“A cop from the beautiful little town of Dead, Texas, and his hacker girlfriend? Nobody cares.” He turned his glare on Diana. “Why aren’t you in jail? You’re supposed to be serving time. Or dare I ask? ’Cause I can see you’re carrying heat, both of you. But then again”—he gestured toward a uniformed guard who had quietly entered the room—“so is he.”
“I’m not in jail because I cut a deal with Uncle Sam, Willard.”
“Willard?” Flynn asked.
“What kind of a deal would the feds cut with a sleazeball like you, Diana? You went down for four years.”
She pulled out her documentation. “When there’s only one person who can do a job, they’re gonna deal.”
He looked at her ID card. “As if this was real. Please don’t bore me. You either bribed your way out or fucked your way out or both. Or you did something to their computers. Probably hacked your own release and just walked.”
“Look, Willard, we’ve been sent here by our bosses for reasons that we cannot tell you to do a job that you are not going to be able to do yourself.”
“We’ve got security patrolling every floor. We’ve entered and searched every guest room in the complex.”
“But you haven’t found the tiger or seen it leave the structure. Not on any camera. So what does that tell you?”
“LVPD SWAT are standing by.”
“Hordes of cops in black Darth Vader outfits. International media attention. That would not be good.”
“Whatever, I fail to see what a card shark and a jailbird hacker are gonna bring to the table.”
“Go the SWAT route. Or let us do our thing. Nice and private. You see the tiger, then you don’t.”
“Do we get an ID on the shithead who brought it in?”
“I guarantee the tiger. The shithead if we’re lucky.”
“And what does this cost?”
“Not a penny. We really do work for Uncle Sam.” He looked at Diana. “She’s been scared honest.”
“That would be false. So let me put it this way. If this fucks up in some way—if it turns out to be some sort of bass ackwards scam, I’m not bothering with the cops. I’m gonna just go ahead and brass you two until your faces are but a memory.”
“You beat up ladies now?”
Willard focused on Diana. “I saw this ‘lady’ here toss an armed man twice her size-fifteen feet into a glass wall.”
“I’ve only seen her geek side,” Flynn said.
Willard stared at her for a while. “That was her geek side. Don’t even get me started about her skill at ripping marks.”
Her face was scarlet. She did not reply.
A long sigh from Williard. “What do you need to get started?”
“Smart move,” Flynn said.
“Nope, it’s a case of curiosity killing the cat. Why would a big-time hacker team up with a small-time counter? I’m fascinated.”
“Let’s roll some videotape.”
Willard took them to the security complex, which Flynn saw was fitted with state-of-the-art cameras watching the gaming area. Every corridor on every floor was also covered. “Any penetration into the rooms?”
“Not legal.”
“Detectives, maybe? Police investigation?”
“It happens, but nothing’s going down at present.”
He introduced Scott Morris. Flynn saw a graying former cop, probably a retiree. Sincere, capable, dedicated. “Scott supervises the system. He’ll give you what you need.”
“I have all the incidents edited together,” he said. “This is the first one that was noticed.” He touched a button, which froze an image.
They were looking at a blur stretched along the floor line in one of the access tunnels. Diana said, “You can tell what that is?”
“I can tell that it isn’t supposed to be there.”
“Could be a big cat,” Flynn said.
The security officer returned the camera to real time. The shadow was now gone.
“What was it then?” Flynn asked.
“Nobody could figure it out, so it got kicked up to me. I did a little work on the image, but it’s unresolveable.”
“What’s the refresh rate on these things?”
“Eighteen fps.”
“So whatever it is was moving really fast.”
“Faster than a man can run.”
“Where’s that tunnel?”
“Right under us, actually. Access to the lion habitat is through there.”
The MGM Grand’s lions were a world-famous tourist attraction. When he was here gambling, Flynn had passed by the habitat often enough. Even the floors were glass, so it was going to be a hard place for a tiger to hide.
“Street access? Is that where they bring the lions in from the ranch?”
“Yeah, there’s access out onto Tropicana. A couple of hundred feet.”
“Let’s see the best image of the tiger that you have.”
“This is from the tower. Sixteenth floor. Three twenty this morning.”
The animal came down the hall, stopped, and looked up at the camera.
“My God,” Diana whispered.
Brilliant eyes sparked in a sea of gray-orange fur. The animal’s face seemed almost to smile. Then it slowly turned around and, switching its tail, ambled down the corridor and around a corner.
“Next camera?”
Scott Morris pushed another button. “This is all there is. A blur again.”
“It displayed itself intentionally,” he said. “And it’s still here. And not alone.” He asked Scott, “Do you cover the Mansion? With cameras?” This was an exclusive facility behind the Grand itself, reserved for high rollers and people willing to pony up $5,000 a night for accommodation.
“We cover the whole facility.”
So there would be no reason for the perp to prefer the Mansion over the Skylofts, and perhaps a good reason to favor the lofts, because he would have arrived the same way he’d arrived at the Hoffman’s, from above, using that high-tech aircraft of his.
In any case, MGM was going to know a lot about the people who stayed in the Mansion. You didn’t just walk in, you had to be invited.
