Pursuing Other Opportunities

By Tom Spears

Elwood Vilmont, hypercompetitive businessman, and the CEO of Redhouse Consulting, has brought his senior managers to Layoko Lodge for a “team building” exercise. As a part of the agenda, the group plans to spend three days rafting the Chilko river, including running the famous White Mile.

Vilmont’s crew of misfits, however, seem to be able to do little but whine and complain. When their CEO is unexpectedly kidnapped, the senior managers of Redhouse waste no time in leveling accusations at everyone, including each other. Matt Lively, who witnesses the kidnapping, sees little alternative to plunging into the harsh British Columbia wilderness in pursuit of the criminals and their prisoner.

Sandy Lively, watches police descend on the Layoko Lodge like a horde of locusts. She hopes beyond reason that somehow her past – including the outstanding warrants in Minnesota for espionage and murder – will somehow escape the watchful eye of Royal Canadian Mounted Police detective Jari Kuparinen.

But the situation progresses from bad to worse as an old enemy shows up from Sandy’s past, raising the stakes for everyone involved. Will she ever see Matt again? Will Kuparinen discover her secret, arrest her, and turn her over to the FBI? Or would she simply be the next murder victim in a bloody series of killings?

PURSUING OTHER OPPORTUNITIES mocks the "team building corporate retreat" so common in large corporations. It also explores the corrosive political environment present in the higher echelons of many large companies, and describes what can happen when an unexpected vacuum occurs within that structure. Finally, PURSUING OTHER OPPORTUNITIES explores the difference that one or two truly brave people can make when the world seems to be crashing down around everyone's ears. I've tried to provide a variety of typical senior management "types" that the corporate refugee will find familiar and entertaining.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tom Spears
• Release date: Jun 11, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311848086

Tom Spears

Tom Spears earned a Bachelors of Science degree in Engineering from Purdue University, and a Masters in Business Administration from Harvard University. He spent twenty-seven years working for four U.S. based public Corporations. During fifteen of those years he held a title of President or Group President. Tom retired from his last Group President position in 2010 to pursue his interest in writing fiction. He still consults occasionally, having expertise in manufacturing, engineering, pricing, strategy and corporate politics. Tom lives with his wife and six children in Ashland, Nebraska.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Come on guys, dig with those fucking paddles, Elwood Vilmont shouted to the crew of his raft.

Rodney Noll looked over a shoulder and could just make out the second raft rounding the last bend in the river. They were at least a quarter of a mile behind, and with rapids finally approaching, would never catch up. Even if they could somehow overtake the lead raft, Moeller, the de facto leader of the other team, was smart enough to know beating his boss wouldn’t be wise.

Rodney! shouted Vilmont. "Stop daydreaming and move your ass. This is work, not a goddamned vacation!"

Noll looked downstream while squeezing the handle of the paddle in his hands, noting a small flash of pain. He had blisters, the result of hours of unaccustomed work. Winning at Redhouse Consulting was all about making personal sacrifices. Today that meant making a small donation of flesh and blood. In a few days, he would simply be back to sacrificing his time – along with any hope of a personal life.

It was a trade he’d accepted long ago, before ever joining Redhouse. Eagerly accepted it, in fact. It was part of the price of being career primary. Sometimes, however, he wondered if the rewards were worth the price.

But not often, and certainly not today.

He plunged the paddle into the water with as much enthusiasm as he could muster, helping to propel the raft forward while also confirming that some of his teammates were dogging it.

Probably not Georgia Grey, the woman seated across the raft from him. The head of the Healthcare division of Redhouse might be the lone woman in the raft, but she was as competitive as Vilmont. As the company’s sole gung-ho, outdoorsy type, there wasn’t much chance she was doing anything less than her share.

Noll suspected the deadweight was Wei Sun, the newly minted President of Price Consulting – the man was neither youthful nor athletic. And the son of a bitch was a quiet schemer, too. Noll had already pegged Sun as a weak link in Redhouse Consulting’s management team. It made sense he’d be the weak link in their raft, as well.

