SCOTT MARIANI

The Forgotten Holocaust

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Chapter One
Oologah Lake
25 miles from Tulsa, Oklahoma
The present day
The August sun was still high above the trees by the time Erin
reached the cabin. The driver pulled the Cadillac Escalade to
a halt, got out and opened the back door for her.
Thanks, Joe, Erin said brightly, stepping down from the
car with her small backpack, which was all the luggage shed
brought.
You have yourself a great weekend, Miss Hayes, Joe
replied. You got the number, right? Just call me whenever
you want, and Ill come right away to take you home. With
a final smile, he got back behind the wheel, and she watched
the car disappear down the track that was the only access
to this remote spot.
So here we are, Erin said to herself, gazing around her
once she was alone.
Angela hadnt been kidding about the beauty of the place.
So this was how the wealthy folks lived. And for just a couple
of days, humble charity worker Erin Hayes was to have it all
to herself. Everyone should have an employer this generous.
Oologah Lake. The name came from the Cherokee word
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for dark cloud. This northern corner of Oklahoma was

known for its fearsome windstorms. Today, though, the lake
was as still as glass, visible through the trees with the sunlight
glittering across its vastness and gleaming off the windows
of the boathouse by the little jetty. The cabin itself was long
and low, surrounded by a whitewood veranda complete with
rocking chair and beautiful old lanterns. The nearest neighbours were about a mile away through the woods, or so
shed been told.
The solitude didnt bother Erin a bit. It was Friday, the
end of a long week, and she had nothing on her mind other
than the peaceful weekend ahead. She let herself inside and
quickly entered the alarm code on the keypad panel near
the door.
Angela might call it a cabin, but the place seemed three
times the size of Erins miniscule house in Tulsas Crosbie
Heights district. The furnishings were predictably expensive.
The walls and floor were burnished oak and walnut, gleaming
with a thousand coats of varnish. Some architect must have
got paid a packet to come up with the design. The right blend
of traditional and modern, with a high ceiling framed all
the way around by a galleried landing that overlooked the
open-plan living space below. Four bedrooms radiated off
the landing, east, south, north and west. She spent a while
exploring, then carried her backpack upstairs to the room
shed decided would be hers for the weekend. The east
bedroom, so shed be woken by the rising sun in the morning.
She dumped her stuff on the bed and then changed into her
running shoes, trotted back downstairs and headed outside
to discover the tracks Angela had said wound for miles through
the woods.
Erin was in training for that Novembers Route 66
Marathon, which shed entered to help raise funds for the
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Desert Rose Trust, the youth education charity she worked

for and of which Angela was president. As she jogged along
the sun-dappled track that skirted the lake, she thought
about the employer whod become her friend. Angela had
never really confided in her, but Erin got the impression
that she and her husband lived somewhat separate lives. They
were rich, of course unimaginably rich, at least by Erins
standards, with a fabulous mansion in north Tulsa. But
even rich folks had their problems. Angelas husband was
often off somewhere or other on business; Erin wondered
whether Angela might be seeing someone else on the side,
someone who could make her laugh and treat her with a
little more warmth. There had only ever been tiny hints, but
women noticed these things.
Erin enjoyed her long run through the lakeside woodlands. At thirty-three, she was in the best shape of her life,
an achievement that made her feel proud. Returning to the
cabin as the sunlight was fading, she showered, changed into
soft lounging-around clothes and then spent the evening
doing just that. Angela had said to help herself to whatever
was in the fridge, but Erin ignored the well-stocked drinks
cabinet.
After a light meal and a couple of hours reading and
exploring the CD collection, she turned on the alarm system
the way Angela had instructed, then padded contentedly
upstairs to bed. She fell asleep gazing at the moonlight
through the trees and listening to the soft noises of the
woods in serene anticipation of the weekend ahead.
She was deep in a pleasant dream when she awoke
suddenly. It wasnt the rising sun on her face, greeting her
at the start of a fine new day.
It was the sound of voices. The room was still dark. It
was still night. She checked her watch. Nine minutes to two
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in the morning. She sat rigidly upright in the bed, suddenly

alert, heart beating fast. She strained to listen.
She hadnt imagined it.
The voices were coming from inside the cabin. From
downstairs.
Frightened but quickly gathering her wits, Erin scrabbled
out of bed and reached into her backpack for the compact
Springfield nine-millimetre that her daddy had given her:
one of the former security guards two gifts to his only
daughter before hed died. His comfort as he left this world
had been that she would always be able to look after herself.
Always have a backup, was the motto hed drummed into
her from when she was a little girl. Erin had honoured that
by learning to use the pistol effectively and safely and keeping
it near her, always loaded.
Clutching it now, she sneaked out of the bedroom and
onto the landing, crouching to peer through the wooden
railing. She shrank herself down as small as possible, almost
too afraid to look. Her heart was thumping so loudly, she
was scared it would give her away to whoever had entered
the cabin.
The open-plan space below was all lit up. From her
vantage point in the shadows, Erin had a clear view of the
whole living area, as well as the open doorway leading out
onto the veranda.
There were four men inside the cabin. One was standing
with his back to her. He was tall and broad and silver-haired,
wearing a tan sports jacket, chinos, loafers. The second and
third were standing by the window. Younger men, maybe
late thirties, lean and serious-looking, one with dark hair
cropped military-style and the other with a thin blonde
ponytail. Both wore jeans and T-shirts.
The fourth man Erin could see was short and heavy, with
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black curly hair and a beard. Hed made himself comfortable

