Vigilante, Inc.: Volume One - Second Edition

By Stephen R. Pell

The world's richest man, Xavier Key, is almost assassinated. His companies specalize in genetic engineering and nanotechnology. His staff uses their latest research to save him, and rebuild him. During his long and painful recovery Key decides to form a new company, Vigilante, Inc. to dispense justice for hire. He will start with those that almost killed him. His chief of security, Allen Swafford, was killed in the attempt on Key's life. Swafford's wife, Sylvia, joins Key's inner circle. She is a powerful psychic, and with her help, Key and the others in his inner circle fighe corrupt businesses and governments at every turn. But as Key learns, revenge is complicated.
Other countries form a coalition and attempt to take his business away from him. His own country that he served as a Marine in combat could not or would not help him. Key escapes to China only to learn they have a hidden agenda. Key manages, with Sylvia Swafford's help, to return to the United States and through a series of events is presented the opportunity to make a profound difference in the future of America. The question is, can Xavier Key make the difficult decisions necessary to fix this country and its broken government.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Mar 30, 2012
• ISBN: 9781620952597

Book preview

sisters.

chapter 1

SOME DAYS IT did not pay to be the world’s richest man. This was going to be one of those days.

Xavier Key was awakened by a gentle chime. Soft bedclothes seemed to flap in slow motion as Xavier exposed his face to the room. The thin, flexible, flannel-sheet like material was a prototype being developed for use in space missions. Hopefully, other applications as well. Lightweight, soft with high insulation numbers, it was said that this batch of material had achieved an equivalent R value of ninety.

Yes, he said to the air. Key’s bedroom was not totally dark, an ornate sconce on each wall held a group of colored lights controlled by a panel set low on one wall, next to the bed. The lights, red, green, blue, and yellow LEDs, were at their lowest setting.

Sorry to disturb you, sir, but your wife’s plane is overdue, said the voice from a well concealed speaker.

How long?

Forty minutes, sir, said the voice, which belonged to Allen Swafford, Key’s chief of security.

What happened? Key got out of bed and walked to the bathroom. The house computer activated small machines in the bed frame and soon the bed was made and stowed in a cabinet hidden within the paneling.

At the same time another section of paneling opened and a desk, chair, and credenza rolled quietly into place. Four plush office chairs rolled out of cubicles in the paneling, and a round table lifted from the floor. The large space was completely converted by the time Xavier Key brushed his teeth.

The plane radioed that is was leaving the scheduled flight plan to avoid a storm. That’s the last we heard from them. The voice of Allen Swafford followed him into the bathroom.

Key looked at himself in the mirror and felt a chill spread throughout his body. They had used a different pilot because their regular pilot, Joe Simon, had gotten food poisoning. Along with two others out of a group of a dozen or so. The only ones brave enough to try the local specialty in that province of Belize. Something involving Jalapeño and Habanera seeds called Devil’s Fire.

Key worried at the time it was a little too convenient. But the background check on the replacement pilot had come back okay, and Fran was always in a hurry. He should have known, he murmured to himself. Key shook his head to clear out the frustration. He had little success.

Last known position?

One hundred miles northeast of the Yucatan Peninsula. They were over the water, sir.

Key fought the urge to snap at Allen. He knew they would be over the water. He took a breath.

Check all the radar along the route and scramble our emergency units in that direction. I’ll be right down. Get me everything you can on that replacement pilot.

Yes, sir, said Allen’s voice.

Key took a deep breath, held it a second, let it out, and looked himself up and down. You’ve let yourself slip, he thought. Gotten slow. Careless. You know better. A tingle of dread crept up his spine. And now Fran is missing.

Fran Key had been his wife and business partner for twenty-five years. This was a rare solo trip she had been on. They usually traveled together. But she had been invited to participate in the opening of a clinic in Belize funded by one of their foundations. Xavier had been tied up D.C., in

political wrangling over approvals of their newest wave of medical products. Or, next generation of products, as the marketing guys kept reminding him.

Xavier Key loved Fran as much as any man could love any woman, and he was totally devoted to her. Her only competition for his attention was their business, which had grown incredibly large and increasingly controversial over the last several years. One look into her eyes, however, and Xavier was all hers for as long as she wanted. It had been that way all through their courtship and marriage. Right now Xavier Key would give anything to look into Fran’s eyes.

Key was a tall man, all of six-six. For years he kept his weight at two hundred pounds even. Rock hard, he liked to think, since his days as a Marine grunt. Now, at fifty-five, the scales said it was more like two-fifteen. To him it looked like three hundred. He gave himself a look of disgust as he stripped off his T-shirt and shorts and stepped into the shower. He felt another chill as the water hit his body, and not from the temperature, which was pre-set and perfect. Fran is missing!

Damn, he muttered. He had this feeling a person gets right after doing something dangerously stupid, like cutting themselves with a kitchen knife, or locking the keys and your cell phone in the car, which is still running. Damn. Key shivered again. And again.

***

What luck to find a qualified pilot right at the airport, thought Fran Key as the plane taxied along the runway preparing to take off for home. Poor Joe. I hope he recovers quickly from that food poisoning.

