by Cameron Hale
Though disappointed by Xavier’s betrayal, Rico listened to the scheme with interest, piqued by his cousin’s discovery of a flaw in what should have been tamper proof computer security. The surveillance team called requesting instructions. Rico informed them to apprehend Xavier and escort him back to the island.
The awful silence that had followed the execution was broken when a pair of gloved maintenance men retrieved mobile cleaning units from the shed and began scrubbing the blood from the tarmac with a special disinfectant agent.
Rico finally addressed his staff, his immaculately groomed hands neatly crossed. To a stranger, he could have passed for an eccentric fashion designer. Tall and well built, he stood confidently in a beautifully cut summer suit, thick salt and pepper hair combed back into a tight ponytail. High cheekbones, black eyebrows slanting above his sunglasses and a neatly trimmed goatee lent him an almost satanic appearance. His jaw muscles twitched beneath olive skin. A single diamond ear stud gleamed, the briny wind carrying the discreet odor of expensive cologne.
“You know why you’re here,” he said with a rolling accent. “Allegiance is like a wild animal. It needs discipline to respect its master. Though Xavier was a blood relative, he did not understand the concept of loyalty. It shifted to suit his convenience with no regard to the consequences.”
He paused to study the reactions to his words. The eyes of his staff revealed glimpses of suspicion, fear and mistrust, all of which pleased him. In this subtly intimidating fashion, he could exert more control over their thoughts and actions, thus reducing the chance of further treachery. No background check or lie detector tests could fully guarantee loyalty, despite the exhaustive efforts of his top aides. The human personality was too complex, too unpredictable. Rico relied on instinct first, technology second.
The staccato drone of an approaching chopper broke him from his musings. He rose and leaned over the balcony. The guards continued their patrols, unaware of his scrutiny. Filling a plate with a selection of delicate pastries, he paced the balcony. A quarter mile from the island, several jewel tone speedboats bobbed on the choppy indigo water like a school of playful dolphins. Armed pilots watched while a group of divers in mini-subs prepared to perform a routine check on the minefield network, a supplement to the perimeter detection field extending three hundred and sixty degrees around the island.
Barely the size of eggs, the self-navigating mines were designed to pursue and detonate any craft not fitted with identifying response units. Each aquatic vehicle, including scuba gear, registered to the fortress was implanted with a tiny receiver that emitted a specific series of codes recognized by the mines. Shortly after moving to the fortress, Rico had witnessed the deadly accuracy of the mines in the single attempt by commandos of a rival organization to broach the island. The nocturnal scuba assault was foiled well before the hapless divers had even approached the island, their identities never discovered.
The island itself rose from an abyssal trench over a mile deep, its position well isolated from shipping lanes. A private satellite system provided global surveillance and constant weather information. There was even a seismic warning system designed to indicate volcanic or earthquake activity in what was a notoriously volatile area.
Rico watched the activity a while longer before retreating to the bar. He poured himself a shot of tequila, the bloody westward sun obliquely slanting through the open windows as he returned to his office. A jasmine trellis wafted a delicate perfume, its fragrance mingling with the native odors of wild sage and bird guano. Canaries serenaded from the aviary built beneath the balcony, their song a soothing contrast to the ocean’s distant thunder. He inhaled the briny wind, the gold and black banners of his global empire flapping from their lofty poles like demented applause.
Quiet time was rare, and he savored each moment as he sat alone with his thoughts. He leaned back in his captain’s chair, the rich leather aroma and the subtle tang of lemon furniture polish deeply satisfying. A thick, sealed portfolio waited on his desk, the handcrafted teak a burnished glow. He flipped through the portfolio, casually sipping his lime-edged tequila while reviewing the night’s planned entertainment for an impressive guest list.
His birthday party was a coveted social event, the preparations exhaustive. A perfectionist, he involved himself in the tiniest details and was known to reject flowers that had been flown hundreds of miles because of a slightly wilted blossom. Staff worked overtime for weeks beforehand preparing the grounds, guest rooms and entertainment.