Noll shot him an accusatory frown, which Sun predictably ignored.

Of course, it could be Vilmont himself letting everyone else do the work. A fitting image flashed into his mind – the Redhouse CEO being pulled in a gilded carriage by a team of donkeys, each bearing the face of a member of his executive staff.

Naturally, the man would be pissed by any insinuation that he wasn’t giving one hundred and ten percent. Unless he really was laying off, in which case he’d be downright vindictive.

The others probably all overestimated Noll’s own contribution to the effort. At thirty-three, the African-American Rodney Noll looked a bit like a miniature version of an Olympic sprinter. Only he knew his muscular over-development was a genetic gift he rarely tapped. He was as bookish as any CFO in corporate America. And pretty much as noodle-armed.

That will do nicely, said Kevin, their guide and the boat’s captain.

Well, captain on paper anyway.

Kevin continued to stroke the water with long oars as the others rested paddles across knees, panting. He added: The current should take it from here. Catch your breath for a minute or two. I’ll need all of you fresh for the rapids.

Noll relaxed his grip and worked his shoulders to get the kinks out. So far this white water rafting trip had consisted of a few minor ripples, followed by long stretches of still water where they’d been forced to move under their own power.

Or, because of the boss’ presence in their raft, stroke to the beat of a drum like galley slaves.

Noll was going to be damned sore, particularly if they really were going to spend the night sleeping in tents – a reality he hadn’t yet accepted. The remote British Columbia wilderness was hardly a fitting place for a senior accountant. And he was the youngster of the group. How the hell was an overweight fossil like Moeller going to survive this?

Noll smiled. At least the mental image of Moeller tossing and turning as he tried to sleep on top of boulders gave him an amusing thought to pass the time.

He took the moment’s respite to check out the scenery, which could only be described as stunningly beautiful, frighteningly wild, and a little intimidating. The sun glinted off nearly still water, and the leaves of the birch trees fluttered in the light breeze. It wouldn’t be more than a week or two before the forest would be in full fall color. Now that would be a spectacular sight, although in his opinion one best seen from the comfort of a motorized vehicle.

Up ahead it looked like the river was moving into new terrain – a gorge with narrow vertical walls. He could hear the roar of cascading water in the distance.

What’s up next? Noll asked, more to break the silence than out of any deep interest in the rafting.

We are about to start the crème de la crème of the Chilko River – Lava Canyon.

This is the big one, said Vilmont, nodding as if he had been here before, or had received a special briefing the rest of them had missed.

Probably he’d just read the brochure.

The canyon is about fourteen miles long and is one series of rapids after another, Kevin said. It’s the longest continuous stretch of white water in North America.

Is this the part of the river from that film where the advertising execs were killed? asked Grey.

The White Mile, said Kevin, nodding.

Killed? asked Sun, panic on the edge of his voice. Nobody said anything about this being dangerous.

Elwood Vilmont laughed, and Sun shot him a quick, accusatory glance. Vilmont was a gambler, and it shouldn’t have surprised any of them that he would bet his life for a thrill. Or their lives, for that matter.

Noll chuckled quietly to himself, but not for the same reason Vilmont had laughed. He found it amusing that Sun had angry words on his lips, but still couldn’t seem to make eye contact for longer than a second or two. Instead of looking tough, which was undoubtedly the man’s intention, he came off like a whining pre-teen.

Keep your skirt on, Suzy, Vilmont said. Noll could hear Grey snicker. Those idiots weren’t wearing the proper equipment when their raft took a spill. They all died of hypothermia. We’re fully geared up and good to go.

Noll could attest to being fully geared up. He was sweating in his multiple layers – fleece, wet suit, and spray jacket, all topped with a life jacket despite the reasonably warm, fall weather. But he hadn’t complained. He knew ice-cold water could get to you quickly – especially when you were a southern boy and not used it.

People have died? On this exact river? How many? Sun asked, ignoring Vilmont and Grey.

