The Hunters

12

The limo slowed and turned off the scenic highway, leaving the paved road for a dirt path that had been cut through the overgrown marshes. McNutt saw WARNING and NO TRESPASSING signs as they drove toward a twenty-foot-tall gate in the middle of the jungle. It reminded him of the entrance to Jurassic Park.

‘Hey, Papi!’ McNutt said as he put his nose against the window. ‘Please tell me you have dinosaurs. I want to play with some.’

In this part of the country, ‘Papi’ (which sounds like pa-pee) is a slang term that literally means ‘father’, but can also mean ‘boyfriend’, ‘big daddy’, or many other things. McNutt intended no disrespect by using it. He liked it simply because it was easier for him to say than his other options.

Papineau shook his head in frustration. ‘Joshua, in the future, please address me as Mr Papineau or Jean-Marc. Not Papi. Never Papi.’

‘Sorry,’ McNutt mumbled, ‘I prefer Papi.’

Cobb tried not to smile. He prayed that McNutt’s childishness was just an act. Otherwise, there was a decent chance that he was mentally challenged. Nevertheless, he did his best to protect McNutt by quickly changing the subject. ‘Despite the size of your fence, I’m assuming you have other security measures in place. Or do you actually use raptors?’

Papineau shook his head. ‘There is electrified mesh netting comprised of twenty-eight AWG, heavy poly nylon one-five-five magnet wire behind the fence, reaching to the base of the marsh. It encircles the entire six-acre property within the reeds.’

Then he added, ‘It cannot be cut.’

‘There is nothing that cannot be cut,’ Sarah said.

‘That may be true — if you’re willing to accept several fatalities en route to that goal.’

‘So, is the high voltage to keep people in or out?’ Sarah asked.

‘Objects in, people out,’ he answered vaguely.

The chauffeur touched the right-side frame of his sunglasses. Then he pressed an eight-button combination on another remote control. The gate swung in slowly.

‘The combination changes every hour,’ Papineau bragged. ‘It is beamed from security central to a heads-up display in his eyewear. Very high-tech.’

A cobblestone road greeted them on the other side of the fence. The car continued along an extended, stretched-out ‘S’ curve until the flat top of a single-story ranch house could be seen. It was surrounded, as far as they could see, by an artificial inlet.

‘Damn,’ McNutt said. ‘Not what I was expecting.’

Cobb saw his point. The unassuming structure was made of concrete block stucco with a tile roof. He guessed it to be about four thousand square feet. On the surface, it appeared no different from the other homes they’d passed on the highway — which was the point. There was a practical side, too. A low house would be better equipped to handle the ubiquitous Florida storms — and easier to armor, since impact-resistance diminished exponentially the higher from base a wall reached. If the grounds were electrified and the windows were bulletproof, he had a hunch the walls would be designed to withstand a rocket-propelled grenade, at the very least.

Cobb noticed a wellhead in a patch of land; that meant the place maintained its own water supply. He also saw an Echelon-class Signals Intelligence (or SIGINT) satellite dish. Except for a slight size differential — it was about twenty percent larger than a standard home dish — no one would know it was the same kind used by the military for highly secure SIGINT transmissions.

As they rounded the driveway in front of the house, Cobb saw that they not only had a moat but also their own canal and marina.

The chauffeur parked outside a four-car garage, then hustled around the limo and opened the door. Papineau, their host, took the lead in exiting the vehicle. He helped Sarah from the car, then turned his back on Cobb and McNutt. Cobb was impressed by his actions. The first was a show of chivalry; the second was a show of trust.

So was bringing them to his home.

‘Welcome to La Tresorerie, my friends,’ Papineau said as he opened the heavy, crystal-inlaid, carved wood door. The latch had popped open an instant before he grasped the handle thanks to facial recognition software in the surveillance camera.

It had happened so smoothly only Cobb had noticed.

‘How much French do you know?’ McNutt whispered to Sarah.

‘It means “Treasure-House”,’ she said.

‘Oh,’ McNutt grunted — as his eyes drifted obliviously past a Van Gogh hanging just inside the doorway while searching for dinosaurs lurking within.

The small foyer door opened onto a magnificent living room of columns, elaborate chandeliers in recessed sections of high ceilings, semi-spiral staircases, hardwood and marble floors partially covered by obviously exotic rugs, built-in bookcases, and heavy, inviting furniture. It was too much for any of them to take in with a single glance.

‘Feel free to explore,’ Papineau said.

Cobb glanced at Sarah. ‘But only to explore.’

‘I’m an acquisitions expert, not a thief,’ she protested.

‘Interesting distinction,’ McNutt said.

She wandered off, ignoring him.

The three newcomers each studied a different section of what Cobb now realized was actually three separate rooms: a living room, library, and parlor. That accounted for about three-quarters of the square footage. Except for a rectangular section housing a fireplace, the first floor of the home was mostly living space.

Sarah looked around the fireplace at an impressive dining area, but that’s as far as she got. Her attention was drawn to a huge picture window that doubled as one full wall of the dining area. She gasped involuntarily at the sight of a magnificent terrace interspersed with interlocking swimming pools, sculptures, and palm trees.

The men joined her there. Their eyes were immediately drawn to the luxurious lounge chairs facing the pool. Cobb zeroed in on the one with the young man. He quickly deduced who he was. Meanwhile, McNutt studied the one with the young woman. She was wearing a one-piece, blue, clip-back bathing suit with white piping.

‘Now this is a balcony to do Shakespeare from,’ Sarah remarked.

McNutt grinned. ‘I couldn’t agree more — if her name is Shakespeare.’

Papineau swept by them and slid open a large section of the glass wall. It led directly to the deck. ‘After you.’

The trio wandered out, dwarfed by the blue sky and the overpowering sight and sound of the ocean. Alerted by the whoosh of the door, the occupants of the terrace rose. The young man was the shorter of the two — probably five-six, with spiky, dark brown hair and medium brown skin. He wore sandals, cargo shorts, and a T-shirt that had a Wi-Fi symbol. Fifteen or twenty years ago Cobb might have labeled him a nerd, but he was the sleeker, more recent model, with a trim waist and well-exercised arms.

Still wet from a recent swim, the young woman was spectacular. By the sleek shade of her black hair and the deep brown of her almond-shaped eyes, Cobb knew she was Eastern. However, her height — she was at least five-foot-seven — and her generous curves made him think that part of her genetic make-up was Western.

‘My friends,’ Papineau announced as he turned to the loungers, ‘I’d like to formally introduce Hector Garcia — who helped you in New York — and Jasmine Park.’ He glanced back at the trio. ‘This is Sarah Ellis, Josh McNutt, and Jack Cobb.’

The six of them said hello for a few seconds. Then they just stood there, looking from one to the next. Eventually, everyone was staring expectantly at Papineau.

He smiled warmly. ‘Would anyone care for refreshments?’