Fran Key did not look her fifty-five years, more like forty or forty-five. Her hair was strawberry blonde, cut to just brush her shoulders, and her eyes were a sparkly green hazel, shining with intelligence and good humor. Fran maintained a healthy diet and maintained a good, sustainable exercise routine. Her figure was firm and supple and she carried herself with an air of confidence. At five-six she was a good foot shorter than her husband, but she would not have it any other way. Xavier was her life and she did whatever she could to contribute to his well being. Theirs was a love for the ages.

It was not only fortunate, but suspiciously interesting to Fran’s security team that a pilot who could fly the newest and biggest Lear corporate jet would be available at such a small airport in Belize just when they needed one. Queries were sent from Key Enterprises headquarters and all the information that came back was satisfactory. Sam Nicholson was literally just passing through, refueling for the rest of his flight home from vacation.

Fran’s Security Chief, Stan Jones, checked with his boss back at the ranch who sent out inquires on this new pilot. No red flags came back. He had been on vacation and was returning by a registered flight plan set weeks before. Arrangements were made for Nicholson’s rented plane to be flown to his home airport.

Fran Key’s regular pilot had developed food poisoning from supper the night before, and had to be replaced. They were on a tight schedule. Lately they were always on a tight schedule.

Fran usually traveled with Xavier. This was, in fact, the first time she had traveled out of the country without Xavier at her side. She felt some sense of satisfaction at the opening of the clinic, and she certainly enjoyed the company of all in attendance, but she was eager to get home.

The clinic had been her dream. A healing center to bring modern medicine and holistic therapies to the remnants of the Mayan people in that country. Fran had visited the Mayan ruins there as a child and had been mesmerized. Fran studied Mayan history and mythology and remained fascinated by the mysteries that surrounded the seemingly sudden disappearance of the bulk of the Mayan population so many years before. She felt great empathy for the people of Belize and always kept the notion that someday perhaps she could do something to help the region.

Now that she was in a position to facilitate such projects, Fran felt it was her duty, realizing the unique position she enjoyed. Plus, she gave a highly visible and humanitarian face to Key Enterprises. Xavier did not have to bother with it and she got to indulge her passion. That, in Fran’s mind, was a true win-win situation.

So, after permissions were granted by Allen Swafford back at the ranch, as they called the Key home/headquarters, Fran and her crew left Joe Simon and the two others at the local hospital and flew away with the new pilot. Sam Nicholson.

Middle age, lean, air of confidence. He certainly knew his way around a cockpit. Nicholson had been on his way home from a vacation in South America and had stopped to refuel in Belize. Nicholson flew the corporate jets for the top execs of an air freight company, which included the latest and greatest Lears. The company used six such pilots so there was occasionally time for a vacation.

Once in the air, Nicholson altered the flight path slightly, so they would encounter a huge storm out over the Gulf. He gave the radar time to show the storm, and then called Stan Jones to the cockpit. Together they called Stan’s boss at the ranch and told him they were going to have to change course to avoid the storm.

The entry was logged at headquarters, the former golf course that was now Key Enterprises’ main compound.

You’d better go buckle up, in case I can’t get away from this thing, said Nicholson, indicating the storm clouds ahead.

Jones returned to his seat and quickly fastened his safety harness. Nicholson, now alone in the cabin, put on a gas mask and reached into his duffle bag for two canisters. He opened the canisters and pushed a button on top of each. Gas was released, which was caught up in the plane’s ventilation system. In moments everyone in the cabin was unconscious. Nicholson looked around the cockpit for transponders and disconnected three of the tracking devices, the normal one and two that Key had ordered to be custom installed. He pulled out a bug checker and swept the cockpit. Satisfied he could not be tracked, Nicholson took the plane into a steep dive, leveling off at only a hundred feet above the water. He then flew straight for a small, private airfield located in a sparsely populated area on the coast of Mexico.

chapter 2

KEY WALKED INTO his kitchen. He was still folding up the cuffs on his long sleeve, white shirt. The shirt’s tail was out over his jeans. Xavier’s old, comfortable New Balance crosstrainers were not tied and the laces smacked the floor with a faint click. Key’s chef handed him a cup of black, strong coffee. His security chief, Allen Swafford, was standing by a table in a small room that opened off the kitchen, which now served as a breakfast nook. Key walked to the table and motioned for Swafford to sit. Swafford had been a captain in the Marine Corps. He still looked like a captain, even in civilian clothes. Swafford could easily have been the poster boy for the Corps, with his multi-cultural, chiseled good looks. They both sat. Key bent and tied his shoes.

Key himself had been a Marine years ago. He used the GI Bill to help pay for his undergrad time at Stanford. He recruited all his security force from the Corps. Key knew there were many other great people in other branches of the military, but his gut told him to stay with the branch he knew.

As one of the benefits of working at Key Enterprises, Key’s HR people worked out a schedule where first his corporate level employees, and then everyone at any of Key Enterprises facilities, could work part-time and go to college-part time, Key picking up the tab for college. Post-grad work was included. It was voluntary but every single one of his staff took advantage of the free college even though their paychecks might be cut slightly in the short term. However, those that went on to get a degree in their field received a hefty raise and benefits package. To say Xavier Key had built a fiercely loyal staff was an understatement.

