Free Thief by Mark Sullivan Page B

wife looked to one of the cooks, who nodded.
    â€œWhen’s everybody else getting in?” the mogul asked.
    â€œSaunders called. He’s on his way from the airport,” Louisa said. “Everyone else is still flying, figuring to be here midafternoon or so.”
    â€œI’ve got a few things to finish up in my office before then.”
    His wife hardened. “It’s Christmas Eve, Ebenezer.”
    â€œJust got to finish up a few things in the counting house,” he replied.
    Arsenault started out of the kitchen, but stopped close to Louisa, leaned over, and said quietly, “Cecil and Hank are coming up for their Christmas bonus. You put a thousand in a card for each of them? Throw in a spiral ham?”
    â€œThat too much?” she asked.
    â€œThose boys work hard,” he said. “Put us on a great hunt this morning.”
    She shrugged. “Your money.”
    â€œYeah, it is,” he said. “Tell Saunders to come straight up to see me soon as he gets in?”
    His wife nodded, but she was watching the cook set a piping mug before her grandson.
    â€œThere,” Louisa said. “Big Mama’s spiced cider. Just like you like it.”
    Arsenault left the kitchen, wandered through the gorgeously decorated house, wondering how his wife had managed to pull it all off in such short order. Then again that woman was a force of nature.
    He climbed the stairs to the second floor, went to his home office, and shut the door. Going to his computer, the mogul called up an e-mail account, and a file marked “Future Ideas.”
    Arsenault believed that the smart man never rested on his laurels, and therefore never got fat and lazy. To that end, he had a slew of sources, some paid in cash, others in favors, who pushed the billionaire the most up-to-date information possible about every conceivable investment opportunity. He read through the file nearly every day, evaluating the latest private intelligence reports, the most recent secret corporate developments, and other insider tips he could use to improve his bottom line. Sadly, there weren’t many new e-mails in the file today, and all of them sounded like shitty deals to him.
    He was closing down his computer when a knock came at the door. Billy Saunders, his security chief, came in, said, “Merry Christmas, Beau. You want your present now or in the morning?”
    Arsenault grinned. “You got him?”
    â€œThat’s why I flew down. I wanted to talk to you about this face-to-face.”
    Arsenault sobered, focused.
    Saunders said, “I didn’t get much, but I know who he is. Or who he used to be anyway. Army Special Forces, then CIA for eight years, black ops, stealing state secrets, that kind of stuff. But he resigned and disappeared three years ago. His name is—”
    â€œRobin Monarch,” the billionaire said in shock.
    Saunders’s head retreated. “You know him?”
    â€œI know of him,” Arsenault said, becoming angry with himself.
    â€œHow?”
    The mogul didn’t tell his security man everything. That just wouldn’t do. There were certain actions he kept to himself, and would continue to keep secret. He gave Saunders the heavily edited version.
    â€œAs I understand it, Monarch rescued Agnes Lawton last year.”
    Saunders was surprised to hear that. “I knew he stole the Iraqi battle plan before we invaded, but I didn’t know that he … wait, I thought SEAL Team Six got Lawton.”
    â€œThe SEALs were involved, but it was Monarch who tracked down the kidnappers and led the rescue,” Arsenault insisted. “President Sands paid him millions to do it. Agnes told me so herself. That’s not to leave this room by the way. It’s evidently a national security secret.”
    â€œOf course not,” Saunders said, sounding offended. “I wouldn’t say a thing. But why would Monarch target you of all people? And how did