The best chefs had been flown in along with enough delicacies to feed a small nation. Wines from only the most renowned vintages were selected from his exhaustive cellars. An orchestra would provide music for dinner and dancing, and later, nightclub artists would perform more exotic fare.
He scanned a neatly typed list of special requests. As usual, his guests’ vices provided a never-ending source of amusement and potential persuasion against divided loyalties. Some requests were innocuous and specified nothing more than special diets or a desire to bring pets. Other requests revealed a more twisted nature in the guise of drugs and sexual preferences. Most of the guests were old friends, but included some new business contacts and private individuals for introduction.
Surveillance had already provided a veritable library of insurance on Rico’s guests over the years, but in view of Xavier’s attempted betrayal, he felt he could never protect his interests enough. He made a note to enter the list into his private database, his customized information program accessible only through a constantly upgraded maze of passwords and blind alleys.
Accommodation had been scrupulously prepared for guests staying the weekend, and included companions for those traveling alone or otherwise. He turned to a separate section in the portfolio and carefully scanned the list of male and female escorts selected from the most prestigious agencies worldwide. All the names were familiar to him and came with glowing recommendation from other influential clients.
He browsed through the agency photos, a particular memory tweaked by a brooding expression or suggestive pose. Apart from appearance, the escorts had to be single, well educated and fluent in at least three languages. His taste leaned to the exotic in both men and women, though anyone he commissioned had to be strictly vetted through health and security channels.
The phone softly warbled. He leisurely sipped his tequila before answering on voice only. The muted whine of whisperjets approached from the east.
“Yes?”
“Senor Castanza, an officious voice said. “The first guests are arriving.”
“Are refreshments ready in the reception area?”
“Yes. Henri is supervising. The guests will be directed there after the security check-in.”
Rico hung up and locked the portfolio in one of the desk drawers. After freshening up, he made his way to a private screening room he used to entertain VIPs. A section of wood paneled wall slid away at his touch, revealing a private corridor leading directly from his suite to the observation booth adjacent to the landing pad. The exit into the room opened via a wall aglow with constantly updating navigational maps indicating shipping and aircraft activity in the vicinity, including the orbit of satellites and the LunaTerra space station. One-way mirrors allowed him to privately monitor the check-in process while giving him an opportunity to assess the mood of his guests.
Settling into a comfortable chair, he watched a glut of new and familiar faces pass through DNA scanners and sophisticated detection screen able to discern the slightest anomalous substance. Alphonse, his chief of security, diligently monitored the readings, his attention distracted only briefly to politely acknowledge greetings. The guests accepted the routine with good humor.
The agency escorts arrived next in a streamlined whisperjet capable of transporting up to fifty passengers. A cross between a private jet and a helicopter, the vehicle loomed over the landing pad and descended with a discreet purr. Two would ferry guests back and forth from the mainland through
out the weekend.
Rico leaned forward in his chair and watched with interest as a diverse collection of men and women from every ethnic heritage emerged from the craft. They paraded through the open double doors as though on a catwalk, their movements deliberate and sensual. The appraising eyes of the security personnel covertly followed. Rico’s gaze lingered on each and nodded with silent approval. Though the agency charged premium fees, he had yet to be disappointed with the caliber of personnel provided.
A tall, stunning brunette with flashing sloe eyes brought up the rear. Her thick mane of shoulder length hair swung provocatively in time with her hips. A dimpled smile brought a rare reaction from Alphonse, who stared unabashedly. Surveillance followed the escorts to the lavish reception area where Henri and his hand picked staff busily dispensed hors d’oeuvres, wine and cocktails.
Rico watched the guests hungrily descend on buffets boasting a magnificent seafood centerpiece and a variety of international dishes. A trolley of unique chocolate creations seduced the hedonistic, the merits of bountiful salads and pastas left to the more health conscious. Some retreated to tables with their booty while others talked and ate as if afraid to miss a delicacy from the buffet.
