Agent with a History by Guy Stanton III

offshore and if I see you drive up alone, I’ll
come back.”
    It wasn’t like me, but I reached out and
hugged the old man. The man patted me awkwardly on the back in
return.
    “Take care of yourself honey!”
     
    The road twisted and meandered around the
island’s topography. There were no houses or signs of habituation
other than the black asphalt road I traveled on. After five minutes
of driving I rounded a sandy knoll and there it was on the steepest
part of the island, my father’s version of the white house, only
this mansion was probably larger.
    It had to be to house my father’s many
children. Not to mention grandchildren and probably a few greats by
now. My father was one of those super rich tycoons that nobody knew
about. A Bill Gates without the recognition, which is how he liked
it.
    I couldn’t vouch for how honestly gained Bill
Gates fortune might be, but almost to a penny I would say my
father’s wealth was the product of thievery, extortion, blackmail,
drug running, human trafficking, swindling, and the list went on.
What I wanted to know was, had my father added international
terrorism to the list of sins for which he was responsible for?
Everything within me wanted to stop the car and turn around from
this place I had escaped from, but I kept driving, my hands white
knuckled on the wheel.
    I wished I had a gun, but having one was more
likely to get me killed in this place than not having one. There
was the problem of what I would do with a gun too. I’d probably put
a bullet in my father’s brain without a moment’s hesitation. They’d
kill me, but I would die doing the world a favor.
    I pulled up at the gatehouse with its massive
rod iron gates. Men, my half brothers, armed with submachine guns
stepped out from the gatehouse and spread out around the car. My
father had a lot of enemies and rarely, if ever, left his island
fortress anymore.
    I rolled down a window at the approach of one
of the men. He stared at me for a second and I saw the moment when
he recognized me.
    “Lisa?” He said with evident surprise.
    “Hello Marshawn. Can I go through?”
    He ignored my question, “Why would you come
back here? Don’t tell me you’ve come to do us all a favor and kill
the old he-bull.”
    I met his gaze without blinking as I
responded, “I wasn’t intending to, but if I have to it could become
a possibility.”
    His face broke into a big grin. “Welcome back
sister.”
    He straightened up and waived his arm. They
opened the gate as he walked around the front hood of the car and
opened the passenger side door to slide in beside me. The
submachine was casually pointed at my side.
    “What’s the matter Marshawn, don’t you trust
me?”
    He laughed. “I don’t trust any of my
siblings, but for you I will make an exception.”
    He angled the gun barrel away from my side by
a couple of inches.
    “How trusting of you dear brother. Where is
our patriarch of this sordid tribe of sinners?”
    Marshawn just grinned, “South lawn.”
    I pulled the car up under the massive portico
and got out. I disregarded the stares of playing children and
adults alike and walked through the lavishly landscaped surrounds
of the massive palace on the hillside.
    A tall form of a man stepped into my path and
I halted. It was Rocco. I hated him perhaps most, second only to my
father.
    “Well if it isn’t the detective come home for
a family visit, or have you come for some other reason? How I
wonder?”
    I fought to keep my eyes from straying to the
snakes head tattoo on his cheek, but it was hard not to, which was
its purpose. He had approached as he was talking and I didn’t see
the knife in his hand, until he was dragging the point of it up my
dress only to pause the point of it over my left nipple through the
dress. He pressed on the knife and it hurt.
    It only helped to jog my memory as to what
the sheer horror of growing up in this place had been like.
    “I see you haven’t changed any for the