Brainrush by Richard Bard
Ahmed nodded. “Easy.”
“Tony, where would we get the kind of team you’re talking about?”
“This is crazy, man,” Marshall interjected. “This kind of an operation would cost a friggin’ fortune.”
Jake waved away Marshall’s concern, his focus still on Tony. “Forget about the money. Could you put together a team?”
Tony never talked much about his ops background. Most of it was classified. After twelve years of clandestine ops, he’d been on several teams that were the kind Jake was talking about. Jake knew his buddy was still connected to that world.
Tony said, “For something like this, there’s only one option.”
“What?” Jake asked.
“Not what, but who,” Tony said. “A guy I know, let’s leave it at that. But he could put the team together, arrange for the equipment, everything—a one-stop shop of mayhem, if you catch my drift. But Marshall’s right, we’re talking huge bucks—five or six million euros, minimum. Hell, it could be double that to get the best guys available. Where are we gonna get that kinda cash?”
Marshall added, “Even if we had the money, we still have a major problem.” He pointed to an item listed on the computer screen. “You see that? That is the newest-generation Zodar security system. It was designed by a consortium of some of the top hackers in the world to make it virtually impregnable. I know one of the guys on the team that built it, and believe me, there’s no way to penetrate it from the outside. The only way into that system is by sitting at one of the inside terminals.”
Glancing down at Ahmed, Jake sorted through the genesis of a plan. It was a wild-ass plan, to be sure. But was it possible? Maybe, with his new talents…“Suppose I could get to one of the terminals. Could you teach me what to do to get around the system?”
Marshall studied Jake. “You know, if you had asked me that question a week ago, I would have just laughed my ass off and ordered another beer. But now, with that new processor you’ve got between your ears? Yeah, I think we could do it. I’d have to create a specially prepped flash drive that you could plug into the terminal. With the flash in place, and if we do a little work on your typing skills, we could backdoor it in less than a minute or two. After that, you can walk away, and as long as the flash drive remains plugged in, I should have full access to the security system from an outside terminal.”
Tony said, “When you say full access, whad’ya mean?”
“The works. I see what they see: video surveillance, alarm monitoring, fire suppressions, PA system, everything.”
Mario joined their close-knit circle, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.
Tony pressed on with Marshall. “Can you do more than just watch? Can you manipulate the system, like shutting down parts of the perimeter alarm or videocams?”
“Sure. But that’s where it gets tricky. As long as I remain a passive observer, there’s no problem. But once I start changing things, they’re going to know something’s up. It will take them a little while to isolate where the trigger device is located, but once they do, we’ll be locked out.”
“Once you go active, how much time before they find the flash?”
“Ten minutes, tops.”
Tony thought about that for a moment. “That could be enough.” He looked from Jake to Ahmed. “If we had accurate intel…”
Jake patted Ahmed on the shoulder. “No problem.”
Lacey said, “But Jake, we don’t have six million euros. So what’s the point?”
“She’s right,” Tony said. “And we have an even bigger problem than the money.”
“What’s that?”
“Well, we probably broke a dozen laws last night by taking matters into our own hands and storming the palace with guns blazing. People were killed.”
Dammit, Jake thought. And the federal police will be here soon. “We gotta get the hell outta here.”
“Ya think?” Tony said. “But the ground floor’s swarmin’ with cops.”
Jake turned to Mario, but he was already on his cell phone. He held up his index finger, indicating he needed a second. He issued a hushed order in Italian and slammed the phone closed. “A boat will be waiting at the back entrance in five minutes.”
Jake snapped out instructions. “Lacey, unplug Battista’s computer. We’re taking it with us. Tony, you’ll need to subdue the guard posted outside the door. I’m going to pull the blowups of all those glyphs off the wall in the other room.” Something told him that deciphering their meaning was critical.
In spite of the urgency of Jake’s words, nobody moved. They glanced back and forth between one another, as if they wondered if Jake was losing it.
