The Dark Circle, page 24
Lauren plugged in the coffee grinder on the kitchen countertop and emptied half the pills into the reservoir. She ran the grinder for several seconds and then dumped the pulverized white mass into a quart-size freezer bag.
* * *
We packed our clothes and boxed up the Albany papers and stowed it all in the trunk of the rental car. I left the RV unlocked and moved the Buick behind one of the small nearby service buildings. It left us a good view of the area around our RV.
We waited.
“If she goes over to the dark side, our next visitors won’t look like Brianna,” I said, checking the action on my .45, “and we shall hopefully beat a hasty retreat.” Lauren refused the offer of my old .32, saying only, “I’m more liable to shoot you.”
She used my phone from Billy Spellman to call her team at the Journal office. The conversation only took a minute.
“No word on Fab aside from a spokesperson at the Kimball clinic saying he is still in critical condition,” she said. “Any refinements in the plan I should know about?”
“It’s coming together in my mind like a Swiss grandfather clock,” I said, munching a banana I had grabbed in the kitchen.
“It’s supposed to be a watch.”
“I will never marry a nitpicker,” I said as two little boys wearing bathing trunks and Stoneberry T-shirts walked by, carrying rubber inner tubes, on their way to the campground pool. Turning to her, I said, “If things go well tonight, we’ll rescue both of those Thai girls and expose the cult. There are no guarantees, and I want you to promise me that if it turns violent at some point, you’ll pull out of there regardless of what happens to me.”
She looked straight back at me and said, “It’s going to go fine.”
At five thirty, we saw Brianna coming toward the RV, on foot, from the outer parking lot. She was carrying a leather satchel and a shopping bag and wearing the same outfit she had on when we left the sorority in the morning.
I scanned the campground in every direction and saw no one who didn’t seem to belong there. No new vehicles approached the area. When Brianna reached the RV, she put down the bags, looked up at the tinted windows, and knocked on the door.
“Looks like she passed the first test,” I said, opening the door of the Buick.
When she turned and saw us, Brianna rushed toward me. I stopped short, and she swept into my arms to lock me in a tight embrace. I pulled away long enough to see that same strange intensity in her eyes she’d had when I told her about killing Frank Bull with a pitchfork. Then she began hugging me again.
“Classic Stockholm Syndrome,” said Lauren acidly, “the hostage bonding with the abductor.”
Brianna remained oblivious. She held my hand as we walked to the RV. I let her go up the stairs first while I followed with the monogrammed linen Stoneberry bag and the leather satchel.
“First mission accomplished,” said Brianna, “although Britt must be going crazy.”
“Britt?” said Lauren.
“Britt is my boss. He took over after Mr. Bull was …” Her eyes drifted over and met mine.
“Believe me, I need my cell phone back,” Briana said next, “or he’ll probably cancel the party. He’s the nervous type.”
Lauren caught my nod of approval and handed it to her.
“I’ve already received about thirty texts,” she said, looking at the screen and punching in a contact number. She put the phone on speaker and we heard two dial tones before someone picked up.
“Where the fuck are you, Brianna?” the voice demanded with fury. “It’s almost six o’clock … the knights will begin arriving any minute.”
“I got tied up,” said Brianna.
“I’m very close to firing you, you stupid bitch” were his next soothing words.
“You ever hear of female trouble, Britt?” she came back with a serious edge. “You want me to spell it out with all the details from my gynecologist?”
There was silence for a handful of seconds. Brianna took the time to grin at me.
“Well just get here pronto,” said Britt in a more subdued tone.
“On my way,” said Brianna and ended the call. “Men always hate that subject,” she added.
Lauren and I took the two bags back to the master bedroom, to try on our uniforms. The pumpkin-colored guard suit fit me pretty well. Lauren’s red and blue silk dress was much more flattering.
Taking the empty leather satchel over to the nightstand, I put in the roll of duct tape I had brought and added my pencil flashlight along with the Colt .45 and a spare clip. I dropped in four flash drives I had already prepared, and Lauren added the quart-size plastic bag holding the powdered opioid pills.
When we joined Brianna again in the lounge, she reached up to stroke the three-day stubble on my cheek.
“I love that macho cave-dweller look, darling, but if you don’t shave right now, they’ll be on to you as soon as you walk through the employees’ entrance. No facial hair … cardinal rule. Every male employee has to be clean shaven.”
She let her fingers linger on my cheek, and I glanced over to see Lauren staring daggers at me. She may have understood the Stockholm syndrome, but it definitely didn’t improve her mood.
“I’m going to shave, Agent Peterson,” I said.
55
At six fifteen, we walked through the double-doored employees’ entrance, the three of us side by side. Because the casino was built on a sloping hill, the doors were at ground level, one level beneath the main floor. A pint-size guard armed with a Glock pistol sat on a stool by the entrance door, next to a full-size metal detector.
Brianna was carrying the leather satchel. She gave him a bright smile.
“Good morning, Sam,” she said, and instead of going through the metal detector went over to give him a kiss on the cheek.
After letting her pass, the guard motioned to Lauren to give him her purse. He opened it and looked inside before handing it back. Lauren and I went through the metal detector and didn’t set it off.
