Page 60 of The Session

Sunset Bay

Even though it was an unexpected stop, like each time before, the plane had no trouble getting its flight plan accepted, and a car was already waiting for them at the airport. Immigration consisted of a solitary man in a uniform sitting in a car and waving them through.

As they climbed into the SUV, Mark observed, “Seems like you can kind of go wherever you want without a lot of friction.”

“True. The secret is we allow DEA and local law enforcement to use our fleet when they need to,” Tru said.

“I guess that helps,” Mark said.

“And a few other three-letter agencies in the US and their colleagues in other governments,” Tru added.

“Does Summit do a lot of government contracting?”

“We have a team in DC figuring out how every bill that goes through the legislature will affect our bottom line and that of our clients,” Tru said by way of an answer.

They drove down a long, straight road lined with mangroves and tropical trees. Mark noticed everything tended to be tan, green, or shades of blue, except when it rained and the sky turned gray and cloudy.

“That’s one of ours,” Tru said, pointing to a small one-story building.

A sign read Family Medical Services.

“The clinic?” Mark asked.

“Yes. We own a chain of them around the islands. If you want to get back into medicine and spend most of your day snorkeling, just say the word,” she offered.

“I’ll take that into consideration.”

“Mind if we make a quick stop before the restaurant?” Tru asked.

“I was promised food, but I think I can hold off,” Mark said.

“Oscar, can you take us to Sunrise Bay?” Tru asked the driver.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and turned at the next intersection.

Fifteen minutes later, he turned again, this time onto an unpaved road. The trees pressed closer on either side, and occasionally a palm frond brushed the sunroof.

They stopped in front of a small white house on stilts. A dock extended from one side into the bay.

Mark noticed a rack holding three kayaks in the sand near the trees. He followed Tru out of the SUV and up the steps to the deck that wrapped around the cottage.

She pulled a key from her purse and unlocked the door.

“Is this your place?” Mark asked.

“I spent some time here when I was a kid, but no. It’s just one of the many places Summit owns. If you ever stay at an Airbnb on the islands, there’s a good chance it’s one of ours. Although we don’t like people knowing that. It pisses off the neighbors.”

Mark stepped inside. The furniture was colorful and eclectic. Black-and-white photographs lined the walls—temples in Thailand, ruins in Scotland, and other places he didn’t recognize. The back wall facing the ocean was all glass with a large set of sliding doors. It looked like something out of a postcard—something that was vaguely familiar, he thought.

“Was this Kevin’s place?”

“Yes,” she said softly, standing by the window with her back to Mark. “Nobody has been here since he died. It’s crazy.”

Mark could hear the sadness in her voice. “I’m sorry,” he offered.

“This is where he spent most of his time after he got fed up with Summit. Like me, he grew up around the islands and didn’t get too far away, but he wanted nothing to do with the resorts or the main house.”

“The main house?” Mark asked.