The Forgotten

CHAPTER 91

Lampert was on his yacht contemplating the implosion of his business empire. The operation on the beach had been compromised. There were at least four of them in on it. Puller, the woman with him. The giant.

And Murdoch, who he knew now was not whom she appeared to be.

He’d had a mole in his midst and didn’t even realize it until it was too late.

His associate, Winthrop, had already paid the ultimate price for bringing a spy to them, unaware or not. His dismembered body was sinking into the depths of the Gulf as Lampert sat on his luxury ship.

Lampert didn’t know where Puller and the others were. He had hoped that the giant would have been dead by now, but he’d been tipped off.

Murdoch.

He didn’t know whether she was a member of a rival criminal enterprise or was with the police, but either scenario was equally problematic.

Ironically enough, the Paradise police didn’t concern him. He had aces in the hole there. But he was concerned about Stiven Rojas. The man had given Lampert an ultimatum. And that had been before this enormous screwup.

He had cleared the warehouse and sent the product back out to sea. The storm had interfered with his plan, but only to a limited extent. His intent was to keep the prisoners there until he had located a new landing spot and then he would take up his business once more.

It probably wouldn’t be in Florida. His people were right now looking at the logistics of funnel- ing product through Alabama.

The oil platforms were a godsend right now. Oil companies had a certain amount of time after shutting them down to do something with them. Many were cut off below the waterline and towed to other spots to create artificial reefs. This was the cheaper alternative in many cases. Other firms chose to simply dismantle them completely. Other firms, having run out of money or gone bankrupt, simply abandoned them.

There was safety in numbers, and the number of oil platforms no longer in use in the Gulf was in the thousands. And they were spread all over. There was no way the Coast Guard or anyone else could check on them all.

But he couldn’t keep the product there forever. He would nail down a new landing spot and then start the shipments once more.

His next problem was obvious. Murdoch and the others. How much did they know? What would they do with that information?

Should I leave the country now?

Why wait until I’m arrested or have subpoenas served?

But what could they have on him?

There was no trail back.

Even if any of his men talked they had no proof. And he didn’t think any of his men would talk. Lampert had friends everywhere, including in the judicial and prison systems. This had been made clear to all people coming to work for him. And if they weren’t sufficiently scared of him, they were of Stiven Rojas.

That bastard can get you anywhere. Even in witness protection.

Of course, that means he can get me.

Lampert picked up his phone and communicated with his chief of security. His words were terse. “No one in and no one out. Call me immediately if anyone approaches.”

He next called his yacht captain. “I want to be ready to leave in the next hour.”

“The seas are still rough,” the captain said, obviously surprised by the order.

They had moved the yacht out into open waters to let it ride out the storm on anchor. A tropical storm was not the same thing as a Cat Four. A Cat Four could pick up a yacht and throw it onto land.

The seas were rough, and once or twice Lampert thought he might be sick. But he would take

vomiting over someone blowing out his brains. If he did have to make a run for it he would have to leave his wife and son behind. That was okay. He could always get another wife. And his son was growing up to be a real prick. He could fend for himself, with his trust fund.

“Well, that’s why I pay you what I do. One hour.”

“Yes, sir.”

Lampert clicked off and looked around his cabin. The finest materials from around the world and fashioned by immensely talented craftsmen stared back at him.

He had the best of everything. It was his due. He worked very hard. The rank and file had no idea how much hard work it took to build a fortune. And it was even harder work to keep it.

Taxes were too high and regulations were choking off business, but still he persevered. And he employed people too. Created jobs where there had been none before. He had done the same thing on Wall Street. And been vilified for his efforts.

He shook his head. Business was really just picking up too. He had put enormous amounts into infrastructure, training, equipment, manpower. The risks he took were huge. And it was all paying off. His product pipeline was the envy of the world. He moved more product than anyone else by a factor of five. He had brought precision and a business mentality to a formerly dirty, chaotic enterprise.

And unlike oil or natural gas or other resources, the supply of product was infinite. Until the world ran out of poor people he could have his pick. And the world would never run out of impoverished folks if he had any say in the matter. There was only so much room at the top. And he was not relinquishing his space.

Lampert knew that he had always been meant for bigger and better things.

But he had to survive. This was where the risk was greatest. This was why he was making so much money. Because it could cost him everything.

Including his life.

He refocused on the tasks at hand.

Rojas did not know of the latest maneuvers.

The storm had forced his boat far out to sea. He doubted the man would chance coptering in when the skies and winds were still too unpredictable. All that gave Lampert something he desperately needed now.

Time.

Time to figure this out. Plan his next moves.

Survive.

The unknown factor, of course, was Puller and his cohorts.

They had followed the truck with the product. They obviously knew what was going on. There had been a gunfight on the beach. He had not heard from his men, so he knew that they had lost.

So what was Puller up to?

He had tried calling out to the platform, but the call had not gone through.

The storm again. The timing truly sucked.

And then, as if in answer to his prayers, his cell phone rang. He looked at the number and smiled.

He clicked on and said, “I was hoping to hear from you.”

Cheryl Landry said, “I’ve got a lot to fill you in on. Can we meet? Now?”