Season One, Episode Twenty-Four: The Garden of Temerity

The room was way dark compared with the sunny day outside. The curtains had been completely drawn, only a handful of small spotlights had been switched on, showing the ominous dark paintings on the wall.
Camry sat with his back to the polished oak door. The table in front of him was wide enough for eight people to take part in a medieval banquet, but right now there was no food, and there was only one person in the room in addition to Camry.
‘You’re going to tell me about the Russian,’ the other man said.
Camry looked so surprised he even stopped fidgeting with his tie for a second.
‘What Russian?’
‘Don’t even pretend you don’t understand me,’ the man said. ‘I’m talking about the man with the initials V.O. and you have been stalking him for a long time.’
‘He’s of no harm to me anymore,’ Camry said. ‘Can I get something to drink in here?’
The man pointed at a water dispenser in a corner of the room. Camry went over and got himself a paper cup full of the stuff. Back at the table, he inspected the water before taking a sip.
‘You don’t trust our water supply?’

Camry’s driver was kicking the tires of the Mercedes 700 and kicking the ash off his cigarette. He was standing with his back to the villa, so he couldn’t see the slight move in the curtain on the second floor.
‘He’s of no harm to me anymore,’ a voice came from behind Inspector Mondeo’s back in the room. ‘Can I get something to drink in here?’
Mondeo turned away from the window and the driver and looked at the laptop showing the image of Camry walking across the room below to get some water.
Mondeo smirked as he watched the man inspect the paper cup.
‘Scared of the water, you’d better be,’ Mondeo said to himself.

The expensive Italian car was driving at a speed just below the official limit on the main coastal road.
‘Fascinating story, but do you believe it?’ Charlo’ asked.
‘About the water? I think he has something else up his sleeve. But I wasn’t in a position to ask,’ Markus said.
‘Turn left, eight miles ahead,’ the GPS voice told them.
‘I wish I could turn this thing off, it gives me a headache.’
‘Will this be our final destination, or will we find another key?’
‘It can’t be. I don’t know what we’ll find, but two things it won’t be. A key and an ambush,’ he said.
‘I was aching for an ambush. We haven’t been shot at since Taiwan, remember?’
‘Turn left, six miles ahead.’

‘We agreed on two months,’ Camry said, finishing his water. He held the cup up in a gesture asking for more. The man at the other side of the table waved his agreement, so Camry stood up and walked away.
‘Tighten the screws,’ Mondeo whispered in his microphone on the second floor.
‘He can do it in less, he’s just stalling us for more money,’ Camry heard the man at the table say.
‘I can be very persuasive if I want to, but less than two months? That’s going to be a stretch,’ Camry said walking back with a new cup of water.
‘Then stretch.’
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Camry said.
‘You’ll do what we want you do.’
‘No need to go all Mister Nasty over me.’
‘Then stay away from the Russians and persuade your professor to work faster. We need the technology.’
‘He’s your professor too. Which reminds me I need some more money from you if I am to convince him to bring up the schedule,’ Camry said, standing up as if he wanted to leave the room.
‘Money, that’s all what you people think about.’
‘Water doesn’t come cheap in my part of the world.’
Mondeo turned away from the screen and looked out the window. Camry’s driver had moved under the trees to seek respite from the sunlight.
‘I’ll be Mister Nasty all over you sooner than you expect,’ Mondeo mumbled to himself as the computer screen behind him went blank.

‘Turn left.’
Markus was driving up the intersection at 40 miles an hour. Instead of braking, he just pulled a hard left and cut off the cyclists coming in the other direction. The move earned him loud angry words and a couple of obscene gestures.
The car was now barreling down a dusty road, throwing up a huge cloud.
‘Can’t you take it down a few notches?’ Charlo’ said.
Markus slowed down enough for them to see the scenery. Long, wild, dry grasses, olive trees, and beyond, the blue horizon of the ocean.
‘Turn right at next intersection.’
They weren’t expecting any intersection on a dust road, but there was. Markus turned right as the voice said, and one mile of meandering country driving further, the voice gave its final instruction.
‘You have reached the Garden of Temerity.’

NEXT: Markus Bentley and Charlo’ enter the Garden of Temerity in Episode Twenty-Five before July 1.

Season One, Episode Three: Camry

'Hitchcock it ain't, but it will do,' said the man.
He looked at the fading image of the woman looking up at the camera in the parking lot, and then clapped the laptop shut.
He was sitting in the back of the Mercedes F700, only barely acknowledging the presence of the bulky man in the front passenger seat who was trying to face him.
'Do you know how to get this to him?' he asked.
'The old-fashioned way, Mr. Camry.’
Camry disliked strangers using his name. Or using names anywhere, for that matter. Camry looked away to the chauffeur's neck, then to the passing cityscape outside. Five-lane highways.
He was wearing a nice Italian suit, but he still looked like the scrawny Eastside punk he grew up as. He'd rather be lounging around the house in shorts and Hawaiian shirt at his private pool, but today it just wasn't possible. There was work to do. The Brother Hotel wouldn't take types like him in half underwear.
'Make sure it's clean ten out of ten,' he said as he reached across the car to hand the laptop to the passenger.
The fat guy mumbled something. In another place, Camry would've slapped him for being disrespectful, if not worse. But he needed his suit to be immaculate for the meeting. So all he allowed himself was a look of disdain. Make the guy feel like he's shit, Camry thought.
He waved so the chauffeur caught the gesture. The car left the highway and stopped at the next intersection. Out stepped the passenger, clutching the laptop as if it were a treasure. It was.

