Power Play

by Joseph Finder

From the far side of the room came Wayne's high-pitched voice. "Yo, Russell."

  "Please take this gentleman outside so he can fix the generator."

  While Wayne lumbered over, Russell returned to our group. "Ronald, you're my first interview. Come with me, please."

  Slattery struggled to his feet. With his hands tied, it wasn't easy. "Would you mind if I use the restroom first?" he asked.

  "When Upton gets back. One at a time. Okay, Travis, Ronald and I are going to have a talk in the screened porch down at that end." He pointed in the direction of the dining table. "Keep a watch on our guests, please."

  In the shadows I could make out Travis striding along the periphery of the room, a compact stainless-steel pistol at his side. He'd removed his long-sleeved camouflage shirt and wore only a sleeveless white tee. But his arms were so densely tattooed, mottled and greenish, that at first it looked like he was still wearing camouflage. At the back of his arm, by his elbow, was a tattoo of a spiderweb: another prison tattoo.

  "Nice job, Kevin," Ali whispered to Bross. "That was a great bluff. Really genius."

  "I didn't see anyone get killed, did you?" Bross said. "He didn't take out his gun. I tried, and it didn't work-big deal. I'm still here."

  "You don't get it, do you? Not only did you get the ransom jacked up, but now we're totally screwed. He's going to question everyone separately, and we didn't even get a chance to talk to Danziger and Grogan."

  "Go ahead," he said. "Why don't you just walk over there and tell them yourself?"

  "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Ali said. "Have me get shot? And what was your big strategy? That line of crap you gave Russell, which he saw right through? Didn't you listen to a word Jake said? We all agreed to tell him we don't have the account numbers."

  "Hey, I didn't agree to anything," Bross said. "And we all know why you're defending this loser."

  "Because he obviously knows what he's doing. And you don't."

  "The only thing that's obvious is that you two used to sleep together."

  Ali was silent for a few seconds. I didn't have to see her face to know it was flushed-with embarrassment or with anger or both.

  "I don't think you want be too high-and-mighty about office romances, Kevin," she said, biting off the words. "Or should we ask-"

  "Ali," I said.

  "Landry?"

  "Never let an asshole rent space in your head. The guy's not worth your time. We've got to get to Grogan and Danziger now. Before Russell does."

  Bross made a pffft sound. "Who's going to do that, you?" he said.

  I didn't answer.

  41

  I watched Travis, trying to get a fix on his rhythm. I was beginning to think that he hadn't just done prison time; the way he walked convinced me that he'd also served in the military, maybe the Army or the National Guard. He had that soldierly cadence. He'd been broken in by a drill sergeant and done long tedious hours on night patrol.

  He was also taking his job seriously. Any of the other hostage-takers would probably have sat in a chair, watching us. But maybe that was a good thing. It meant his back would be turned toward me for at least sixty seconds at a stretch. Given how dark it was in here, Travis could hardly see us: a great stroke of luck. But he'd surely hear and sense any sudden movement.

  And for the moment he was the only guard in the room. Wayne was outside with the handyman, would probably be for a good while, until the power was up and running again. Verne had just gone outside for a smoke-and a toke, or a snort-and might be back in a minute or two, even five, if I got lucky and he took his time. Buck would return from the bathroom with Upton Barlow at any minute, depending on how long it took for a middle-aged guy with prostate problems to empty his bladder. I had no idea how long Russell would spend with Slattery. Ten minutes? Half an hour?

  So if I was going to get to Grogan and Danziger, it had to be done right away.

  The funny thing was, I didn't think twice about doing something so insanely risky. I just did it.

  Maybe it was all about the look in Ali's face at the moment she saw me start to move, a look I'd never seen before: part terror, part admiration.

  Or maybe it was because I knew no one else would. And if I didn't warn the two men not to remember the Hammond account numbers, my plan was doomed to fail.