Lacey asked, “But what about the money?”
Jake clapped his hands together to snap them out of it. In the same instant, he blinked his eyes at a pile of papers on the desk, grabbing them with his mind and flinging them into the air as though a gust of wind had blown them. Then he focused on the light switch and snapped the lights off and on a couple of times. “Move! I’ll explain on the way.”
They moved. Fast.
Chapter 30
The Principality of Monaco
MONACO—PLAYGROUND OF THE JETSET ELITE. The tiny cliffside principality is only three kilometers long and sits on a large rock named Mont des Mules overlooking the sea. The twists and turns of its steep streets are lined with quaint shops, restaurants, and hotels. And in the center of it all sits the Grand Casino de Monte Carlo. Just the name conjures visions of glamour and wealth, a place for the rich and famous to see and be seen.
Jake leaned against the rail of the third-floor balcony off a room at the quaint Hotel Ambassador, situated just a short stroll away from the casino’s square. The picturesque sheltered harbor was spread out in front of him, the full moon low on the horizon spilling a rippling highway of sparkles on the black water. Deck lights illuminated several of the luxury yachts and cruisers that lined the famous cove.
In his mind’s eye, Jake pictured James Bond skimming across the water in a speedboat, on his way to save the world with the help of a drop-dead gorgeous Russian girl with pouty lips who couldn’t resist his charms. Bond is wearing his signature evening attire—jet-black pants, white dinner jacket, white shirt with gold cuff links, black bow tie, and a smile that could weaken the knees of a prima ballerina.
Jake pulled the cuffs of his pleated white shirt. Yep, he had the outfit, thanks to Lacey’s shopping spree that afternoon. And with Lacey dressed to the nines in her low-cut black cocktail dress, he’d even have the gorgeous girl on his arm. But matching that cocky Bond smile just wasn’t going to happen, not while Francesca and Sarafina were locked up somewhere. Or worse.
Another Maserati drove by on the cobbled street beneath him. Limos and expensive cars were as common around here as jeweled Chihuahuas in Beverly Hills. Money seemed to ooze from the streets in this town.
Jake glanced into the room. Ahmed was sitting on an overstuffed chair in the mini-suite’s living area, listening intently as Tony huddled in a corner on the phone with his mercenary contact. The boy had grown attached to Tony on the six-hour drive from Venice, the two of them talking easily in Dari. Tony had been on the phone for nearly half an hour, checking off items from the two-page list he’d put together. The conversation had grown heated.
“I don’t give a shit what it takes, Karl. It still needs to get done in less than twenty-four hours, and it’s gotta be first-string only.” After a short pause, he said, “Yeah, I’ll wire the money before sunrise. You know I’m good for it. Just do it, man. I’m counting on you.” He hung up the phone and joined Jake on the balcony.
Tony shook his head. “Brother, I hope you know what you’re doin’. I got my neck stretched out a mile. If we don’t come up with the dough by tomorrow morning, I’ll be in some deep shit.”
Trying to sound more certain than he felt, Jake said, “I’ve got it under control.”
“I sure as hell hope so. Because if you can’t turn that thousand-
Jake stretched his neck from side to side, trying to loosen his bunched-up muscles. Tony was right. Everything hinged on his crazy scheme. Francesca, Sarafina, his friends—all of them at risk and depending on him. What was he thinking? How the hell was he going to pull this off?
Jake was startled when Lacey slipped in behind him, slid her hands up the back of his dinner jacket, and squeezed the muscles on either side of his neck. With a sultry Russian accent, she said, “Don’t pay any attention to him, Mr. Bond. He obviously doesn’t appreciate your unique talents.”
Jake had to smile. He and Tony turned around to face her.
Lacey spun in a classic model turn. Her long blonde hair caressed her bare shoulders with a silky shimmer. A dainty, jeweled gecko clung to the curve of one ear, setting off her sparkling blue eyes. A thin, silver snake coiled around her wrist and up her forearm; its tiny emerald eyes stared adoringly up at her. Her scoop-back, silk cocktail dress flowed over her curves like black oil, leaving little to the imagination.
