Jackson Greely took a sip of the amber liquid from the heavy crystal tumbler and savored it in his mouth for a brief moment before swallowing. The warmth spread immediately, from his stomach to his head. This was some of the best scotch he had tasted in a long time. He stared at the exquisite crystal decanter sitting on the silver tray. His gaze shifted to the sparkling lake beyond the infinity pool next to their table. They sat in all weather, European country-style chairs arranged around a low teak surfaced table. Greely wasn't accustomed to this kind of luxury, but he could certainly get used to it. Lee Harding looked equally at ease in these surroundings. Brown had looked unsettled all afternoon, which prevented Greely from fully relaxing.
"This is superior scotch, Owen. Very nice," he said.
"A family favorite. Glengoyne Seventeen Year. Simply one of the finest scotches in production. Of course, I'm a bit partial to the distillery."
"I thought your family was Irish?" Harding said.
"We are, but my great-grandfather traveled to Glasgow several times a year on business and discovered their distillery just north of the city. He fell in love with their scotch and struck up a deal with the Lang Brothers to import it into Ireland, but this eventually ran afoul thanks to rising troubles in Northern Ireland, though he did make a tidy sum of money in those few years and maintained a good relationship with the Langs. When he brought our family over to America, he settled in the Syracuse area. He spent most of his fortune struggling to establish an import business for his beloved Scottish whiskey, a business better suited for the east coast. He'd made some small investments in Canada, which paid off big time when prohibition hit. The whiskey market in Canada soared overnight, as you can imagine. Crystal Source water sprang to life a few years later, no pun intended."
"That's an incredible American success story," Greely said.
No wonder the family was wealthy. Like the Kennedys' vast empire, the Mills dynasty had its roots in bootlegging. Greely's great-grandfather had worked in the Ohio mills, earning an honest living while trying to keep his family alive. There was a stark contrast between Mills' version of the American dream and Greely's.
"Indeed it is. But it pales in comparison to the legacy we will leave the American people. Gentlemen, by my watch, the last shipment has departed. Here's to America's New Recovery," Mills said, raising his glass.
They all toasted to the New Recovery and downed the remainder of their drinks. Jackson turned to Mills.
"Still haven't heard from Anne Renee?"
"Not yet. She should be on her way. We get shitty reception all along the lake," Mills said.
"Have you tried to call her?"
"She usually checks in once an hour, or whenever a shipment leaves. The last shipment left at 1:20. She called a few minutes before that. We're fine," he said.
Greely gave Harding a skeptical glance, before turning to Brown, who hadn't said a word.
"You look nervous," Greely said.
Brown put his glass down on the table. "Anne Renee is sharp. If Brooks mentions anything about executing Carnes and the rest of the lab people, she'll make a run for it. It was a bad idea to mix those two together at this point."
"Brooks won't say a word. He's been on the inside from the beginning. Part of the club," Mills said.
"You could say the same thing about Carnes," Brown said wryly.
The black handheld radio sitting in front of Mills chirped, followed by a transmission. "Mr. Mills, this is the front gate. Ms. Paulson has arrived with Mr. Brooks."
Mills grabbed the radio. "Excellent. Let her through. Make sure they are shown to the pool terrace."
"Understood," the guard responded.
"See? Nothing to worry about. How about another round of drinks? I'm bringing out the cheap stuff after this." Mills chuckled.
"I'll make sure Anne Renee and Michael find their way down to the pool," Brown said.
This statement struck Greely as odd. For some reason, he didn't like the idea of Brown alone with Paulson and Brooks. Something about Brown definitely fueled his paranoia.
"Security can take care of that," Mills said, pouring generous amounts of scotch into each glass.
"I want to get a read on these two before we invite them to share drinks. I'd rather not get shot in the face," Brown said.
"If you're so worried, just take care of them now," Mills said.
"In front of the other operatives? That's a guaranteed death sentence. We stick to the plan, unless I sense a real problem. Don't worry. Brooks has a shitty poker face. If they're planning something, I'll know it right away," Brown said.
"Fuck. Now you have me paranoid," Mills said.
"We have plenty of security around here. We're safe," Greely said.
He gestured to the three casually dressed guards standing between the pool and the beach less than a hundred feet away. Unlike the patrols, these sentries were dressed in casual business attire and didn't wear body armor. Short-barreled AR-15 rifles were slung around their backs as they surveyed the lake.
"I'm still checking them out," Brown said.
"Suit yourself," Mills added.
Brown stood up and walked up the stairs to the deck, navigating his way to the screen doors beneath a massive two-story wall of wide glass windows framed by stone.
"I wish your wife didn't have a problem with firearms," Greely said. "I feel a little exposed sitting here unarmed."
"Are you worried about Brown? His loyalty to the cause is second to none. Trust me on that. He's just being cautious. Nothing wrong with that," Harding said.
"I suppose not, which is why I'd feel better with my Colt," Greely said.
"Sue Ellen will not allow them in the house, which is why I own several houses," Mills said, laughing at his own joke.
"I can't imagine she feels too comfortable about all of this firepower on the estate," Harding said.
"I convinced her that kidnapping threats have been made against the family because of the water crisis. She loves those kids more than life itself. As long as the weapons stay outside of the main house, I could land a battalion of marines on that beach."
Brown strode across the slate floor of the Vista Room and headed right for the Grand Entry. All of the rooms in this house had a fucking name, and he'd already forgotten most of them. Mills had subjected them to a tour of the estate, once they had all arrived earlier today. Prior to this morning, none of them had been invited to Mills' exclusive Lake Wallenpaupack estate. They'd always met in his "lesser" homes or at retreat locations throughout the region.
Wallenpaupack. Brown promised himself that if he ever had enough money to buy a lake house, it wouldn't be on a lake with such a stupid name. He felt like a douchebag even hearing someone else say it.
He hoped to hell that he didn't run into Mills' trophy bride. More like old trophy, though you couldn't tell by the amount of work she'd had done on her face, which is why he hoped to avoid her. She was teetering on the edge of looking like one of those cartoonish Hollywood freaks that got a little bit carried away with collagen injections and skin tightening. She wasn't there yet, but give her a couple more years and she'd be forced to take drastic action to continue looking thirty years old. According to Mills, the two of them had been high school sweethearts. Mills had recently celebrated his fiftieth birthday, which put Sue Ellen in her late forties. Once she hit fifty, the gains achieved through simple plastic surgery and Botox would start to diminish, forcing her to either accept the aging process or continue the madness and risk looking like Donatella Versace.