The Gaines Agenda

By Blaine Zaid

Elizabeth Gaines and her husband, computer mogul, Robert Gaines are living the good life at their Portland, Oregon compound when the unthinkable strikes. Robert, CEO of Compusoft, and one of the world's richest men is kidnapped. This happens amidst Elizabeth's and Robert's own personal angst about when to begin having children. Being a strong and intelligent woman, Elizabeth is unwilling to sit back and let the authorities and law enforcement officials decide her husband's fate. Instead she begins her own investigation, and discovers more about her husband's business dealings that could have landed him in such trouble.

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Blaine Zaid
• Release date: Apr 20, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466132757

Blaine Zaid

Blaine Zaid is an author from Los Angeles, CA. He enjoys walking, music, and reading and reviewing other author's work.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Ten Years Later

It is morning, and the sun has risen, hovering low in the sky. Large areas of heavy pine forest intersperse with fields and farmhouses. Amidst a clearing in the forest, rests a large gated estate with a long cobblestone drive leading to a courtyard in front. The house has many wings, and an oblong rectangular swimming pool situated in the central core with lush foliage, and several waterfalls emptying into it.

Inside the house, Robert Gaines, CEO of Compusoft sits at a large, dark, natural wood desk in his study. He wears a neatly ironed Polo dress shirt, open at the neck, no tie, and a sport jacket. He looks thirty-five years old, with large framed glasses and blond/brown hair, and with the appearance of a former high school nerd, who has now been buoyed by the confidence that much success has brought him. Many mementos of his journey adorn the study. A blowup of a Fortune 500 Magazine cover in a glass case on the wall proclaims Robert Gaines- Computer Whiz Kid Goes Corporate!. The desk has a large computer screen and keyboard on top. The walls of the study are dark wood paneled. Gaines, who has been typing on the keyboard intermittently, rises and walks to the Fortune 500 poster. He admires it and lets out a half chuckle, then heads out of the study and down a wide spiral staircase to the ground floor of his home. The hallway is twenty feet across, with a clay colored stone floor, and large Spanish style beige plaster arches across the ceiling.

Good morning Mr. Gaines, Morning Mr. Gaines, coming from two tall men in dark business suits who pass by him in the main hall.

Morning gentlemen, he replies in a friendly tone.

The two men obviously work for Gaines, and they continue on down the hall in the opposite direction as if they are hurried.

Gaines turns into an archway to his right, entering the kitchen. Beth, his wife of two years, sits at the rectangular green marble table looking at the news paper and eating toast. She’s twenty-five years old, with thick light brown shoulder length hair, a model’s slender figure, hazel eyes, and a very fair complexion. She’s dressed in her exercise wear, and when Gaines approaches, it’s evident that she is taller than he is. He sits directly across from her at the table.

Got any plans for today? I was thinking we could meet for lunch at Au Jourdui’s, starts Bob.

Sure Bob, that’d be great. Beth looks at him and smiles genuinely. She’s relaxed and contented, very natural looking, not uptight or pretentious like many of the super rich.

I’m playing tennis with Carly at nine. I’ll call right after we’re done so we can meet there, she continues.

Sounds great!, says Bob, Oh, thank you Marta, oh that’s good, as he tears into the marmalade covered wheat toast the maid set before him.

Bob finishes his breakfast slowly, not in a rush at all, chatting with Beth and reading through the Wall Street Journal. He tended to do most things slowly actually. Not as though he was an idiot, but considering all the possibilities each step of the way.

Say Beth, looks like Rocor’s heading up.

Rocor was a spin-off software company created by Doug Leavitt, a former partner in the early years at Compusoft. Leavitt and Gaines had been friends since puberty when they were co-computer nerds in high school. Together they had weathered jeers from the cool surfer crowd whilst negotiating the hallways at Franklin High. When Leavitt left Compusoft, he did so knowing that Bob would always welcome him back, should his venture fail. Doug’s new company did well though. He assembled a team of programmers who devised more efficient and sophisticated software to operate robotic factory assembly lines. The nature of his business required proximity to customers mainly based in the Midwest and Eastern states. Rocor was thus located in upstate New York, but Doug and Bob made frequent E-mail contact, which suited their busy schedules.

Bob rises from the chair, leans over to kiss Beth goodbye, and says,

Goodbye Marta.

Bye-bye Bob, and Goodbye Mr. Gaines, say Beth and Marta.