One or two, said Vilmont.

I believe it was five, Kevin gently corrected, earning him a blistering glare from the CEO – no one corrected Elwood Vilmont and didn’t later live to regret it.

Kevin would undoubtedly figure that out soon enough.

It was in the spring when the water was higher, faster, and colder. Right, Kevin? said Vilmont, irritation temporarily outpacing his rah-rah voice.

Yep, Kevin said.

How cold is the water now?

Thirty-nine.

Shit, Noll said under his breath.

~ ~ ~

The phone was finally ringing.

It had taken Drake Dread Havlin close to fifteen minutes to figure out the fucking thing, but eventually he’d managed to get the combination of switches and buttons correct. He’d never used a satellite phone before, and he probably should have listened more carefully when the salesman explained how it operated. He had no patience for such details. Truthfully, he had no patience for much of anything that didn’t involve immediate gratification.

Getting the damned handset to work was more luck than skill, but then Dread had always been lucky. At least almost always.

Hello?

Davis, it’s me, Dread said.

What did I tell y’all ‘bout callin’ on this line?

He remembered. Now that Davis had jogged his memory.

Any cell phone or satellite phone call can be monitored – so use caution. Be circumcised.

No, circumcised was the wrong word. It was circum… he couldn’t remember, but the exact term didn’t matter. He understood the message all the same – no names.

But what to call his employer….

He shuffled his feet in the dirt, awkwardly. He was a city boy and hardly built for this backwoods bullshit. Tall and without an ounce of fat as insulation, he’d probably freeze to death if they stopped moving.

Sorry, er, Mr… uh… Green. I’m just checking in.

There was a brief chuckle on the other end of the line.

That’s swell, Mrs. Peacock, now will y’all tell me what’s happenin’?

Mrs. Peacock? That was a shitty code name. But Davis was paying the bills, so he’d put up with it. At least for now.

Me and my partner… umm… Captain Kangaroo, Dread said, pausing for a moment to snicker at his own cleverness. He stared at the back of the wide, muscular Asian – the man he’d been paired with for this job. We’re at the pickup point and have secured the vehicle. We’ll be headed into the bush soon.

Y’all plannin’ to do the job tonight?

That’s the idea. They should all be tired after a day on the river, and there’s rain in the forecast. That’ll make it tough for anybody to follow.

Okay. Give me a ring back once everythin’ is fully in motion. And don’t y’all catch any horns while you’re ropin’ that bull, Davis said.

What a fucking hick, Dread thought. Once again, he refrained from saying anything, knowing better than to shit in his own mess kit. He quietly laughed again at his own wit and decided that line was so good he’d have to figure out how to work it into a future discussion with his new, Texas-shit-kicker boss.

It was then that he realized the call had been disconnected.

We’re going ahead? Steven Zhiang asked.

Dread couldn’t imagine a less fitting man to be dubbed Captain Kangaroo. The Asian was short, powerful, dark, and dangerous. And not much of a conversationalist, this question being almost the first words the man had spoken since the pair had eaten lunch.

Dread nodded, then said: Let’s take plenty of gear. We could be in the woods for a while.

~ ~ ~

A pudgy Roland Giordano hung up the phone and rolled his eyes. He hoped his silent partner knew what he was doing by picking that moron Drake Havlin to run this operation. His own man, Steven Zhiang, was much more reliable. Without Zhiang, Roland would have declined this repayment opportunity despite the huge potential financial upside.

His partner had insisted on Havlin, and fundamentally it was his partner’s show. As long as Roland got his share of the money, that is. Besides, Havlin might end up being a useful tool, a pawn available to be sacrificed if the game became too high risk. There might be some lessons in all of this, however, if he ever again considered taking on a client as a partner in such a risky venture.

