by Tim Tigner
“Wesley Van Sise,” the robot said, pronouncing Sise like sissy. “Very good to see you outperforming your name.”
“It’s Sise, rhymes with nice.”
“Well, Wesley, I thank you for being the first to step up and for bringing your laptop to the restaurant. What’s the password?”
The question hit Sise like a kick to the crotch. He tried to control it, but his face contorted nonetheless. “I thought you were going to bring me up to make the transfer?”
“That sounds a lot like a question, Wesley.”
Sise stood still as a deer in the headlights, frozen and frightened.
“Your password,” the robot repeated.
Sabrina leaned in and whispered, “Why is he hesitating?”
“He’s just realized that he won’t be the one making the transfer,” Katya said.
“What’s it matter?”
“Once he logs them into his account, he can’t stop them from taking everything,” Oz said, answering his wife’s question.
“Of course,” Sabrina said. “I’m not thinking straight.”
“None of us are,” Katya said. Except Achilles.
Sise coughed his dry throat into action. “I guess I’m not ready after all.”
“Are you saying you lied to me?” the voice asked.
“I changed my mind in light of new information.”
“I see. Well then, allow me to further increase your knowledge base.”
The power went out. The lights. The appliances. The air.
“Let me know when you’ve changed it back again.”
24
Power Cycle
Western Nevada
DANICA FOUND HERSELF drawn to the drama playing out on the screen with the same intensity of a television series finale. She couldn’t look away.
As it was with TV shows, she thought she knew where it was going but couldn’t be sure. And the more she watched, the stronger the pull.
Bruce picked up on her mood. “Fascinating, isn’t it?”
“It’s better than the best show I’ve ever seen,” she agreed.
“Even with bad picture and sound.”
They had audio and infrared video—but neither was ideal. With only one microphone, they heard closer voices better than farther ones. And it was difficult to physically identify the orange-red silhouettes on screen. But like a whisper, the imperfection had the effect of leaning them in, both physically and emotionally.
“It’s the characters,” Danica added. “They’re real, and we’re getting to know them.”
She watched her husband’s expression change from jovial to concerned. “Which means we’re starting to root for some and against others,” he said, slowly. “I hadn’t thought of that. We should stop watching.”
“What?!”
Bruce muted the volume. “We shouldn’t get emotionally involved. Emotions force errors—and we can’t afford any of those.”
“We can’t afford not to watch them either.”
“I’m not suggesting that we turn off the screen. I’m saying we need to back away far enough to maintain emotional distance.”
The implications of her husband’s words hit Danica like a runaway truck. Stopped her in her tracks. One second she was skipping along the Yellow Brick Road, the next she felt like she’d been smeared across it. “In case we need to … hurt someone? What are you saying? Who are you becoming?”
Bruce raised both palms. “I’m looking out for us.”
Danica felt tears begin to well. She didn’t know what to say and was afraid to speak. Both of them were operating on emotional overload.
They stared at each other for a few silent seconds, faces twitching, throats closing, eyes blinking. Then Bruce spoke. “I suppose it’s okay to watch the bankers. No chance we’ll develop affection for any of them.”
“And Kai,” Danica added. “He’ll keep us in the right state of mind.”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Bruce unmuted the speaker, and Trey’s voice immediately came through loud and clear. “—to pay.”
They’d missed the crucial first part of the sentence.
“Is he telling us he’s ready to pay?” Danica asked.
“Either that or he’s bragging that he’s not going to pay. I can’t tell if he’s in the box talking to us or outside among his coterie. I can’t see his expression either.”
Since the box was just tape, it gave off no heat and thus was invisible to the infrared. Another situation Bruce had failed to foresee.
After a short pause, the orange profile they now knew to be Trey began waving his arms like a runway lineman. “I’m ready to pay.”
“He’s got a phone but no laptop,” Danica told Bruce, answering the unasked question while reaching for Trey’s cell. She’d been in charge of cataloging the captured equipment.
Bruce grabbed the microphone. “Mr. Huxley, how nice to hear from you. What’s the password on your phone?”
“It’s 244364.”
Danica typed the code and was rewarded.
“Why 244364?” Bruce asked, while accepting the phone.
“It’s random,” Trey replied, his voice slightly elevated.
Kai had numericized part of his favorite phrase to create the cabin’s door and alarm codes. Apparently, Bruce was assuming that Trey had done the same, and was using that bit of insight to exert his authority. To smush the little bug firmly into place.
“Don’t lie to me, Trey. Don’t you dare ever lie to me.”
The orange head dropped, then looked up again. “It spells big dog if you type it on a phone.”
“Thank you. Which banking app should I open?”
Danica busied herself studying the other captives as Trey walked Bruce through the process of making a transfer. Her husband would drain Trey’s account, of course, converting everything to anonymous cryptocurrency.
The fifty captives were grouped in clusters, not unlike the way they’d been arranged at Cinquante Bouches. Some were seated on the floor, others on the limited furniture provided. A few were pacing at the perimeter. Danica tried to tune in one of several muffled conversations taking place on the sidelines, but couldn’t lock in on it the way she could have if she had been in the room.