He proceeds back out of the kitchen, down the wide hall towards the garage. Entering the five-car garage from the interior doorway, there are two men sitting at a built-in desk with a computer and some walkie-talkies. Unlike the other two men, they are dressed more casually in corduroys and short sleeved knit shirts. One is taller, blond with a muscular build and a bushy mustache. The other is average height, brown hair, with a noticeable scar across his right cheek. A voice comes over one of the radios,

Number one’s clear and away.

Roger, responds one of the men at the desk.

Good morning gentlemen, states Bob in an upbeat tone.

Good morning Mr. Gaines, they respond in unison.

If it’s OK, Joe’ll take you alone today Mr. Gaines. I need to check the cameras out by the south corner, and Allied Alarms is coming out to install the extra motion sensors, states the muscular blond one.

The men Gaines talks to are part of his security team. Each morning, an identical bulletproofed and armored black limousine leaves either ahead of, or after him as the decoy vehicle. That car contains the two men in the suits, both ex-CIA, and heavily armed. The other two men accompany Gaines in the additional car, unarmed, but with radio communication to the CIA team. Bob prefers to have the availability, but not immediate proximity of the guns. Bob also wears a small black emergency beeper on his key-ring. When Compusoft started making the news frequently, and as his wealth became immense, he could not avoid the necessity of security. He was never completely at ease with the idea though. For one thing, he just didn’t connect with these military / jock types the agency provided.

Sure, OK Buddy, Bob replies, trying to appear friendly , and the shorter man rises to join him.

They hop in the limo, Bob in back, and the security man driving. The garage door silently opens and they roll out, forwards, down the long cobblestone drive. Bob flips open his sub-notebook computer, which had been lying on the seat beside him, and begins perusing the daily meetings schedule for Compusoft. He makes a MEMO entry,

Call Jack Eisenberg, accounting, re: new Slickfile 99 cost estimates.

The limo rolls onto the main highway, an infrequently traveled road except by the few people with homes in the area. The driver accelerates. Tall dark green pines rush by on either side.

Do you mind if I put on some tunes Mr. Gaines?

No problem, just not too loud.

The driver clicks on the stereo, and an Elvis Costello tune blares out into the limo. The driver has his right arm over the front passenger seat and begins tapping to the beat and singing,

Oliver’s army is here to stay ay, Oliver’s army is on our way ay, and I would rather be anywhere else, but here, to day ay, oh, oh oh, oh ohhh…

Bob is irritated, but doesn’t say anything until he notices they have made a wrong turn. The driver seems to have been paying more attention to the music than to their destination. They have entered the city but are traveling away from the Compusoft Building.

Hey, Buddy, we’re going to be late. Why don’t you make a right up there and we’ll double back around on Glacier Boulevard?

The driver’s head turns around. There’s a scowl on his face accentuating the scar.

Just sit back and enjoy the ride Gaines! he says.

Bob reaches into his pocket and simultaneously presses the small buttons on either side of his emergency beeper.

The limo careens into a weedy vacant lot sending up a cloud of dust. Suddenly, the scar-faced driver turns the radio volume all the way up. Bob reflexively reaches up to protect his ears from the painful noise, and at that moment the driver sprays something in his face from a small can. He feels lightheaded, then slumps over, unconscious in his seat.

Chapter 2

Beth reads the paper and talks to Marta as she does the dishes. Suddenly they hear a beeping noise. It’s coming from the kitchen counter where Beth’s keys sit. Beth jumps up and walks to the phone. She quickly dials the limo car phone number. It keeps ringing with no answer. She calls Bob’s office.

Hello, Mr. Gaines’ office.

Hello, Silvie? This is Beth. Is Bob there yet?

No Beth. Haven’t seen’m yet. Do you want me to have him call home when he gets here?

Um, sure. Tell him to call right away.

OK, bye bye.

Bye. Beth hangs up the phone and then notices the sound of the door to the garage opening, then footsteps coming down the main hall. She feels her adrenaline kicking in.

Marta! Something’s wrong! We may have a burglar in here. Get a frying pan!

They stand to one side of the kitchen entrance, hidden by the wall. Marta has a large cast iron pan, and Beth has her keychain can of pepper spray. Beth remembers to set off the house alarm. She runs to the back of the kitchen and punches a code into the alarm controls. A piercing bell starts sounding. She reassumes her position waiting near the kitchen entrance with Marta. The high pitched tone of the alarms echoes in their heads.

Wait a minute Marta, maybe you better take this, and I’ll take that.