“Britt Matthews is looking all over for you, Brianna,” said Sam, waving us past and turning back to screen the people arriving behind us.
An orange-painted, concrete corridor ran in both directions as far as I could see. It intersected with other passages, and signs with arrows were painted on the walls to identify potential destinations around the complex.
A small horde of employees, all wearing different uniforms in various shades of orange, surged up and down the passageways. After twenty yards, Brianna turned left at an intersection and stopped at a bank of elevators she had already told us led up the entertainment offices.
She handed me the leather satchel, and Lauren and I continued on to the second bank of elevators that Brianna said led up to the rooms of the training station on the fourteenth floor. In my pants pocket were the electronic passkeys she had given me.
Coming out of the elevator, we passed two more guards equipped with Glock pistols in hip holsters. I was without a Glock or a hip holster, but they didn’t seem to notice. Both were staring at Lauren in the tight-fitting orange hostess uniform that ended at her thighs.
“You new here, Mandy?” asked the shorter one after reading the nameplate on her chest.
Lauren turned and gave him the same glaring look she had bestowed on Brianna. That ended the conversation. The guards kept going, and we came to the block of training station rooms set aside for the new arrivals to the casino seduction corps. Brianna told us if a room was occupied, the girl would engage a switch that illuminated a tiny red light on the hallway ceiling.
Only two of the rooms were occupied. Using the passkey, I chose one of the others. Once inside, I engaged the switch in the back of the closet that turned on the red light in the hallway. By then, Lauren was gazing at herself in the huge mirror that covered one wall.
“This dress is appalling,” she said.
“Take it off,” I said. “Play your cards right, and I promise to give you a ten rating.”
“I could learn to hate you,” she said, and sounded like she meant it.
I looked at my watch. It was six thirty, and I punched a number into my phone. It was answered in one ring.
“Hi, darling,” I said. “I need you to do something for me.”
56
The things I asked Brianna for over the phone were delivered to the training room by one of the young maids. I was getting very generous with the Kenniston trust and tipped her a hundred bucks. Ten minutes later, we were ready to leave. I was wearing the pale yellow uniform of senior kitchen staff, including the balloon hat of a sous chef, cotton scarf, shirt, pants, and apron.
Lauren wore an identical outfit to the one Brianna would soon be wearing, a full-length, red and blue Maid Marian gown with a coquettish pillbox hat and a mesh veil cloaking her face . She was also wearing Brianna’s ID badge.
At 6:55, we were in the elevator and headed back down to the first subfloor beneath the main level. From there, we entered the kitchen of the Mattaway Grill through the service entrance. The restaurant could serve three hundred people, and the huge kitchen area was divided into prep sections separated by fiberglass partitions. A four-foot-wide passageway allowed all the ingredients and prepared dishes to be carried between the sections.
It was the heart of the dinner hours, and a few dozen employees were working at warp speed to deliver their portions of the menu. Brianna had told me the elevator was located near the dessert section, and I led the way across the noisy kitchen floor.
I could only hope that the guard assigned to it wasn’t on duty yet since the dinners wouldn’t be ready for another thirty minutes. When we reached the dessert section, I motioned Lauren to wait and stepped into an alcove from which I could view the back wall.
Sure enough, a security guard with another holstered Glock pistol was on duty, and he looked seriously intense as kitchen workers moved past in both directions. He was about thirty and looked ex-military, with tattoos covering both arms below the rolled-up sleeves of his orange shirt. One of the tattoos was big enough for me to recognize. It was a Colt M4 modular 5.56 mm carbine, the same weapon we used in Afghanistan. His brass badge identified him as Chuck.
As I watched him, his radio came alive. I couldn’t decipher the sender’s words but noted the time. It was exactly 7:05.
“Two-zero-three-eight secure,” he said into the mic.
I motioned to Lauren to head for the elevator. Chuck took in the costume and the name badge. He turned and hit the combination for the elevator. A moment later, the door slid open, and she walked inside with him just behind her. I followed as he was about to hit the “Down” button with his left hand. He was still holding the radio in his right.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded in a raspy voice.
Glancing down, I saw the smaller tattoo markings on his left elbow: SGT. A CO 3RD BAT 8/17.
“I knew your company commander, Sergeant,” I said. “Ludwig … a complete asshole.”
His eyes widened as he stared at my face under the chef’s hat and tried to figure it out.
“You knew Captain …?”
I had a momentary twinge of guilt at the thought I might have to do him some harm. Pulling out my .45 from behind the apron, I pointed it at him before hitting the “Down” button myself. The elevator began moving silently lower.
“Hate to impose on a fellow ranger, Chuck, but you’re probably going to lose your job over this,” I said. “It’s for a good cause, and if you do, I’ll try to make it up to you.”
I told Lauren to remove his Glock from the holster, and she gave it to me. He stared with respect, but no fear, at the barrel of the .45 as we arrived at the only stop, and the door slid open. I was glad to see that no password combination was required for the return trip.
I motioned him to move, and he stepped into the service room. It was about twenty feet square. Metal shelving and wooden cabinets covered one wall surrounding a double stainless steel sink.
