Modern bungalows constructed of wood, steel, and glass began to appear, set back into the trees on either side of the path. Having built something of a compound himself in Virginia, Rapp had to appreciate the design. Clean, modern, and conceived from the ground up for off-grid use. With the moderate climate, they had it easier than he did—no cooling necessary and small woodstoves would be enough for the few times a year that heat was necessary. On the other hand, everything that wasn’t locally sourced would have had to be flown in by cargo helicopter. Not cheap. But then, at some point it all became play money. His own brother had reached that level a while back. And his net worth was less than one thousandth of Ward’s. Rapp let that sink in for a moment. His mega-millionaire brother was a literal pauper compared to the man who owned this compound. Poor Steven. The kid was just barely getting by.

Ward’s house was unlike anything Rapp had ever seen. Its two stories cantilevered out on every side and the exterior walls consisted of wood louvers. At this time of day, all were open, allowing a view straight through, past a large central kitchen to the panorama beyond. Machinery camouflaged in the corners suggested that the entire place could be closed up at the touch of a button.

The man himself was sitting cross-legged on a terrace by the pool, absorbed by the book he was reading. Rapp’s approach went unnoticed until he was about ten feet away.

“There you are!” Ward, said, tossing the book aside and getting to his feet. “I saw your chopper come in. Can I get you a beer?”

Because some of the louvers had been raised instead of just being opened, there was no obvious entrance. In this configuration, the structure was more like a giant covered deck than a house. Rapp picked a random spot and climbed into what seemed to be the living room.

“Sure.”

He watched the richest man in history pull a couple of bottles from a stainless-steel refrigerator that was the same high-efficiency brand that Rapp had in his Virginia house. It could run off of a single solar panel and had served him well during the blackout.

“I can’t tell you how grateful I am for everything you’ve done, Mitch.”

“Nice place,” Rapp said by way of a response. No gratitude was necessary. He was there because of Kennedy and Coleman.

“You like it? I have to admit that I thought it was a little weird when my architect showed me the plans. But my motto is hire the best, then get out of their way. Usually it works out.” He grinned. “Though she tells me the roof’s not designed to support ICBMs.”