Exit Strategy, page 9
part #1 of EXIT Inc. Series
He cleared his throat. “Yes, well, that was a tragic loss, the details of which are in dispute and can’t be discussed because of the ongoing litigation. However, just as someone wouldn’t give up flying on airplanes because of one crash, I think we can agree that one regretful accident out of thousands of successful tours is an impressive record. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment. Please treat yourselves to the dinner buffet we’ve set up in the next room, which includes an open bar. Thank you.”
The near stampede to the other room drowned out the further questions Kaysen Landry was trying to shout at him as he left the podium. The open bar had been his salvation, getting him out of a difficult situation. He’d have to remember to thank his daughter, Melissa, when he called her in Colorado tonight. She’d specifically suggested that he hold the press conference closer to the supper hour so they could offer adult beverages. With the free alcohol and food flowing, the reporters would leave happy and hopefully feeling good about the company. Melissa’s suggestion had been just the thing to divert everyone’s attention from the unpleasantness of Landry’s questions about the Hightower accident.
As he neared the door marked “private” at the back of the room, it opened, held by Bishop, his assistant. Cyprian stepped inside. Bishop immediately shut and locked the door, blocking out the noise from the lobby. The barely perceptible nod of his assistant’s head told Cyprian that he needed to discuss enforcer business.
Cyprian greeted various staff members while he and Bishop headed down the long hall that ran the length of the building. All of these people worked to support the tour side of EXIT and thought he was here to establish this new location to expand into another market. While that was certainly true, he had another, far more important reason for being here—setting up redundancies and backups for the company’s critical enforcer network.
A mainframe mirroring the one in Boulder was now fully functional and operating in the tunnels beneath this office building, ensuring that if something happened to the Boulder location, EXIT’s business would continue uninterrupted. The tunnels had been suggested by the contractor as a way of saving money on utilities, using the cooler temperatures underground to help keep the mainframe from overheating without having to spend so much on air-conditioning. And of course, Cyprian had immediately seen the benefit of using those tunnels for an entirely different purpose as well—one which his own personal contractor had seen to after the other renovations were complete.
As far as anyone who worked in the tour side of the business was concerned, there were just a few tunnels—the main one with the computer room opening off it, and some side tunnels with supply rooms. But there were several other tunnels accessible through a hidden panel that only Cyprian and a select few knew about.
To help him with that particular “purpose,” he’d also brought his favorite pit bull enforcer, Ace, and his assistant, Bishop. Which had turned out to be fortuitous once he found out that Sabrina Hightower had followed him from Colorado to North Carolina. But even that was being dealt with. Everything had been going according to plan until that clever reporter had spoiled the press conference.
“I want Kaysen Landry banned from future media events.” He kept his voice low so that only Bishop could hear.
“Done.”
Bishop’s quick response set Cyprian’s teeth on edge. He’d heard the same response before. But with Bishop, the outcome was always an uncertain proposition. Which was why Cyprian had been poised to fire him as an enforcer, and the sole reason Bishop was in Cyprian’s office on that fateful day months ago when Cyprian had lost his customary control and gave an order he later regretted. Now, because of that order, he and Bishop were bound together by a shared secret. And everything Cyprian had done since then was about containment and damage control.
Hiring Bishop as his assistant after Kelly’s death had been an easy way to keep Bishop close while they sorted out this Hightower situation. It had also been a way to keep Bishop employed—and quiet—while Cyprian tried to figure out how to end their association without risking Bishop telling anyone what he knew.
Because of EXIT’s secret charter, any enforcer who was fired or chose to leave on their own was closely monitored to ensure that they didn’t disclose any confidences about the company. But in Bishop’s case, Cyprian couldn’t just let him retire and then risk that someone monitoring him might learn Cyprian’s secret. For that reason—and because it wasn’t Bishop’s fault that he was in this predicament—Cyprian was torn about what to do about him. Which meant, for now, tolerating him.