Key mentally studied his staff, one by one, and at the end of the line he found himself looking at his security chief. In other circumstances Allen Swafford could have been a close friend. He was personable and more than competent in his job, but Xavier chose not to fraternize with his employees. Even the inner circle. He had never been to Swafford’s home, Key realized. And for some reason, at that moment, that fact seemed somehow sad. Key felt a curious sense of loss, and then realized he had drifted away for a moment. Xavier felt a momentary flash of anger at himself. He rarely let his mind wander, and never during a crisis. You don’t rise to the top of the heap by dawdling, he reminded himself mentally.

Key took a breath, let it out long and slow, and forced himself to focus on the task at hand—finding Fran. Not even strong emotion could totally dampen the mental fires of a mind clocked at an IQ of two hundred and fifty. He focused his attention, razor sharp as he listened. Swafford plowed on.

The plane is gone. No transponder signals at all. And that’s not the worst of it. Swafford opened a folder. He pulled sheets of paper out and a few photographs, which he looked at briefly and then handed to Key. This is the real Sam Nicholson. The real Sam Nicholson disappeared three days ago, replaced by the guy that flew our plane.

And the check that was done on him yesterday didn’t pick this up? asked Key.

No, sir. None of the responses to our inquiries had that information. He had been overdue from a vacation to South America for three days before anyone at the air freight line where he worked thought to check on him. It was a weekend… Swafford looked seriously uncomfortable. This was a major screw up and it was happening on his watch.

We can expect a phone call, then, said Key. Get everything set up to intercept the call and the caller. Bring in everybody. No vacations. No excuses. Set up the ‘grid’ and get the two ‘Bravos’ and my ‘baby’ ready for deployment. Get me the numbers for all the CEOs of all the cellular service providers for this city. I’ll call them myself so they can set up to get us expedited information as soon as we confirm the call.

Yes, SIR! Swafford was up and gone. He had not taken a single note. He didn’t need to.

It’s not his fault, thought Key. But he thinks it is and that motivates the hell out of him. He’d walk through fire to fix this.

***

Sam Nicholson, real name John Brotesky, brought the Lear to a stop inches before he ran out of runway. The airport was little more than a flat strip of land bulldozed out of a field. But it did the job. Barely. Two vans were waiting and the unconscious security teams members were put in one while Fran Key and her personal assistant, Angela Powers, were put in the other. Men who drove the vans helped Nicholson/Brotesky pull a tan and brown camouflage tarp over the plane. Nicholson/Brotesky got into the van with Fran Key and the two vans drove away in different directions.

***

Key went to his office and retrieved a specially built tablet from a locked cabinet. He typed in several words and went through several screens. He found the panel for that particular craft and activated a relay which turned on a series of hidden transponders in the Lear. New ones he had installed himself, in secret last year. Not one in his employ knew of these. One of his own fail-safe’s, and they were on all his airplanes and boats. He had hoped never to have to use them, and would eventually have to admit that he was, indeed, paranoid. As the saying goes, you are not paranoid if they really are trying to get you. By that logic, Key was anything but paranoid.

In moments the tablet had connected to satellite input and was establishing a search pattern. The three trackers sent out signals on different frequencies to increase the chances of one getting through. All three were loud and clear.

Key touched another series of buttons on the screen and focused the search along the flight path of his wife’s plane. He widened it out to three hundred miles on either side and got a response. In moments the satellite data triangulated the signals and he had his location. Mexico. Gulf Coast side. Longitude and latitude coordinates.

Allen, Key said into the air. The proximity sensors activated the two way communicators Key and Swafford shared.

Yes, sir? said Swafford’s voice from the air.

The plane is in Mexico. On the Gulf Coast. Here’s the longitude and latitude. Assemble the ‘A’ team and get them on the way down there. Secure the plane. Leave the ‘Globalink’ on at all times. Key read off the numbers. Let Kyle Grogan handle the grid here. Brief him before you leave. You’ll be going with me in the ‘Baby.’ After we get the call.

Yes, sir, said the air.

***

Millie Duncan was driving home. She had just spent a wonderful afternoon with her daughter and those two delightful grandchildren. She was enjoying a selection of classical music the local university radio station played throughout the day. Millie’s husband preferred that gawd-awful country music so her car was the place to relax and enjoy her music. They rarely listened to music in their home, except some holiday favorites on twenty year old CDs when the kids and grandkids came for Christmas.

Construction on and around the freeway had caused her to detour several times, finally funneling her onto an exit ramp. Now she was on side streets. She wasn’t lost, she thought, she just wasn’t quite sure where she was. For the first time she wished she had let her husband install a GPS in her car. They came standard on the new models, but she preferred her classic Cadillac. It might be old but it only had about twenty-five thousand miles on it. She was used to it and it was very comfortable, in addition to having room to haul around her bridge buddies on occasion.

The phone rang and