Roland had done everything he could think of to prevent being linked to this project, including using a fake name and adding the ridiculous, southern drawl. The accent might not be up to Broadway standards, but it was certainly good enough to fool an idiot like Havlin. Between the name, the accent, and the multiple layers of fake organizations and phone numbers, none of this operation would be traceable back to him. His only real vulnerability was Zhiang, but there he wasn’t concerned – the man was loyal to a fault.

Of course, collecting the money was also a risk. He had to consider the possibility that nobody would pay, or that his partner might somehow try to cheat him out of his share of the profits – although since all the cash would flow through his hands, doing that would be quite a feat.

No, as long as he kept his focus on getting the payoff, the rest should sort itself out. It always did.

He lit a cigar and sat back in the chaise lounge, soaking up the afternoon desert sun, a smile of pleasant anticipation spreading across his face.

~ ~ ~

Right side, back. Left side, forward. Dig hard! Captain Kevin shouted as he worked the water with his oars.

Noll pulled with everything he had and watched as the raft rapidly rotated clockwise, putting the back of the boat directly into the next hydraulic. The water hit the rubber craft with a thump and carried it high into the air. A flood of cold liquid washed over him up to his waist.

They continued swinging around as the boat descended into a trough on the back side of a ten-foot standing wave.

Woohoooo! Vilmont shouted.

For a brief moment it felt like the boat would become trapped in the wave’s undertow and flip, but the rotation saved them. In seconds one of Kevin’s flailing oars caught the current and pulled them out of the dangerous eddy.

Noll was terrified and at the same time exhilarated.

He looked at Grey, who gave him a stupid grin. It was the closest she’d come to letting her guard down the entire trip – hell, the closest she’d come during his entire short career with Redhouse. For that brief moment the two of them really seemed like part of a team.

Maybe this trip wasn’t such a stupid idea after all.

Of course, his feelings of camaraderie didn’t extend to Wei Sun, who had accidentally lost his paddle when they entered the first series of rapids. The man now squatted in the middle of the raft, his ass half-submerged and a comical pout on his lips. If Vilmont had merely suggested it at that moment, even mild-mannered Rodney Noll would have gladly thrown Sun overboard. Instead he had to satisfy himself with hating the cowardly little shit.

Okay, we get a short breather here. Is everyone okay? Kevin asked.

Noll gave a thumbs up, while Grey and Vilmont both responded with an enthusiastic Yes! Sun quietly mumbled, Not really, but everyone agreed to ignore him.

This next rapid is the most dangerous on the river. On the right hand side are two large rocks, and a lot of the flow goes between them. Unfortunately, we can’t go there, because the gap is too narrow for the raft. If we squarely hit either rock, we’ll flip. If we go in between, the raft will get stuck, throwing some or all of you out. Trust me, we don’t want to go between the rocks. Below the rocks there’s half a mile of tough white water – class 4’s mostly, with a couple 5’s thrown in just for fun.

Noll checked the chinstrap of his helmet. He imagined being thrown headfirst into a boulder, and hoped the helmet was strong enough to keep such a blow from knocking him out. Floating unconscious in this raging torrent would be little more than a precursor to drowning.

Forward paddle, Kevin called.

Hey, I thought we were getting a break, Grey complained.

Screw breaks, Vilmont said. Let’s go conquer this thing.

Paddle forward, hard! Kevin shouted.

Noll could now see the rocks, which appeared to be at the top of a small waterfall. It looked even worse than he had imagined.

Left side, back paddle.

Noll quickly reversed directions knowing he’d have to do the work of two with Wei Sun sitting in the boat’s center. The first couple strokes were ineffective as his hand slipped on the handle. He struggled to regrip while stroking and nearly lost his paddle as well.

All back paddle, hard! Kevin frantically shouted.

Noll was finally starting to get some power behind his strokes. But without any help from Sun, it was too little, too late. He looked up and saw the raft headed directly between the rocks.

~ ~ ~

Matt Lively cursed silently as he trudged along the trail toward the camp, almost two-thirds through a round trip that was easily four miles long. He could have run the outbound leg to the truck to save time – was made for it, in fact, with his thin frame and strong lungs – but what was the point? If he hurried, he’d just be assigned another inane task that much sooner.

