32
SCOTT DIRKSE SMILED at one of the secretaries as he made his way into the hotel’s inner suite of offices. “Namaste. What’s in here?”
The secretary smiled back at him. “Namaste. Oh, it’s just a bunch of stuffy cubicles and a couple of offices. I’m sure you would find it very boring indeed.”
He pointed to the end corridor. “Where does that go to?”
“Oh, that leads towards the main garage,” the lone secretary said. “We maintain a fleet of electric carts and they get serviced there. Go ahead and take a look. Perhaps one of the staff there might allow you to ride in them.”
“Thanks,” Scott said as he turned and made his way into the adjoining corridor. The hotel staff had pretty much gotten used to him wandering through the private areas of the resort, and they were more than happy to show him how things worked.
Halfway down the passageway, he came across a slightly opened doorway. The sign outside said Chief of Security. His curiosity getting the better of him, Scott peeked in to see if anyone was inside. No one.
Hunching his shoulders, Scott pretended he was a spy as he tiptoed into the office. Mr. Erskine wasn’t a likable man, and he’d overheard the other staff talking about a secluded private area on the island that very few had access to. Maybe they have some sort of super secret villain hideout over there and the bad guys kidnapped my sister.
The security chief’s smartphone lay on top of the desk. Scott tried to access it, but the device was locked. Aw shucks, I can’t open it. Putting the phone back onto the desk, he began fiddling with a nearby fountain pen for a few seconds, hoping it held a secret weapon before placing it back at the exact same spot.
Moving behind the desk, he sat down on the Italian leather chair and stared at the desktop computer sitting on the countertop. Tapping a few buttons on the keyboard, his eyes opened wide when the flat-screen monitor came online. The username had been automatically added in and all it needed now was the password.
Scott rubbed his chin as he remembered what his dad had told him about passcodes.
Listen, Scotty, Nick had said. Most people aren’t focused on computer security, and they usually just put in simple passwords like their names, or their kids’ names, or birthdays, or even “123” and sometimes just “password.”
Scott’s finger hovered over the mouse button after he typed in “password” for the blank entry field. He can’t be this dumb, right?
The boy was stunned as he clicked the button and he was instantly granted access to Erskine’s computer. Wow, it worked!
Scott began clicking on each and every file he found. The contents were mostly spreadsheets full of numbers he couldn’t understand. There were also personal pictures of Mr. Erskine and a number of sleazy, half naked women that got racier with each succeeding photograph, and Scott quickly backed out of that particular folder.
His curiosity intensified when he found a folder marked “private” and he quickly opened it. The file contained a number of memos telling Erskine to make sure that none of the staff would divulge whatever they saw or heard if they were ever allowed into the Morgenstern private estate. A set of scanned documents contained names and pictures of top genetic researchers, and it looked like they were staying over there.
Taking out his father’s smartphone from his shorts pocket, Scott opened the camera app and began taking snapshots of all the stuff he figured was important. One particular letter stated that any resort staff member who made an unauthorized visit to the private estate and grounds would not only be fired, but would be subjected to legal proceedings. They’re definitely hiding something there. I need to show this to Dad.
Scott was too busy to notice someone walking into the nearby corridor. By the time he realized there was somebody just outside of the doorway, the boy only had enough time to log out and crouch down under the desk as someone walked into the office.
Placing his dad’s phone back into his pocket, Scott could only huddle around his bent knees and hold his breath. He could sense the other person in the room was standing just beyond the front of the desk, and he would be found the moment the other occupant rounded the table.
He heard the phone on the desk being picked up and accessed.
The voice undoubtedly belonged to Taylor Erskine. “Hey there, it’s me. How are things?”
Scott could hardly breathe as he tried his best not to move. The trashcan beside him was scraping the side of his leg.
“Yeah,” Erskine said as he continued to talk to an unknown caller at the other end. “I got this problem. My crazy employer wants me to bomb a house built on one side of an artificial island. Can it be done? From the air I mean.”
Scott’s fear of getting caught quickly turned into quizzical curiosity. Is this guy crazy?
“Really? So do you know anyone out here in India who could outfit a plane to do it? Oh yeah? Great.”
Scott kept on listening. Why does he want to bomb his boss’s house?
Erskine’s voice had a hint of desperation to it. “No, I can’t tell you why. I don’t even know the reason myself. All I know is there’s a bunch of scientists in it doing some serious science. Maybe they developed some sort of new drug that makes people go crazy or something, and my employer wants all the evidence gone.”
Scott’s mouth hung open. Huh? It’s a drug den or something?
“Yeah, yeah,” Erskine said. “Just some employees who won’t be missed and maybe a stupid guest from the resort who wandered in there last night and didn’t come out. Those scientists were never documented as being there anyway so we’re covered as far as they go. Mr. Morgenstern is swimming with cash so he can handle any liabilities.”
The boy blinked in astonishment. Did he just say a missing guest? Is he talking about Kim?
“Okay, just get back to me ASAP, you hear? Fine, bye for now,” Erskine said.
The boy was in a daze as he heard Erskine swear out loud after turning off his phone.
More footsteps. There was a knock on the door, and Scott could tell the other speaker was the general manager. “Taylor, the administrator from Lakshadweep wants to speak to you again.”
Erskine’s voice switched from frustration to annoyance. “What does he want now?”
“I’m not sure,” Rakesh Budrani said. “But I think he heard about the family whose daughter is missing.”
“What? Who told him?”
“I don’t know.”
“It was surely one of your people, Rakesh,” Erskine said. “You’re making my job that much harder.”
“Do not make any accusations until you have proof, Taylor.”
“Fine, you come with me then!” Erskine’s voice went loud before trailing away with the sounds of muffled footsteps on the corridor’s carpeted floor. The office soon turned quiet again.
Scott slowly pulled himself up and stared out into the open doorway beyond. I really need to tell Dad about this.
33
THE FISHING BOAT HAD a long narrow hull, with the wheelhouse near the aft section of the vessel. Old car tires had been lashed along her sides, to serve as bumpers in case the ship needed to dock with another boat or when mooring. Her wooden frame had once been painted with shades of bright green and red stripes, with much of the old hues having already been bleached out by the sun over her many years at sea. Newer sections of wood paneling along the hull had been nailed in to fix the occasional leak, and the different colors made her look like a patchwork quilt.