Fsshh, fsshh, clack, clack. Martin could hear the wind leaking through the poorly secured window, rattling on its hinges. There he was, Martin Finch, Chief Financial Officer of Kalt Analytics, arguably one of the most powerful men in the country. Now huddled on the floor of a previously luxurious lodge, sharing a couple of sleeping bags half-zipped together with his wife, and personal assistant. But Martin knew from his experience on K2, that they would have to find the sat phone, or find a way out on their own soon. Despite the deplorable conditions, he was happy that the walls of the original cabin stood strong amidst the deluge of rock and snow that took out the west wall. What started as a great idea had turned into a complete nightmare. They were only supposed to be there for four days. Now, it has turned into one of the longest weeks of his life. Mister Durandeau, the chef recommended by Jeff, had been rationing their food for the last few days. And to make matters worse Harpreet Kaur, the company's Chief Accounting Officer, and Kevin Hall, a creative director the company hired to help them take their brand public, were now missing.
Nestled on the edge of an unmapped lake on the border between Idaho and Wyoming, the pamphlet billed the Camel Cove Lodge as the perfect location for companies to hold their most private of retreats. Its idyllic location was a vestige of old-money power. A location made possible by the National Park Service's system of grandfathering in private land, a placating president, and a large donation from the Rockefeller Foundation. The Byrne family had named the area Camel Cove due to the remains of an escaped Army camel they found near the original cabin in 1860. They settled the area due to a stroke of luck in finding a hot spring that provided hot, yet sanitary water. This constant source of hot water reduced their need for firewood as well. It was this geothermal energy that allowed the Lodge to stay off-grid, as it required little more than reliable food deliveries to operate out in the wilderness. But none of that did any good when your only practical entry or exit to the place was horseback or helicopter.
"Rosie, Rosie, wake up," Martin said, shaking his wife.
"Ugh, ugh, good morning, Mi Amor. What time is it?" Rosaria asked, yawning and rubbing her eyes.
"Umm, it iiisss, 07:16," Martin answered, looking at the Integral Tourbillon Rosie gave him for his birthday.
"Is there food?" Rosaria asked.
"I have no idea. I just woke up."
"Well, go find out then," Rosaria said, pulling her jacket hood back over her face as she rolled over.
"I will. Denise, are you awake?" Martin asked Denise, his personal assistant.
"I am, but I don't want to move," Denise responded, groaning, and yawning as she answered.
"Well, we have work to do. Go see if Mr. Durandeau has started breakfast. I'm taking Sondra to look for our bags. I have a sat phone in my bag. And Harpreet always has one with her. I'm sending Armand and our new friend, Mister Lloyd, to look for Harpreet and Mr. Hall. Hopefully, Mr. Lloyd's experience with the Special Boat Service can shorten their task."
"Did you ever find out what they were arguing about the other day?" Denise asked as she slid her foot into her boot.
"No idea. She refused to talk about it and said it was in the past. He apologized for not being upfront about knowing her. He said he was desperate for work after the pandemic shut down his film in Moldova. They both said they had buried the subject, but I haven't seen either of them this morning. And somehow Armand and Sondra ended up sleeping together again."
"That is amazing. As far as I know, they haven't slept together since Sondra's Daddy bought their house. It's a wonder they've stayed together so long, much less have three kids," Denise told Martin with a wink.
