CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Lachlan’s room is on the ground floor, very small and plain.
Ironically, it’s safer than Jules’ room.
He slips away to find somewhere discreet to test the satellite phone.
Unsurprisingly, large sections of the island are dead zones.
When he finally locates a workable signal along the northeastern stretch of beach, he commits the spot to memory before performing a full circuit of the mansion exterior.
Compared to the Estate, it’s drastically smaller, but the Estate is full of places to take refuge in, much easier to lock down. Large sections of this mansion are walled entirely in glass, fully exposed to the outside.
He cannot fathom the naivety of the super-rich.
Yes, it’s tempered glass, but high velocity rifle rounds and projectiles would decimate all this pretty, prismatic perfection in minutes.
The aesthetically pleasing foliage is a nightmare too and with no spotlights aimed outward, it provides perfect cover for surrounding forces.
Their trust in the no-fly zone and monitored waters seems absolute.
Lachlan doesn’t share it.
The atmosphere is lax to an almost absurd degree, and Lachlan knows he stands out compared to the other security personnel lounging near the pool.
Jules is sunbathing.
Savannah and Roman are in the pool.
Mikhail Sorrenko is asleep on a sun lounger.
Alistair and Ariadne are nowhere to be seen.
The others are inside making drinks, laughing loudly now and then. Music plays. The occasional lizard darts around. Lachlan picks a decent spot in the shade with minimal glare from the pool and there, he settles in.
After an hour or so, Jules comes over with two drinks in hand.
One is a pretty cocktail with fruit in it.
One is a cold bottle of water.
‘Dealer’s choice.’
Lachlan takes the water. ‘Thank you.’
Jules joins him in the shade.
‘God, it’s so beautiful here.’
‘Mm.’
‘You don’t like it, do you?’
‘No.’
‘Worried about sharks in the pool?’ Jules teases.
‘Not at this precise moment in time. Are you wearing sunblock?’
‘Of course.’
‘Did you reapply?’
‘Bodyguard.’
‘I’m guarding your body from the sun.’
‘Are you upset about last night?’ he asks, much quieter. ‘Is it some kind of transference?’
Lachlan looks at him through his shades.
‘It’s not transference,’ he says, matching volume, is an excellent judge of who can hear what. ‘I’m not upset about last night. This place is just a logistical nightmare for security. Imagine telling Vasily to make thirty cakes, then giving him a paper cup and a bag of flour.’
‘Silly’d make it work. He’s fucking brilliant.’
‘Julian.’
‘Full name, wow. You’re mad mad.’
‘I’m not mad, I’m just focusing.’
‘Like you were focusing on Brayden?’
Lachlan looks away. ‘Who?’
‘Careful, Bodyguard. That was almost a lie.’
‘He’s still alive, isn’t he? I know you check.’
‘I do.’ Jules has shades on of his own but his are the expensive kind and Lachlan’s are sturdy, polarised and practical. ‘It still means a lot to me that you didn’t kill him.’
‘Who says romance is dead?’
‘It’s just four days. Not even that. Today, two full days and then we leave. Plus, you’ll be able to see any bad guys coming, right? It’s clear all around. Panoramic view.’
‘That’s not how it works.’
‘No?’
‘I won’t bore you with the details. Go have fun.’
‘I won’t be bored.’ Jules sips his drink, leaning against the cool, white wall in the safety of shade. Lachlan meanly thinks that shade is all this showy monstrosity has to offer. ‘Tell me.’
‘Tell you what?’
‘Why you’re so worried.’
‘First off, the island terrain is a huge problem,’ Lachlan explains.
‘It looks great, unobstructed ocean views, very pretty, but clear views work both ways. Too many lines of sight to count. Flat terrain also means no warning, no crest point, no standoff distance. The foliage and trees are too close to the grounds.’
‘Plus no fences?’
‘Obviously, but that’s not an uncommon design choice. Fences and walls are ugly. You can ensure security without them by using the terrain to your advantage, by training the foliage, strimming things way back, using lights.’
‘Like the Estate?’
‘Exactly. We have ground lights, among a dozen other clever inventions but you can’t always rely on tech, so positioning matters. The Estate sits on a high point. This place,’ he says, lighthousing around, ‘is very poorly positioned.’
‘OK, I see that,’ Jules agrees. ‘What about the house?’
Lachlan loves that he calls this glittering mansion a house, he’s so spoiled.
‘An actual house would be safer,’ he says.
‘The glass, the balconies, the open plan interior, the summer houses, the staff buildings and the lack of lockable doors mean that a ground invasion would have zero issue getting inside and finding whoever they wanted within minutes. It can’t be locked down.
All safety here relies on rules. No flying above, no sailing too close.
They slapped a No Entry sign on the beach and called it a day. ’
‘That’s a little reductive.’
‘Is it?’
‘Savannah told me they have panic rooms.’
‘They do.’
‘So that’s something, right?’
‘Subterranean constructs are good for fallback but without tunnel access, you’re just burying yourself alive. The heat is persistent and it’s isolated. No one’s gonna drive by and check in. Kessler informed me that they only have supplies to last days, not weeks.’