Shortly afterward, Rico appeared to formally welcome his guests. He circulated diligently, taking the time to converse with everyone, including the escorts who had artfully homed in on the more receptive guests. The brunette remained elusive, her throaty laughter intriguing as she flitted among the men. Her strappy stiletto heels clicked like an alluring Morse code. As often as Rico tried to approach, she was on the move, prowling the reception with almost feline intensity. Rico found himself inadvertently fascinated by the liquid movement of her limbs beneath a tight and very short silky black dress baring one shoulder.
Whisperjets arrived with the remaining guests throughout the course of the afternoon. Rico politely excused himself to supervise the security check-in, though he found himself doing so almost reluctantly. When the procedure had been complete, he began reviewing the recording of the escort check-in. The arrivals were disembarking from the whisperjet when his phone rang.
“Yes?” he replied, irritated by the interruption.
“Sorry to disturb you, Senor Castanza,” came the matronly voice of his social secretary, Gida. “Mr. Odawa and Mr. Nguyen are anxious to have a word with you. They’ve been pressing me to make an appointment, but I wanted to confirm your availability first.”
Rico sighed. He had hoped to postpone business until the next day. “Let me check my schedule. I’ll get back to you with some convenient times.”
His eyes flicked back to the check-in recording. The brunette had just appeared on-screen when another call interrupted.
“Yes?” he said sharply.
Gida hesitated at Rico’s impatient tone of voice. “Senor, I do apologize, but I’m afraid your guests are being most persistent. I’ve had a request from the Countess Valredy about an heirloom collection you promised to procure for her. She insists on seeing you immediately and is prepared to make quite a fuss if you refuse.”
“Give me a moment.”
He shook his head and switched the phone to hold to fend off more interruptions. Many of his guests often behaved like children, their sulks and unpredictable moods belying their power and influence. The Countess in particular was no stranger to public tantrums, something Rico wished to avoid. He stored the recording for later viewing in his office and called Gida.
“Have the Countess meet me in the safe room in twenty minutes. I’ll have Alphonse bring the collection. Further meetings will have to be scheduled for tomorrow, no exceptions.”
* * *
Music wafted onto the grounds, the sound of jazz and the murmur of dinner conversation complemented by laughter and the clink of fine crystal. Artful displays of colored lights blinked from the surrounding trees, decorative thermal lamps keeping the chill evening breeze at bay. The pool blazed with neon strip lighting, a rainbow waterfall feeding from the bubbling spa. Guards discreetly paced along the turrets, their attention alternating between the horizon and the grounds.
At length, contemporary dance music began. Some of the guests enthusiastically descended onto the dance floor, the swirl of bodies forming a kaleidoscopic pattern of color. Others retreated outdoors where attentive waiters saw to the needs of those requesting an after dinner aperitif or a more exotic creation. Two drunken bisexual couples frolicked naked in the pool, their splashing growing more frenzied as they fucked each other in every possible combination. Interested observers watched from the side or jumped in to join the action.
Rico periodically surveyed his guests from the host table, its position on a raised dais offering an ideal vantage point of the massive dining room. Crystal chandeliers sparkled like diamond tiaras, vying for the genuine specimens worn by many of the female guests.
Rico thoughtfully sipped his champagne, grateful for the diversion his talkative brother Armand provided. Leaner and more refined than Rico, he had been shipped from Europe to replace Xavier, his business and finance prowess renown among the meccas of power. Armand enthusiastically addressed the various magnates seated at the table about a number of lucrative buyout propositions, his voice firm yet persuasive.
Surprisingly, Armand had not been shocked by Xavier’s execution, maintaining that he had paid for his greed and foolishness. He immediately accepted the position as his replacement. Rico’s condition that he relocate his family to the fortress was test of his loyalty and a safeguard against the temptation of treachery. Armand’s adoration for his children was something money was unlikely to supplant.
