The Covenant at Rancho Santa Fe habitually ranked among the most exclusive and expensive neighborhoods in the country, often leading the nation with the most homes priced over one million dollars. Current and past residents of The Ranch included notables such as Bill Gates, Janet Jackson, Howard Hughes and Bing Crosby.
Xander had an address memorized, even though he’d never been to the house. He smiled as Tiffany strained to catch glimpses of the palatial estates hidden behind ivy-covered walls or towering cypress, eucalyptus, and palm trees.
And he thought his home in Henderson was — had been — impressive…
He turned off El Camino Norte and onto a short looping street called Cerros Redondos, before eventually turning into a wide, brick-laid driveway blocked by a set of towering posts and a twenty-foot high wrought-iron gate. Through the barrier he could see a sprawling single-story home off in the distance, appearing more modernistic when compared to many of the more grandiose and traditional mansions in the area. The gate was closed, and he was at a momentary loss as to what to do next.
“Your friend lives here?” Tiffany asked.
“It’s the last address I have for him. Hell, he may have moved on by now. It’s been over six years.”
“There’s a call box over there. Why don’t you go see if anyone’s home?”
Xander climbed out of the SUV and walked over to the metal box set on a post to the left side of the driveway. There was a small video screen on the box and a single button. He pressed it. “Hello, Billy? Billy Jenkins? This is Xander Moore. Is anyone home?”
After thirty seconds and no reply, he turned back to Tiffany. “Hell, he could be anywhere—”
“Que?” said a female’s voice through the speaker.
Xander turned back to the box. “Hola, yo me llamo Xander Moore. Soy un amigo de Billy Jenkins. Es a casa?”
“Un minute por favor.”
He turned from the box again. “At least someone’s home.”
“You speak Spanish?”
“Just barely anymore, but it came in handy growing up around here.”
“You grew up around here?”
“No, I mean San Diego. I’m from the slums just north of the Seventy-Eight.”
“And this house belongs to one of your old drone buddies? Seems like he would have been a good one to stick close to throughout the years.”
Xander sent her a wry smile. The sad truth: she was right, and to this day Xander still kicked himself for passing on the chance that Billy Jenkins had once offered him: full partnership in the company that would later become JEN-Tech Industries.
“Why you stinking son-of-a-bitch!” a deep voice boomed out from the box. “It is you.”
Xander turned back to the video screen, which by now had come to life and was displaying the smiling, tanned face of William Michael Jenkins, CEO of JEN-Tech, AKA Alpha-Three on the Drone Olympics gold medal winning team from nine years ago. Xander was Alpha-One.
The gate began to swing silently open.
“Seeing what’s been going on over the past thirty hours, you better get your ass in here, pronto,” Billy said. “Follow the driveway around to the right. I’ll open one of the garage doors so you can hide that tank you’re driving inside. Is that her? You don’t have her tied up, do you?”
Xander frowned. “No, of course not. Why would I?”
“Dude, get in here. Sounds like you’re a little behind on your current affairs.”
Five minutes later, Xander and Tiffany climbed out of the Suburban, which now looked small and insignificant inside the vast expanse of the largest private garage Xander had ever seen. From the outside there were only four doors, but on the inside there had to easily be over three thousand feet of parking and workshop space. Among the six cars already in the garage, Xander identified a vintage Jaguar F-type, a Ferrari, two Mercedes, and a tricked-out Jeep Wrangler, along with the largest hoverbike he’d ever seen.
And not surprising from the owner of one of the largest military drone contractors in the country — one whole side of the vast room was filled with a confusing array of UAVs of all shapes and sizes.
Billie Jenkins appeared from an interior doorway. He rushed up to Xander with a wide smile and embraced him in a macho man-hug. “Damn glad to see you, Number One!” he exclaimed with emotion. “Hell, I didn’t even know you worked at the RDC until I saw it on the news.” He broke his embrace the moment Tiffany approached, displaying a brilliant smile of her own. He quickly wrapped her up in his arms as well.
After what was an exceedingly long hug, they separated, Billy wearing a sly grin on his face. “Call me a perv, but I couldn’t let that opportunity pass me by — that was sweet! And, babe, what is that perfume you’re wearing? I may have to buy the company after this.”
“I thought you were married?” Xander said.
Billy kept staring at Tiffany. “Ancient history, dude. Even if it wasn’t, it would be now.”
“Chill out, man, you’re embarrassing the lady,” Xander said with a wink in Tiffany’s direction.
“Newsflash, Mr. Moore,” Tiffany said with a smile. “Anytime a billionaire wants to go on about me, I let him. You are a billionaire, aren’t you?”
“I am today.”
With that cryptic answer, the trio moved into the main house.
Xander had to admit he was impressed. His old surfing and drone buddy had done quite well for himself. “So how big is this place? Hell, your garage is larger than my whole house, or what had been my house.” Tiffany cast him a melancholy look.
“Actually I’m slumming in this zip code. I only have a little over twelve-thousand square feet, not counting the garage and workshop. I did have my eye on a little twenty-three-thousand square foot shack further up the hill, at least until all this shit started coming down.” Jenkins’ tone suddenly turned serious. “Let’s go into the living room. There’s something you have to see.”
The living room was the size of a regulation basketball court, with cream colored carpet that was the softest Xander had ever felt. And it was spotless, something he imagined would be near-impossible to maintain given the color. He let out a soft chuckle. Hell, Billy probably just replaces it every time it gets dirty rather than clean it. That’s how the one-percent live.
They sat on a similarly light-colored, horseshoe-shaped sectional sofa made of velvety leather, while a slender Hispanic woman came into the room with a tray of beverages. “Still the Diet Pepsi drinker, Zan?”
“Hopeless addicted.”
The lady offered the tray to Tiffany. There were three kinds of soft drinks, plus a container of bottled water. “If you want something stronger, just let her know,” Jenkins said. “Maria can make just about anything you can think of.”
Tiffany took the water. “This will do just fine — for now,” she said. “However, the night is still young.”
Indeed, a thick overcast sky and the shortened days of mid-December had cast a premature pale over the area, yet even now the backyard was bathed in sensor-controlled lighting. Looking through the fifty-foot wide bank of eight-foot high sliding glass doors, the scene outside reminded Xander of the splashy glitz and brilliance of Las Vegas. The glass-like surface of the pool, along with the soaring palm trees and whitewashed Greek and Roman statues in the backyard, were all bathed in radiant cones of professionally-placed spotlights. Even with the continual water shortage in the region, Billy’s grass was so green, so perfectly manicured, that it looked artificial.
“Thanks for letting us in, Billy,” Xander said. “I know it’s been a long time, and with all that’s going on, I wasn’t sure what you’d do.”