You're Almost Dead Page 2

  "As a church mouse," Emery assured.

  At this, Gabler turned and exited the room, locking the door behind him and leaving Emery alone to think long and hard about how best to utilize this fortuitous opportunity without getting himself killed in the process…

  * * *

  The next day, when it could be certain that Hunter Eaton's heir would be noticed missing, the plan was set into action. Kurt watched with thinning interest as Scott, their consistently overburdened genius from Connecticut, pored over a computer under Sheridan's vocal scrutiny. "It'll be up in five minutes. Five minutes."

  "Yeah man, I'm just saying. You've had three months to get this shit together and all I'm hearing is excuses," Sheridan remarked.

  Scott bristled visibly, his large biceps twitching under the skin and the whiskers of his face ticking slightly. "I'm not opening a goddamn Skype connection here—do you want this secure or don't you?"

  Sheridan gripped him by the shoulders, furthering the man's agitation by kneading into the taught muscles there too roughly. "Relax, Vic. Christ, take your time. He hasn't called yet, right?"

  "The demand was to contact us at exactly five o'clock. I doubt he'll risk his son's life by calling any earlier. We've got almost thirty minutes so just go and—get the fuck back and let me do this."

  This could potentially go on for too long. Sheridan was the master of passive aggression in the face of Scott's generally blistering temper and Kurt thought it might be wise to offer a distraction before something more serious erupted between them. "Shall I fetch him?" Kurt asked.

  Sheridan glanced at him thoughtfully as he lit a cigarette and chuckled. "Yeah. Go get him. Guess I should debrief the little shit, huh?" He waved his hand in a shooing motion and Kurt went to retrieve their guest.

  Emery continued to play the obliging hostage, something Kurt took to be either a front born of cowardice or of a spoiled rich brat's adamant refusal to accept the seriousness of the situation. Either way he was terribly annoyed by it. He none too gently guided the young man down the stairs and back to his original chair in the middle of the empty, dust-covered workshop. His hands were uncuffed and then recuffed behind him as soon as he sat down.

  Sheridan looked at him with a predatory smile and let out a long, smoke-filled breath. "Ya sleep well?"

  "Fine, thanks," Emery said.

  "Great. Listen up." Sheridan jerked his thumb towards the laptop and the man sitting in front of it. "My man here is in the process of getting ahold of dear old Dad and in the meantime I want you to think about exactly what I told you last night."

  Emery paused for a long moment. "Okay. Which… part, exactly?"

  "The part about what I need you to do. Which is…?"

  "Oh, uh, nothing. Nothing at all, just sit here and look pretty." Emery nodded, straightening in his chair with an idiotic smile.

  Sheridan held up his hands. "You got it. You do that and everybody wins. We walk away two million clams richer and you walk away with all your fingers and toes. Assuming pops is a reliable guy, that is."

  Emery's brow slowly furrowed. "Two million pounds…?"

  Sheridan ignored this comment and went back to leaning over Scott's shoulder.

  Emery looked as though he was going to say something else, but Sterling's massive hand suddenly squeezing his shoulder effectively shut him down.

  "His home system's more advanced than I thought it would be," Kurt heard Scott murmur to Sheridan. "Guy must have secrets."

  Sheridan's tone was equally hushed. "Can you get in, or can't you?"

  There was a moment of dead air filled only with the clacking of keys before Scott pushed back. "Yeah, it's done."

  Kurt canted his head and looked at the display screen before them. A black box had appeared in the center, some sort of media player with the options "Receive" and "Disconnect" in green and red backdrops respectively. There was a veritable novel of code and number jargon that he couldn't himself decipher sitting at the top of the screen in a separate window.

  Sheridan checked his watch. "Okay. How long have we got?"

  "We shouldn't leave it open longer than ten minutes at the most. Think that'll be enough to work in all the details?"

  "Plenty," Sheridan assured.

  "Excuse me," Emery spoke into the midst, drawing all four of his captor's heads. Kurt gauged Sheridan's reaction carefully. Sheridan was already in a tense mood and was unlikely to entertain interruption from even his peers, let alone his victim. He stood up straight and turned a snake-like look on Emery. "Uh, sorry. Hi," Emery licked his lips and shifted in his chair, eyes flicking around between the other men. "Did you say two million pounds?"