in one of the cabins plush armchairs.
What was happening? How had they got past the alarm
system? If they were burglars, Erin thought, they were pretty
damn relaxed about it. The large silver-haired man had already
served out cut-crystal glasses of liquor from a decanter and was
heading back towards the sideboard to pour one for himself.
It was as he turned round that Erin recognised his face.
She heaved a sigh of relief and her fingers relaxed on the
grip of her handgun.
It was Angelas husband. Of course! She should have
known that large, imposing figure anywhere. He and his
guests were talking business, but Erin couldnt make out
much of the conversation. She was suddenly too busy
worrying about what the hell she was going to say to explain
her presence here at the cabin. Angela obviously hadnt
told him it was being used by one of her employees. What
would his reaction be? Embarrassment, probably. Irritation.
Annoyance. Perhaps outright anger. But she couldnt very
well just hide up here out of sight in the mans home.
She was about to make her presence known come what
may when the situation downstairs suddenly changed.
Angelas husband abruptly set down his glass and signalled
to the two younger men by the window. Instantly, without
a word, they also put down their drinks and stepped quickly
over to where the bearded man was sitting. Before he could
stop them, theyd grabbed his arms and turfed him out of
his armchair. He sprawled on the rug. Then it got worse.
Calmly, almost casually and out of nowhere, the two
produced expandable batons, the kind the cops used, that
telescoped out to full length at the flick of a wrist. The
bearded mans cries and protests were swiftly silenced as
they began raining brutal blows on his head and body.
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Not here, Angelas husband said. Get him outside.

Erin watched in growing horror as the two hard-faced
men dragged their bleeding victim to the door and out onto
the moonlit veranda. The bearded man tried to struggle to
his feet.
That was when it got worse again. She almost let out a
scream as she saw the short-haired one take out a pistol
from a concealed holster. Two loud stunning blasts filled the
cabin as he shot the bearded man in the left knee, then in
the right. The boom of the gunshots was followed by a howl
as the victim crumpled and rolled in agony on the veranda.
The silver-haired man simply watched impassively.
Erin couldnt believe what she was seeing. This was
Angelas husband!
Nobody would ever believe her ... unless ...
Erin scrambled back through the shadows into the
bedroom. Grabbing her phone with a trembling hand, she
activated the video recording function and crept back out
onto the landing. If they saw her, theyd kill her. Even armed,
she wouldnt stand a chance against these men.
The bearded man was dragging himself across the veranda
away from them, wailing in pain and terror as he clawed his
way forward, one hand behind the other. Angelas husband
continued to watch, the way someone would watch a bug
crawl across the floor. At his signal, the ponytailed man
stepped up alongside the victim, took out a pistol and fired
a deafening shot through one of his hands.
The wailing became a tortured screech. The other three
men began to laugh. The other one shot him now, this time
through the thigh. Then once more, blowing fingers off his
other hand. The screaming became continuous.
Erin could hardly keep the tiny video camera steady in
her shaking hands.
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Hell with this, Angelas husband said. Im tired of this

pricks hollering. He reached under his jacket and came out
with a large shiny revolver that glittered in the moonlight.
He thumbed back the hammer, aimed at the back of the
bearded mans head and pulled the trigger.
The blast and flame were far greater than the other
gunshots. The crawling man was thrown forward on his face
in an explosion of blood, twitched violently and then lay
still.
Angelas husband twirled the revolver theatrically around
his trigger finger, like a movie cowboy, and then thrust it
back in its holster. All right, he said to the others. Stick
this piece of garbage in the van. You can chop his ass up
and get rid of it later.
Okay, boss.
Ah, shit, I got blood on my goddamn brogues.
Sorry, boss.
What the hell. Gonna take a leak, Angelas husband
announced.
Erin watched, quaking, as the body was dragged down the
veranda steps and away towards the trees. All three of the men
had moved away from the cabin. This was her one and only
chance to get out of here. She turned off the phone, stumbled
back inside the bedroom and snatched her backpack. She threw
the phone into it. Some of her other things were strewn about
the room, but there just wasnt time to retrieve them.
With the pack on her shoulder and the pistol held out in
front of her, she scurried barefoot down the stairs. She felt
naked and vulnerable under the lights of the main room.
One of the men had only to turn and glance back at the
cabin, and shed be spotted right away. If that happened,
she knew the exchange of gunfire would be very brief and
that she wouldnt survive it.
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She almost retched as she picked a path around the bloodslick on the veranda and the broad trail of it down the steps.
Just a few yards, and she would be in the shadow of the trees.
Her legs were shaking so badly, she was terrified shed fall over.
Angelas husband had strolled casually over to a tree and
was urinating against it with his feet braced apart and his
back to her, left hand on his hip, whistling to himself. She
passed within twenty feet of him, close enough to hear
the patter of his stream on the ground. The other two had
carried the body to a white van that was parked across from
the cabin, just a pale outline under the shadows of the trees.
She could hear their low voices. They were turning. Heading
back. They were going to see her.
She ducked into the dark bushes just in time and crouched
there, holding her breath, petrified that the slightest rustle
would betray her presence. One of the men walked by so
close that she could smell the minty odour on his breath,
like gum. It was the one with the ponytail. He paused, seemed
to stiffen like an animal when it senses something. Through
the leaves she could see his face half-lit by the moon and
the glow from the cabin. The gleam of his eyes.
What is it, Billy Bob? the other one said.
The one called Billy Bob stood still, so close that Erin
could have reached out of the bushes and touched him.
Nuthin, Billy Bob said, and walked on.
Angelas husband had zipped himself up and was strolling
back towards the cabin, complaining in a loud voice about
the goddamn mess. The other two exchanged glances. The
one called Billy Bob grinned. They followed him back inside.
And Erin clambered out of her hiding place in the bushes
and ran like shed never run before.

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