So instead he had walked on the way to the road and enjoyed what might be the last nice day of fall in central British Columbia.

Now, however, he was in the midst of the tote-and-carry work.

He wasn’t sure whose policy it was to keep the campsite primitive – probably the outfitter’s – but it certainly made for a lot of additional work hauling things from the two pickups and trailer parked just off the highway. The dual-track trail was certainly in good enough shape for the trucks to negotiate the remaining distance to the camp, but with Brenda in charge there was no chance of taking the vehicles in – particularly when they were within such a short time of the rafters’ expected arrival.

Matt didn’t directly work for BC Adventures. He was on loan from the Layoko Lodge, where this current group of celebrity executives on their BC five-day team-building rafting trip was based. Being on loan made him low man on the totem pole among the outfitter’s ground crew, which meant he was doing a lot of fetching and carrying.

Later, as a reward, he figured he would probably get to clean the portable toilet.

At least the current load of gear was all neatly stacked on or inside a large-wheeled, metal cart. The way it rattled and clanked as he pushed it over the uneven ground, he suspected it was a mobile bar, and when he peeked under the aluminum cover, he saw he was right. Matt briefly considered swiping a bottle for himself, or at least evening out the levels on a few of the open ones, but decided that being the camp gopher while half-drunk would be infinitely worse than doing the job sober. And he couldn’t afford to lose his position at Layoko Lodge over a drunken incident that occurred out here.

Given the hell he and Sandy had been through over the last two years, he couldn’t justify the slightest risk of losing it, in fact.

Thinking of Sandy caused his favorite image of the two of them to pop in his head. In it, they were sitting by a cozy, living-room fire in their home outside of Denver. While their relationship had a rocky start, for a golden year they had experienced a peace and happiness of the type he never thought he’d have – that he never thought he deserved. It had been a simpler and safer time, one that had been disrupted first by a medical issue, and later by the FBI.

The thought of the visit he was paid at his small running shoe store by an FBI agent caused the image of Sandy to vanish, and in her place was an unfamiliar man who seemed to know way too much about events in Minnesota two years earlier. That memory filled him with dread. It also caused his adrenaline to flow as he recalled the many subsequent months on the run.

When he again noticed his surroundings, he realized he was nearly running while pushing along the cart, causing it to rattle and clink like a room full of waiters setting dishes up for a massive meal.

Slow down. There’s no upside to rushing back.

Despite that admonition, he still arrived at the campsite in just a few minutes. He was sweating lightly, but at least somewhat re-energized by the forest’s beauty, the reflection, and the solitude.

Bring the booze barge over here… ummm, what did you say your name was? Brenda asked when he emerged from the woods.

Matt. Matt Lively.

Okay, Matt. Put it there, she said, pointing to a spot a dozen feet from the fire pit. And then give me a hand stringing up this tarp. It looks like we’re going to be in for some rain.

He nodded, pushed the cart to the designated spot, then grabbed a corner of the rain tarp and obediently stretched it across two of the four posts Brenda had already somehow buried in the ground. The tall, slightly overweight woman might be a good dozen years his junior, but there was no mistaking who was in charge.

Inside he was thinking how fun things would get once the guests arrived: Camp grunt to a bunch of pampered, rich jerks in the middle of a rainstorm – what did I do to deserve this?

~ ~ ~

Here we go! Vilmont shouted.

The rocks were quickly approaching, but Noll continued to dig hard with his paddle, hoping to stave off what now looked like an inevitable crash. He envisioned his body hurtling through the air to the bottom of the waterfall, then being submerged to depths unknown. Beneath the boulders, the water could be twenty feet deep with a lethal undertow, or there could be rocks a foot under the frothy surface. Neither possibility sounded good.

He pulled even harder.

It was as if time had slowed. The water roared, but the raft seemed to drift toward the first rock of the deadly duo in slow motion, rotating clockwise as it went.

