Factory Controller Read online

  FACTORY CONTROLLER

  THE FACTORY

  OLIVIA RIGAL

  LADY O PUBLISHING

  THE FACTORY

  .

  They call themselves the Foundation for an Active, Optimized and Rich Youth.

  We call them the F.ACT.O.R.Y.

  They took us in as broken kids, spared no expenses to put us back together.

  When they thought we were ready they sent us out to the world to live our lives.

  We were set loose but not free.

  Each of us owes them one Favor.

  And now they’ve come to collect.

  BLURB

  Heather

  There are two things in life that you can’t outrun: death and taxes.

  The Factory sent me to Brazil to investigate a nun’s questionable tax returns.

  But instead of finding simple tax fraud, I discovered a human trafficking ring.

  Great.

  Now I’m running from mercenaries intent on keeping their dirty little enterprise a secret.

  I’m in a world of trouble.

  My escape plane was shot down and now I’m on foot.

  All I have to do is escape the Amazon rainforest.

  Escape from giant anacondas ready to coil and squeeze me to death.

  Avoid fuzzy spiders with venomous fangs.

  Evade poison dart frogs with skin so toxic that one tiny frog can kill ten people.

  And keep my hands off the most dangerous animal of all: Trent.

  He’s hotter than the afternoon humidity.

  Wilder than the jaguars that hunt us at dusk.

  More dangerous than the armed men on our heels.

  Now is not the time to fall in love.

  But I may not have a choice.

  He’s stolen my heart, and the only way to get it back is to make it out alive.

  Trent

  Just my luck!

  I picked up a crazy woman who thinks someone’s after her.

  She’s clearly paranoid, and probably delusional.

  She keeps ranting about a secret group called “The Factory.”

  I don’t believe a word of it.

  Besides, I’ve got bigger problems.

  I need to keep us alive long enough to prove that she’s nuts.

  I shouldn’t be drawn to her, but I am.

  Maybe I’m going crazy too.

  Keeping her safe in the jungle is the honorable thing to do.

  But what I’m feeling right now is anything but honorable.

  I want to kiss her luscious mouth.

  I want to stroke her irresistible curves.

  We may not live to see daylight, but in darkness, anything can happen.

  I just hope we live long enough to figure out what’s happening between us.

  CONTENTS

  1. Heather

  2. Heather

  3. Heather

  4. Trent

  5. Heather

  6. Trent

  7. Heather

  8. Trent

  9. Heather

  10. Trent

  11. Heather

  12. Trent

  13. Heather

  14. Trent

  15. Heather

  16. Trent

  17. Heather

  18. Trent

  19. Heather

  20. Heather

  21. Trent

  22. Heather

  23. Trent

  24. Heather

  25. Trent

  26. Heather

  27. Heather

  28. Trent

  29. Heather

  30. Trent

  31. Heather

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  HEATHER

  The turbine engines’ whine changes subtly in pitch, awakening me from my nap. I pull aside my sleeping mask and blink. The cabin lights are bright.

  Glancing blearily out the window, I get my first look at Brazil.

  What am I doing here?

  Wilderness is not my thing.

  And this jungle—even from my plane window, I can see it’s way too wet, too green, too big, too wild, too dangerous.

  Way more dangerous that the corporate jungle which is my usual hunting grounds.

  Now, I don’t mind my mission. On paper, the job I am sent to do is easy-peasy. In any other setting, it should take me less than a day to figure out if Sister Isabella has been pocketing most of the money the Foundation for an Active, Optimized and Rich Youth has been funneling into Sister Isabella’s charity.

  I’m pretty sure she has. They wouldn’t waste one Favor if it didn’t have serious doubts.

  The first question for me, though, is what didn’t they tell me? The second is, what are they doing in Brazil?

  I’ll have the answers to my first question soon enough, and for the second, there’s a chance I will never know.

  They could actually be playing the part of the big American Foundation, helping poor kids worldwide get an education to pull themselves out of their misery.

  I doubt it. In my gut, I think they are scouting for the new generation of star pupils. After all, talented kids can be found everywhere in the world, so why not in the Amazonian jungle?

  And what if they are doing both?

  I close my eyes, and for more times than I can bother to count, I try to figure out the way I feel about the Factory—that’s the nickname all of us, the Foundation’s protégés, use when we talk about this venerable charitable institution.

  I’m feeling so conflicted about them.

  Not because of how they treated me. I would be the world’s most ungrateful brat if I did. After all, they took a chance on me. While they usually take in teenagers, they took me in as a very young child. At the time, they had no way to figure out if I would have any out of the ordinary talent.

  If my feelings are mixed, it’s because the Factory is a magnificent iceberg. All what most people see is this mountain of pure white ice, while I’ve been looking under the surface.

  Do they know I’ve been investigating them?

  Is that why they are sending me here, in the middle of nowhere?

