr. Kasim. “All this, right under the nose of the government and the public. Another one of your little jokes?”
Dr. Kasim smiled like he had just swallowed something delicious. He tilted his head toward the open binder. “Turn the page.”
Martin did so to find another custom-painted map sealed in a plastic sleeve. This one showed a closer view of Forty Acres and the surrounding wilderness. A large black rectangle encompassing several smaller multicolored rectangles represented the walled compound and the structures within. Prominent land features like hills and rock formations were also detailed. Just north of the compound, a thick, wavy blue stripe snaked across the entire map. Martin recognized it as the river that he and the men had crossed in the 4x4 to reach Forty Acres. Martin searched for the airstrip as well, but failing to spot it, he assumed that its location fell outside the map’s range.
“So, how big is this place really?” Martin asked. “It’s gotta be more than forty acres.”
“Seventy-two acres within the wall,” Oscar said. “But we own five square miles—thirty-two hundred acres in total—east of the river. This is the remotest part of the forest, and our private property signs are pretty aggressive to discourage the few campers who do get too close.” Oscar swept his hand over the vast greenery that dominated the map. “As you can see, we’re pretty isolated out here and we have people in the right places to keep it that way.”
It was then that Martin noticed two symbols on the map that seized his attention. The first was at the very top of the sheet, the farthest object on the page from the Forty Acres compound. A spaghetti-thin gray line snaked across the wilderness, from one end of the map to the other. Was it a hiking trail or just a dirt road, or could it actually be a rural highway? The line was unlabeled, so there was no way to tell, but seeing a link to civilization so close to Forty Acres sparked something in Martin’s mind. The second symbol that he noticed was even more encouraging.
Toward the center of the map, just a short distance from the river’s opposite shore, Martin spotted a tiny brown-colored square. This brown square was identical to the icons used to represent the Forty Acres compound, only it was nowhere near the compound. It sat alone, isolated in the wilderness. Martin estimated the distance between Forty Acres and the river’s nearest bank to be about a mile and a half, so the brown square had to be just three or four miles away. Logic told him that it was a structure, but what kind? Martin felt confident that the mysterious structure, situated on the opposite side of the river, well beyond Dr. Kasim’s property line, was not a satellite of Forty Acres. Could it be possible that Dr. Kasim had a neighbor? Could that tiny brown box be a small vacation cabin or some rich guy’s hunting lodge? And if it was, were the neighbors at home? Even more crucial, did the neighbors have a phone?
Time seemed to pause as Martin’s eyes ticked back and forth between the two unmarked symbols—the gray line that looked an awful lot like an active road, and that tiny brown square where there might be people and a way to contact the outside world. These slivers of hope set Martin’s heart racing, because if either one was true, an entirely new possibility presented itself. Maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance for him to save Alice’s life.
CHAPTER 68
Martin waited while Tobias cracked open and passed around fresh bottles of Guinness before he asked Oscar about the two symbols. Martin’s tone was curious without being eager, as if he didn’t care if he received an answer or not.
Oscar, in turn, provided the answers with a similar indifference, apparently oblivious to the fact that Martin hung on his every word.
“Yes, that is a road,” Oscar said, referring to the thin gray line. “An old two-lane highway that runs clear across the forest. It’s a little treacherous. Undermaintained. Gets so little traffic that you could have a picnic right in the middle of it. People tend to avoid it in favor of one of the newer roads that connect directly to the interstate.”
Although Martin was right about the highway, the lack of traffic made the chances of flagging down a passing truck or motor home too slim to rely on. So Martin shifted all his hope to the brown square. When he saw Oscar drop his gaze to the square and frown, Martin’s heart lifted a little.
“That,” Oscar said, pointing at the square with a pinch of disdain, “is where our friendly neighbors live.”
“Neighbors? What do you mean?”
“You saw them,” Damon said. “We drove past them in the woods on our way out here.”
“Yeah,” Carver said. “We practically had to hold you down to stop you from jumping out of the Jeep to help those white boys.”
The forest rangers. Of course. How could he have forgotten the two rangers he’d seen working in the woods? Rangers stationed in remote areas lived for months at a time in cabins. Cabins equipped with everything that the isolated men would need to survive, including a radio. It was perfect. It seemed too good to be true.
“You’re telling me that there’s a ranger station three miles from here?” Martin said. “Isn’t that a problem?”
“Four-point-six miles, actually,” Oscar said. “Not an ideal situation but completely under control. Like I told you, this is private property. The rangers respect that. As long as we don’t give them a reason to cross the river, they don’t.”
Dr. Kasim harrumphed. “Of course, the money we give them to mind their damn business doesn’t hurt. Forest rangers love green, you know.”
The men laughed and Martin laughed along with them, but inside, his mind was reeling. He glanced at the map again. Stare
d at that tiny brown square on the opposite side of the river. The answer to everything was so agonizingly close. He didn’t have to wait another two days to reach home and the authorities. Alice didn’t have to be sacrificed. Just a 4.6-mile hike through the woods and the nightmare could end that very night.
“I know exactly what you’re thinking, brother.”
Startled, Martin looked up and saw Dr. Kasim staring hard at him. “I wasn’t thinking anything,” Martin said, trying hard not to sound rattled and doing a poor job.
“Then why were you staring a hole through my map?”
“Was I?”
The other men were all watching now. Staring at Martin. Waiting for him to explain.
“I don’t know,” Martin continued, “I just—”
Dr. Kasim raised his hand, cutting Martin short. “You’re worried about the forest rangers,” he said. His tone was one of absolute certainty. “You’re worried that sooner or later they’re going to bust in here. Am I right?”
Grateful for the out, Martin nodded.
Dr. Kasim shook his head and sighed. “My brother, when you’re behind these walls, the last thing in the world you have to worry about is a couple of white men.”
The men nodded and bumped fists.
“That’s for damn sure,” Tobias said.
Dr. Kasim leaned closer to underscore his earnestness. “I give you my promise, our neighbors are not a problem. Can you trust me, brother?”
“Absolutely,” Martin said.
“Here we are the masters, and you are one of us now. You must not ever forget that.”
“I won’t,” Martin said. “I promise.”
Dr. Kasim gave an approving smile. Then motioned to Oscar, who promptly closed the binder and carried it back across the room. When Oscar knelt down to slide the binder back into the safe, Martin spotted something that suddenly made the impossible seem very possible.
Oscar’s gun.
The instant that stainless-steel weapon peeked out from beneath Oscar’s jacket, a plan formed in Martin’s mind. The plan was dangerous and a little crazy, but it was also very simple. Its elegance was what made Martin believe that he could pull it off. He really could save Alice and at the same time free all the slaves. And he could do it that very night.
Forty Acres: A Thriller Page 25