  Not that it wasn't doomed to fail already. Too many things could go wrong with it. Russell-too canny, too suspicious-might not fall for the phone call thing. He might simply scare the information out of someone at gunpoint: your company's money or your life. I knew what I'd choose.

  He might not pick Slattery to do the transfer, especially if he knew that there were five executives-Grogan, Danziger, Bodine, Slattery, and Latimer-who also had the power. Whoever he did pick could easily screw it up, not figure out a way to communicate duress without Russell picking up on it. And whoever was at the other end of the phone might not get it.

  And what if he already knew the account numbers?

  So the odds of it working, the more I thought about it, were pretty damned slim.

  Here I was, risking my life for a gambit that was likely to fail anyway. A gambit that, the more I mulled it over, was already starting to shred like wet tissue paper.

  But to do nothing, I was certain, was to ensure that some of us, maybe even all of us, got killed.

  Russell was wrong: You don't always have a choice.

  Though the two men were only maybe thirty feet or so away, on the other side of the enormous fireplace, it might as well have been a mile.

  I waited until Travis had completed a circuit, did his military-style about-face and passed us. And then I tried to get up.

  But rising from the floor with your hands tied together, palms in, wasn't easy. I had to swing my knees over to one side, then lean my torso all the way forward. Extend my hands as if I were salaaming. Then I pressed the back of one of my hands against the floor and pushed myself up and to my feet.

  It took almost five seconds. Which was way too long.

  By the time I was standing, Travis had almost reached the end of the room. There was no time for me to run around the fireplace to the next alcove before he turned around.

  Now what? I asked myself. Do I sit back down, wait until Travis's next circuit?

  Then a screen door slammed. Not the front door: Verne, back from his cigarette break.

  42

  I no longer had a choice. I had to move.

  I took long, loping strides, as fast as I could, yet at the same time treading as lightly as possible. A matter of a couple of seconds, but it felt like forever.

  All the while my eyes were riveted on Travis.

  He came to the end of his circuit and turned just as I sank to the floor next to the manager's son, Ryan. He-and everyone else around him-looked in astonishment. I gave a quick headshake to tell them to be quiet.

  Travis glanced over but maintained his steady pace. He hadn't noticed.

  Verne entered from the back hallway, walking quickly, sniffing, swinging his arms jerkily, humming some tune, amped. When he was out of range, Ryan Fecher said, "What the hell-"

  I put a finger to my lips, slid across the floor.

  Alan Grogan and John Danziger were seated next to each other.

  "Are you out of your freakin' mind?" Danziger said. I noticed the large bald spot under his fine blond hair. His light blue alligator shirt looked as if it had been ironed. He was one of those preppy guys whose clothes always fit perfectly, who had a certain natural, aristocratic ease and economy of motion.

  "Yeah," I said. "I must be."

  I quickly explained. As I did, he and Grogan exchanged looks-of disbelief, then skepticism and apprehension.

  "I don't have the account numbers with me, either," Danziger said. "Why would I?"

  "Well, I do," said Grogan. "In my head."

  "Figures," Danziger said with feigned disgust. He turned to me, and said, with obvious pride, "Grogan's a USA Math Olympiad gold medalist. Even though he'll never admi
t it."

  Grogan glared at Danziger. "Thanks, pal." The moonlight caught the network of fine lines around his hazel eyes.

  "Hey," Danziger said, "if that's the only dirty little secret about you that comes out here, you're lucky."

  "Very funny," Grogan said, sounding almost peeved.

  "Russell doesn't know you have those numbers memorized," I said. "So you don't say a word. We clear?"

  Both men nodded.

  "If anyone tells him different," Danziger said, "we're in deep shit. The guy's already made it clear he doesn't want to be lied to. And what the consequences will be if anyone does."

  "Right," I said. "But if we all agree, then it's the truth. Right?"

  Grogan and Danziger looked less than convinced.

  "Having a gun pointed at you does funny things to people," Grogan said. "We don't know what the others might do if Russell threatens them."

  "That's a risk we're going to have to take," I said.

