TRUST NO ONE

Christiane Heggan

E X C E R P T

The meeting took place in a luxurious hilltop villa eight miles north of Monterey and five and a half miles from the nearest house. From the sun-drenched terrace one could see the Pacific Ocean curling majestically around the coastline. In the distance, oblivious to the beauty that surrounded them, sea lions barked happily as they frolicked in the water.

All but one of the five men present had arrived the night before from different parts of the country and at irregular intervals so as not to arouse suspicion, though such precaution was hardly necessary. The fifth man, who was also the group's host and its leader, had bought this house because it was remote and accessible only through a long private road. Both features made it virtually impossible for anyone to spy on his activities.

Dressed in casual clothes, the men sat on comfortable high- backed wicker chairs, sipping freshly squeezed orange juice from baccarat glasses and chatting. As usual, the conversation was light and friendly. One of the men, who had recently become a grandfather, proudly passed around snapshots of the newborn, while the others teased him about getting old.

Anyone eavesdropping on the conversation would have sworn they were old friends--former classmates perhaps, or army buddies who had come here for a reunion.

Although they were wealthy, they came from all walks of life. Some had inherited their fortune, others were self-made millionaires, tough guys no one dared to push around. Highly respected in their communities, each gave generously to various charities, supported youth programs and contributed to the prosperity of their respective hometowns.

Wearing blue Bermuda shorts and a colorful Hawaiian shirt, their host listened to the chatter but did not contribute to it. He didn't like to talk about himself, or divulge any more of his private life than he had to, even to those he trusted.

Short and wiry, he had a broad chest and thick powerful arms. His light brown hair, cut in a military crew, accentuated the angular features of his face and made him look younger than his fifty-six years.

The eyes were by far his most arresting feature. They were a pale, almost transparent blue and totally devoid of expression. Staring into them was like looking at a very clear lake yet being unable to see what lay beneath.

After allowing his guests to chat for another minute or two, he clinked his fingernails against his glass. "All right, gentlemen. Enough small talk. We'll have plenty of time for that at lunch. Right now, we have an important decision to make."

The group instantly fell silent.

"I take it you've all had time to give our little problem some thought." His eyes rested briefly on each of the four men and though there was no change in his expression, the tension on the terrace was almost palpable.

The new grandfather cleared his throat. "I'm not sure we should proceed as previously agreed," he said, glancing uneasily at the others. "For one thing, this is American soil. The risks, if we are caught, will be high."

"The risks will be greater if we don't act," the leader said sharply. "And the time to act is now. We'll never have a better opportunity."

"I agree," the man on his right stated. He glanced at the newspaper clipping in front of him. It showed the picture of a tall, handsome man standing on a podium, addressing a large crowd. "That news conference our...friend has scheduled is a godsend, one we can't afford to ignore." The emphasis on the word friend earned the speaker a couple of chuckles.

Looking pleased, the leader leaned back in his chair. "In that case, shall we put the matter to a vote?"

One of the men who hadn't yet spoken glanced at the newspaper clipping. His jaw clenched, he gave a short nod. "I make the motion that we kill him."

"I second the motion," the leader of the group said. "All those in favor raise your hand."

Three hands went up simultaneously. Only the new grandfather hesitated. Then, as the other four men stared at him and waited, he, too, raised his hand.

1999 by Christiane Heggan