Enemy In the Room (20 page)

Taylor Martin started the SUV, and they
headed east out of town. Two blocks off the highway the houses
began to thin out, and soon they were on a wooded country road,
heading toward the nearby mountains. They talked about rising land
values in the surrounding area and the success of high quality
mountain developments.

I’ve got to figure out how to get a piece of
this, if it looks good. A great excuse to spend Fridays and maybe
even Mondays up here…

As they started to climb, Porter said, “I
thought you said the town is putting a sewer near the property.
Aren’t we getting pretty far out?”

Martin responded from the front seat, “The
county’s doing it. They’re putting in a plant where Sand Creek
meets the river, and the line will follow the creek down to it. Our
land’s right on the creek.”

“Oh. OK. Stan, can I see the plat?”

The man in the passenger’s seat turned,
handed him a paper, and said, “Sure.”

Porter unfolded it and saw what appeared to
be a three-hundred-acre parcel, split by Sand Creek; but it also
appeared to be in the national forest.

“It looks good, particularly if it will have
sewer. But is this your land or national forest?”

Martin replied. “Oh, sorry. The boundary on
that map is drawn wrong. Our family has owned that piece for years.
No sweat. We’ll show you all the deeds and records at lunch. The
government just goofed when they drew the darned thing.”

“Oh.”
The topo looks pretty good for
single family development, and we might be able to get a small lake
out of that bowl-shaped area near the southeast corner. Could be
really interesting. But a sewer way out here?

They drove upward for five more minutes,
seeing no other cars on this weekday. They passed a sign announcing
the national forest wilderness area. As if he were reading his
guest’s thoughts, Martin said, “We pass through this piece of the
forest and then hit our land.”

Martin slowed and turned left up a hill on
what was little more than an unmarked logging road through thick
woods, recently green again with the coming of spring. In a few
moments they were deep into the forest. “We’re almost there,”
Martin announced.

But they drove on and on, fording two
shallow streams, bouncing with the rough road.

“Are you sure this is going to come out near
Sand Creek?” Porter finally asked. “I thought it was farther to the
north.”

“Not the tributary we’re on. It’s up here on
our property. Just a few minutes more.”

They turned again up an even less traveled
trail, with tall grass growing between the wheel ruts.
Where are
we going
? Porter wondered. As if in answer, Martin turned the
vehicle into a small clearing, not much larger than the area needed
to turn around, and stopped, shutting off the engine. He then
opened his door and smiled. “Here we are. Let’s get out!”

Once they were out and had stretched, Martin
said, “We’ll spread the plat out on the hood, and I’ll get you
oriented.”

Porter looked around. The dense forest was
impressive. You could not see far through it.
People will love
this. But we’re going to have to improve the access road
.

They gathered around the hood. Martin spread
the plat out, and the men leaned over. Stan and Tom were on either
side of Porter. Martin pointed and said, “OK, now this is where we
are.”

As Porter followed Martin’s finger, the
other two men grabbed him. “Hey! What are you doing?” Before he
could react, each wrist was in a cuff, and the cuffs attached by
chain to a metal belt Martin pulled around Porter’s waist.

As Porter turned, Martin grabbed him roughly
around the neck from the back, bending his head down to the SUV’s
hood, and the other two quickly cuffed his ankles and ran chains up
to the belt. Then they felt his pockets, took his cell phone and
keys, and backed off a few paces.

Bending over his captured guest, Martin
continued his hammerlock and whispered into Porter’s right ear,
“Enjoying your trip to the mountains, Mr. Porter?”

The real estate agent couldn’t speak. He
shuddered.

Slowly Martin rose, bringing Porter with
him. He released his grip and turned Porter around toward him.
Martin said to Stan, “Get the shovel and pick.” The cousin nodded
and moved to the rear of the SUV. To Porter he said, “We don’t
actually own any land. At least not around here. You’re pretty
good. You almost figured out that something was dead wrong. And I
guess in a little while you’ll be right!” The three of them
laughed.

Porter felt a chill, and pain from the
cuffs, which were cinched too tightly around his wrists. “What…what
do you mean?”