She had completely embraced her role as his luscious companion for tonight’s adventure at the casino. It was her job to keep all eyes on her while he threw the dice. No red-blooded man within a twenty-foot radius stood a chance.
Jake noticed an open-mouthed Marshall eyeing Lacey’s performance from the small desk in the corner. He looked like a desperate puppy locked in a cage while his littermates chewed on steak bones. Was there a spark of jealousy there?
Lacey followed Jake’s gaze. She glided over to the desk, placed a single finger under Marshall’s chin, and urged him to stand up. She wrapped both arms around his neck and surprised him with a warm kiss on the mouth. It was a long kiss. And it was easy to see that Lacey was enjoying it every bit as much as Marshall.
When they parted, her voice was soft, breathless. “Marshall, I’m an actress. No matter what it looks like I’m doing with someone else, I want you to know it’s all just an act. But I promise, I will never, ever act when I’m with you.” She glanced away, as if unsure of herself. She said, “If…if that’s what you want.”
Marshall’s face flushed. He put his bandaged hand around her waist, pulling her close, their faces just inches apart. He nodded and gave her a smile that must have told her everything she needed to know. She smiled back and buried her head against his shoulder.
Looking past her at Jake, Marshall said, “Take good care of her out there.”
***
The crowd was two rows thick around the craps table, but a group of well-dressed Hispanic gentlemen parted like the Red Sea to make room for Lacey, offering begrudging smiles to Jake as she clung to his arm. Jake mumbled his thanks and placed his meager thousand-euro stack of chips in the curved grooves in front of him. He placed two hundred euros on the pass line, betting that the roller would win.
The croupier opened a new box of dice. While he went through the ritual of examining them, Jake explained the rules to Lacey.
She listened attentively, both arms wrapped lovingly around Jake’s left arm, her breasts pressing against his bicep so that they peeked out around the edges of her dress. She absently ran her fingers up and around the coils of her braided snake bracelet. She giggled at a couple of the men standing beside her. “Isn’t this exciting?”
Both of the men lifted their eyes from her breasts and nodded in unison. One of them stuttered, “Si, s-senorita. Very exciting.”
The croupier slid the new stack of dice in front of a large, red-faced American man in his late forties. He stood at Jake’s immediate right. The stout man wore a camel sport coat over a white shirt with a string tie. His boisterous attitude and diamond-studded horseshoe cuff links announced his Texas origins. He was playing with thousand-euro chips, and he had two long rows of them curling in the cupped trays in front of him. The man set his drink down carelessly on the ledge below his chips, ignorant of the splash of alcohol that soaked into the toe of one of his expensive-looking cowboy boots.
Grabbing a couple of inches of chips, the Texan fanned them carelessly on the pass line. He picked up two of the dice from the nine or ten offered by the croupier’s stick. He shook them a couple of times in his hand and flung them down the table. “Gimme that seven!”
Jake focused on the spinning red dice as they tumbled across the felt surface. His brain shifted gears. Watching their roll in ultra-slow motion, he found it easy to predict how they would settle. The first one was going to finish as a five, the second as a three. He nudged the second die just before its final tumble. It twisted and landed as a two.
“Seven, winner seven,” announced the croupier.
The roller yelled, “Hot damn!”
Several other betters smiled.
Lacey said, “That’s good, right?”
“Sure is,” Jake said. “Let’s try again.”
The banker paid the bets on the pass line. Jake’s two hundred euros was now four hundred. He left it all on the table, and the roller let his winnings ride as well. He picked up the dice and tossed them again.
“Seven, winner seven.”
“Well, ain’t that a sommabitch!”
Lacey squeaked.
More happy voices joined in the cheer. Jake now had eight hundred on the line. The roller tossed a third time.
“Seven, winner seven!”