At the last moment, Kevin pushed an oar into the front of the rock, holding the raft away for a split second. As if by magic, the continuing rotation of the boat caused it to move slightly to the left and catch a fast-moving stream of water flowing around the obstruction.

To the middle!

Noll quickly rolled off the side of the raft and into the bottom, uncertain if they were about to flip, crash, or if they were just at risk of falling overboard in the gut-wrenching drop that was approaching.

The raft rolled, and a mountain of icy water came over the bow, temporarily blinding Noll.

Oh, Mommy! shouted Vilmont, as the front end of the raft rose steeply into the air.

The man’s voice echoed with fear, but there was a huge smile plastered on his lips.

Chapter 2

Dread automatically distrusted most people, and Steven Zhiang was no exception. The fact that the thug worked directly for the man he knew only as Davis provided extra reason for suspicion.

While Zhiang might not be trustworthy, his strong back was certainly proving to be an asset as he took over the job of breaking trail while the two of them slogged through the thick underbrush. It was a task the one-hundred-thirty-pound Dread Havlin was wholly unsuited to perform.

And the fireplug of a man was lugging more than his share of the gear, too.

The arrangement worked for Dread. At least for now.

The plan – if it could be called a plan – was simple. They would approach the site indirectly using an old logging road to hide their vehicle. Then they would bushwhack through the woods about three miles, make their pickup under the cover of darkness, march directly back to the SUV, and then drive straight through to Calgary. With luck they would be at least half way there before anyone realized something was amiss.

Easy work, easy money. And plenty of it.

You sure we’re goin’ da right way? Zhiang asked.

I’ll check, he said with a sigh, then took out an ancient compass and did his best to check their bearings.

Dread had taken an instant dislike to the accented English his partner spoke. Fortunately, the man rarely said anything, and when he did, it was typically just a few words. He could tolerate Zhiang for a few days – as long as the guy didn’t question who was in charge. If he did, well, Dread had a solution for that problem – it started with the initials S and W and ended with the number 45.

Their target was located due east of the place they had parked the vehicle – Zhiang had verified their position on the SUV’s GPS. All they needed to do was continue walking east, and they couldn’t miss the spot. Too far north and they’d hit the highway, and to the south was the river. It would be hard to get it wrong. Even if they did miss the camp, once they hit any of the other landmarks, they could make a simple correction.

Davis had insisted they take along a portable GPS, but the damned things confused Dread. The compass was more his speed. One thing for sure, he wasn’t going to leave their directions in the hands of Captain Kangaroo. East in, west out. Simple and foolproof. They didn’t need to be dependent on any fucking GPS.

Yep, we’re going the right way. Why do you ask?

Because I think I see something.

Where?

Ahead. Smoke.

Dread could see it, too. A black column rising above the tree tops like an engraved invitation to the party.

Let’s drop our stuff here. We can scout the area now. Then we’ll wait for dark to make our move.

Zhiang grunted his agreement.

~ ~ ~

Matt finished setting up the tarp, then started the campfire. He agreed with Brenda, it would be much better to light the wood now, before the rain settled in. Once everything was wet, it might be impossible to get it burning at all. As the grunt, however, no one was asking his opinion.

Next came the client tents, which Matt helped Chase and Helen put up. They looked for the flattest spots available, but tried to make sure there wouldn’t be a pond forming under the tent if the rains were heavy. These clients were inexperienced with the outdoors, and they also expected to be pampered. With a cold front headed in, he was pretty sure no matter what Brenda did, there would be plenty of complaints.

Matt was basically muscle on this trip, and he had to keep reminding himself of that fact. Even though he’d learned a thing or two about camping over the last two years – a time during which he and Sandy had been stuck sleeping outdoors out of necessity, rather than by choice – he kept his mouth shut and basically followed orders. Nobody appreciated help from an unproven rookie.

He was just about to check in with Brenda for his next assignment when he heard a branch snap followed by what sounded like a footfall in the brush behind him.