She was particularly interested in what the two women were saying, not for any tactical reason. Just because she empathized with them. Both came across as educated, worldly and intelligent. Thus they served as proxies for how she’d act in their unprecedented situation, which was something Danica found herself thinking about.
During the reality TV show, she’d noted that while the two couples tended to stick together, the women talked far more than the men. Apparently typical gender behavior wasn’t limited to social situations.
Bruce extended the phone in her direction so she could read the screen. It showed a balance of 2.2 million.
“I bet Trey’s little cabal identified the account with the balance closest to two million to use as a test case,” she said.
“No doubt.”
“By that logic, this should get better every time.”
“Not necessarily,” Bruce said. “My guess is that they’ll be combining selected bank accounts to pay off multiple ransoms at once.”
“Of course,” Danica agreed.
Bruce again keyed the mic. “Very good, Mr. Huxley. Your ransom is paid. We’ve got forty-nine to go. Who’s next?”
Nobody reacted.
Bruce repeated the question, slowly this time. “Who is next?”
Nobody spoke. Nobody moved.
Bruce killed the power.
25
Housing Crisis
Western Nevada
KATYA PUT HER LIPS to my ear and whispered, “What are you thinking about?”
Her hair tickled my nose as I answered honestly. “I’m thinking about our captors and their brilliant plan.”
“Is that admiration I hear in your voice?”
“Their
scheme is simple, yet foolproof. An easy means of extracting millions with minimal risk and maximum control. I’m wondering why it hasn’t been used before.”
Katya didn’t reply immediately.
I couldn’t see her expression, but I knew she was putting my conclusion through her analytical wringer. That was one of the things I loved about her. She didn’t parrot or spout. She thought for herself.
“Kidnapping rich individuals is common enough. There’s also plenty of precedent for taking groups of people hostage, although that’s usually by the bus or plane load, and almost always overseas. Our captors just slapped the two tactics together and added a twist.”
I assumed a lighter tone for my reply, since Katya couldn’t see the admiration on my face. “You could say the same about Facebook. All they did was combine the internet with an address book and add a twist.”
“You think we’re up against Mark Zuckerberg?”
“Someone of similar caliber.”
“Like Ivan the Ghost, may he forever rot in a dark, damp cell,” Katya said, referencing a former nemesis.
Happy to be brainstorming with my better half, I pressed on. “Think about it: Cinquante Bouches was the perfect place for that kind of trap, elite and isolated. But I bet nobody ever looked at the restaurant that way before. Likewise, prepper bunkers make ideal hostage holding facilities, but again, as far as I know, this is a first. Add to those astonishing insights the fact that we have not, and likely will not ever see our captors, and this comes close to the perfect crime.”
“Not really.”
“What do you mean?”
“They got you.”
“So far, that hasn’t made a whit of difference.”
“Sure it has. You crippled their spies. Very cleverly, I might add.”
Although it was tactically important to hide the fact that I’d identified Sebastian and Webster as spies, I’d confided in Katya. I didn’t want her inadvertently revealing anything important if they engaged her in seemingly casual conversation.
“Have you figured out how we can use them to escape?” Katya asked.
“I doubt there is a way. Anyone smart enough to concoct this plan isn’t going to expose himself in such a foreseeable way. He’ll sacrifice his spies if need be.”
“Still, something might arise or be provoked,” Katya pressed.
Smart woman.
As our conversation waned, I tuned into a discussion that was heating up across the room. The utter absence of light amplified my other senses, hearing chief among them. Alas, the dominant voice was the one that now grated my nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard. “They were supposed to let me go. But they didn’t. And of course I can’t ask why not, or when they plan to, because asking questions breaks their precious Rule One.”
“So what? Break it. What can they really do to us? They need our money,” Sise replied. No doubt he gestured as he spoke, but of course nobody could see it.
“Good point,” Trey said.
I thought it was a pretty stupid point. This was nothing. We were warm and dry with food and companionship. It was true that our captors weren’t actually going to suffocate us—not before they got their money in any case. But on the other hand, if Trey became bothersome they could trick him into the manual elevator with the promise of freedom and then strand him there in solitary confinement. Or they could bring him up and put a bullet in his brain or take a sledgehammer to his knees.
Katya leaned back in. “What do you think they’ll do with people who can’t pay?”
“Don’t worry. If worse comes to worst, we could probably get four million for the house.” I had inherited a nice home in Palo Alto, where four million dollars got you what cost less than four hundred thousand almost anywhere else.
“I don’t see how that’s possible. It would take time and require a lot of signatures. You can’t sell it by phone.”
I was about to explain how I saw the scenario playing out when the robot beat me to it. The intercom bellowed forth from the dark. “It’s time I made something clear. Nobody leaves until everyone’s ransom is paid. When I’ve got my hundred million dollars, I’ll unblock the manual lift and everyone will be free to go. Whether that happens ten minutes or ten months from now is entirely up to you.”