  Sheridan slowly walked over to Emery's chair, casually blowing a cloud of smoke down at him. "What's the matter, kid? You worried your daddy won't pay up?"

  "It's not that. Not at all, no," Emery looked up. "But my stepfather isn't worth anywhere near two million pounds."

  "No?" Sheridan snickered slightly, clearly finding this audacity amusing as he looked around to his colleagues in disbelief. "That's too bad. I mean that's really too bad." He reached into the waistband of his pants and produced a handgun, gesturing with it in mock exasperation. "Because if that's true, it's make you pretty damn worthless to me."

  Kurt watched with apprehension as Sheridan planted the barrel of the gun to Emery's forehead and pushed him back in his chair. Sheridan couldn't let his impulses get the better of him this time. There was a lot of money riding on this exchange and they were just minutes away from full execution. He wished he hadn't moved too far away to shut Emery up himself. "Sheridan," Kurt said calmly.

  Sheridan waved him off. "Is that what you interrupted us to tell me, Eaton? That you're worthless?"

  To his credit, Emery had on a brave face. He shook his head, voice even when he replied. "On the contrary. It's just that I'm worth more than you think. A lot more."

  This gave Sheridan pause. He studied Emery's persistent, unbroken gaze and turned his head contemplatively. "And what the fuck am I supposed to do with that?"

  "Demand more money."

  There was a long silence as that statement deposited into the air, no one daring to turn away from the scene as they processed it. Sheridan's face went through a series of emotions before it settled on mild irritation. He huffed, reholstering his gun and laughing quietly to himself. "That's cute. Real cute. The fuckin' ego on you."

  "N—I'm serious," Emery insisted, leaning forward again. "Look, in the public eye Hunter Eaton has a net worth somewhere in the vicinity of ten million pounds. But that's only what's on record and it's a negligible fraction of his actual wealth at best. You and the rest of the world think that Hunter Eaton is a millionaire. He's not. He's a bloody billionaire."

  "Bollocks," Sterling grunted dismissively.

  "So what? Your clean cut, charity funding, Winston Churchill of a stepdad is doing some kind of dirty business on the side?" Sheridan snorted, but his eyes were back on Emery and he was clearly beginning to think this conversation was something of a lark. Good humor was better than homicidal annoyance at least.

  "There's no better façade for dodgy deeds than philanthropy," Emery replied.

  Sheridan gave a look of jesting admonishment between Kurt and Sterling. "I think you guys were a little too rough with this one. He sounds like he's had his goddamn head knocked in."

  "It's the truth. I'm his heir—I know what I stand to inherit. I also know how much of my future wealth I'd part with to ensure my making it out of here alive. But that's really beside the point because there's nothing he wouldn't give you to get me back. He's one of the richest men in the country, and as far as he's concerned, I'm his most valuable asset. Now, if you ask him for two million pounds, you'll get it in about a day. However, if you let me talk to him, I can get you a hundred and fifty million within the week."

  Sheridan smirked and pulled a chair away from the desk to sit across from his abductee, shaking his head. "That's pretty good, kid. I mean it's slop
py, but for improv it's not bad. Hell, if I had a couple of drinks in me I might even believe it." He took a long drag.

  Emery went on, encouraged. "I'm not bluffing. After nearly ten years I know how he operates. You can have your two million if you like, or you can each be multi-millionaires in your own right."

  Sheridan looked on at Emery with a mix of admiration and incredulity as he rubbed his chin with a thumb in thought. "I don't get it. What's your angle here, kid? Is this some…rich brat's rebel fantasy? Pulling one over on Dad get you off?" He flicked his cigarette away and crossed his arms, studying Emery's face for a hint. "Or maybe you're afraid that you're not all you're cracked up to be. That a stepdad might be considering giving all his cash to a blood relative when he croaks—you're aiming for a cut of the money now 'cause you think it's the only way you'll ever get your hands on it."

