Read 24 Declassified: 03 - Trojan Horse for Free Online Page A

a discreet distance away, pulled on the gloves. The morning sun was already scorching, even in the cool shade. Jack massaged his forehead, squeezed his eyes shut to block out the glare for a moment. Finally, Castalano broke away from the other man, waved Jack through the door.
    A moment later, Jack found himself in an air-conditioned glass-enclosed entranceway which housed a wide staircase made of a single steel beam stacked with marble stairs. Hugh Vetri’s mansion had been constructed vertically, down the side of the hill. Each of its three glass-fronted stories shared a spectacular view of the valley below, already swathed in haze and smog.
    “Down here, Jack.”
    Castalano led Jack down the curved staircase. Modern art and hanging sculptures dominated the walls, the ceiling. The lamps, the furniture resembled the art; it was all made of cold steel, glass and chrome. When they arrived on the first level, Jack heard many voices. The tone was professional, but their voices muted, respectful, whispered. That’s when Jack knew someone had died in this place.
    “Who is this Hugh Vetri?” Jack asked, his professional instincts aroused. “A movie star or director?”
    “Vetri’s an independent producer,” Castalano replied. “A couple of years ago he made some fantasy movie that turned into the blockbuster of the year. He’s about to release the sequel, or he was.”
    “Was?”
    Castalano halted in front of an ornately carved oaken door, pushed it open. “Meet Hugh Vetri.”
    The smell hit Jack first. Spilled blood, emptied bowels and bladder—the stink of the abattoir. His eyes followed a trail of clotted brown blood that led to a large oak desk. A man was sprawled across it, arms and legs out, like a frog on a dissecting table. Leather belts and silk ties had been used to bind the man’s wrists and ankles, and like some biological specimen, the victim had been eviscerated. Ribbons of entrails lay scattered across the room. On the floor, a chunk of the man’s liver gleamed dully in the sunlight streaming through the glass wall. The organ lay amid the scattered contents of the desk top—only the corpse and a computer monitor remained on the oak surface. The computer was running, on the monitor a screensaver with an ocean view played in an endless loop.
    Jack tamped down his revulsion enough to study the corpse without touching it. Of particular interest was the positioning of the body, the binding wounds on the arms and legs, the bright bruise on the cheek, under the right eye. Most revealing was the expression on the dead man’s face—one eye open, the other closed, mouth gaping and blood flecked, tongue black and distended. This man’s death was deliberately prolonged. He’d experienced hours of torture before being released.
    Detective Castalano broke the silence. “His wife, Sarah, is in the master bedroom. Her throat was cut. Vetri’s daughter is in the bathhouse. Whoever did this found her while she was taking a midnight swim. She was the first to die, but it was mercifully quick, unlike this poor bastard.”
    “Anyone else?” Jack’s voice was brittle.
    “The live-in nanny and an infant son. They’re both in the nursery. Want to see those crime scenes?”
    “No.”
    “That’s smart. Their murders were savage enough, Christ knows. But whoever did this saved their real fury for Hugh Vetri.”
    “How did the murderer get in?”
    “That’s the funny part,” Castalano replied. “The alarm company says the alarm was activated at eight p.m., then turned off again around midnight. The code was used. Whoever did this may have been an insider. We’re checking out that angle now, along with some others.”
    Castalano glanced at the corpse, looked away. “It’s like fucking Charles Manson all over again. I thought hippies were extinct.”
    Jack began to back out of the room. Castalano caught his arm. “Sorry. There’s more you have to see, Jack.”
    The detective crossed the room to the computer