"You're a man of surprises, aren't you," said Jess as they drove out of the lot. "Why did you give him money?"

"To get him away from here," Calin answered. "I'm hoping he uses the money to buy drugs, get bombed and forgets he ever met us. As for his mates, I believe they'll strip the BMW for parts, sell them and party on the proceeds."

"Clever," she smiled. "So in removing the witnesses and the beemer, you've eliminated all evidence of our presence here. You are one deceitful bastard, Calin Roberts. How do you come up with these strategies?"

"Experience, and the desire to remain alive, ensures you develop an ability to read and anticipate your opponent's thoughts."

"Don't you tire of living on the knife's edge? Knowing you're always just one slip from death?"

"No one is guaranteed a tomorrow, especially in my world." For the first time in a long time, Calin sensed the futility in what he'd just said. Was this perhaps his way of preparing himself for the inevitable?

"I wonder how Rachel's meeting went with the Senator," Jess asked

"Perhaps it's time to contact her."

"We can't, we don't have her number."

"Maybe it's time we called her employer." Jess dialed the number.



The reporter saw the massive home in the distance. It appeared out of place in this sparsely populated farming community. Why hadn't she checked out the property's owner? Did it perhaps belong to the Senator? As the aircraft drew nearer, she stared in astonishment. It was simply amazing, a European palace set in the non-productive winter landscape of Montana. A billionaire's place of play perhaps. What secrets would she find here?

Rachel rode in the 'copter's rear seat, it was so damn cold. The cameraman insisted on shooting through an open window. 'Less distortion and clearer image,' he argued.

The female pilot set down on the large snow-covered landing pad. Rachel and Todd, the cameraman alighted. The pilot remained in the aircraft. Rachel knocked on the door, no response. Fear and doubt intensified. Had she been set-up? Rachel tried the door. It pushed open. She glanced inside and saw nothing. Should she venture inside? What if it were a crime scene?

Todd took charge and barged in. Still hesitant, she followed. The entry foyer was excessive, more in keeping with a luxury hotel lobby than a private residence. The decor and furnishings furthered the impression. The word opulence took on new meaning. As the camera rolled detail, Rachel called out. "Senator McIntosh."

"Help." Distress was obvious and the voice weak.

The single word was insufficient to determine his actual whereabouts. It could have come from any direction. Was it on this level, or upstairs? The vaguely familiar voice confirmed the presence of another occupant.

Where should they start? A large sitting room come library, sat off to the right with a single door exit in the far corner. An enlarged replica of an old sail ship cabin occupied the space opposite the library. It was the bar. On one wall the elaborate display of a sail boat's riggings featured. In much the same way a lawyer studies a contract's fine print, the camera lens absorbed the exquisite detail and design.

"Over here." Todd pointed in a direction through the bar. He led the way, passing through the kitchen. He watched as Rachel scooped up a message left on a counter top. She read it and smiled. It was addressed to the Senator, the reporter's confidence grew.

The cameraman stood back and filmed as Rachel prepared to open the door. She looked to Todd who gave the thumbs up. On pushing the door open, all composure vanished. A naked and trussed man was the last thing she expected to see. Just as quickly she regained her senses. She recognised opportunity.

"Turn that fucking thing off."

"Senator McIntosh," she replied, bravado now powering her every thought. "I'm not all that sure you're in any position to issue orders."

"Do you know who I am?"

"The president in waiting. Isn't that what you tell your colleagues?"

"Young lady, I'll say this once. Walk away now, while you're still alive."

"Your threat is duly noted and recorded, Senator McIntosh. And while you're in such a co-operative mood, would you care to comment on this message. Perhaps explain it to your wife." Rachel read the note she'd picked up in the kitchen.
The sound of an approaching helicopter prevented further conversation. Rachel directed Todd to film its arrival, the disembarking of its passengers and their entry into the house. The face of the Senator glowered in rage.

"Before you go, maybe we should ensure the good Senator here doesn't shout any word of warning," said Rachel. "Don't suppose you have any ideas on how to ensure his silence?"

"Gag him."

"I know just the thing," said Rachel. She looked at his clothes strewn on the floor. "Why not let him chew on his underwear."

"Good shit, girl," Todd replied with laughter as he headed out to record the girls' arrival.


On a rating from one to ten, the cameraman judged all five girls an eleven. They were stunning, walking tributes to the world's boobologists, his word. The girls had similarities, they stood tall, they had an artificially enhanced shape and he guessed, judging from the tone of the message Rachel had read, they excelled in a particular form of male entertainment.

"Welcome, girls, and welcome to McIntosh Manor," said Todd as they entered the house. Several of them appeared shocked at being confronted by a television camera. What could he say to set their mind at ease? A second voice caused them to turn.

"Ladies, I'm Rachel Costello. I'm a freelance journalist on assignment to one of the major networks. Before going further, allow me to assure you, the Senator is here. We've already had words." It was she knew a slight exaggeration. Screamed threats and abuse didn't really qualify as conversation.

"Where is the Senator?" one of the girls asked.

"He's tied up at the moment." Rachel's reply was greeted by laughter from the cameraman. "Considering his options," she added.

"Can we see him?"

"Later."

"What do you want from us?"

"Answers to a whole lot of questions," Rachel replied. "But first I should advise what I'm prepared to offer in return. If you co-operate I'll guarantee the protection of your identities. Your faces will be concealed. Your names will not be disclosed, nor will your cities of residence. If on the other hand, you refuse to assist, we'll have no option but to turn the pictures over to police."

"Are you blackmailing us?"

"No at all, I'm just highlighting the consequences disgrace can bring to you and your families. Would you want your mother to know what you do?"

"We're not doin' nuthin' wrong. I wanna talk with Mac." Rachel's ear detected the hint of familiarity.

"So you've had other dealings with Senator MacIntosh?"

"I'm not sayin' nuthin' till you turn that thing off." She pointed at the camera and its operator. "And get him outta here."

"That's not how it works." Rachel felt the vibration of her phone. She remembered switching it to silent during the helicopter ride. She recognised her employer's number. "Give me a minute."

"Costello." She listened, then replied, "can you patch it through?"

She heard a man's voice.