On the opposite wall was the portal opening. It was built into the wall at chest level and was about twelve inches high and six feet wide, far too small for someone to climb through. There were two other doors in the room, one the steel door Brianna had described that led to the rest of the complex. Lauren opened the other one. It was a utility room filled with cleaning products and kitchen tools.
Holding the gun to Chuck’s back in case he decided to show the Ranger spirit, I handed her the radio he had used upstairs. I told him to remove his uniform, and he took off his shirt, pants, and the holster belt. Pulling out the roll of flattened duct tape from my back pocket, I told him to put his hands behind his back, and triple-wrapped the tape around his elbows, then his wrists.
“How often do they check on you?” I said.
“I don’t know who you are or what this is about,” said Chuck, “but I think you should let me go and get out of here. This place is filled with serious firepower, and you’re about to feel some serious hurt.”
The radio erupted a moment later. I picked it up off the counter next to the sink.
“Two-zero-three-eight, check in,” said a voice.
“Two-zero-three-eight secure,” I said, engaging the transceiver.
I checked my watch. It was 7:20.
“Every fifteen minutes,” I said.
I gently pushed him inside the utility room and told him to drop to the floor on his stomach. After taping his mouth and making sure he was breathing through his nose, I triple-wrapped his knees and ankles.
“You’ll be glad you’re out of this,” I said, and he grunted something in reply. I doubt it was any form of agreement. “And give this to the police when they begin questioning you,” I said, tucking one of the flash drives inside the band of his underpants.
Shutting the door, I took off the chef’s uniform and put on the ranger’s pumpkin gear. His pants cuffs came up to my ankles, but I didn’t plan on wearing it for long. At 7:27, I was in the uniform and heading back up to the kitchen in the elevator.
57
Without knowing the password for the kitchen elevator, I had to stand guard, with the door wedged open behind me. A few minutes later, Brianna arrived with two Asian girls, both of whom looked like porcelain dolls in white silk pants suits. They were less than five feet tall and exquisitely lovely. Neither one looked like she had reached puberty.
All three carried large shoulder bags. I quickly ushered them into the elevator. As soon as we were moving, Brianna stepped close to me, radiating an enticing perfume and kissed me passionately on the lips. Not wanting to break whatever spell she might be under, I didn’t pull away.
“This is really exciting,” she said, ending the kiss when the elevator reached the lower level.
Lauren was waiting for us when the door slid open. From her side pocket, Brianna removed the key to the steel door and unlocked it. She put her index finger to her lips to signal the two Asian girls to remain quiet as they followed her into the complex. I doubted it was needed. The girls hadn’t uttered a sound since they’d seen me in the kitchen and looked vaguely bored. I wondered if they had already been medicated in some way.
In discussing preliminary plans, Lauren and I had agreed that having two Maid Marians serving at dinner would go unnoticed, particularly since they were both beautiful. Brianna’s boss, Britt, would have no reason to believe security had been breached, and he wouldn’t be down there to question the change. It would give Lauren an opportunity to serve the cult members their own medicine.
At 7:34, I headed back up in the elevator while Brianna took the others to the green room to change and prepare to serve the dinner in the great hall. A few moments later, a voice on the radio now attached to my holster belt said, “Two-zero-three-eight, check in.”
“Two-zero-three-eight secure,” I said.
“Did Thai visitors arrive?” asked the voice.
“Affirmative,” I responded.
The radio went dead again.
I stood guard in the kitchen, next to the open elevator, until 7:50, when I responded to another radio check. Five minutes later, a female kitchen staffer came out of the last food prep section, wheeling a heated delivery cart.
When she got to the elevator, she said, “Nine dinners as ordered,” and handed me a printout that showed two orders of Chateaubriand, two filet mignons, two veal chops in fig sauce, two Caprese salads with pesto, and one tenderloin pork medallion. Apparently, none of the knights liked fish. “Dessert trays are on the bottom shelf,” she added.
“Supposed to be twelve,” I said.
“This is what we were told to prepare,” she said, and walked away.
I wheeled the cart into the elevator and rode down. In the service room, I began removing the trays, placing each one in the portal space until I was finished.
I could now hear the knights talking and laughing together. Leaning down to look through the opening, I felt a strong draft of cool air from the air-conditioning system in the great hall. I could also see a small section of the gigantic room, including almost half of a carved oak dining table. It wasn’t a good enough vantage point to shoot any video.
Lauren arrived in view and began filling the goblets of two of the knights at the table from a silver pitcher. They both wore brightly colored red and yellow robes with sashes around their waists and the same leather masks I had seen in the two videos. Attached to their sashes were jeweled, ceremonial knives in scabbards.
One man was already sitting down. He was as bald as Friar Tuck, his belly protruding out from his lap like a watermelon. A tall and skinny cult member stood next to him. I saw grim, ax-blade lips beneath his mask.
A face suddenly appeared a few feet from mine in the portal opening. It was Brianna.
“Only seven of the knights are here,” she whispered, her voice breathless and excited. “The others didn’t show.”
The other five probably didn’t want to take the risk after recent developments.