26
Hyenas
Western Nevada
KATYA FELT her shoulder muscles relax when the power came back on. Despite Achilles’ assurances and his rock-solid logic, she hadn’t been able to ignore the fear that sprang from knowing that every exhale reduced the amount of breathable air.
The robotic voice boomed back in almost immediately, disrupting her short reprieve. “Let me know when you’re ready with the remaining ninety-eight million. Until that time, I don’t want to see anyone in the box.”
Once it became clear that was the final word, the room began buzzing with conversation.
“Is this what you expected?” she asked Achilles.
“It was inevitable. As is the next step.”
“What next step?”
“Who are we in here with?” Achilles asked. He had a thing for the Socratic method. His brother Colin had been the same way. She wondered if that was the result of growing up with a father who’d taken the Hippocratic oath.
“Primarily rich people,” Katya replied.
“Professionally speaking,” Achilles clarified.
“Pharmaceutical executives and bankers. We’re here with bankers. That robot is one smart son of a gun,” she said with a shake of her head.
“We’re about to discover what our cellmates are made of—as if there’s any doubt. Let’s go back upstairs to watch.”
They ascended the stairs and leaned against the railing near the center of the walkway. Most of the captives were standing in tight circles, conversing in low tones. Circumstances were forcing people to reveal their cards. Their hidden secrets. The lies usually camouflaged by credit card balances and second mortgages. There was no wiggle room here. Bluffs and bluster wouldn’t produce the only thing that mattered—a two million dollar transfer to the robot’s bank.
Trey and his team had taken over the long dining table. They were punching numbers into calculators and passing scribbled notes around. The longer they worked, the louder they got.
Katya’s eyes fell on the safe. It wasn’t remarkable in its own right. It was a typical heavy metal cube opened with a digital keypad. But the fact that it wasn’t Kai Basher’s made it interesting. “What’s your theory on the safe?” she asked Achilles.
“Like any other safe, it’s there to limit access to valuables—and to keep them hidden from sight.”
“I get that, but what’s actually in there? Besides the spies’ ear mics. Do you think it contains the proverbial key? The one they’ll give us when the ransom is paid?”
“That may well be. The elevator control panel is a good guess. But I suspect there’s more in there than that. I think the safe is also the equivalent of a gun under the pillow. A fallback option kept handy in case something unforeseen happens. Perhaps an actual gun. Perhaps something else.”
Katya was about to ask Achilles to clarify when Sabrina and Oz joined them on the walkway. Oz seemed keen on keeping close to Achilles—no surprise there—and Sabrina made for her natural pair, being the only other captive woman.
The two women didn’t have much in common beyond basic demographics and being international transplants, but Sabrina was nice enough, and Katya found her British accent pleasant.
Sabrina seemed primed to speak when Trey addressed the crowd. Katya looked down to see that he’d climbed atop the dining table. “Let’s get this hammered out so that we can get out of here. I want to start by splitting the room into two halves so we can literally see where we stand.” He gestured with his arms. “If you’re able to pay your ransom directly, please make yourself comfortable on the lounge side of the room. If you need banking services, please join us on the kitchen side. So it’s have money—lounge. Need money—k
itchen.”
Katya watched as people slowly started sorting themselves. She couldn’t help but think of the Titanic during its final minutes, when the upper class cabins were allocated lifeboats and the steerage passengers were left to drown. Or perhaps swim with the sharks was more like it, she corrected, looking down at the bankers with their calculators and notepads.
Glancing at Achilles, Katya saw that his face had flushed, either from embarrassment or anger. She had a pretty good idea which. “You’re thinking about your inheritance, aren’t you?”
He turned to meet her eye. “You know me too well.”
Achilles had inherited ten million dollars from his father but then lost it to a legal technicality. He could have fought the seizure in court. He could have called in a favor from a very influential friend. But he had wanted to be done with the whole situation more than he wanted the money, and besides he was an eat what you kill kind of guy. Living off inherited stock-option proceeds just wasn’t his style.
“You could probably still get it back, if you made the call.”
“Probably, but they’re clearly not going to let me make that call. No worries, though. Whatever arrangement we end up with here will only be temporary.” As Achilles spoke, Katya saw steel in his eyes. She knew then and there that her captors were doomed.
Rather than dwell on that, Katya turned her attention to the actions transpiring below. The apparent tally was neither disastrous nor encouraging. Of the fifty captives, twenty-eight indicated they had ready access to two million dollars, and twenty-two did not, assuming Oz and Sabrina were among the have-nots.
“Come on, people!” Trey said. “Who spends four hundred dollars a plate on dinner without having money in the bank? Seriously, half of you can’t be that irresponsible.”
Nobody moved.
Trey threw up his arms, then hopped off the table.
With their mission stated and their objectives clear, the bankers began to block and tackle. The eight of them dispersed like airplanes from a hub, each targeting a different group—but none ascending the stairs.
