Retreat at the Camel Cove Lodge

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,” Denise told Martin with a wink.

“The Lord works in mysterious ways I suppose. Anyway, let’s get to it,” Martin said as he turned to retrieve the others.

After waking the others, Martin took Sondra to dig through the rubble of his and Rosaria’s former room, while Armand and Mr. Lloyd set off into the wilderness to search for Harpreet and Kevin.

“Good morning, Guy, what’s cooking?” Denise asked in a cheerful tone, given their circumstances.

“Oh, I have a wonderful meal for us this morning. I have scrambled eggs mixed with tomatoes, onion, and White Stilton Gold with a side of three-day-old ham and stale mashed potatoes. At least the cold is keeping things from spoiling too fast,” Guy responded as he stirred the pot of potatoes.

“Good morning, Denise, Mr. Durandeau. How are we this morning?” Leland James, the Lodge’s only permanent employee and caretaker strolled into the kitchen, sipping coffee from his private stash.

“I’m doing alright. Sure, could use a cup of that fine grind right about now though,” Guy answered, through his best fake smile. Look at this asshole, we’ve all been stuck in this place for four days, and he hasn’t once offered us so much as one cup. I don’t know what I should expect though, these rich fucks are all the same. They invite you into their life, expect you to sign the most cryptic NDAs, then treat you like a serf.

“Ohh, yeah, that smells great. What is that?” Denise asked Leland.

“It’s called Burmese Highland Gold. I brought it with me today. I figured we don’t know when or if we’re getting out of here. So, fuck it,” Leland said as he pulled the bag out of his pocket and set it on the counter.

What a strange bag. I’ve never seen anything like it, Denise thought.

“How old is that? And where did you get it?” Denise asked Leland.

“Oh, this? They harvest the raw beans. Then let a very special mold form a protective layer before sending it to dry in an aging room deep in a Burmese cave for about 50 years. The mold creates a protective layer that seals out any other moisture and brings out the richness of the coffee. I’m guessing you’re new to this world, and the nature of such things. You’ll learn, if you stay long enough, that there is a market for nearly anything if you know the right people,” Leland said with a wink. “I will warn you though, if you stay too long, you may find you wake up one day to a person you don’t recognize.”

This was something Denise already knew. She realized long ago that the world of intelligence analysis and influence operations is a dirty business. It sounds exciting when you’re young and new, but it damages the soul the longer you stay. But she was already planning her exit, she just needed Martin and Rosaria to go along with it. But that will only be possible if Martin and Sondra find a sat phone, and if Armand and Mr. Lloyd find Harpreet and Kevin alive.

It had only been a half-hour before Sondra’s spoiled rich attitude set in. Martin was already irritated that Harpreet and Mr. Hall had gone off on their own.

“Uugghh, we're never going to find this!” Sondra exclaimed in frustration. “And what was that pathetic excuse of a chef thinking Feeding us that filth this morning. Doesn’t he know that eggs and potatoes are going to cause me to bloat like a beached whale!” She screamed as she threw her shovel halfway across the collapsed bedroom.

“The only thing bloated here is your ego. Now, pick up that shovel, and keep digging, or your sniveling ass will never live long enough to enjoy Daddy’s money again!” Martin was not used to screaming, he found it distasteful. But Sondra was the exception to his normally calm exterior.

I will never understand how this howler monkey of a woman gets to me. Hell, I spent nine months in a Moroccan prison. Yet, this woman that is five foot nothing and at best a hundred pounds wet gets to me. Must be something about that Swiss aristocratic upbringing. I would have sent her with Armand or Mr. Lloyd, but I’m sure one of them would have snapped her neck. And the last thing we need is a body attracting attention to our oasis. Hopefully, those two have had better luck.

“HARPREET! KEVIN! HARPREET! KEVIN! HARPREET! KEVIN!” Armand screamed as loud as his lungs and the cold air would allow.

Mr. Lloyd followed with his own, “HARPREET! KEVIN! HARPREET! KEVIN! HARPREET! KEVIN!” Before snapping off the best branches he could find. “Here chap, we’re going to need these to probe. Remember, six feet apart. No more, no less. Too far, and you pull me in the hole with you. Too close, and we might find the same cavity. Roger?”

“Roger,” Armand said with a nod. “So, remind me, how did you end up here?

“Well, after the service, I no longer recognized my country. I had been gone too long. I had done a couple of assignments with your SEALs and JSOC. I liked this area when I came here for training. Just before I retired, Margarete and I discussed going back to Jamaica, but she wanted a quiet life as well. So here we are.”

“HARPREET! KEVIN! HARPREET! KEVIN! HARPREET! KEVIN! That sounds like 'the life', free from all the stress and problems of the world,” Armand said with a sigh. “Hopefully we find these two soon. I still don’t know what possessed them to run off,” he continued in a dejected tone.

“People do strange, irrational things in the cold, mate. Our brains are hardwired to survive. But sometimes we do things that go against logic in pursuit of surv—” the thunderous roar of three helicopters coming over the peak had cut off Mr. Lloyd.

Thut, thut, thut. Shush, shush, shush. Rosaria could hear the scream of the helicopters’ engines as they descended where the crew presumed the helicopter pad to be.

“400, 300, 200, 100, Hold, hold,” the crew chief, Jessie Holbeck, called out as she dropped a weighted rope out of the crew door and drew it back up, “Three feet of snow. You’re going to have to use the ladder,” Jessie shouted, kicking the rope ladder out of the door of the helicopter. “Do not jump at the bottom. Try to step off lightly, or you’ll sink straight through,” Jessie warned SAR technician Brandon Harrison as he scooted towards the door.

"I'm aware, Jessie," and with that, Brandon descended the ladder to snow below.

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Stay tuned for part two from Yana Aleks:

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