Page 69 of Ground Truth

Chapter 35

The clubhouse door lock clicked open, and he pulled the handle. A refreshing rush of cool air bathed Hedinger’s face and enveloped his overheated body when he stepped inside.

He was pleased to see that Mario, the young man he’d recently hired away from the Italian Olympic skeet shooting team, had every surface shining and clean. Mario was inexperienced, but he possessed passion for the sport that Hedinger demanded. The rest would come in time.

“Mario,” he called out. No reply. He tried again. Same result.

Where was Mario, anyway? The skeet ranger should be here at all times other than preapproved absences. Mario lived on the premises. There was no excuse for absenteeism. He’d made that plain to the boy, hadn’t he?

Hedinger strode to the back of the clubhouse where Mario’s living quarters were. He knocked on the bedroom door. No answer. He turned the knob and stuck his head inside. The rooms were unoccupied.

The bed was a mess. Hedinger shook his head, clicking his tongue. “Unacceptable,” he said aloud. Orderly, self-controlled, discipline in all things was the essential bedrock of Hedinger’s successful enterprises.

A disheveled bed indicated a level of sloppiness that Hedinger could not abide.

He closed the door and walked back to the common rooms, shaking his head.

Hedinger made a mental note to reprimand the kid. Training was a job that should have been done by Mario’s predecessor. But the old man had died unexpectedly in his sleep a few months back. He’d been a true master of all skills. Hedinger was surprised to realize he missed the old coot.

He shrugged. Mario would grow into the job. He possessed the foundation of talent, skill, personality, and the kind of rabid devotion Hedinger demanded. Mario would be okay. Eventually. He could tell.

Maybe Mario was working outside. Keeping the grounds in tiptop condition, all the equipment gleaming and fully functional, was Mario’s primary responsibility. Hedinger was likely to find his employee on the field.

He’d already dressed for shooting, but he needed a weapon. Hedinger made his way to his collection of shotguns, which were stored in a locked cabinet along the back wall of the ranger’s office.

He spied his favorite Citori shotgun gleaming and ready.

Briefly, he considered pulling two shotguns from the cabinet. He owned so many, and he enjoyed shooting them all.

He shrugged. No time for that today. He should have started earlier if he’d wanted more time here.

He relocked the cabinet and dropped the key into his pocket.

Hedinger searched for the specific shells stocked and reserved only for his personal use. Not the usual skeet shells filled with small pellets which he considered useless. He preferred more powerful ammunition with greater stopping power.

He snagged two boxes of his personal shells, loaded two into the shotgun, and stuffed both boxes into his pocket. He should have time for two rounds of shooting if he didn’t dawdle.

Then he flipped the switch to turn on the two traps that would launch the clay targets out on the range, one in the high house and one in the low house.

He left the building through the front door, striding quickly toward the skeet field.

Again, Hedinger wondered where Mario could be. Maintaining Hedinger’s skeet field and everything related to it was Mario’s only reason for existing in Atabei. He knew no one, lived here on the grounds, and spoke only Italian. Aside from Hedinger and his staff who were all multilingual, Mario might be the only current resident of Atabei who spoke Italian, in fact.

All of which meant Mario should be here.

But he wasn’t here, and his absence had become increasingly irritating. Hedinger would have required Meier to accompany him for the shoot if he’d realized Mario was missing.

When he rounded the corner of the clubhouse, a clear view of the field and the Caribbean beyond opened before him.

The eight shooting stations and two trap houses at either end of the skeet field were ready and waiting.

No Mario. The field was abandoned.

“Dammit!” Hedinger enjoyed solitude and the beauty of his surroundings, but he also expected his employees to do their jobs.

Mario’s absence was unacceptable.

He made a mental note to replace Mario on his way to the airport. The boy was good, but he wasn’t essential. No one in Hedinger’s organization was irreplaceable. High time Mario learned the lesson.

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