Island of Thieves

by Glen Erik Hamilton

  Shaw looked at her. “You curated the collection.”

  “Yes.”

  “Your father didn’t mention that.”

  “I don’t imagine he would. The family’s achievements are shared victories.”

  Unless they’re his, was the message Shaw took from that. He realized how few of the articles about Droma International had mentioned the company’s VP of client development.

  “I’ll keep watch,” said Shaw. “Just in case.”

  “I appreciate that,” Sofia said, perhaps humoring him. “We’ll be offering tours of the estate, including the collection. Not that I expect anyone to slip a figurine into their pocket.”

  “Mr. Anders implied this was an important week. A business deal, along with the first visitors to the island.”

  “Indeed.” She glanced to her left. Shaw followed her look. A broad-shouldered man in a gray pinstripe suit and a black tie was striding down the courtyard in their direction.

  “This conference has been a long time in coming,” Sofia continued, “and our guests have come a long way. We’ve had hopes of establishing a partnership within the Chinese market for years. You can understand our desire that they enjoy their stay.”

  “Everything all right here, Ms. Rohner?” said the man, stopping alongside Shaw on the lawn.

  “I’m fine, Warren. Mr. Shaw, this is Warren Kilbane, our head of security.”

  Kilbane looked Shaw up and down. He was younger than the retired cop or former MP that Shaw had expected the Rohners to have as a security chief. Not much more than Shaw’s own thirty years. His sandy brown hair had been recently barbered and his dress shirt was unblemished by creases. Ready for his official corporate photo, though imagining Kilbane smiling was a stretch. He stared at Shaw with a blank expression.

  “I imagine you two have much to talk about,” Sofia said. A dismissal.

  “Nice meeting you,” Shaw said to her.

  Kilbane fell into step beside him as he walked to the south wing.

  “Mr. Anders told you to stick to your room,” the security man said quietly.

  “Just stretching my legs before the guests arrive.”

  “From now on you’ll clear all movement with me.”

  “Relax, Warren. I’m not here to take your job. Three days and I’ll be a memory.”

  Kilbane moved in front of him, forcing Shaw to stop. “Your job is what I say it is. Write your report. Stay away from the guests and the family.”

  Shaw grinned. People giving him orders often struck him as funny. He’d been commanded by professionals, most of whom could eat Kilbane on toast.

  “It’s Rohner’s initials on my hiring papers,” he said. “The way I see it, he’s the only one who can tell me to shove off.”

  Kilbane stared back. Shaw revised his earlier opinion. Anders was inexpressive. Kilbane seemed more like a fucking robot.

  A big enough robot to take seriously. An inch taller than Shaw and maybe two-twenty. Kilbane’s neck came straight down from his ears. Lots of barbell shrugs and weighted neck curls had gone into building those bulky tendons.

  “Mr. Rohner might have hired you,” Kilbane said, “but it’s Anders who signs off on your fee. Be smart. Have dinner tonight, make some polite conversation, and then get lost. The less we see you this week, the better.”

  He stalked away.

  Shaw exhaled. Carrying out his assignment was looking more difficult by the hour. Anders and Kilbane had both taken what seemed to be an instant dislike to him. If he kept up this streak, the Rohners would force him to swim home before nightfall.

  TWELVE

  The island staff assembled on the floating dock at a quarter to two. Kilbane and the two members of his team joined them. One man and one woman, neither as imposingly muscled as the security chief but not willowy either. Suits aside, the three of them might have been the attackmen on a championship prep-school lacrosse team. They stood at the crook of the angled dock, as if to broadcast that they were not there to tote luggage nor guide the newcomers to their suites.

  At three minutes to the hour, Sofia and Anders descended from the main house. They walked past Kilbane’s team to stand with the staff.