  "No," Emery said gravely. "I don't want a red cent. All I want in return from you is a promise."

  Sheridan grinned widely. "A promise. From us? Boy, I gotta tell ya, for someone with an Oxford education you ain't got much common sense." He tapped his foot for a moment as Kurt and Scott shared a disconcerted glance. Even Sterling, who usually seemed wholly uninterested in details, was listening with rapt attention. "Okay Eaton, I'll bite. What's this big promise?"

  Emery looked around the room again before setting his mouth in a firm line. "That you lie. That regardless of what happens after you get paid, you don't give me back."

  CHAPTER 3

  "Ho, plot twist!" Sheridan exclaimed loudly, clapping his hands together. "The prodigal son doesn't want to return. Have to say I didn't see that one comin'. What is this? Is this Stockholm syndrome? Is that what this is?" he looked around at his crew, laughing. " 'Cause I like it."

  Kurt's jaw tensed, but Scott was the one to speak out first. "Come on Sheridan, are you really listening to this shit?"

  "I can pull it off," Emery said.

  "Yeah, yeah, sure you could. There's just one problem," Sheridan held up a finger in front of his face. "Kidnapping 101. The whole deal is sort of contingent on you being a purchased commodity. Taking the cash and running is a liability."

  Emery's confidence was clearly beginning to fracture. He sighed, eyes searching the ground for a more convincing argument. "Yes, but…it'll be well worth it."

  "Worth gettin' hunted down by London's finest for the rest of our days? If Eaton has as much money as you say, and if he really likes you as much as you think, I'm feelin' like keeping you puts a pretty fucking high price on our heads."

  "You'll be taking a bigger risk than you planned, yes, but in return you'll never need to take another risk again as long as you live." Sheridan remained silent and Emery continued emphatically. "It'll be simple. All you've got to do is demand two hundred million. He won't be able to pay it all at once, so it'll come to you in installments. Feign impatience. Make threats. And before he delivers on the full amount, say that his time is up."

  "And…what? Tell him you're dead?"

  Emery nodded.

  Sheridan forced out a breath, whistling. "That's pretty cold, kid."

  "Sorry, are you gents the conscientious sort?"

  "Watch it." Sheridan turned a dangerous look on Emery, who quickly lost his bravado. "Why in the hell do you want out of that pampered life so bad, anyway?"

  Emery looked caught off guard, moving his lips but unable to offer an immediate answer.

  "Come on, Eaton. If you really wanna sell this you've gotta meet me halfway here. You can't trust a man without a motive."

  "I don't…" Emery shook his head, swallowing. "I don't want his business. I don't want his estate. I don't want to be the next Hunter Eaton, and if I don't disappear I won't have a choice. I'll be forced into it. Guilted. Prodded. Nagged. I just want a chance to be myself. Even if it means breaking his heart and even if it means poverty, I just…don't care anymore. I want my freedom, and I'll do anything for it."

  Sheridan didn't speak for a long time, still searching Emery's face curiously. After a few moments he stood up, dragging his chair back over to the table and passing Kurt on the way, who stepped forward as he came close.

  "Surely you're not considering this," he implored.

  Sheridan put his hands on his hips. "Hey, what can I say? When an opportunity for early retirement comes along you have to at least give it a glance."

  "He's playing us," Kurt hissed.

  "Yeah? How?"

  "Every day we have him furthers our chances of failure. He's smart enough to know that. He obviously thinks that the longer he can string us along the more likely we are to be found out and he's right."

  "You really think he values us getting caught over his own life?"

  Kurt hesitated. "I think he's a pompous git pursuing the thrill of outsmarting people who do this for a living."

  "Well your opinion's duly noted, Gabler," Sheridan patted him roughly on the shoulder and went back to bending over the table and gazing into the computer screen. "How much time we got left?"

  "Six minutes," said Scott.

  Sheridan tapped his fingers on the metal surface and then turned back around, leaning against it and fixing Emery with a glare. "Alright. I'm a gambler."

  "No fuckin' way," Scott protested in surprise.