  We sat in silence for half a minute or so while Travis passed by. Then Danziger whispered, "Listen, there may be something else."

  I looked at him.

  "When you mentioned a duress code-it jogged my memory. You know, I set something up with the bank a while ago, but we never had an opportunity to use it. Never came up. It's sort of a silent alarm-an electronic duress code."

  "Electronic? How does that work?"

  "It's just a variant authentication code. If you enter a nine before and after the PIN, it trips a silent alarm. Tells the bank officer that the transaction is fraudulent, probably coerced."

  "Then what happens?"

  "Well, first thing, they freeze the account. Then a whole emergency sequence gets triggered-calls are made to a list of people. My office, the CEO's office, the director of corporate security. Telling them something's wrong: Someone's probably forcing a company officer to access the bank accounts."

  "But are they going to know where it's happening?"

  "Sure. Our own corporate security people can dig up the IP address we logged in from-where the duress code originated. That'll tell them exactly where we are."

  I nodded. "So corporate security or whoever can alert the Canadian authorities. Yes. But would Russell know we tripped an alarm?"

  "Not at all. He'll see a false positive response. He'll think the transaction was successful."

  "He'll know it wasn't as soon as he checks his account balance."

  "True. No way around that."

  "So when he sees that the wire transfer didn't go through," I said, "we'll just tell him it must have gotten intercepted along the way. Maybe at some higher level at the bank. Or by U.S. banking authorities. Some line of bullshit-he's not going to know the truth. But by then, the word will be out that we're in trouble."

  "Exactly."

  "Could work," I said.

  "Maybe."

  "Right now," I said, "it's all we have."

  43

  The manager's son, Ryan Fecher, made a psst sound and slid over toward me.

  "I recognize a couple of those guys," he said, so softly I could barely hear him.

  "From where?"

  "From here."

  "When? Which ones?"

  "Last week, I think it was. We didn't have any corporate groups, just separate parties. That guy-Russell? The leader? And that guy who keeps bring people in and out?"

  "Travis."

  "I think they're brothers," he said.

  "I think you're right. What'd they do here?"

  "They kept to themselves, didn't socialize with anyone. Didn't want to do any of the normal stuff like fishing. They mostly hung out here, took a lot of pictures."

  "Of what?"

  "The inside and outside of the lodge, the grounds, the dock, all that. They said they were into architecture and they'd heard about this place. Wanted to know how many staffers we had and where they lived. If we had Internet and if it was wireless and if it was in all the guest rooms or not. Whether we had landline phones or satellite phones, and whether guests could use the sat phone. How we got supplies like food and stuff and how often we got deliveries and mail. And they wanted a tour of the lodge."

  "Inside and out?"

  "Everything. Even the basement, but I got busy-we were pretty short-staffed last week-so I just told them to look around themselves."

  "They didn't seem suspicious to you?"

  "Well, there was the architecture thing-I mean, this is one of the oldest lodges in Canada-and they said they were thinking of opening their own fishing lodge in Wyoming. Which I guess was kinda weird, since they sure had no interest in fishing, you know?"

  "You never told me this," his father said.

  "I never gave it any thought until now," Ryan said. "Why would I?"

  If Russell and his brother had come to the lodge a week earlier to scope it out, they'd been tipped off by somebody.

  I asked the manager: "Who knew we were coming?"

  He looked puzzled, then defensive. "Who knew-? I'm not sure what you're getting at."

  "These guys knew the top officers of the Hammond Aerospace Corporation were going to be staying here. This whole thing was planned. That means they had a source. An informer. Maybe even a member of your staff. That's what I'm wondering."

  He scowled. "Oh, come on. You think one of my people was involved? That's just…insane."

  "Not necessarily involved. Just talked to someone. Maybe without even knowing who he was talking to."

  He was indignant. "The only ones who get the booking schedule in advance are me and my son."

  "People have to order supplies."

  "I do the ordering. There's no one else. What makes you so sure this was planned?"

  "A bunch of things," I said. "How do you get supplies in here?"