“We mean, Mr. Porter,” Martin spoke calmly,
“that we got you up here for your last property visit. In a little
while we’re going to kill you.”

It was the matter-of-fact tone of Martin’s
voice.
Kill me!
?!

“What?”

Stan returned with the tools, and Martin
locked the SUV. “How hard is that to understand? I said we’re going
to kill you. And the reason is because we’re being paid well to do
it. Come on, let’s go.” He pointed past the hood of the vehicle
into the woods and turned Porter in that direction. Tom led the
way.

Stan pushed, and Porter started to walk but
could not take a full step. He followed slowly, looking down at the
ground and balancing with his hands out in front.

“Why? What did I do?”

Martin, following behind and watching his
captive closely, said, “We don’t know. None of our business. We
just get paid to do a job, and we do it.”

Again he shuddered as they moved in single
file under the trees, not on any path.
That’s it
! He raised
his voice. “The building. Capital Tower. That stupid building!
You’re threatening to murder me over that stupid building! Is that
it?”

“We’re not threatening to murder you. We’re
going
to murder you.”

“Look—I’ll—I’ll do whatever you want. You
can have the building. Give me my cell phone. I’ll call right now
and cancel the contract. You can have it!”

“Sorry. We don’t want it. In fact, we don’t
know what you’re talking about. Well, here we are.”

They had reached a small area that was
almost flat with plenty of tree cover. Martin came around to face
Porter. “Now here’s the deal.” From inside his coat Martin pulled
out an automatic pistol fitted with a silencer. “We’ve got these
tools here. Either you can dig your own grave, which means you’ll
live a little longer. You can think, pray, whatever—while you dig.
Or you can not dig, in which case I’ll shoot you now, and we’ll
have to dig. Which will it be?”

I can’t believe this! It’s got to be a
bluff. They won’t really do it. They’re just pushing me to see what
I’ll do because they want the building. When I get back I’ll get
these people.

“I told you. You can have Capital Tower.
People don’t kill over buildings, for God’s sake! Do you have a
paper you want me to sign?”

“And I told
you
. We don’t know
nothin’ about any building—or anything else. I’ve given you a
choice. Dig and live a little longer, or don’t dig and die now.” He
raised the automatic. “Which will it be?”

“I—I guess I’ll dig.”

Martin smiled. “Good. Stan, unlock his hands
from the cuff. Just remember that I’ve got my gun on you. Here, Mr.
Porter, dig over on this side, about where you’re standing. We did
somebody else about a year ago over there.”

Bill Porter looked down and was horrified to
see that in fact the earth where Martin was pointing had been
disturbed, although it was now covered with pine straw and would
never be noticed unless someone pointed it out.

“Thing about this place is, no one will
ever
find you! You’ll be missing for days. Then weeks.
Years. Just gone. Picked a good place, didn’t we?”

Porter felt his stomach turn, and his knees
became weak.

“Hey, Mr. Martin…seriously. What do you
want? I’ve got a wife and three kids under ten years old. Please.
I’ll double whatever you’re being paid. Triple it. I’ll give them
the building. Just please don’t kill me.”

“Hey, I understand. And I’m sorry. This is
just business. If we renege on this deal, we’ll all be dead. So, we
just have to go through with it. Now I suggest you start with the
pickax. Don’t dig too slow. And I’ve got a round in the chamber, so
don’t try anything funny.” Martin backed away and tossed the pickax
at Porter’s feet.

He bent down and picked it up.
This can’t
be real
. His mind was running in overdrive, but his motions
were in a dream, like he was watching someone else. The pickax came
up and made a first cut into the soft dirt. The other men watched.
He moved the dirt to the side, and as if on its own, the ax took
another swing.

What will Linda do? And the kids? Never
see them again! This is insane. I have so much I want to do! All
those projects
.
As he swung the ax again,
his view of it was suddenly clouded by tears. They ran down his
cheeks and onto his hands.

In the silence of the digging, Porter heard
birds and other sounds in the forest.
Should I pray? I haven’t
prayed in years. God…please, help me! Please get me out of this. I
promise that if I get through this, I’ll give them back the
building—no argument. I’ll just give it to them…and …and I’ll give
ten percent of everything I own to the church…no, twenty percent.
Please, God!

