Joseph Finder - Power Play

"I enjoyed that, sugar tits," Verne said with a manic leer. "Let's do that again soon without our clothes, huh?"

Ali gave him a glacial stare. Under her breath, she said, "I'm not really into short-barreled weapons."

He heard it, though, and he hooted. "Whoa, that chick's got a mouth on her! We'll see what you can do with that mouth later."

"Yeah," Ali replied. "I've also got sharp teeth."

He hooted again.

"Hey, Verne," I said.

He turned, eyes wild.

"You touch a hair on her head, and I'll take out your good eye."

"With what?" He smirked. "You can't even take a piss unless I say so."

"Hey," Barlow called out. "Speaking of which, I need to take a leak. Badly."

"So?"

"What the hell am I supposed to do?"

"Wet yourself for all I care," Verne said with a cackle.

"I'm serious," Barlow said.

"So'm I," Verne said.

Barlow gritted his teeth. "This is torture. I'm not going to make it."

I gave Ali a questioning look: Are you okay?

She smiled cryptically, maybe thanking me, maybe chiding me. She seemed more angry than frightened, which wasn't surprising. That was Ali: She was a fighter, not easily intimidated. Maybe that was the legacy of her Army-brat upbringing. I'm sure it was also something Cheryl had recognized in her immediately, a trait the two women shared.

"Excuse me," Latimer called out. He looked haggard. "I need my…insulin."

"Your what?" Verne said.

"There's a kit upstairs in my room. In my dresser. With syringes and a blood test kit and some vials of insulin. Please. Just let me go up and get it."

"You're not bringing a bunch of needles in here. Sorry, guy. Deal with it."

"But if I-please, if I don't get my insulin, I could go into a coma. Or worse."

"Hate to lose a hostage," Verne said, swiveling away.

"At least could I get something to drink, please? I'm dehydrated."

Verne was out of earshot.

"I didn't know you were diabetic, Geoff," Cheryl said. "How serious is this?"

"Hard to say. I mean, it's serious, but I don't have any symptoms yet. Just really thirsty."

"You're late with a shot?"

He nodded. "I usually give myself an injection before I go to bed."

"Did you mean it about going into a coma?"

"If too much time goes by, it can happen. Though I think I'll make it for a couple more hours. If I drink a lot of water."

"Damn them," Cheryl said. She turned around and yelled, "Someone get this man a glass of water now! And his insulin!" Her voice echoed.

Hank Bodine stirred, his eyes fluttering open. He looked around groggily, groaned, then shut his eyes again.

Travis came over, gun leveled. "What's the problem?" he said, scowling.

"Get this man some water," she said. "He's a diabetic, and he needs water immediately. He also needs his insulin shot."

"And I need to use the restroom," Barlow added.

Travis looked at her, at Latimer, and said nothing.

"And will you get Mr. Bodine a pillow, please?" she said. She pointed toward the jumble of displaced furniture. "A sofa pillow, at least."

"That's up to Russell," Travis said. "I'll see." Looking uncomfortable, he turned, crossed the room toward the dining area, and began speaking to the crew-cut guy, Wayne.

"Thank you," Latimer said. "Even if they won't get my insulin, the water should help."

"Will you please not mention water?" said Barlow.

"I still haven't heard why Landry thinks this whole thing was planned," Slattery said.

"Who cares what he thinks?" said Bross. "He's not even supposed to be here."

"Let's hear him out," Cheryl said.

"They're wearing the wrong brand of hunting vest," Bross went on. "A big fashion 'don't' in your world, that it?"

I refused to let him get to me. "They came in here knowing exactly where to go and what to do. They weren't stumbling around. These guys know too much. They knew where everything was the second they arrived-the kitchen, the front door, the upstairs. They knew which exits to cover. As if they'd scoped the place out in advance. It just feels too well planned to be a coincidence-too well coordinated."

"Right," Bross said, heavy on the irony. "This whole thing was planned. Get real. They didn't crash in here demanding a hundred million bucks, did they? That was only after Russell discovered who we are. At first they only wanted our wallets, for Christ's sake."

"And our watches," I said. "Don't forget the watches, Kevin. Even the 'replicas.'"

Bross glared.

"I think they were trying to make it look like a random, unplanned break-in," I said. "Which, in itself, is interesting."

"Why?" said Cheryl.

"I don't know," I admitted. "But I'll figure it out."

"I think Jake may be right," Ali said. "Look at who comes here-mostly rich people and corporate groups. Who else can afford it? All these rich folks out here in total isolation. Sitting ducks. If you're a bad guy looking to make some quick money, you can't do better than this."

"Russell knows too much about Hammond," I said. "All that stuff about our cash reserves-I doubt he figured that out tonight, on the spot, by looking at a balance sheet. He already knew it ahead of time."

"It's all out there on the public record," said Barlow.

"Sure. But that means he did research on Hammond before coming here. Right?"

For a few seconds, everyone was silent.

Then Slattery said: "But how'd he know in advance that we'd be here?"

"You guys come here every year around the same time," I said. "It's no secret."

"Then they must have had a source," Latimer said. "One of the lodge staff, maybe."

"Or they've been here before," I said.

"Excuse me," Bross said. "I don't even know why anyone's listening to you. Did anyone ask you for your opinion? You're not even a member of the executive council, or have you forgotten that? You're a substitute. You're nothing more than a ringer."

Amazing: Here we were, held hostage at gunpoint, and all Kevin Bross wanted to do was one-up me. With Hank Bodine at least temporarily incapacitated, he probably considered himself the reigning Alpha Male. And I was a threat.

"I got news for you, Kevin," I said. "There's no more executive council. Not anymore. Not now. Your life is no more important than mine or anyone else's. Neither is your opinion. We're all just hostages now."

I heard a groan, then a familiar rumbling voice. "Well put, Landry," Hank Bodine said. "When the hell's that pillow getting here?"

Bodine's silver hair was mussed, clumps of it standing on end. His eyes had all but disappeared into the swollen mass of his cheeks. White strips of adhesive tape crisscrossed his face.

"There he is," Bross said. "How're you doing?"

"What do you think?" Bodine tried to sit up. "What's this, they tied me up, too? The hell they think I'm gonna do?"

Bodine's mere conscious presence had reordered the group like a magnet waved over iron filings. You could tell it rankled Cheryl. She needed to take charge. "The issue isn't who they are or how they got here," she said. "The issue is how we're going to deal with it. That's the only thing that counts at this point."

"Tell me something," Lummis said. "Do we even have the ability to do this-to make a funds transfer from here-if we wanted to?"

No one replied for a few seconds, then Ali said: "I'm sure he knows about the Internet connection in the manager's office."

"That's not what I mean. Can it be done from here? Can we really transfer a hundred million dollars out of the corporate treasury to some offshore account, just using the manager's laptop?"

More silence. Cheryl looked at Slattery: She didn't seem to know the answer either. I assumed that the only ones who really knew how the system worked were Slattery, Danziger, and Grogan-but Danziger and Grogan were on the other side of the fireplace, out of range.