“What about the roof of the tower?”
“There’s time lapse video of all roof areas. We’ve examined every foot of it.”
“How long is the delay?”
“Sixty seconds.”
Easily time enough for someone to land, drop the animal and its support crew, and leave. Working at night, staying below FAA radars, using that soundless helicopter or whatever it was, it would have been easy.
“What we need to do is concentrate on the top floor of the tower, not the roof, the roof cameras are too slow. But I want to look at every inch of interior footage.”
A few minutes later, Flynn was watching one camera, Diana the other. “You’re looking for a blur,” he said. “They know the frame speed of the cameras, so the animal is moving fast.”
“It’s that well trained? Tigers are hard to train.” Morris said.
Flynn said nothing.
It took three hours, and during that time neither of them saw a single sign of anything unusual. Butlers and room service waiters came and went, guests came and went, but nothing else happened.
“Like I said, it’s still here,” Flynn said.
“Which surprises me,” Diana replied. “If it’s bait. Wouldn’t they have exposed it, then pulled it out as soon as they could?”
“Gotta let the fish swallow the bait, then you can set the hook. That’s what we’re doing now. We’re swallowing the bait. Next step, the hook will be set.”
“How will it be done?”
Flynn thought about that. “We shall see.”
“Look, it’s not in this complex,” Morris repeated. “I’m sorry.”
“If it’s not anywhere you’ve looked, then it has to be somewhere you haven’t. I suggest we start at the point of entry and we move through every space where the animal has been observed.”
&n
bsp; “And?”
“We shall see.”
“Flynn,” Diana said, “that’s just blatantly taking the bait.”
“A smart fish wants to get the fisherman to go home. So he plays a game with him. He wants to frustrate him. He takes the bait, but he’s careful. He’s not greedy. He nibbles. So the fisherman up there thinks, ‘have I got a bite or is it just the current?’ Finally, he hauls in his line and finds a clean hook. This happens a few times, and the fish is finally left in peace. Full, too.”
“So he leaves and we get nothing. Stalemate.”
“Oh, no, he’s gonna get something.”
“What?”
Flynn made a gun gesture. “The fish, in this case, is gonna follow the line right back to the fisherman in his little boat.”
“Flynn, you’ll get killed.”
“Somebody will, most likely.”
“Remember Montana. The animal is extremely dangerous, and whoever’s behind it is even more so.”
Flynn said nothing.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The lion habitat was immediately beside the security area, and it took them only a few moments to reach it with their latest minder, a young guy called Josh who apparently thought they were celebrity guests looking for an insider’s tour.
He nattered away about the facility’s history and its considerable prowess as one of the most popular exhibits in Las Vegas.
The walls and floors were clear glass, so it was easy to see the lions, but not entirely. There was a small area where they could stay out of view.
There was a crowd in front of the habitat, and a line full of kids formed up along the wall. It was a happy situation, calm and orderly. No problems here. There were cubs in the habitat, and the children were eager to have their pictures taken with them. Farther down the corridor, more people were filing into Studio 54. The casino was humming, too, and a show was letting out of the Cirque de Soleil’s KÀ Theater.
This was a chess game with no board and more than one expert opponent. Or perhaps it was better to say it another way: a chess game with the perp and some other kind of game with the tiger, played by tiger rules, whatever they were.
He asked Scott, “Did you check the whole habitat?” He knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it from the man who had done the work.
“What’s there to check? Six lions, two cubs, glass floors, end of story.”
Obviously, Scott was not aware of how the habitat was laid out. Flynn went to the door. “I need to enter the space,” he told their minder.
The man blinked. His expression of surprise said that it wasn’t a frequent request. Finally he said, “No.”
“It’s okay, Ricky,” Scott said.
“Don’t we need a release or something?”
“I need to do this right now.”
Scott spoke into his radio, then listened. Willard, no doubt. Flynn waited. At a nod from Scott, Rickie unlocked the heavy door and stepped aside.
“Hey,” the trainer who was handling the animals said, “You know what you’re doing?”
“I need to see into the enclosed area.”
“There’s nobody in there. We’re all out here.”
This guy was tight with his lions, which was good. It meant that he could control them. Flynn was fast enough to deal with one lion, but six would be a definite problem, and lions weren’t like tigers, they worked in packs.
The public was now aware of his presence in the enclosure and was watching him. He moved through the visible space, then took a few steps up into the hidden area.
It was exactly as he expected. He called out to the trainer, “There’s another animal in here.”
The trainer’s head turned. “What?”
“Back in here. And I don’t think it’s a lion.”
The man came to Flynn. “That’s empty. It has to be.”
Flynn moved a little deeper into the dimness. “Get security over here.”
“This is impossible!”
“Look for yourself,” Flynn said. “Carefully.”
“Jesus, you’re right. What is that?”
“We need somebody who’s able to work with tigers. And this one is very damn smart.”
The trainer had taken out a small LED flashlight. The yellow of the tiger’s eyes reflected back. “What the hell … how did that get in here?”
“We need to get it contained.”
