Collision Course

The rain and the gloomy atmosphere it produced heavy weight of depression settling on Trey Haggerty's shoulders. Stupid f*****g report. If Charles Bennett hadn't demanded it on his desk waiting for him the minute his private jet touched down, Tate Jordan Haggerty III would have been home, kicked back with a beer, watching television. But his boss, CEO of Bennett Global Enterprises, was due to return from an unexpected trip to Bahrain no later than four in the morning. As usual, he would stop by the office before heading home, so the report damn well better be there. "Have it on my desk when I get there," he ordered. "No excuses. And print it out. I want to take it home with me and I don't want to have to go hunting through the computer for it." So Trey had stayed to put the damn thing together long after everyone else had left. He wanted the report to be meticulous for a number of reasons. Lately he'd been puzzled by certain vague things he'd come across, things that teased at his brain and didn't make sense, and he wondered what to do. There was always the chance he misinterpreted what he saw but a lot of the dots on subsidiaries and major accounts didn't seem to connect in a straight line. The more he suspected, the more he wondered what the visible layer of Bennett Global covered up. Maybe he'd just had a knee-jerk reaction. After all, Charles Bennett was a friend to presidents, kings, world leaders. A respected businessman and philanthropist. I think I'm watching too many late movies and letting my imagination run away with me. In any event, he'd keep his nose clean, do his job and make sure everything with his name on it would stand up to any scrutiny. Which was why, at two o'clock in the morning, he'd been standing in Bennett's office, glancing through the pages one last time, his mind focused on the numbers. And why, when the f*****g phone rang, he forgot he wasn't in his own office, automatically reached for the receiver and picked it up, then froze when he realized what he'd done. No one is to answer this phone. Ever. The calls are confidential. How many times had Bennett emphasized the message in staff meetings as well as his one-on-ones with Trey? Beneath his words lurked an implied threat-if someone answered a call on it there would be definite consequences. Trey had always brushed it off. After all, what kind of dire steps could a businessman take in retaliation? Fire someone? Well, it wouldn't be the first time. Trey started to put the receiver in its cradle the minute he realized what he'd done, but before he could do so a voice on the other end growled at him. And what he heard shocked the hell out of him. "Bennett." The voice was harsh and heavily accented. "Good. You're early. We have trouble. The numbers from Funda are lower than expected, and more money needs to be transferred at once. We have shipments to pay for and the cartel is all over me. We don't want more trouble. I know you don't want them showing up at your office, but my hands are tied. Promises were made. You'd better take care of it now or there will be severe consequences." The receiver suddenly burned a hole in Trey's hand as the words penetrated his consciousness. Cartel? What does he mean by the cartel? Which one? What the f**k? What is going on here? "Well?" the voice prompted. "No answer?" Trey had to swallow twice before he could get any words out. "I-I'm not...What I mean to say is..." "Who are you?" Sharp and threatening. "Where is Bennett? Why are you answering this phone?" Trey was incapable of speech, the words hammering like spikes in his brain. "I want your name," the man on the other end of the conversation demanded. "Right now." Trey had slammed the receiver down, his hand shaking, his stomach roiling. He'd always wondered why in the hell Bennett had installed the additional phone and why it required so much secrecy. Now he'd gotten a hint of its purpose and he was shocked Bennett had actually left it out. He wished he could wipe the conversation he'd heard. It sent his mind racing in a hundred directions at once. "The cartel is not pleased," the heavily accented voice had said. "There will be severe consequences." Cartel? What cartel? What was Charles Bennett doing being involved with one? Of course, there were oil cartels, and Bennett did business with some of them. But they wouldn't be calling on the "do-not-touch" phone. A dozen scenarios raced through his brain, none of them good. Scenarios now making all the little hints he'd come across appear in a new light. He didn't need someone to tell him he'd stepped into a huge pile of s**t. If he could erase what he'd heard from his mind, he would, but it seemed to be flashing at him in big red neon letters. Dropping the report on Bennett's desk, he'd gotten the hell out of there as fast as he could. How soon before his boss found out what happened? Before he realized Trey had stumbled into something that was none of his business? And the voice on the phone. What actions would he put in place? If he wasn't afraid to threaten a man like Charles Bennett then Trey Haggerty would be merely a bug to be squashed. What if they'd already