They turned at the end of the hall and headed into Cyprian’s office. Or, at least, his official office. Enforcer business was conducted in a honeycomb of hidden, soundproofed rooms with dedicated phone and data lines between this location and the one in Colorado to ensure complete privacy.
Bishop locked the office door to keep the admins from wondering why no one was in the outer office after seeing the two of them go inside. Then he keyed the security code into the phone on the desk and a hidden panel slid into the wall. They both headed inside and the panel automatically closed and locked behind them.
Cyprian immediately strode to the bank of windows behind his massive desk—fake windows, because the walls were actually concrete. But if someone didn’t know it, they’d think they were real, both inside and out. They were actually enormous monitors that could show anything he wanted, from his desktop computer to security camera shots to whatever was playing on TV.
Right now, the incredibly clear picture was a gorgeous, live shot of the Blue Ridge Mountains, courtesy of a camera on a piece of land that he’d purchased for just this reason. He could just as easily switch to a live shot of the Rockies. The illusion of real windows was what made it possible for him to spend hours cooped up inside this fortress without feeling like he was in a prison. And it was this “window,” with its view of the mountains, that helped lower his stress when something like that reporter business set him on edge.
“Cyprian, we need to talk about Sabrina Hightower. She—”
He held up his hand, demanding silence. The Hightowers were going to be his ruination if he didn’t get this ongoing fiasco resolved soon. And from Bishop’s tone, Cyprian knew he wasn’t going to like whatever his unwanted partner-in-crime was about to tell him. Which meant he really needed a moment, or he’d shoot Bishop right here and now. Which would just complicate everything enormously and force him to involve someone else in this mess.
He took in the view of the mountains for several more minutes, watching the leaves blow in the light breeze, finding his center and pushing past his irritation over the press conference.
Finally, he turned around. “Is she dead?”
“No, sir.” Sweat broke out on his forehead. He waved to the bar on the other side of the room. “This is going to take a few minutes to explain. Can I . . . get you a drink first?”
Normally Cyprian wouldn’t brook that type of delay once he was ready to discuss something. But a drink might be just the thing to help him stay calm. He couldn’t afford to lose his cool. Again.
He nodded his permission. Bishop crossed to the bar and began mixing Cyprian’s drink. In spite of Bishop’s eagerness to see to Cyprian’s every need, it did little to atone for his mistakes—and nothing to ease Cyprian’s grief and sense of loss over the death of his previous assistant.
Of course, Kelly Parker had had other, considerable “talents” he’d fully explored, which made the loss much deeper. Even knowing that it was Kelly’s eclectic . . . tastes . . . that had caused the other unfortunate problems, the ones with Buchanan a few months ago, he could never truly regret their time together.
Bishop handed him the smooth blend of Hennessy whiskey and soda on the rocks and they sat in the seating area in front of the bar. For himself, Bishop had simply grabbed a bottle of Heineken from the mini-fridge. Low class. Kelly would have shared the Hennessy.
When Cyprian was halfway through with his drink, he decided he was mellow enough to handle whatever news was about to be thrown his way. He set his drink on the granite-topped bar beside him. “Explain.”
Bishop set his beer down and braced his forearms on his knees. He was a bear of a man, with meaty paws and too much bulk around the middle, which made it all the more telling when his legs began to shake.
Staring at his knees, Bishop said, “Because of what happened last time, I thought it might be better to get help with my assignment.” He risked a quick look up. “I involved Mason Hunt.”
“Excuse me?” Cyprian asked, very softly, trying to hold on to his temper.
The shaking traveled up Bishop’s torso to his hands. “I . . . might have created a fake EXIT order to get Hunt to take care of Miss Hightower for me.” He met Cyprian’s stare and turned pale. “I thought there wouldn’t be any harm. Mason’s one of the best around. He’d take care of it. No one would be the wiser.” He swallowed again, making a choking sound. “But something went wrong.”
