Kane by Steve Gannon

developments like Irvine and Mission Viejo gobbling up mammoth tracts that had once been Spanish missions and Mexican potreros .
    Years before, after careful consideration, Carns had chosen the gated community of Coto de Caza as an appropriate site for his estate.  Originally known as Gobernadora Canyon, Coto lay nestled in the brush-covered foothills of the Cleveland National Forest, twenty miles from the Pacific.  In keeping with its ranching heritage, the canyon had been subdivided as an equestrian community, with homesites and horse riding easements throughout.  Though not a horseman, Carns had selected Coto because of its access to urban centers, quality of lifestyle, and privacy.  Over the years his choice had proved exceptionally satisfactory, at least on the first two counts.  Arterial thoroughfares to the population centers of Orange and Los Angeles Counties lay within easy reach, and Coto’s 44,000-square-foot clubhouse, Robert Trent Jones, Jr., golf course, Olympic-class aquatic center, multiple tennis courts, and huge equestrian facility provided one of the finest residential environs in Southern California.  Privacy, however, had increasingly become a problem.
    Leaving the window, Carns crossed to his dresser and pulled on underwear, sweat pants, a cotton T-shirt, socks, and tennis shoes.  After descending a broad staircase to the main floor of his mansion, he proceeded through a gigantic living room, treading a collection of tribal rugs and flat-woven kilims from Persia, the Caucasus, and Turkey—many of whose value far exceeded an average family’s yearly income.  Without stopping, he continued down a long hallway to a well equipped gymnasium.  There for the next hour he exercised without pause, spending fifteen minutes on an inclined treadmill, thirty with free weights, and a final quarter hour on Nautilus and Gravitron machines.
    Afterward he made his way to an adjacent bathroom.  Dripping sweat, he stripped, reached into the bathroom’s black granite shower, turned the water on cold, and stepped beneath the icy spray.  Gasping at the cold, he forced himself to remain under the frigid stream for several minutes, the ice-cold needles stinging his skin, a near-painful sensation of numbness creeping through his limbs.  When he could endure no more, he stepped out.  Grabbing a towel from a nearby hook, he inspected himself in a full-length mirror on the opposite wall.
    A fraction under six feet tall, the image in the glass looked hard and lean, the powerful upper body bearing the mark of years of weight training.  Dense black hair coursed from chest to groin, matching a wiry thicket on his forearms and shoulders.  The face in the mirror appeared bland:  thin lips, a broad triangular nose, close-cropped hair, and small, well-formed ears tucked flat against the skull.
    As he began drying himself, Carns stepped closer, peering at his reflection.  The eyes staring back were dark brown, almost black, as hard and symmetrical as marbles.  Carns grinned at his image, then crossed to a clothes closet and selected a fresh pair of sweats.  After pulling them on, he checked the clock on the weight room wall:  4:45 AM.
    Whistling contentedly, Carns returned to the living room and took a corridor to the right, passing an unused banquet room with seating for thirty, a granite-countered kitchen with a huge central island, and a darkened stairway leading to the subterranean level of his estate.  Continuing, he reached the most lived-in portion of his house, and the area, with the exception of a small room in the basement, in which he derived his most pleasure.
    He paused in the doorway, enjoying the anticipation that always gripped him before entering.  The glow from a bank of computer screens bathed the room’s interior in greens and reds and blues, creating an illusion of festivity.  Carns hesitated a moment more, then touched a switch near the door.  Banks of hidden fluorescents flooded the chamber