spoken? No, no, no. There hadn't been time for them to connect. Had there? The stranger might have tried to contact Bennett on the plane. A steady mist made the streets slick and fogged the windshield. He paused at the exit to the garage, checking to see if any car might be idling, its driver waiting for him. Maybe someone already had been sent to follow him, trap him somewhere away from the building. Stupid. It's been less than an hour. Breathe. Just breathe. But the unfamiliar, gut-wrenching fear had him in a tight grip and he was taking no chances with anything. Even as he concentrated on driving through the nasty weather and keeping his eye out for anyone trailing him, he thought again about the brief phone conversation. The man had mentioned Funda, no doubt referring to the Nicholas Funda Foundation. Trey only knew Nicholas Funda had been a longtime friend of Bennett's who'd passed away a few years ago. The Foundation remained active but it happened to be one of the accounts with Hands Off written all over it. No one touched it except Bennett. Of course, no one else had the code or password. Its stated purpose was to provide medical care and education in Third World countries. Trey didn't even know where the funding came from or if a board oversaw its activities. He knew his boss managed it personally through Bennett Philanthropic Associates. Now a million questions raced through his mind. Was the Foundation somehow hooked into a drug cartel? More than one? Anyone watching the news knew cartels today did more than deal in drugs. They facilitated illegal arms shipments and even carried out assassination contracts. And he'd read enough about what they did to people they considered threats. A chill seeped into his bones and he turned up the heater in the car. There weren't many things he feared. Not businessmen out to suck Bennett Global's blood. Not the danger from native unrest in some of the countries he visited on business. But what the unknown caller inferred was something else entirely. A gut-chewing, nauseating sense of fear swept through him and made him realize the real peril of his situation. What made it so bad was the mantle of international respectability covering Bennett and BGE-a mantle obviously disguising less than savory activities. This is what you get for answering the damn phone, asshole. Dummy. He was impelled by a sense of urgency, a feeling just falling off the grid wouldn't be the answer to his problem. Neither Bennett nor the unknown voice on the phone would brush him aside and stop looking for him. Okay, think. That's your strength. What was his best defense? What would save him? First thing was getting away from here before Bennett could nail him. Once he found out what happened, Trey's life would change drastically. If he even had one to worry about. The next step would be gathering information, digging into the coded files to get at the truth. Following up on the inconsistencies he'd already begun to suspect and taking the information to the right person. The name that popped into his head was his friend Max Rider at Homeland Security but not until he had verifiable proof. Who'd believe him? Charles Bennett involved with drugs and illegal arms? They'd think him crazy. No, he needed to back up his suspicions were correct. Okay. A firewall had been erected to hide the Funda file as well as others on the no-no list. He knew because he'd hit it when he first started having suspicions about some of Bennett's dealings and decided to try accessing it. He'd worried at first he might trip some kind of hidden signal and they-whoever they were-would be onto him. He'd backed out immediately, but to his great surprise, there'd been no repercussions. No questions. No red flags. Which meant he could try to open it again. He'd acquired a couple of skills in college along with two business degrees, the most important being skilled hacking. His roommate, a major in computer science, was a freaking genius at creating and breaking codes. Trey had been nervous every time Ned found his way into another so-called protected system and "played around with it." Fascinated despite himself, Trey had let his roommate tutor him in the fine art of hacking, becoming as obsessed with the game as Ned. Until two agents from the FBI showed up at their off-campus apartment and threatened them with life in prison if they didn't cut it out. He'd needed all the pressure his father and Ned's obscenely wealthy family could bring to bear to slither out of that one and have it expunged from his record. Their adventure ended, but Trey still remembered how to do it. Maybe he wasn't as sophisticated as today's hackers, but he could get through a firewall with no problem. He might subsequently have trouble but he'd cross that bridge when he came to it. First, however, he needed to get away from here, away from the city even, and fast, before Bennett discovered what happened. Calm down. Think. Yeah, right. Think about the dead bodies he'd seen on television, people who'd stuck their noses in where they didn't belong. And the videos of well-respected entrepreneurs who turned out to be the biggest crooks of all. Shit, s**t, s**t.