The FBI Director leaned back into his leather arm chair and scowled. He didn’t need a case like this just now. A full blown rape and murder case. He knew all too well about the public’s boundless fascination with sex crimes. Once the press broke the story of a serial rapist and murderer who was still at large, the pressure would be unbearable.
At 55 years old, Donald Farber was in great shape, carrying the same weight over a taught 5′10″ frame as in high school. It was the rigorous exercise regimen. Up at the crack of dawn and out the door on a seven mile run. After work, he lifted weights at home in the basement. The routine never varied.
He sighed and gazed at his surroundings. The lavish office commanded sweeping views of the Capitol building, Washington Monument and the Potomac River. His mahogany desk sat majestically amidst a setting of plush carpeting, oaken bookshelves and walls adorned with the testaments of a distinguished life. Along with the golden plaques, letters of commendation and honorary degrees, there were photographs of him playing golf with the President, enjoying high tea with Prince Charles and schmoozing with an impressive assortment of celebrities and VIPs.
Being the head honcho meant exclusive access to the penthouse suite perched atop the fabled Hoover Building. There were executive secretaries, crack paralegals and brilliant analysts at his beck and command, along with a network of lighting-quick computers and a conference room for thirty people. There was even a miniature putting green to help relieve the stress of making all those momentous decisions.
He would be giving up a lot and he knew it.
But opportunity was knocking. The owner of Bromberg Ski Resorts had recently passed away and the heirs wanted to cash out rather than continue the family business. Donald already had wealthy investors cultivated from a lifetime of hobnobbing with the elite. The time was now.
Yes, the dream was taking shape. He closed his eyes and let the process begin. An alpine resort in the snowy mountains of Taos, New Mexico. Whole days skiing the slopes with select clients. Wining and dining jet-set celebrities. Stacks of letters from satisfied customers. The pride of managing a veritable winter wonderland. Families with kids and toboggans.
The real world dashed his dream with the buzz of the intercom. “Yes, Jenny?” His voice quavered slightly.
“Everyone is here for the meeting, Mr. Farber.”
“Tell them to wait in the conference room,” he commanded.
“Yes, Mr. Farber.”
Fifteen years as head of the FBI. Hard times and good times. Terrific agents, bumbling morons and friends for life. Not a job but a sacrifice of heart, mind and soul. The usual protocol was a discreet announcement followed by a grand procession of politicians, society matrons and captains of industry extolling his years of public service.
But there was a fly in the ointment. Farber couldn’t retire until this case was solved. A sterling reputation came with the upholding of strict standards and his personal pride was at stake. The only way out was in grand style with head held high.
Let the bastards wait, he thought. Hell, they’re so anxious for the chief to ride off into the sunset just so they can grab my seat. Ha! Let them stew in the juices of their ambition. This case is going to be around for awhile.
The meeting was sure to be long, laborious and contentious. Farber scowled in disgust and slammed his eyes shut in a desperate bid for the dreamy vision of a winter wonderland.
All he saw was a nightmare of bloody corpses.