  "We've got a contract air service out of Vancouver that does a supply run every three days."

  "When's the next one?"

  "Not until Saturday."

  I nodded, wondered whether Russell knew that, whether it figured into his timing. "How'd they get here, do you think? Through the woods?"

  He shook his head. "No way. The woods are way too dense. Had to be a boat."

  "There must be old hunting trails."

  "They're all grown over. No one hunts around here anymore. Haven't for years."

  "Since it's been made a wildlife preserve?"

  "Before that, even. There's really nothing to hunt. I mean, there's always going to be people who'll break the law if there's something to catch. But the deer are way too small. A long time ago people used to trap beavers. Used to be a grizzly hunt, once, a while back. But not in forever. Years ago the Owekeeno Indians cut trails through the forests, but they're all grown over, too."

  "How far's the nearest lodge?"

  After a few seconds, he said, "Kilbella Bay, but it's a ways."

  "Can you get to it on land?"

  "Nah, it's across the inlet."

  "So these guys must have taken a boat or a seaplane."

  "Would have had to. But…"

  "But what?"

  "I didn't hear anything. I always hear boats passing by on the inlet, or coming in, and I didn't hear any motors. And I sure would have heard a plane."

  "You were busy in the kitchen."

  "I woulda heard it, believe me. Always do."

  "So maybe they rowed in."

  "Maybe. Or took a motorboat in partway, then cut the engines and rowed the rest of the way in."

  "Which would mean they probably left their boat down on the shore, right?"

  He shrugged. After a moment, he said, "I did hear a gunshot."

  "We all did."

  "Come to think of it, I haven't seen Josй."

  "Who's Josй?"

  "One of the Mexican kids. I told him to hose out a couple of the boats earlier tonight, but…"

  "Around the time these guys showed up?"

  "It would be, yeah."

  "He probably ran into the woods," I said.

  Paul glanced at me, lo
oked away. "Yeah," he said. "Probably."

  I began sidling away, when he stopped me. "This lodge is my whole life, you know."

  I nodded, listened. He wanted to talk, and I let him.

  "I mean, when it was built, a century ago, it was sort of a madman's folly. A crazy rich guy came out here when there was nothing else around except a couple of salmon canneries and decided to build this huge, beautiful fishing lodge." He shook his head, smiled sadly. "I'm not even the majority owner. He's in Australia, in Canberra. Only comes up here when we have celebrities visiting-movie stars and tycoons. He likes to schmooze with them. I put in the sweat equity. Even in the off-season, I'm always working, doing the hiring, repair work." He closed his eyes. "My wife left me. Couldn't stand the isolation. So now it's just me and my son, and he wants out, too."

  "That's not true, Dad," Ryan said.

  "This is a time for complete honesty," Paul said to his son. To me, he continued: "You know, my chief pleasure in life is when guests leave happy. I know, you probably don't believe that, do you?"

  "I do."

  "Or when they write me or e-mail me to say what a good time they had. It makes me feel like a host at a great dinner party. And now…this."

  "Some dinner party."

  "I don't know what I could have done differently."

  "There's nothing you could have done," I said.

  He seemed to consider that for a few seconds; he looked unconvinced. "Once he gets the ransom…We're not getting out of here alive, are we?"

  I didn't reply.

  He closed his eyes. "Dear God."

  "That doesn't mean we can't try to do something."

  He nodded for a long time. "You know any Hindu mythology, Jake?"

  "I'm afraid not."

  "There's a story. A Hindu myth. About a king who's given a curse. He's going to die in seven days from a snakebite. And you know-when he hears this curse, he feels…serene. Joyful."

  "Oh yeah?"

  "See, he knows he's got seven days to live. Seven days to prepare for his death. To devote to the contemplation of Krishna. To prepare for his departure for the spiritual world. He's filled with joy, Jake, and you know why? Because we're all under a sentence of death, and none of us knows when death will come to us. But he knows, you see. He knows. He knows he's going to die, and he's accepted it."