  Shaw, the only person on the island not in the welcome party, watched from the end of the row of maintenance sheds. He’d spent the past hour and a half examining the island’s power supply and the cell-phone tower to reinforce his cover for any island employees paying attention. Short of confirming that the backup batteries for phone and electricity service were in working order, the time had been a waste. The only event of interest had been a large powerboat pulling up to the dock. The forty-five-foot Regal that Rangi Sua had mentioned. Shaw had seen the big man disembark and tie off the lines before disappearing into the cabin again. No one had gone ashore. Two o’clock had come as a relief. Shaw watched the seaplanes’ steady descent. The lead plane was C.J.’s blue-and-white Otter. It touched down with nary a splash. The second aircraft, canary yellow with twin props and a longer fuselage by half than the Otter, followed within half a minute.

  Staff members rushed forward to moor the planes to the dock. The passengers began to disembark.

  Shaw had used some of his time around the sheds to review the list of guests he’d swiped from the housekeeping cart. In addition to the room numbers, the printed sheet had organized the guests by company. He glanced at the names at the top of the page again.

  Chen Li

  Jiangsu Special Manufacturing

  Bao, Nelson

  Zhang, C.

  Flynn, Bill

  Bridgetrust Group

  Lokosh, Karla

  Morton, Avery

  The lower half of the list was filled with Droma International Solutions people, including Kilbane’s team.

  Shaw assumed that the two bolded names, Chen Li and Bill Flynn, signified that those men were the heads of their respective companies. He hadn’t heard of either Bridgetrust Group or Jiangsu Special Manufacturing. A quick online search had told him that the former was a capital-investment company from New York City, while Jiangsu was a multiheaded industry in the Chinese province of the same name, with specialties in chemical and agricultural research.

  Sebastien Rohner and Linda Edgemont and two other men climbed from the Otter. Rohner offered a steadying hand to each as they stepped off the float. The first, a stocky Asian man in a suit the color of dark chocolate and matching tie, accepted the help. Chen Li, Shaw guessed. Making the second man Bill Flynn from Bridgetrust Group. Flynn had a lean build and a sharply tailored blue suit that shimmered with a slight iridescence, a red pocket square adding to the flash. His bristled brown hair rustled like grass in the wind. He seemed not to see Rohner, distracted as he was by the view of the island.

  The junior execs had been flying in the yellow twin-prop. Shaw made a game of matching the supporting players with the companies by their level of dress. The two Chinese men in suits and ties were a gimme—they would be Jiangsu Manufacturing. He recognized two of the other men from the Revol Air flight, and presumably the other man and a woman in European tailoring went with them. That made four from Droma.

  Which left a reedy guy in a brown leather jacket and jeans and a red-haired woman in a short-sleeved yellow blouse and a high-waisted skirt with her coat over her arm. Bridgetrust Group, by elimination, though the guy’s leather jacket didn’t exactly broadcast NYC investment capital.

  C.J. and the other pilot saw to their planes as the staff finished collecting luggage on the dock. The long, loose line of people made its way up the dock toward the flagstone steps with Kilbane and his team on point.

  According to Sebastien Rohner, one of his guests couldn’t be trusted.

  Presumably the potential burglar wouldn’t be one of the two CEOs. Those men had stayed with Rohner, who pointed to various aspects of the estate as they steadily ascended the steps.

  What if the thief were one of Rohner’s own people? Shaw had been thinking of the burglar as someone like him, with a cri
minal background. Maybe B&E wasn’t the plan. A Droma employee might have acquired inside information. Or even one of the silver wands that would allow access to the gallery.

  The guests ambled along, taking in the scenery. No way to tell whose eyes might be seeking out cameras or sensors, just as Shaw’s had when he’d arrived. The guy with the leather jacket hung back to take out a vape pen and inhale. Checking the sight lines from the house’s windows at the same time? The two Chinese men leaned their heads together, talking quietly as they seemed to examine the solar panels and the satellite dish. And Shaw, standing near the sheds.

  The red-haired woman in the skirt spotted him as he walked toward the head of the dock. She watched him for an extra beat as if playing the same game, trying to place Shaw’s jeans and button-down chamois ensemble in the hierarchy. Too casual for Kilbane’s squad. Not casual enough for a groundskeeper.

  Sofia Rohner halted at the top of the steps, and the line congregated into a group once more. Close enough now for Shaw to listen in.

