The Hunters

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?’

13

The group relocated to the home’s expansive gourmet kitchen, which sprawled beyond the dining area by way of a wide counter. Once the newcomers discovered that Papineau had no kitchen staff, each made his and her own exploration.

Garcia went right to the old-fashioned cast-iron stove, grabbed a skillet, and declared his intention to make his famous breakfast burritos. Jasmine, who had tied a blue wrap dress around her, was at the sink cutting up melons. McNutt had his head in the gigantic, silver fridge, pulling out luncheon meats — freshly sliced, not packaged — while Sarah squeezed oranges for juice.

Coffee had already been made, and Cobb poured some, black. Then, standing by a butcher’s block at the far end of the counter, he set out a variety of breads he cut from a selection of fresh-baked loaves. It was a perfect vantage point from which to watch the others, in particular the one he had never worked with.

For one reason or another, Jasmine puzzled him. She did not have the kind of muscle tone that suggested anything more than low-impact workouts: health and vanity workouts, he called them. Her knife skills, at least on a melon, seemed ordinary. She had been reading from an e-reader on the terrace, but she had turned it off before he could see what was on it. He knew he could just go over and ask her questions, but where was the fun in that?

He preferred to figure it out on his own.

Jasmine pulled some wicker trays from a cabinet beside the sink. She set them on the granite tabletop — not avoiding eye contact with anyone but not going out of her way to make it, either. She seemed oblivious to McNutt’s wide-eyed admiration.

No doubt she got that a lot.

Their host, who had disappeared for about five minutes, returned. He stood at the edge of the kitchen and stated, ‘If everyone will please take their refreshments into the dining room, I would like to make this a working lunch.’

Dark clouds had rolled in and the daily Florida summer rainstorm was in full swing by the time the group got to the long dining room. Papineau stood at the head of the large table, waiting for each to take a seat.

Garcia sat with his back to the sea, closest to their host. Jasmine put a plate of sliced fruit on the table, selected some, and sat opposite Garcia. That made it easier for McNutt, who sat next to her with a self-conscious laugh. Sarah sat opposite.

Cobb took a seat at the end of the table, opposite their host. He put the platter of sandwiches there, and checked his cell phone in his lap while he waited.

‘You are aware by now that each of you has been recruited and tested,’ Papineau said. ‘This was done so that I might offer you the opportunity to become part of a unique mission — one that, if successfully completed, will shower you in riches.’

Papineau let that sink in, and the reaction was gratifying. McNutt smiled crookedly. Sarah grinned with anticipation. Garcia’s eyes sparkled. Jasmine was reflective. Cobb just watched the others and could see all their minds racing.

Papineau continued. ‘Jasmine Park is fluent in many languages, with an exhaustive knowledge of ancient cultures and world religions. She is our historian.’

‘What did you test her with? A pop quiz?’ McNutt asked.

‘No,’ Papineau said. ‘Jasmine? Would you care to share?’

The young woman looked at the others. ‘I work at the Korean Daily News in Orlando. Yesterday my editor asked me to investigate a document that had been sent to the FBI. He’s got a friend in the Bureau who sometimes gives him leads, and in exchange we’ve held certain stories or disseminated information in ways that can help investigations. His friend explained that it was supposedly a ransom note associated with two young girls who had recently been kidnapped, but they couldn’t make head or tail of the language used. He knew I had a knack for that sort of thing and thought I might be able to help.’

Garcia wrinkled his brow. ‘He asked you to translate? Why didn’t they use computers? Just scan it in and presto! The program spits out the translation.’

‘No,’ Jasmine assured him. ‘A computer translation wouldn’t have worked. The document was written in five distinctly different languages. Not colloquial slang or dialects, but languages that grew from entirely separate roots. What’s more, their syntaxes were blended.’