Cyprian stared at the other man for a long moment before he could trust himself to speak. “I’m sure I couldn’t have heard you correctly. Because I know that I was extremely clear when I told you that I wanted no one else involved in this situation. Your first attempt to terminate Miss Hightower was disastrous precisely because you involved the tour side of the company. Plus you relied on too many variables. You rigged equipment, hoping a guide wouldn’t notice you’d sabotaged it. Then you didn’t take into account things that could go wrong, like the target getting sick and not completing the anticipated tour. This time you were supposed to keep it simple. You were supposed to shoot her in her home and stage it to look like a burglary gone wrong. Even the greenest recruit could handle something like that.”
Bishop’s complexion turned a sickly shade of gray. “I’m sorry, boss. I was trying to make sure that nothing could possibly go wrong. I thought my plan was failproof.”
Well, it definitely wasn’t foolproof. Cyprian pictured his hands closing around Bishop’s neck as he pinned him to the floor, his knee digging into Bishop’s stomach while he choked the life out of him. But he carefully composed himself, holding back his rage and letting none of those thoughts show. Instead, he flicked a piece of imaginary lint off his suit jacket as if he were more concerned with his appearance than the disaster unfolding in front of him.
“Do continue, Bishop,” he encouraged, drawing the fly into the web. “I can’t offer a solution without knowing all the details.”
Relief flashed across the other man’s face and he wiped the flop sweat off his brow. “Okay, okay. Obviously, I shouldn’t have created the fake order. That was a mistake.”
“Yes. Yes it was. Go on.”
His head bobbed up and down like one of the great blue herons common to the area. “Ace called in to say the mission—”
Cyprian held up his hand. “How did Ace get involved in this?”
Bishop tugged at his collar, knocking his tie askew. “When Mason didn’t call in to report that the mission was over, I sent Ace to see what had happened.”
“Ah, I see. As we would do on any legitimate mission.”
“Exactly,” Bishop said, not catching Cyprian’s sarcasm. “The thing is, Ace said the mission was successful. Mason shot and killed Hightower, but only because Ace forced his hand. They argued or something, and exchanged gunfire. But I gather neither of them was hurt. I asked Ace about proof of death but he said he hadn’t had a chance to snap a picture because Mason was after him.” He waved his hand as if he could wave the trouble away just as easily. “I tried calling Mason’s company cell phone. Naturally I wanted to double-check everything.”
“Naturally.”
Bishop must have caught the sarcasm this time, because the sweat started up again, popping out on the sides of his face. “Uh, neither Ace nor Hunt are answering my calls at this point.”
“Did you try tracking the GPS location of their phones?”
Bishop nodded. “Nothing came up.”
“Then they’ve obviously removed the batteries on their company phones, or destroyed them altogether, and are using burner phones. Apparently neither Mr. Hunt nor Ace desire to be found.” Had they both gone rogue, like Buchanan?
“I’m . . . I’m sure I’ll be able to fix everything. It’s just going to . . . take a bit longer.”
“If you believed that you wouldn’t have told me any of this.”
“Right.” Bishop’s eyes widened. “I mean, no. I would have told you, eventually, once I knew Hightower was dead. I wouldn’t want to worry you unnecessarily. I never . . . I didn’t plan on . . .”
“Lying?”
Bishop shook his head back and forth, making the sweat fly and revulsion twist Cyprian’s stomach.
“No, no, no. I would never lie to you, boss. I just . . . made a bad decision. I didn’t want Hightower to get away like she did the last time. So I thought that by enlisting Hunt it was a done deal, no possibility of failure.” His face turned a bright red and his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat.
Cyprian slowly rose to his feet and jerked his suit jacket into place. “You said that Ace saw Mason shoot Miss Hightower but that she isn’t dead yet. Hopefully it’s just a matter of time. If she’s gut shot, it could take a while. Which hospital is she in?”
“Yeah, about that. It, ah, took a bit of trickery to find out where she was because of the privacy policies but I—”
“Did you find her or not?”
“She was treated at Mission Hospital and released early this morning.”
“Released? Was she shot or not?”