Porter continued to dig—not too quickly—with
both the ax and the shovel.

“Needs to be a little longer, I think,”
Martin said at one point, when the trench was about two feet deep.
Don’t want you to be crowded!” The three men chuckled again. Porter
shivered uncontrollably, then began to chip away at the end to make
it longer.

Should I pray for forgiveness? To ‘accept
Jesus’ like they say on TV? I don’t know. What does that mean? God,
I’m sorry I’ve done some things that weren’t maybe too good. Please
forgive me. But please just get me out of this, and I won’t do
anything wrong again.

He continued to watch the ax swing…on and
on…

He had no idea when they’d say it was
enough. He slowed down his pace. His lungs tightened, and he had
difficulty breathing. From in the trench, he looked up at Martin.
“Please. Look. One more time. People don’t kill each other over
business deals. OK? I admit that I didn’t do exactly right. If
you’re wearing a wire and you want to get that on tape. OK. I admit
it. I’m sorry. I’ll give the building back. Let’s just stop this
charade, and I’ll pay you five times whatever they’re paying you.
Five times! In cash, this afternoon.”

“Just keep digging, Mr. Porter,” Martin
said, and took a few steps closer to look at the work.

Porter bent down to plant the shovel. Unseen
by him, Martin raised the pistol toward his head.
People just
don’t kill people over busin—

The spit of the silenced automatic disturbed
the birds in the trees overhead, but for only an instant.

Earlier that day David and Andrei had
finished intense negotiations in which they secured the Polyanka
building for USNet’s expansion in Moscow. At an attorney’s office
the two principals signed a simple but thorough dual language
letter of intent.

David, Andrei and Andrei’s wife had just
enjoyed a celebratory dinner.

“Thanks again for a great night, and for a
great job,” David said, as he opened the door to Andrei’s car after
their dinner.

“Well, thank you, David, but we still have a
long way to go to finish the space, starting with the lease.”

“I know. But I’m sure if they even halfway
stick to their word, we can work it out.” Turning to Andrei’s wife
in the back seat, he said, “Thanks to you both. I’ll check with you
next week, Andrei, once we see their proposed lease.” He got out
and opened the back door, then helped Andrei’s wife to the front
seat.

The two men shook hands through the window.
“OK. Have a good flight.”

David turned and walked into his hotel,
looking at his watch and realizing that he only had a few hours to
sleep before the early taxi ride to the airport. In his room he
checked his email, downloading Kristen’s final Singapore report,
several complex questions from Paul Burke about two of the
California properties he had visited, and requests from Todd, Chris
and Cheryl for his input on their current projects, all of which he
planned to read on the plane. He packed the last items except what
he would wear on the flight. He sat on the edge of the bed and
called Elizabeth. She confirmed that on Tuesday Rob had only spent
a little more than an hour online after school, at least as far as
she could tell, and David gave her his flight arrival time for
Thursday afternoon.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow about supper
time,” he concluded.

“OK. I love you, David. Have a safe
trip.”

“I love you, too.”

David hung up and decided that he might
sleep better if he took a shower. But an hour later he lay in bed
in the dark, wide awake. He was already focusing on what had to be
done back in the office, after thinking only about Moscow for the
last six days.

He glanced over at the illuminated clock on
the bedside table: 2:05. He decided to check his email. Five
minutes later he saw, among others, a familiar name on his laptop
and clicked to open it.

Wednesday 16:47

To: David Sawyer

From: TonyB

Subj: Amateur Mid-East Bombshell Does It
All—AGAIN

David,

If this is your daughter, she’s something
else. Must make your Iranian blood boil!

Or maybe because she’s on a USNet site, it
makes you proud.

Your friend,

Tony

The link was at the bottom of the email. He
hesitated, circling his cursor around the icon, then clicked. A
moment later he was whisked to a movie site and into the bedroom of
…his daughter. And there was Alex. He watched for a few moments,
fast forwarded, watched again, and then closed it. He stared at his
home page for quite a while, not moving.
What is she
doing
?