They switch weapons and look back at the hallway. At that moment, the muscular blond guard rounds the corner, a nine-millimeter Glock pistol in his swinging right hand. Simultaneously, Marta sprays the pepper spray in his face, which becomes contorted with both surprise and pain from intense burning. He begins to raise the gun in his right hand. Beth slams the frying pan against the gun and hand. A shot sounds, and the gun goes flying, landing on the stone floor with a clatter. The guard screams in pain. Beth raises the iron pan, as if preparing for an overhead slam. She brings it down with all her strength, hitting the guard on the forehead with a thud. He falls backward to the floor.

Shit! says Beth. It’s Bob’s driver. What’s he doing here?

I don’t know Mrs. Gaines, says Marta.

They run back to the alarm control panel. Beth turns on a small monitor next to the panel, and begins checking views from the video cameras scattered around the house and grounds. There doesn’t appear to anyone else around. She picks up the phone and dials 911.

Hello, we have an emergency. Elizabeth Gaines, Number One, Pine Grove Way. I think my husband’s been kidnapped! Yes, my husband is Robert Gaines, yes from Compusoft.

Chapter 3

The doorbell chimes twice. Beth and Marta watch the driver for any signs of movement.

Go get the door Marta, I’ll watch him.

Marta runs to the front door.

Who is it? she says.

It’s the police, Detective Sundance!

Marta opens the door. Facing her are two policemen, one tall, with sandy brown hair and a bushy mustache, and the other shorter and balding, with extra girth around the waist.

Portland PD mam, where’s the perpetrator?

Come on, come on! says Marta, anxiously.

The two policemen follow Marta to the kitchen entry. The driver is still unconscious on the floor. A small pool of blood has formed from under his right ear. The short, chubby, policeman kneels down and checks for a pulse at the wrist.

He’s alive Sundance, better call for a red and white.

The tall policeman pulls a microphone from his hip belt.

Two Mary Alpha, we’ll need an ambulance at One Pine Grove Way.

Roger, Two Mary Alpha, how many injured are at the scene? comes from the radio in a female voice.

One injured, and it’s a perpetrator, responds the officer into his mike.

Roger Two Mary Alpha, one ambulance being dispatched to One Pine Grove Way.

Immediately the other policeman begins to question Beth and Marta.

Is this the only one you saw?

Yes, he’s one of my husband’s drivers, says Beth.

You mean like a chauffeur, says the detective revealing a trace of a Brooklyn accent.

Yes, he’s part of the Security Company. He wasn’t supposed to be here now. He should have been with my husband and the other driver.

So there’s another chauffeur, says the short officer.

Yes, there are four of them all together. Two in my husband’s car and two in a second decoy car.

I see, says the detective, so you were alerted to a possible intruder because all of them should have been out taking your husband to work.

Yes, says Beth, and I think something may have happened to Bob, uh, my husband.

Any specific reason other than this guy being here?

Yes, Bob and I have emergency beepers. He activated his right before all this happened, says Beth.

The doorbell chimes again. Marta goes to answer. Two paramedics come in hurriedly. The equipment in their box clatters as they run down the hall following Marta. The short detective stops his questions and they all watch the paramedics work on the unconscious driver.

BP 190 over palp, pulse 46, respirations 8!

Looks like a skull fracture, pupils are equal and sluggish, let’s tube’m!

One paramedic starts an intravenous line in an arm of the driver and begins pushing in some medication with syringes. The other one gives several breaths to the driver with an Ambu Bag and then inserts a large clear tube into his mouth.

Almost instantaneously the paramedics are lifting the driver via a wooden backboard up onto their pop up gurney. They start off down the hall, and then one turns and shouts to the police officers,

Whoever’s goin with!

You go on Sundance, I’ll take the ladies here down to the station, says the chubby detective.

Detective Sundance follows the paramedics and hops in the front of the ambulance with one of them while the other tends to the injured man in the rear.

The screaming sirens fade away as they speed off down the highway. The chubby detective begins questioning them again.

So you hit him with the pan when he came in the kitchen here?

Yes, answer Beth and Marta simultaneously.

The detective leans over and picks up the pistol on the floor using a latex glove pulled out from his taught back pants pocket.

Hmmm, a Glock. Doesn’t smell like its been used today, he states, holding the gun in front of his nose and sniffing like a bloodhound.

The gun went off when I hit him, says Beth, looking perturbed with the inaccuracy of the detective’s statement.

Oh, well, I’m gettin over a cold, replies the detective. Lets go down to the station. Oh, and uh, bring any information you have on these characters, employment applications, anything like that.

Beth grabs her purse off the kitchen counter and looks at the detective.

OK, let’s go detective, what’s your name?

Squabowsky mam, from an ancient Jewish Indian tribe.

Beth looks at Detective Squabowsky with concern. The other security men are probably abducting Bob, and this guy is making jokes. The detective senses her anxiety and his face turns serious.