Shrill laughter drew Rico's attention to the table where the Countess Valredy was attended by a retinue of young, handsome escorts. Overpainted, overweight and fond of outrageous couture, the woman's vulgarity was matched only by her fanatical hobby of collecting. Her presence at major international auctions was de rigueur, her bargaining skills notorious.
Over the years, Rico had procured many objects d'art for the Countess in turn for her influence in the international diamond trade. Apart from many purchases, he had commissioned one of her favorite designers to create Xavier's tiepin. He watched Valredy nuzzle up to a blond, somewhat effeminate Adonis, her tapered fingernails implanted with a sprinkling of quarter carat marquis diamonds. The remains of several courses cluttered the table, empty wine and champagne bottles overflowing from a silver huge cooler. A bevy of waiters descended on the table and hurriedly cleared it.
Another well-proportioned stud leaned over and refilled Valredy's fluted champagne glass, his dark eyes discreetly ogling the massive sapphire pendant hanging between her formidable cleavage. Valredy busily nibbled the blonde's ear, her bouffant platinum hairdo and flaming pink chiffon gown reminiscent of a strutting flamingo.
Her hand strayed to the blonde's crotch. Slowly rubbing the formidable mound, she waited until his cock strained against the blue silk of his tight toreador pants. Deftly, her fingers snaked into the discreet slit and withdrew the object of her lust. Grinning lewdly with impossibly red lips, she proceeded to lick the engorged purple head. She flicked delicately at first, then stuffed a solid eight inches into her mouth. Her entourage watched with interest before assisting her by reaching into her gown to fondle her breasts and pink-dyed bush of pubic hair. She raised her hips to allow the entry of several exploratory fingers.
Moments later, the blond came, his throaty groans barely eliciting glances from the surrounding table. Valredy herself squealed unpleasantly. Unphased, she diverted her attention from the seated orgy to order something from a passing dessert trolley. She greedily eyed a multi-layered chocolate torte, her fickle attention drawn to a tray of delectable fruit meringues below. Capitulating, she had the attending waitress serve a selection of each. Rico smiled as she coyly fed pieces of the pastries to each of her entourage. Though approaching sixty, the Countess was renown for her carnal appetites. All the escorts at the table would literally have their hands full at the i
nevitable gathering in her suite later that evening.
Rico’s eye discreetly strayed to the other tables in search of the brunette. Occupied the entire afternoon by meetings both scheduled and impromptu, he had yet to finish reviewing the check-in procedure. Curiosity and a certain reticence about the woman consumed him, his frustration growing as she remained elusive. Rico had not seen her during cocktails or so far at dinner.
Wearied by the ceaseless din of music and conversation, he excused himself from the table. Armand followed after promising the remaining guests a meeting about his propositions the next day. He retrieved a pair of fat, Cuban cigars from his dinner jacket pocket and offered one to Rico.
“Had enough of my chatter?” he said amicably. “I know how you detest business at the dinner table.”
Rico puffed languorously on the aromatic cigar. “Just needed some fresh air. I’ve long since learned to phase out the more mundane matters of business.”
A waiter solicitously approached with two glasses of chilled champagne. Rico sipped and mingled with the guests, a determined Armand in tow. A woman’s musical laughter drifted from the poolside, the resonance electric. Rico glanced towards a trio of men surrounding a tall, statuesque blonde draped in a tight, scarlet silk gown. The woman momentarily entranced Rico, and her honey complexion set off by an impossibly stark bone structure and unusual obsidian colored eyes.
Though he had tasted his share of the most glamorous women, he had never seen a creature quite like the blonde. He frowned when he realized she had not been among the group of arriving escorts. Such an extraordinary woman would have stood out even among a roomful of beauties. Armand stared openly at the woman, her waist length mane of flaxen hair swaying with every sinuous move. Occasionally she glanced toward Rico, as though aware of their attention.