‘You really should relax a little.’
‘Absolutely not.’
‘You’re so highly strung.’
‘I’m focused.’
‘OK. So now tell me what good security would look like.’
‘You already know it. The Estate is secure.’
‘Right, but that’s you doing the best with what you have. I’m talking, like, what would you build from the ground up, given the chance? What’s the polar opposite of this?’ Jules asks, gesturing at the mansion walls.
‘Not a desert island for a start.’
‘Go on.’
‘A building sat on high ground. Rough terrain and a good clearance radius.’
‘No glass?’
‘No glass.’
‘What would you use instead? Steel?’
‘Titanium and concrete.’
‘That doesn’t sound pretty.’
‘It can be pretty inside. A tower design is ideal,’ he says, ‘with a good surrounding base and a solid system of tunnels.’
‘Why a tower?’
‘So you can see what’s coming.’
‘What else?’
‘You just like hearing me talk.’
‘I really do. Tell me what else you’d have in this fantasy castle.’
‘It wouldn’t be a castle,’ Lachlan counters, frowning. ‘Just a good, strong place to hold up.’
‘Towers stand out.’
‘It should stand out, but not like this.’
‘What else?’
‘Well-trained teams, a live-in crew, tunnels, backup generators obviously, plus a good surveillance system. You already designed the best I’ve ever seen.’
‘Aww.’
‘Plus traps.’
‘Traps?’
‘Yeah, definitely traps.’
‘I think you’re getting a little carried away now.’
‘You asked.’
‘What kind of traps?’
‘A crusher.’
Jules chokes on his drink, laughing. ‘The fuck is a crusher?’
‘Exactly what it sounds like.’
‘Like…’ Jules mimics the closing of walls with his hands, ‘in the movies?’
‘No,’ Lachlan says. ‘Like this.’
His hands clap together, fast and hard.
The other two bodyguards didn’t even look up.
Lazy fuckers.
‘You’re not serious.’
Lachlan shrugs. ‘Not about that.’
‘What else?’
‘Interrogation rooms.’
‘Dazzle me.’
‘They could be themed.’
‘For different kinds of torture?’
‘Of course, but realistically you’d only need one.’
‘What’s the best way to get information out of someone, then?’
‘Waterboarding.’
‘So you’d have a room for that?’
‘A Drowner, yes.’
‘That’s such an ugly word.’
‘Julian,’ calls his father, fresh clothes on shower damp skin. ‘Come here.’
Jules sighs, leaves his empty glass with Lachlan and goes where he’s called.
Roman gets out of the pool, ignores the towels and comes to join Lachlan now that he’s available.
‘Lock,’ he greets with a smile which Lachlan returns in small, genuine measure. ‘Long time no see.’
‘Ro.’ Lachlan’s gaze swings to Jules and his father, trying to lip-read whatever quiet conversation is going on between them but the sun obscures too much. ‘How’ve you been, kid?’
‘Kid?!’ he complains happily. ‘I’m older than your boy.’
Your boy.
Lachlan clears his throat subtly. ‘Keeping well?’
‘Awful,’ he sighs, pulling up a chair and flopping down into it. Roman has the emerging physique of a Greek God, only a few years shy of hitting the mark. ‘Fucking endless work, endless travel. I am tired of hotel rooms, so this is a welcome change of scene. How is my little brother?’
‘He says hello, and as far as I know, he’s very happy,’ Lachlan answers honestly, reading Jules’ body language, noting the gradual rounding of his shoulders. It’s like being near the old man drains the life right out of him. ‘Loves Mimi, sleeps well. He bakes all the time.’
‘Papa is glad. I am too.’
‘Good.’
‘It means a lot. You are excited for the big party?’
‘Nope.’
Roman laughs, has a nice one, reminds Lachlan of Danya.
‘Yeah, me neither. But at least we can relax, eh?’
Jules heads inside the mansion. Lachlan breaks his settle stance to follow, looks at Roman before he leaves. ‘Do me a favour and don’t relax too much. It’s wildly exposed here.’
‘They control the air and sea.’
‘No, they rule it. There’s a difference.’
‘What is the difference?’ Roman asks as Lachlan walks away, bound to follow wherever Jules goes.
‘Let’s hope we don’t find out,’ Lachlan tells him.
Along the way, he gives Savannah a small greeting smile in passing.
‘Hi, Mr Tanner,’ she says, smiling sweetly.
‘Hello, Savannah. Don’t forget about sunblock.’
She giggles and joins Roman in Lachlan’s abandoned shade. ‘I won’t.’
Jules is in the kitchen making himself a drink while two members of resort staff offer repeatedly to do it for him. ‘I promise it’s fine,’ Jules insists, friendly and polite, while using a blender to crush ice.
‘Sir, we’ll make you whatever you—’
‘He said he’s fine,’ Lachlan tells them. ‘Give us a minute.’
‘Of course, sir.’
Jules is visibly surprised. ‘You never speak to staff like that.’
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yeah, I’m fine.’
‘You seemed…’