The Greatest of These by Greg Wendleton (have you read this book .txt) 📗

sold his soul to the UBG in exchange for a larger payment than he had actually earned. He intended for the evidence to be easily discoverable by the authorities and the assets would be frozen. His hacker had ensured him that he would be able to work around the frozen account and eventually retrieve the twenty-five-million dollars. That would happen after the Wilhites had disappeared and the case was officially deemed to have been solved. This hack would cost Conrad a smooth five-million. He considered it a small price to pay for the payday he was scoring.

The next step was to transfer one-million dollars to Garret Cooper’s off-shore account that the fool had never changed the password to. Adding this payment to the $1,108,507.52 balance would prove his complicity in the deaths of Chad and Jamie Wilhite, if their remains were ever found.

These transactions left Conrad with a balance in his Cayman Island account of $6,463,899.47. A healthy sum of money by most standards, but he had promised, Smith, Jones and Johnson two- million dollars apiece for their roles in this mission. If he actually had to pay them off, the account would be down to $463,899.47. He was counting on the hacker returning $20 million of the money he had deposited into the Wilhite Logistical Consulting account and the $50 million the UBG had donated to his retirement fund. This would allow him to go way off the grid on some secluded island where he could relax and idle away his days.

It was time to move forward with his plans for the Wilhites and Cooper.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Smith felt the vibration of his phone at the same time that his computer pinged with a newly received email. Of course, they were both from Conrad.

The text message read:

EXECUTE PLAN. SEE EMAIL.

The email read:

You and Johnson are too exposed on Maui. Go to Kahului. Return on AA #6 @ 7:20pm. Already booked. Make sure Cooper is on inbound flight from DFW. Leave Jones watching Wilhites. Make sure he cleans up all signs of us and Wilhites on Thursday. Then he takes same flight back on 2 25. Meet at farm on 3 6 @ 6pm for final time.

Smith replied to the text message only with one word. UNDERSTOOD. He then shared the instructions with Jones and Johnson. Jones was pissed and made no attempt to hide his anger.

“Why the hell do I have to babysit these two and wait for that loser Cooper to maybe find us? Shit, Thursday is two more days in this hell hole!”

“Quit your bitching. I will go get you some supplies so you can survive the ordeal. Just remember the pay day waiting for you.”

“Yeah, I guess so. Just make sure you get me a bottle of tequila. I’m going to need it.”

It was Tuesday, February 23 at 4:00am. All three men were exhausted and needed sleep. They decided to take turns with two sleeping while one kept an eye on the Wilhites, who were also asleep, and monitor the exterior of the shack.

Unceremoniously, the men roused the Wilhites from their sleep and still bound at the hands and feet placed them into the two wooden chairs in the middle of the shack. They tied additional rope around their midsections to secure them to the chairs. After that was completed, Smith and Johnson took up positions, uncomfortably, on the double bed. Johnson was so uncomfortable with the arrangements that he moved so that his head was on the opposite end of the bed, at Smith’s feet. Better to smell his sweaty feet through his shoes than sleep face to face with the ugly bastard.

Both men were soon asleep leaving Jones alone with his thoughts and his anger. He didn’t hear any sounds during the first two-hour period. When Smith woke and then tapped him on the shoulder to relieve him Jones was a zombie. Jones fell onto the bed and within minutes was snoring like a fricking lumberjack.

The snoring didn’t bother Johnson at all, but it woke both Chad and Jamie Wilhite from their restless, upright sleep. “We need water” said a hoarse Chad Wilhite. “We’ve had nothing to eat or drink since you drugged us and kidnapped us.”

“Shut the fuck up old man. We’ll get some supplies when the stores open in town.”

“In town? Where are we?” asked Chad.

“That’s on a need-to-know basis and you sure as hell don’t need to know.”

“I need to use a bathroom” whispered Jamie.

“Well, that’s a damn shame lady. There ain’t no bathroom. You’ll have to just pee your pants.”

“What? I can’t do that.”

“Then you better figure out a way to hold it.”

Silence enveloped the shack, except for the constant snoring from Jones. Soon, Johnson began to move about on the bed and then drove an elbow into the curled-up body of Jones waking him from his slumber.

“You snore like a lumberjack dude! Who can sleep through that? No wonder you don’t have any ladies in your life.”

“Shut up asshole. I have sleep apnea and I obviously don’t have my CPAP machine with me, do I?”

“Johnson, you stand guard while sleeping beauty catches a few more z’s and I’ll drive into town and grab some provisions.”

“Don’t forget my tequila!”

“Yeah, I won’t forget.”

Johnson took up a position as the lookout as Smith walked out the door of the shack. The sun was coming up as he brought the SUV’s engine to life and roared off, away from the structure. As the dust settled, Johnson took a look out the lone window along the front wall and scanned for any sign of neighbors. He didn’t see another building or vehicle. He decided they were amply isolated in this run-down shack. Probably no one had been in here in years.

Smith drove into Hana and found a small grocery store that had just opened. He parked the SUV a few spaces away from the front door and exited his vehicle. He stretched his frame to its full size of 6’ 2” and