  "Nah, nah, come on. I'm intrigued. Let's see what you've got," Sheridan said as he walked back over to the man in question. "I mean if you try to screw me I'll slit you from sternum to scrotum and yank out everything in between, but right now I really wanna see if you can actually deliver on all that talk."

  "Right. Excellent," Emery nodded, straightening up in his chair and releasing all the air from his lungs. Then he began to breathe in an out in quick succession, eyes focused ahead.

  Sheridan held out his hand to Sterling, who gave him a black ski mask. "Alright. It's show time. Masks on, let's reel him in."

  Kurt could scarcely believe Sheridan was going along with this. Eaton had gotten lucky and managed to appeal to the man's biggest vices: his inability to refuse a challenge and his unapologetic greed. Kurt watched with fascination as Emery continued to breathe rapidly, looking deep in concentration as tears began to fill his eyes. He followed his leader's command and pulled his mask over his face, his eyes never leaving the object of his suspicions.

  After a few moments, Scott pushed aside and stood up, pulling his mask on as well. "He's calling."

  Sheridan gestured for him to answer and Scott hit the player's "receive" option, which quickly generated an image of the caller on the other side. There was Hunter Eaton, a good looking man halfway through his forties in a gray suit who was staring at the lens of his web camera with a severe expression. "Hello?"

  "Hello," Sheridan answered back.

  "This is Hunter Eaton. Who is this? Where is my son?"

  "Here with us."

  Hunter paused for a long moment, resting his elbows on the desk he was sitting at. His tone was firm when he spoke again. "Who are you?"

  "Look, I'd love to give you my life story, but we're a little short on time and I think—correct me if I'm wrong here—that there's someone else's life you'd rather hear about."

  "…Where is he?"

  Sheridan held an arm out towards Emery, who was out of the camera's scope, and Sterling obliged, snatching their prisoner by the shirt and pulling him out of his chair. He then unceremoniously shoved him in the right direction, causing him to fall roughly to his knees in front of the computer camera. He was a disheveled mess by this point, hair mussed, tears streaming down his face, and he maintained a convincing mask of terror.

  "Emery? My god, what's happened to you?" Hunter asked. All inklings of doubt and poise had bled from his face the instant he saw his stepson, leaning forward in horror.

  "I-I don't know," he whimpered in return. "I was…I was out having a drink, and then…I woke up here. I don't know where I am. I-I don't know what…"

  "It's alright. It's alright, Emery, just…well what in the bloody hell do they want?"


  "Money," Emery said. "A lot of money."

  "Yes, how much?"

  Emery looked down as if suppressing a sob and shook his head. "They want two hundred million pounds."

  Hunter sat back in his chair, clearly dumbstruck. He wiped a hand over his face and said nothing for a good ten seconds. "…They have to know…they have to know I don't have it."

  "I told them that," Emery choked. "I told them, but they don't believe me. Please. I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I let this happen, but they're going to kill me!"

  "God, have they hurt you?"

  "Not badly…"

  "Where did they take you from, Emery? What pub, where were you?"

  "I can't remember." Emery expertly sidestepped the question with another shuddering exhalation and a look of despair. "I know I haven't been…I know I've upset you. I know that…I haven't been exactly what you've expected me to be lately. I thought I could prove my independence, that I could make it without your help, show you that I was my own man. I was wrong, I was terribly fucking wrong and you were right—I do need you, Hunter, please..." At this his breath hitched and he dissolved into tears.

  "Emery," Hunter uttered breathlessly, panic seeping into his features. "Stop, please don't cry, I'll…" he bit his inner cheek, scanning the desk before him. "I don't have the money. Not right now. Tell them I can get it, but…it'll take me a few days to compile it. I can't get around it. It's simply not possible, please, let me speak to them, I'll get it. I swear to you."

  "We're all ears, Eaton," Sheridan said stepping back into frame in front of Emery.

  Hunter swallowed, his eyes wet. "Don't hurt him. He doesn't deserve this. I'll pay whatever you like, I won't go to the police, I won't tell a soul, but please send him home."

  "As soon as we see some cash, we'll be glad to."