Markus Bentley was reaching for a stick of marzipan on the plate next to his laptop. He was going through one of those forums for whining and homesick expats in an Asian country. He had never liked the word expat, it made him think of spoiled brats in suits, living in luxury apartments with swimming pool and chauffeur-driven cars paid for by the company back home. If they had kids, they sent them to astronomically expensive schools where they grew into the perfect copy of the spoiled brat their father was. Bentley had never been an expat of this type, and he didn't miss the life. He just wanted to stay aware of what was happening on his former home turf.
The sound of the car penetrated his spatial awareness like a fly suddenly turns up in your peripheral sight. You know there's something there, but it's only later you notice what it is and you know you don't like it. He looked up at the window on his right, even though you couldn't see the road from there.
Dry fields with lines of dry knob trees stretching between them, providing his place with a false sense of privacy. That was the reason he had chosen this place. Fortunately, he was not the one who had to get up early and toil in those fields all day long. That was the task of the farmer who lived across the road and who owned this place.
The farmer drove a truck and a couple of nasty-looking vehicles farmers drive on the fields. None of those machines produced the type of rhythm he was hearing now.
Bentley folded the laptop screen and stood up while munching on the marzipan.
At the end of the lane he could spot the mailbox. The farmer's house was hidden by apple trees and brushwork, a natural screen to stop curious looks in both directions.

'Here comes Mister Paranoia,' Markus said to noone in particular.
The dark red car drove up to his mailbox. With the engine still running, a fat guy in a suit stepped out, carrying a rectangular black object. Markus kept himself in the background, so the guy couldn't spot him. Even from inside, he could tell the guy was carrying a laptop or something like it. The fat man seemed to be checking the number on the mailbox, and then deposited the object at its foot. Before Markus had the chance to recover from his surprise, the man turned around and drove off.
Markus waited until the car had vanished and counted to ten. Then he grabbed a knife from the kitchen and walked out, digesting the last of his marzipan.
He approached the mailbox like it was a snarling mountain lion. With one more look in the direction of the empty road, he crouched on the dusty ground and looked at the object. It was a laptop alright, without a bag. Just sitting there in the dust. What kind of freak dumped a laptop like this on a stranger's front step, in the middle of the countryside? He must have driven here especially for him, otherwise he just could have dumped in a river or in the sea, or somewhere behind the bushes. Markus looked around once more and did the human thing. He picked up the thing, turned it around to see if it wasn't boobytrapped, and took the thing home. The battery had been taken out, so he had to plug it in.
While the thing warmed up, he went for another stick of marzipan in the fridge. If this were a movie, the laptop would blow up and smash his house into a fireball. Instead, it went on forever loading up. No password requested, but it ended with the arrow of the forward sign for a video recording. Was this guy going to share his exploits on YouTube?
Markus took another bite and risked it. He clicked the arrow.
Bentley swore and sat down. His appetite for marzipan was taking a break.
What was she doing, and what was that fat guy showing him this? Was this a new way of delivering a ransom note for a kidnap victim? He watched as the woman walked around the office and started packing up everything in sight. Markus had never been to her office. In fact, he hadn't met up with her in years. A phone call here and there, around Christmas if he remembered, because that was the old way of doing things.
One thing was certain. The laptop wouldn't blow up, not before the ending anyway. The fat guy in the car wanted him to see all of this.
Just like the guard at the office block had done before him, Markus peered at the screen trying to discern the objects the woman was taking away with her. Office equipment, pictures, but then there were the knickknacks to think about. Bentley leaned closer.
He froze when he saw the guard in his room watching the woman on camera. He tried to memorize his face, but there was not that much to go on.
He recognized the small porcelain effigy of the three men which the woman put in her cloth bag. He didn't recognize the faceless red doll. Was that a cat, or a red snowman, or what other creature. The thing wore Chinese characters on its chest.
He saw the guard reach for his gun. The woman in the elevator. Not getting out through the front door. The woman alone in the parking lot. The camera turned away.
Markus pushed his chair backward and slammed his fist on the table next to the laptop. The screen returned to the arrow. He could watch it all again if he wanted to.

A low buzz reached him from under the table. He had installed the sensors in the middle of the night, to avoid attracting his only neighbor's attention. Country folks could be nosy. The sensors didn't cover the mailbox and the side of the street, only the immediate vicinity of the house.
Markus stood up and pressed himself against the wall, near the same window from where he had watched the fat guy dump the laptop. Was he coming to take back his prized possession?
Bentley moved ever so slightly forward. The door bell rang. It sounded like a waterfall compared to the whisper of the alarm buzzer. Why hadn't hear the car approaching?
Markus edged closer to the window. Until he saw his uninvited visitor. Definitely not the fat guy with the laptop. A wiry thin guy, shaking, holding an object in his left hand. The porcelain figurine of the three men Bentley had seen his sister remove from her office.

NEXT: A Riot comes down in Episode Four of Concentric before October 12.