Another cheer burst from the table. Lacey bounced up and down and gave Jake a happy kiss on the cheek. More patrons joined the crowd to see what all the excitement was about. Jake had sixteen hundred on the table.
The roller downed the rest of his drink in one slug. His slurred Texas drawl was annoying. “Well, I’ll be hog-tied with barbed wire if this ain’t gonna be my night!” He flicked his eyebrows up at Lacey and gave her a nasty leer.
Jake gave the Texan a warning look, but the guy just sniffed. When he reached for the dice, he slid his bulk into Jake just enough that it would appear accidental. He threw the dice down the table, jostling Jake with his shoulder.
Jake didn’t have time for this asshole. The guy had over forty thousand on the pass line, and Jake didn’t want to help him win any more. He ignored the dice this time, letting them fall naturally.
“Seven, winner seven!”
Damn.
The crowd erupted.
The croupier slid a large stack of chips in front of the Texan.
Jake didn’t like this dude, but at least his own pile had doubled to thirty-two hundred with the roll.
The Texan continued to press into Jake as his eyes gleamed at Lacey. “Hot damn, I’m on a roll. Honey, how’d you like to go home with a real man? I’ll bet you’re the kinda girl that knows how to grab the bull by the horn, am I right?”
The crowd quieted.
The croupier watched the interaction carefully, his hand slipping out of view beneath the table. Probably a security call, Jake thought. He noticed two burly guys with crew cuts, maroon blazers, and gold name tags step out of the shadows and move toward the table.
Jake turned sideways to stare into the face of the blustery Texan. The guy puffed out his fifty-inch chest with a smirk and took Jake’s stare head-on.
“You got something to say, pretty boy?” the guy asked, a bit of spittle spraying onto Jake’s chin.
Jake casually pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped his face. He folded the cloth back into his pocket and said, “Yeah, I’ve got something to say. Three things, actually. First, you’ve got really bad breath.”
The noise level around the table dropped to a hush.
The guy’s eyes widened in anger, but before he could say anything, Jake continued, this time in a mocking version of the man’s drawl. “Second, y’all got worse manners than a hog at suppertime.”
The Texan’s fists clenched, and his shoulders bunched. He leaned forward like a huge oak tree threatening to topple over.
Jake didn??
The Texan hesitated, confused. “Huh? What are you talking about?” He pointed at the stack of chips in front of him. “I’m up over a hundred grand.”
“Actually, you haven’t won anything until you count what’s left when you go home. And you’re going home flat broke tonight, partner.”
“Screw you, asshole. I’m hotter than a Texas summer.” He pointed to Jake’s small stack of chips. “What the hell do you know?”
“I’ll tell you what I know.” He pointed to the Texan’s big stack of chips on the pass line. “All that money sitting in front of you is about to be sitting in front of me.” He then gestured to Lacey. “This gorgeous young lady will still be on my arm, and you’re going to be escorted out of here with absolutely nothing.”
Everyone around the table listened in rapt attention. In silent answer to the two security men waiting nearby, the croupier shook his head. He appeared as intrigued as everyone else as to where this was going.
More confused than ever, the Texan looked from side to side, as if wondering whether he was being punked on hidden camera.
“You’re going to crap out on your next roll,” Jake said. “In fact, I’m so sure you’re going to crap out that I’m going to place all my money on it.”
Jake combined his thirty-two hundred from the pass line and the eight hundred in front of him and placed it all on the 2 or 12 betting square. If either number was rolled, the payout was thirty to one.
“Big deal. So you’re betting against me with chump change. Am I supposed to be impressed?”
Jake reached into his pants pocket and pulled out his hotel key. He placed it on the table between him and the Texan. Motioning toward Lacey behind him, he slid the key forward another inch. “I’m all in. What about you?”
The Texan’s eyes widened in understanding. A lascivious grin spread across his face. He reached for the dice.
“Not so fast,” Jake said, pointing at the row of chips still sitting in the Texan’s tray. “You’ve either got the balls to go all in or you don’t.”