“I’m still working on that. Maybe it was a flesh wound?” He tugged at his collar again. “She hired bodyguards. I have someone watching the house in case she decides to go anywhere.”
Unable to remain still any longer, Cyprian began pacing in front of his desk. At least he could be grateful for one thing—that Bishop hadn’t foolishly approached the house himself. The hospital would have filed a report about the gunshot wounds. The police might very well be watching the house. “You did say that Ace reported Hightower was dead?”
Bishop nodded. “Yes. But I’m not sure what happened. Maybe he didn’t—”
Cyprian held up his hand to stop him. “I’ve heard enough. What happened is that you’ve made yet another mess for me to clean up. Mason Hunt is a lot like Devlin Buchanan—intensely moral, honest, idealistic. You know what happened with Buchanan after Kelly framed him and I foolishly tried to protect her. He’s on his own personal vendetta to bring both me and EXIT down. So what did you think would happen if Hunt found out his mark was innocent?” He stalked to his desk.
“I . . . I didn’t think—”
“Exactly. You didn’t think.” He stared suspiciously at his biggest failure. Bishop wasn’t acting like someone who’d just confessed all of his sins. He was still nervous, too nervous, and kept glancing at the wall of windows behind the desk.
“What else haven’t you told me?” Cyprian demanded.
Bishop winced as if he were in pain and retrieved the remote control from the top of the desk. “This came on TV a little earlier.” He pressed a button and the Blue Ridge Mountains were replaced with a recording of the local news.
The first story was a short clip about the opening of the new EXIT office in town. It showed people touring the building last month as the final construction was being completed. Recording the news for the past few weeks had been one of Bishop’s responsibilities so that any coverage about EXIT could be evaluated and sent to Cyprian’s daughter, Melissa, to review. She would make marketing decisions about new strategies based on how EXIT was being portrayed by the press.
“Wait, pause the recording.” Alarmed, Cyprian pointed at the screen. “That’s Sabrina Hightower, in that last group. What was she doing here?”
Bishop shook his head. “Touring the building I assume, but I don’t know why she’d want to do that.”
Cyprian could well imagine one reason she might want to look at EXIT’s headquarters: to look for anything that was further proof of the company’s alleged negligence and carelessness. But was there another reason? Did she suspect anything? Was there any possibility she might have separated from the tour group and nosed around? That could be extremely problematic. He tapped his fingers impatiently against his thigh. “Continue.”
Bishop pressed the start button. “This is the part that concerned me.”
Stupid fool. What Cyprian had just seen was intensely important and very concerning. But Bishop wasn’t adept at recognizing the significance of minor details, which was one of the reasons that Cyprian had planned on firing him before the Hightower fiasco had started. And then it was too late.
Cyprian watched the second news story, and his stomach dropped with dread. Black and white sketches of three people were displayed behind the TV anchorman, along with a request for information if anyone knew who they were or had seen them anywhere. The reporter stated that the three people shown, plus one more not shown, were being sought as potential witnesses to a crime that had occurred last night.
“Pause it,” Cyprian snapped. He stalked closer to the screens, shaking his head at the amazing likenesses revealed by each of the sketches. “Devlin Buchanan, Emily O’Malley, and Ace. Who drew these?”
“I called a contact at the television station and put some pressure on her to—”
“Who. Drew. Them?” he gritted out.
“Sabrina Hightower, early this morning, for a Detective Donovan.”
Cyprian swore and began pacing in front of his desk. Things were unraveling faster than he could patch them back together. He didn’t need any magical tea leaves to know what those sketches meant. Buchanan was back, and butting his nose into EXIT business. Somehow he’d gotten wind of Mason’s bogus mission and let him know that Hightower was innocent. Probably because of that fake EXIT order Bishop had created. That was the only explanation—documentation where there shouldn’t have been any. Which meant the mainframe’s supposedly infallible security had been breached. He didn’t know why there wasn’t a sketch of Mason too, but the anchorman had mentioned a fourth person, so he was likely part of whatever had happened.
