This island’s tighter than a whore’s buttplug.
Cameras were everywhere, carefully hidden and disguised. The best surveillance tech by experts. They were good but he was better. Still, Jim knew for every camera spotted, ten others were not.
An island carpeted with surveillance plus signal blockers. We’re in a box alright.
The bike trail took him along the beach. The beach was dotted with rocks, which he thought odd for this island, until he saw several move. What?
He parked his bike and went to investigate. They weren’t rocks. Sea turtles.
Jim rode back to the main building, an idea forming in his head.
“I saw some sea turtles on the beach. Anyplace I can get a camera to take some pictures?” he asked the concierge.
“Oh! The South Calicos sea turtle. This is their spawning season. It’s one of the few islands where they lay their eggs. Careful, they’re a protected species.”
“Oh really?” Jim smiled. “Don’t worry, I just want to snap a few photographs.”
“Well, we sell cameras and other equipment at the store. I’m happy to inform you, Boorstadt opened it for your convenience.”
“That’s great.”
The store sold another product which fell into Jim’s plans.
“Superglue?”
“Some of our guests might require minor repairs to their luggage or other items.”
“Makes sense.” Perfect! “I’ll have a tube. Could help with a loose shoe heel.”
Jim rode back to the beach, took the camera, and snapped some pictures. The surveillance cameras captured him kneeling beside a turtle, his back to the bike path. The guard monitoring the surveillance didn’t think much of the act.
Jim left the beach and rode back to the hotel. I hope this works.
He returned his bike and went back to the bungalow to consider his options.
Best bet is to try for the formula while everyone’s distracted. If she can keep them occupied, that is. He’ll have it in his safe. Krause likes to keep his toys close.
Jim spent the rest of the day sketching out and discarding escape scenarios.
If this op doesn’t work we’re dead. At the very least I’ll need to take out Krakov and Boorstadt.
He neither spoke to nor saw Brittany that day. Boorstadt, when Jim asked, informed him of her makeover.
She be more than alright, I guess. If they killed her because of a flaw in the profile, I’d be dead moments later. I wonder how she’ll look when they’re done?
The guests began arriving that evening. They came by plane and boat, and a string of shuttles cycled between the airfield and resort, well into the night.
Boorstadt handled most of the arrangements. The concierge and remaining staff were present to help the guests. The guests did not sign in. The concierge and staff did not ask questions. The doors to the store and cafeteria were kept unlocked for easy access.
Once the guests were settled, the concierge and staff immediately went to their quarters, changed their clothes, took their bags, and got on the shuttle to the airfield. The plane took them to Florida, after which they scattered to their respective homes, friends, and vacations to sit out the subsequent events.
The turtle laid her eggs. There was some delay because of the man earlier, which annoyed her immensely. Egg-laying was difficult enough without some idiot land-dweller hovering about.
She finished her task and buried the eggs, rested, and then trundled her slow way into the ocean. She entered the water at half past midnight, where her progress greatly improved. The turtle swam from the shore, hoping to catch a nifty Gulf stream to South America.
To Be Continued.