“There’s tigers at the Secret Garden in the Mirage. Is this one of their animals?”
“No. But they have experts, for sure.”
“Yeah, Siegfried and Roy. The experts.”
“Aren’t they retired?”
“If they’re in Vegas, they can advise. Plus, the Mirage has a good group of trainers. It’s a top-notch operation.”
One of the lions roared, then another. From outside there was excited babble, kids squealing.
“They’ve been restless as hell, and this is why. How long as that thing been in there?”
“That’s unclear.”
Behind them, Ricky opened the access door. “You guys okay?”
Immediately, there was a stirring from within the enclosure. “Close it,” the trainer shouted.
The lions erupted, roaring and striding, and at the same moment the tiger emerged. It was easily as big as two of the lions put together.
It fixed its stare on Flynn.
“It knows you. Is this your animal?”
Flynn said nothing.
The tiger came into view of the public, causing an immediate round of applause. The next second, it leaped, and Flynn had never seen anything quite like it. The movement was smooth and swift and covered a good fifteen feet.
As the tiger slammed into Ricky, he went down with a surprised grunt.
“Holy God!” the trainer shouted.
From outside there came a confused babble, then an eruption of screams.
Perhaps because of pack instinct, but also due to curiosity, the lions followed the tiger through the door.
“Goddamnit!” the trainer shouted.
“Stay cool, we’ve got work to do,” Flynn said. He grabbed Scott’s radio. “The animals are in the casino,” he said on the emergency channel, “you need crowd control and all the wranglers you can get.”
He followed the trainer out into the broad hallway between Studio 54 and the casino. The lions were close together, moving down the center of the hall toward the casino, and the large crowds still exiting KÀ were parting like the Red Sea. But not all of them. An elderly lady who looked like a pile of bags with a face clapped her hands and confronted them, smiling happily. “Oh, how cute,” she gushed.
Another voice shouted, “It’s an act,” and there was a smattering of uneasy applause.
“Oh, God,” the trainer moaned.
Security was pouring into the corridor from both directions. Then a little boy with a toy ray gun burst through the crowd and took a firing stance. The next thing Flynn knew, he was spraying the lions with a super-soaker.
They remained silent and still, shaking their heads, annoyed by the water, unsure of themselves.
“It’s not gonna last,” the trainer shouted back at Flynn.
“I know it.”
A guard appeared with a gun.
The situation was three seconds from trample panic. “Don’t fire that,” Flynn shouted, “don’t let people see it!” The guard holstered it and stationed himself in front of the lions and spread his legs and arms, attempting to block their progress.
Now other people joined the old lady, attempting to attract the lions to them. One man succeeded in petting one of them.
“Lay off,” the trainer shouted, “don’t confuse them!”
“Folks,” Flynn said in his most commanding voice, “we need you to back out of here. Nobody run, just move out of the corridor, please. Stay away from the animals.”
The old lady was lifting the dewlaps of a lioness and shrilling at her husband to take a picture. Flynn’s warning did not stop her. Then a m
an with a cigar in his hand burst around the guard, roaring and thrusting it at the lions.
One of the them charged this sudden movement. The old woman was knocked over.
In three strides, Flynn moved among the lions, then past them. Quickly, he confronted the man with the cigar, lifted his arm and shook it out of his hand, and twisted the arm back behind him. Then he took the guy’s legs out from under him, whirled him around and pushed him away. He turned to the old woman and drew her to her feet. “Put her back together,” he said to another security guard who had just come up.
The lions, now afraid, began running. More screams erupted. Flynn’s trained ears counted ten sirens immediately outside the building, just beginning to wind down.
“Call your pros,” he shouted to Scott. “Right now!”
“It’s been done!”
Willard burst onto the scene. “SWAT’s deploying.”
Flynn took off after the lions.
They invaded the casino, moving fast. Their fear was escalating fast. At this point, they were highly likely to lash out at anybody who confronted them.
This was a huge space, and most of the patrons still weren’t aware of what was happening. But then one of the lions jumped up onto a blackjack table and roared. Nobody could mistake that sound, and every head in the casino turned this way. Then the rest of them ran deeper into the room, and were lost to Flynn’s view amid the high-roller slots. Roars and cries of terrified surprise followed immediately.
“Stay with this animal,” Flynn shouted to two guards. “Send SWAT into the slots with nets, not guns. No guns, do you get that?”
“Yessir!”
He also ran toward the slots, vaulting the nearest row of them and landing in the lap of a spectacular young woman. Her chips scattered, mice on the run.
People were jumping up from their machines, shouting, flapping their hands at the lions, trying to leave the area.
Flynn knew about as much about lions as he did about tigers, which was just enough to know that they were efficient killers, but would only attack for food or in self-defense. For them, violence was a tool, and right now what he needed to do was to convince them not to use it.
“Clear the area,” he shouted into the panicking crowd. “The police are on their way. Just take it easy, back out, don’t make sudden movements.” They slowed down, clustering, getting quiet. “That’s it, that’s right. Now just back out. Security will escort you to safety.”
Alien Hunter (Flynn Carroll) Page 14