Who’s there? he asked loudly, trying to sound bold and confident.

No answer.

What did he expect? Yogi bear to come waltzing out of the trees asking for a picnic basket? Whatever he’d heard, he knew he should investigate it. He should probably scare Yogi and Booboo off. It wouldn’t do for one of the clients to stumble on a skunk or a raccoon – or worse – while taking a leak in the middle of the night.

He started to head into the undergrowth….

Hey, Matt! Brenda shouted. She motioned him over. She was standing by the water’s edge wearing a wetsuit, holding a kayak paddle, and looking agitated. Helen was running down to the beach from the fire, and Chase was getting into one of their three kayaks.

He turned and trotted down to the water’s edge, seeing that Brenda was talking to someone on a hand held radio.

Something was clearly wrong.

Where did you go over? she asked.

There was a burst of static, and then a voice: "the vee."

Oh shit, Brenda muttered to herself.

How many are missing? she shouted, squeezing the radio’s side button with both hands.

Two.

Okay, we’re on our way.

She glanced down at the ground for a moment, thinking, and then looked over at Matt.

One of the rafts flipped in the middle of the rapids. We’ve got to take the kayaks upstream as backup, in case we need to fish the swimmers out.

What can I do?

She shoved the radio into his hand.

Try to raise the other raft on the radio, and get them to help.

Then she climbed into the last remaining kayak and paddled out into the water, leaving Matt Lively holding the radio, a hundred questions running through his head and no one to ask.

~ ~ ~

Okay, everybody, that’s it. We’re clear.

Noll looked up and saw another series of rapids up ahead, but they were nothing compared to the size of the ones their raft had just run.

What a rush, Vilmont said.

Noll chanced a look at the others. Grey was smiling, but Sun looked like he was about to toss his cookies. A whole jar full.

How much further to the camp? Sun managed to asked, followed by a groan.

Not far. There are a few more rapids, but they’re all class threes or less.

Not far was a good answer. After all the bouncing and water flow sound-effects, Noll needed to take a leak. He didn’t fancy pissing in the wetsuit and having the warm urine soak his boxers and run down his leg into his sandals – particularly not in front of Grey, who would take advantage of any perceived weakness.

Let’s put the paddles back in the water, said Vilmont. We can give the other team a pounding they’ll never forget.

Noll obediently picked up his paddle and again straddled the raft’s side, trying to hide a flash of irritation. Why did Vilmont have to make a competition out of everything? Couldn’t he just slow down for five minutes and enjoy life?

Of course, Noll already knew the answer to that question – because this was Elwood Vilmont, the CEO of the nation’s fastest growing strategy consulting firm. He was a driven man, one uniquely capable of pushing people to their limits and beyond. He simply wasn’t designed to enjoy.

Vilmont might be great at inspiring hard work, but after only a few short months with the company, Noll was beginning to understand why everyone on the executive staff seemed to hate the man.

Now if he could just figure out why they were all so hostile to each other.

Noll took a firm grip on the paddle, ready to start racing. But the signal to start didn’t come.

Ummmm… This is BC Adventures base camp trying to reach the guides for the group staying at the Layoko Lodge, said a muffled voice.

Noll looked back to see Kevin rummaging around in his pack, eventually producing a small, black box with a stubby antenna.

Back paddle, the guide commanded, then spoke into the handheld radio. This is Kevin.

Ummmm… hi, Kevin. This is Matt. Brenda said I should contact the guide of the other raft. Is that you?

Kevin sounded confused.

Brenda? What did she want? And who are you, anyway?

I’m fill-in help at the camp. She said one of the rafts flipped in the rapids. Was that you guys?

No. It must be Josh. How many are swimming?

Swimming?

In the water. Separated from the raft.

Two, I think.

Did she say where they went over?

I heard them say something about ‘the vee.’ Does that mean anything to you?

Oh, no, Kevin quietly whispered, probably not intending to be overheard by the group in the boat, but doing a bad job of keeping his concerns a secret. "Yes. We can help.