Let’s go ladies, he says while waving them on with one arm.

They leave in a blue and white police cruiser, with Beth and Marta sitting in the back seat.

I’m sure they’ll find him Mrs. Gaines, says Marta encouragingly.

Beth looks down into her lap, contemplating. ‘ I’m not going to sit back and watch this happen like some helpless idiot.’

Chapter 4

They arrive at the station. Detective Squabowsky escorts Beth and Marta up to the third floor where the stippled glass in the doorframe proclaims ‘ Division of Homicide Investigations.’

Oh god, please don’t let anything happen to him, Beth thinks out loud.

Don’t worry mam, we’ve got an APB out on the limousine. Every cop in Portland’s looking for him right now. Forensics’ll be going over everything with a fine tooth comb. Um, why don’t we sit down and start getting a little more information. Would you like a cup of coffee?

No thanks, I don’t drink coffee, says Beth.

They rehash all the details of what happened at the house that morning. Detective Squabowsky asks for Bob’s office phone number, and they call again, confirming that he did not arrive as expected. Squabowsky says that just in case anyone should return to the house, Beth and Marta should stay in a hotel downtown, and a police escort would be assigned to stand guard.

How will I know what’s happening? asks Beth. How can I be of any use sitting in a hotel room?

We’ll keep you fully notified Mrs. Gaines, says Squabowsky. It’s normal to want to help out in situations like this, when a loved one is missing and all, but the best thing for your husband is to let us do our job as efficiently as possible.

Beth looks at him and thinks to herself,’ There are things I know that might help Bob, I’ve got to get moving right away.’

The phone on the Detective’s desk rings loudly. He answers it. While listening to the caller he looks at Beth as though he’s sizing her up.

Yeah, yeah, OK, I’ll meet you there in thirty minutes, OK, he says into the receiver and hangs up. Mam, we’ve found a limousine abandoned in an empty lot downtown. It’s registered to your husband’s company. I need you to come to the scene with me in case you can identify any of your husband’s personal effects.

Let’s go Detective, says Beth.

They head out in Squabowsky’s car. The sky above Portland has darkened with dense black clouds. A steady rain starts falling in sheets on the windshield, each wave sounding like a round of bass drums keeping rhythm to some ancient tribal ritual. The wipers drone on endlessly. Finally they pull into the area of the crime scene. Squabowsky opens his side window to speak to another cop who’s approaching the car holding a black umbrella overhead.

Better just let’er ID the car Squab, it’s a mess out here, no use in catching cold, says the other officer, shouting over the noise of the falling rain.

Any signs of what happened here Nils?

No sign of shots fired, no blood in or around the limo, says the officer in the rain.

Squabowsky maneuvers his car through the muddy lot toward the limo.

Is that the vehicle your husband and the security men left in this morning?

Yes it is, replies Beth.

Good, let’s get you to the hotel. The car’ll be towed to our yard where forensics can get a better look. Rain’s obliterated any tracks there might have been….We’ll have the lot searched for other clues.

Have you got anyone identifying the men who kidnapped Bob? I’m sure the Security Company has pictures of them… And what about the one we knocked out at the house? What’s going on with him? He should be questioned as soon as possible, states Beth confidently.

We’ll work on all that just as soon as I drop you off at the Meridien mam. Besides, I expect we’ll be hearing from your husband’s abductors soon. After all, what else could they be after, except money. He uh, didn’t have any real enemies, did he?

Not anyone I know about that would want to hurt him, says Beth, Unless it was some sort of a business grudge.

They head toward the Meridien Hotel. Marta is already in the room with a police guard posted outside the door in the hall. Squabowsky promises to let Beth know of any changes in the investigation immediately, then leaves Beth and Marta and the uniformed officer at the door.

Anything you need, you just let him know, OK mam? says Squabowsky as he exits the large hotel room.

It’s a double suite with picture windows overlooking the Willamette River and a nice sitting area complete with couch, chairs and a coffee table. Beth stares out at the river and the other side of the city, wondering where Bob could be. There’s a double knock at the door.

Yes, Beth answers.

It’s Agent Garcia from the FBI to see you mam!

Beth opens the door. A Hispanic man with a dark mustache stands with the uniformed officer. He has on a long black raincoat over a charcoal three piece suit and black cowboy boots with pointed toes. The lean, hardened look of a desperado, straight out of the old west. But when he begins to speak, his tenor voice is smooth and reassuring.

Agent Garcia mam, he flips open a wallet showing his gold FBI badge. " We will be working with the local police to try to find your husband. I’d like to