  I sure hope not.

  But then again, they had to know I would look.

  You can’t train someone to be the best forensic accountant in the country and expect them not to turn around and look under your hood.

  So, of course I tried to figure out how they managed to finance giving thousands of kids a year the best education money can buy.

  And of course they know I’ve been studying them.

  I look out the window again. In a few minutes, I’ll be landing in Macapá. The city sits on the mouth of the Amazon, which, from this vantage, looks more like an inland sea than a river.

  I’ve done my research. Macapá has its modern trappings, like its international airport and franchise hotel chains. Yet, the city also gives a feel of being ancient, worn, and murky.

  This is dangerous territory. Political unrest, friction between industry and indigenous factions. I’m pretty sure I’m landing in the middle of a brewing storm. If I’m not careful, I could be swept away by it.

  And I’m not even taking the deadly wildlife into account. Things that sting, bite, and stalk.

  My Favor will take me right into the heart of the Amazon rainforest, close to a small patch of urbanity called Ipixuna.

  That’s where I need to be to check out on the Factory’s investment.

  My job requires a lot of flying. Statistically speaking, it’s still the safest way to travel, of course, but I never let myself forget that crashes are almost always fatal.

  The landing’s a little rough. The pilot could be drunk, tired, or simply a novice. I
n any case, I’m pretty sure he’s eaten up a lot more runway than he’s supposed to. Oh, and now there’s a plane streaking toward us as the tires squeal on the tarmac.

  Only in Brazil for a few seconds and already I feel like I’ve taken my life into my hands. Hopefully this won’t be the hallmark of the entire trip.

  We do manage to avoid collision, and taxi over to a waiting jetway. Grabbing up my carry-on, I fall in line to disembark.

  Thank goodness the Factory sprang for first class. Coach seats are not made for anyone over six feet tall.

  A lot of women my height won’t even consider heels. Why? Because they know men are uncomfortable around members of the opposite sex taller than they are. Not me. Heels are a staple of my business-centric attire. Who cares if some man’s ego gets bruised? Besides, if it happens, I take it as a win. In my line of work, intimidating a man in the line of duty often helps to avoid power games.

  The Macapá International Airport boasts some familiar franchises… Even out here, who knew?

  I roll my carry-on to the baggage return.

  A middle-aged woman approaches while I’m waiting for the rest of my luggage to emerge from the curtains. She wears simple but flattering business casual attire. I recognize her as Sister Isabella.

  Let’s get this show rolling.

  I’ve never met Sister Isabella, but I’ve seen the photos in the file they gave me.

  Her full name is Isabella Romano, and despite my research, I haven’t been able to ascertain what religious order she belongs to.

  That alone should have been a red flag for the Factory.

  “Pardon me,” she says, “but are you Heather Duncan?”

  “I am. How did you know it was me?” I cock an eyebrow and stare sternly down at her.

  I know perfectly how she figured it out, but I want her to get the message fast: I’m not here to make friends. Especially not with her, if what the Factory suspects is right and she is indeed doing despicable things.

  Before answering, Isabella swallows nervously. Or acts as if she’s swallowing nervously, I can’t tell yet.

  “Well, not to sound politically incorrect, but you’re the only white woman in this airport.”

  I grunt. “Besides yourself, of course. Have you prepared the materials I asked for?”

  She seems a little put off by my brusque manner, but if she’s researched me too, she must know I have a reputation for bluntness. When I’m on the job I can’t be bothered with niceties. I’m not about to start with her.

  “I’ve put together most of the files you wanted on a memory stick in PDF format,” she answers while rummaging around in her handbag. A few seconds later, she hands the USB stick to me. I rub my thumb on its sleek metal carapace, then catch her eye again.

  “Most of?”

  She licks her lips. “I don’t have all of the invoices on there. You see, my scanner broke about halfway through the personnel files.”

  “Of course it did.” I heave a sigh. “No matter. I’ll be wanting to go through all of your paperwork in person anyway.”

  Isabella’s eyes widen. “You—you will?”

  “Of course. A thorough audit requires no less, and I’m a professional.”

  Isabella shakes her head. “Maybe you don’t know. Our offices are right outside of Ipixuna, and Ipixuna is a six-hour journey by boat. I thought you would be happy to do what all the previous controllers sent by the Foundation did.”

  “And what is that?” I ask, wondering again what order she supposedly belongs to. Obviously, one that doesn’t have issues with the nuns wearing civilian clothing.

  She flips her hands palm up in an isn’t-it-obvious gesture. “They handled all the business here, in Macapá. Can’t we do that?”

  “No, we can’t,” I snap.

  As I reclaim my suitcase, I make a mental note to report that the previous auditors didn’t bother to check the paperwork or the charity facilities on site.

  If they were going to do that, there was no point of flying to Brazil. Sending the documents by email or even snail mail would have saved everyone time and money.