  “Welcome, everyone,” Sofia said. “We’re delighted you could join us. I’m sure you’d all like an opportunity to settle in. Our staff will show you to your rooms and give you one of these.” She held up one of the black wands. “It’ll allow you passage through the buildings. Feel free to walk around the grounds and enjoy this lovely day. We’ll all meet in the pavilion at five o’clock for dinner. If you’re hungry in the meantime, you’ll find refreshments in your rooms. Please make yourselves at home.”

  She smiled to a perfect degree, warm but not unprofessional. Sebastien Rohner shook hands with each of the visitors before they followed the staff to the north wing. Flynn, the CEO with the boar-bristle haircut, clapped Rohner on his shoulder. Sofia and Linda Edgemont hugged hello. Kilbane and his team trailed the procession.

  Shaw watched them go. Burglary often required some physical prowess. One of the Chinese employees, either Zhang or Bao, looked much more athletic than the other. Oversize shoulders on a medium frame. Shaw guessed swimming, or maybe gymnastics. All the Droma people were young and on the slender side. Harder to gauge their fitness. Might be triathletes or might just be skinny. The redhead from Bridgetrust walked on the balls of her feet with easy grace.

  Once the people had dispersed, Shaw returned to the maintenance shed for his jacket. He would spend the hours before dinner writing his evaluation of the gallery’s alarm system. Maybe someone would actually read it.

  He’d just scooped up his coat when two members of the household staff in what Shaw was beginning to think of as Rohner Blue walked from behind the main house down to the dock. Rangi came out to meet them. The three entered the powerboat’s cabin and returned carrying what looked like a large black shipping crate.

  They lowered the crate carefully to the dock and boarded again to retrieve two smaller boxes to sit beside their bigger brother. Rangi retreated to the cabin once more. The two men hefted the largest crate and began to carry it up the slope toward the house, pausing once to set it down and rest their arms.

  Curious, Shaw walked behind the maintenance sheds and up to the forest. A gap in the wall of brambles allowed him to slip into the trees. He wove his way through the undergrowth. In between the stands of pine, he caught flashes of the rear of the house. The forest smelled of sap and new grasses, bursting with spring.

  Voices carried over the hiss of wind through the branches. The two men from the household staff, toting their burden behind the house and across to the other side of the island. Shaw followed their slow progress on a parallel track, until the men disappeared down the opposite slope.

  Toward the art gallery.

  Shaw walked to the edge of the woods to conceal himself behind the trunk of a thick hemlock tree. He saw the tall form of Anders at the bottom of the slope, his shaved head looking like the eraser nub on a mechanical pencil. The two men were out of view, presumably having carried the crate through the exterior door on the far side of the gallery. As Shaw watched, they emerged and quickly retraced their steps behind the house and back across the island. Anders waited, checking something on a tablet computer with a glossy ivory cover.

  The two men returned within five minutes, each carrying one of the smaller crates. They took the crates inside the gallery. After a word or two from Anders that Shaw was too far away to hear, both men left in the direction of the north wing. Anders walked up the slope to the main house and went inside.

  What had that been about? Shaw wondered. More pieces of art for the family collection? The large crate was much bigger than any of the little statues would have required, even packed for shipping. There’d been something furtive in Anders’s attitude. And the unloading of crates, even valuable artwork, seemed like something that a chief of staff would have delegated to the help.

  The gallery was the most secure room on the island. Maybe the crates held surprise swag for the guests. A new iPhone under every seat. Portable shiatsu massagers. Shaw faded back into the shelter of the forest and returned to the south beach.

  Near the dock his path crossed with C.J.’s. She carried a cardboard file box with both hands. Her Otter seaplane hadn’t left with the twin-prop. A runabout speedboat had arrived and moored behind the larger yacht, occupying the space where the yellow plane had been. Busy morning.

  “How was the flight?” said Shaw.

  “Harried. Mostly because Rangi wasn’t in charge of the ground transport to get everyone there on time.” She nodded to the big Regal cruiser.

