"Did you notice a clock in the game room?" I asked.
"No. But sunrise here is around five A.M. this time of year-I remember going over the schedule. So it's maybe four thirty. The other thing is that he has to wait for our bank in New York to open. Around nine, I'd guess-six o'clock here. So he has one hour to make everything happen."
"And we have about an hour and a half."
"You know what's strange about this whole thing?" she said at last.
"What?"
"Think about how well briefed Russell seems to be. How well prepared. How much he knows about the company."
"He has a source inside the company," I said. "Has to be."
"But do you think it's possible he's actually working for someone inside Hammond?"
I was silent for a moment. "That's what that guy Wayne said, only I didn't quite get what he meant. I asked him who hired them, and he said, 'You did.' Meaning Hammond, I'm guessing."
"Someone here?"
"Possibly."
"But for what?"
"Good old embezzlement, maybe."
"Not so easy these days," Ali said. "Not since Enron, anyway. Too many people looking at the books."
"So if you want to steal a load of money, you've got to get creative, right?"
"I suppose so. Not my area of expertise. But why do something like this-a kidnapping? Why hire Russell and his men to try to pull off something so big and messy and downright risky?"
I nodded. "Only one reason, I figure. If you're trying to make people think it's something it's not."
"I don't follow."
"That's the thing that's been bothering me about this kidnapping-how obvious it feels. How…I don't know, almost staged."
"Staged?"
"You ever hear of something called an autosecuestro?"
She shook her head.
"Happens in Latin America from time to time. It's a staged kidnapping. A self-kidnapping. People fake their own kidnapping, to raise money from insurance companies or employers. Even from their own family members."
"A hoax, then."
"Of a sort."
"But…what kind of massive greed would make someone do something so insane? All this bloodshed."
"Maybe the murders weren't supposed to happen. Maybe Russell's just out of control. And maybe it's not greed."
"Then what?"
"Maybe desperation."
"Huh?"
"Look at all the guys on our management team-they're not reckless types, right? Greedy, sure, some of them. No doubt. But they're not motivated by the big score."
"So what would drive them to do something like this?"
"Fear."
"But who?"
I shook my head.
"Maybe the question to ask is, who had the chance to meet with Russell privately?" she said.
"We all did, right? When he did his 'interviews.'"
"But when problems came up, when decisions had to be made-whoever hired Russell would have had to talk to him in private. So he'd need a way to do that without the rest of us noticing. An excuse."
"Anyone who asked to use the bathroom could have talked secretly with Russell, and we'd never have known it."
"And Upton Barlow asked a bunch of times," I said. "Because of his prostate problem. And Geoff Latimer, with his diabetes."
"Did you know he was diabetic?" she said.
"I never met the guy before today. Though I did see syringes in his suitcase."
"The weird thing is, when I was working in HR, I never saw any medical claims from Latimer that had anything to do with diabetes."
"Geoff Latimer? Get real. Of all the guys here, Latimer strikes me as the least likely to do something like this. And besides, who's more loyal to Cheryl?"
"And she's loyal right back. Like that crap that Bodine's threatening to bring before the board about how Slattery was pushing to strengthen computer security and she turned it down?"
I remembered Slattery saying he could wire as much money as he wanted to out of Hammond's treasury from a laptop at a Starbucks. "What about it?"
"You saw the way she took the fall for it."
"Took the fall? I thought it was her fault."
"That's Cheryl. 'The buck stops here' and all that. She was persuaded not to implement Slattery's plan-by one of her most trusted advisers."
"Geoff Latimer," I said, and stopped.
70
The night sky was still blue-black and clear and crowded with stars, but a pale glow shimmered at the horizon.
We raced around the back of the lodge, staying low to the ground. Ali took Verne's stubby little Smith & Wesson revolver because it was small and fit her hand, and she was frightened of semi-automatics. I kept the Ruger.
I stashed the SIG-Sauer to use as a backup, just in case we needed it.
Tucked away in the trees behind the lodge was the maintenance shed. It was a rustic old structure, weathered and shingled. The paint on its door was peeling. An ancient brass padlock on a rusted steel hasp secured the door. It was unlocked, though; it came right open, just as the manager had said it would.
Inside was the overpowering odor of oil paint and insecticide and gasoline.
The floor was old plywood. I closed the door behind her, clicked the flashlight on, and set it down on a bench. It illuminated a circle against the shelving on one wall, casting the cramped interior in a dim amber light.
I unclipped Buck's handie-talkie from my belt and switched it on, dialed up the volume. It was still on channel 5, the one Russell's men had been using.
But channel 5 was silent, transmitting only a thin static hiss.
"They could have switched channels, right?" Ali said.
"Or they're not using it. I want you to monitor this, okay? Listen for anything that might tell us what they're doing. And keep that gun in your hand."
"Where are you going?" She sounded alarmed.
"I want to see where Russell and his brother are."
"Why?"
I gave her a level glance. "If they're in the screened porch, I might be able to take them by surprise."
"Take them…?"
"Shoot them, Ali. Take them down. One or both."
"Jesus, Landry!"
"Will you be okay in here?"
"You're worried about me?"
"Can you fire the revolver if you have to?"
"I know how to use a gun."
"I know you do. I'm asking if you can bring yourself to do it."
She inhaled deeply. "If I have to," she said. "I think so."
The first surprise was the porch: No one was there. It was dark and empty.
The second surprise was the game room, where the wooden blinds had been drawn. They'd been open all night, though the windows had been shut. With the blinds down, I couldn't risk firing.
That meant they knew we were out here. They'd taken precautions.
Dropping to the ground, I waited about a minute, listening for any movement, waiting to see whether I noticed anyone looking out. When I was fairly certain I wasn't being watched, I got to my feet and ran back to the shed.
Standing outside the closed door, I said in a low voice, "It's me."
The door came open slowly. Ali stood there, revolver in her hand, looking like a natural. Her eyes were questioning, but she said nothing.
I went in, shut the door behind me. "They know," I said.
"They know what?"
"That I'm out here. Maybe that you are, too, by now."
"How can you be sure?"
I explained.
"So what does that mean?" Ali said. "What are we going to do?"
"We go to Plan B. I'm going to shut off the generator. Which will do two things."
"They can't wire the money without power," she said.
"Exactly. And unless I splice the cable back together. Which means they're going to have to cooperate if they want the funds. It'll also disorient them. And in the confusion, I'm going to try to get back inside without being noticed."
"Inside? For what?"
"To get the others out. Meanwhile, I want you to stay here and see if you can find a heavyweight bolt cutter."