  I pull my case up straight. “I am well aware of the arduous trip ahead of me and came fully prepared.” I attach my handbag to my case and add, “I’ll be wanting to interview your staff as well.”

  A smirk flashes over Isabella’s pinched features. “Ms. Duncan, most of my staff only speak Portuguese and Spanish.”

  “Me doy perfecta cuenta, muchas gracias. The Foundation sent me precisely because I happen to be fluent in both.” And because I’m the best at what I do too. But she doesn’t need to know that. Not yet.

  The color drains from her face, but she puts up a good front and gestures for me to accompany her. “I have a car waiting. I thought I was going to drop you to your hotel tonight but, if we hurry, we could catch the next boat to Ipixuna. I suppose my team will have to eat the cost of your lodging here in the city.”

  That draws out another heavy sigh.

  I cut short her victim act. “If you remit your receipt folios to me, I’ll see that you’re compensated.”

  Walking away from the carousel, I notice a beauty store from the corner of my eyes. This is where my emergency pack awaits if I ever need it.

  Let’s hope I won’t.

  We step out of the terminal into daylight.

  The humidity is bad, worse than New Orleans in June, though not quite as bad as Bangkok.

  The first thing I notice is the heavy police presence. While we wait for the taxi to pull around, a handful of uniformed men in body armor drag a man out of his car and roughly search him. No one on the streets seems to give it a second thought. They do notice it and give the scene a wide berth.

  When our taxi pulls around, a wiry driver helps me put my luggage in the trunk. Isabella and I sit in the rear. She casts a furtive glance my way and sighs.

  “I don’t understand why the Foundation has to perform another audit on my organization. We have been working together for years; they cannot possibly doubt now that we are a legitimate charity.”

  “The Foundation has given you millions of dollars, Isabella. Yet, they say they have seen no tangible evidence that you’re improving the lives of the people you purport to help.”

  Isabella draws a sharp breath. “You can’t be serious! We provide free daycare, free breakfast and lunch. We also offer an educational program that helps natives find work.”

  I refrain from letting out a derisive snort. “Really? Their understanding is that, so far, your educational program consists of shipping people to Macapá to work—for no pay—as domestic servants with the vague promise of possible employment in the future.”

  Isabella sputters, but I’m not done talking. “Not only that, but the Foundation has noticed there have been no changes in the infant mortality rate. Were the vaccines the organization paid for ever distributed? Too many diseases still run rampant.” I raise a hand to silence her since I’m still not finished. “But that’s not the worst, since now it seems children and young women are going missing at an alarming rate.”

  Now that I let it all out, I’m not so sure I did the right thing. Maybe I should have held my suspicions hidden until I had a better grasp of things, but the idea that she’s pocketing money while selling out the kids she’s meant to help infuriates me.

  “You don’t understand what we have to contend with,” Isabella says hotly. “Look around you, Ms. Duncan. You’re not in the United States anymore. These people are like animals, rutting around in the river mud, and many of them want to stay animals.”

  “And yet, your generosity of spirit toward them is admirable,” I say with icy irony. “It’s possible you truly are doing the best you can, but perhaps someone in your organization got greedy. Or maybe the organization needs to restructure things. I can’t say until I’ve seen your books.”

  Isabella falls silent.

  The Factory has been pumping money into this area for years, but Isabella has either grossly mismanaged
the funds or she’s dirty. It’s one or the other. Judging from her behavior, she’s plagued by guilt. Guilt about what is the million dollar question.

  If it’s incompetence, she knows how bad her performance has been. If she’s dirty, she knows she’s going to get caught.

  I need to watch her closely, because if that’s the case, she could try to run.

  Even though I’m a bit wary, I want to think I shouldn’t fear for my life. Not because I think she’s harmless. Nope. I’m relatively safe, because trying to get rid of me by drastic means would be counterproductive.

  She must have an idea how powerful the Factory is.

  For sure, she’s smart enough to understand that if the agent they sent disappears, two more will appear to find out what happened to the first one.

  Unless what she needs is time to get away…

  HEATHER

  The taxi lets us off at a wooden dock.

  The misty Amazon is so wide I can’t see the other side. Feeling the enormous amount of water flowing beneath my feet when I stand on the docks is a humbling experience.

  Isabella takes note of my reaction. “It’s really something, isn’t it? I’ve been here for years, lived right on the river, and it still can take my breath away.”

  I nod but do not comment.

  A worn power boat rattles up to the docks. It’s smaller than I expected, with a corrugated aluminum canopy to protect the passengers from the sun. We climb on board, seat ourselves on spartan wooden-plank seating and rumble toward Ipixuna.

  Isabella said the ride would take six hours, but we chug away forever. After what seems like an eternity, we stop for a pit break. I barely have time to stretch my legs before everyone is ordered right back on.