  “I saw the boat come in earlier. Do you know what they were offloading?”

  “No. Just that he had to bring some cargo from Seattle overnight. Hey, can I ask you a favor? I’m in a rush to take the plane to Roche Harbor for supplies, and one of the Droma people left this on the other plane.” She hefted the box. “Can I ask you to take it to the north lobby? I’ll call and let them know.”

  “Sure.” He took the box. It was loaded with papers or books, heavy enough that Shaw leaned back to get the weight over his hips. “You’re strong.”

  “Obstacle-course races.” C.J. grinned. “Shakes out the kinks from too much time in the pilot’s chair. And speaking of running, I’m off. Thanks.” She jogged down the path toward the dock.

  On his way to the north wing, Shaw found the four executives from Droma sitting at a table in the courtyard.

  “Oh, good,” one of them said as Shaw set the file box on the table. The man opened it eagerly. Inside were a dozen identical three-ring binders titled “Resource Opportunities in Industrial Chemicals, Pacific Rim.”

  “You got this from the lady pilot?”

  “C.J.”

  “Cool.” He reached into his pocket to hand Shaw a lacquered blue fountain pen. “This is hers. I borrowed it before the flight and forgot to return it. Can you get it back to her?”

  “Must be one of those days for you,” said Shaw, looking at the box.

  “I guess. So could you?”

  Shaw decided that acquiescing would be faster than arguing. He put the pen in his breast pocket next to the black wand. Maybe his report to Rohner would look better if he signed it in India ink. He left the Droma drones to their work and returned to his room to dress for dinner.

  THIRTEEN

  Shaw arrived at the pavilion at five o’clock sharp. The slate-blue outfit he wore was his only suit, acquired earlier in the year. He’d bought the olive-green tie a month ago, bringing his grand total of neckties to two. Wren had joked that at that pace Shaw would have a full wardrobe in time for retirement.

  The crystalline pavilion was even more imposing within. Its spires and vaulted ceiling gave it the feel of a cathedral. Large enough to encompass most of an acre. The steel frame supporting the huge panes of glass had been burnished to a glossy silver, so that it blended with the transparent walls. Even the exit doors had been designed to be unobtrusive. Nothing to distract from the grandeur. Shaw stared at the facets of the roof until the refracted light gave him vertigo.

  His impression of
the room’s size was enhanced by the fact that the broad space was mostly empty. Three round tables had been set at the center. Waist-high troughs filled with ferns and tropical plants near the walls softened the endless angles of the towering space.

  He felt a brush of cool air from an unseen vent. The interior of the pavilion wasn’t a sweltering greenhouse. Nor was the direct afternoon sunlight glaringly bright.

  Linda Edgemont approached to say hello. Shaw indicated the muted sun. “That’s a nice feature. Treated panes?”

  She smiled. “Better. It works on a principle like privacy glass.”

  “An electrical current turning the glass clear. Switching it off makes it opaque.”

  “Yes. But in this case the process is reversed, and the current is what clouds the glass. Also, it can be shaded by gradations, like a dimmer switch on a lamp. An innovation not yet widely available.”

  And hugely expensive, Shaw guessed. The largest of the pavilion’s panes had to be fifteen feet wide.

  “I understand you arrived this morning,” Edgemont said. “How are you settling in?”

  “Early innings yet,” said Shaw.

  “But you’ve had a look at the security system. Everything’s in order?”

  “Orderly is what I’d call it.”

  “Wonderful. Then you can relax and enjoy your time here.”

  To encourage mingling, the Rohners had assigned places to the guests. Sebastien Rohner and the two business leaders, the tranquil Chen and the boisterous Flynn, sat at the center table, along with Anders and Sofia Rohner and Linda Edgemont.

  The second table was more of a mishmash. Kilbane and the female member of his security team, named Pollan. Two of the Droma people. The athletic-looking Jiangsu exec. And finally Morton from Bridgetrust, still in his leather jacket. Shaw was happy he wouldn’t be forced to share a meal with Kilbane. He’d be off his feed before the soup course.