by Wesley Lewis
“What happens,” asked Jennifer, working to keep her voice steady, “on those rare occasions when an American is kidnapped?”
“Those incidents typically involve tourists traveling in countries where law enforcement can be paid to look the other way. That’s not the case here, so I’m guessing Dudka will try to get your friend out of the country as soon as possible. She’s too valuable to risk holding here.”
“What makes her so valuable?”
“Women from Third World countries are considered depreciating assets. They’re bought cheap, and when they’re used up, they’re disposed of.”
Jennifer cringed at Larry’s choice of words.
“But,” he continued, “women from Western countries, particularly the U.S., are considered a valuable commodity.”
“Why?” asked Tom.
“In the basest terms, they’re considered a higher grade of meat. They’re thought to be more hygienic, they have better teeth, and they’re typically free of disease.”
“That’s barbaric,” muttered Jennifer.
Larry nodded. “Blondes are particularly desirable because fair hair is so scarce in so many parts of the world. A private buyer in the Mideast or China might view an American blonde as an exotic purchase worthy of a premium, the same way you or I might view an authentic Persian rug.”
Tom’s eyes widened. “Ashley has blond hair.”
“I figured as much. And I’m guessing she’s young and pretty?”
“She’s twenty-three and very pretty.”
Larry nodded again. “She’d probably fetch quite a price at auction.”
“At auction?”
“That’s how it’s done. A photo is circulated. Offers are made. It’s like an underworld eBay. I’m no expert, but based on what I know, I’m guessing she could bring as much as a quarter of a million dollars.”
“A quarter of a million dollars!” exclaimed Tom. “That’s all a beautiful, intelligent woman like Ashley is worth?”
“No,” said Crocker, “that’s all she’s worth to the scumbags who buy kidnapped women at auction. And therein lies our chance to get her back.”
“How?”
“Dudka lost nearly eight hundred thousand dollars when I shot his couriers at the truck stop. If he sells Ashley for a quarter of a million, he takes a loss of more than half a million dollars.”
“What are you getting at?” asked Jennifer.
“We’re going to make him a better offer—the full amount he lost, just under eight hundred thousand dollars—for Ashley.”
“That’s absurd,” said Tom. “We’re only speculating that Dudka has her, and even if we knew for sure, I doubt anybody here has eight hundred thousand dollars.”
“You’re wrong on the first count.” Crocker pulled a cheap-looking cell phone from his pocket.
“You got your phone back?” asked Jennifer.
“This isn’t the phone I left in my truck; it’s a burner Larry bought me an hour ago. Immediately after he bought it, I placed a call to the Winter Palace and asked to be connected to Mr. Vladimir Dudka.
“When his secretary answered, I told her I was calling about an eight-hundred-thousand-dollar marker I took out last night. I said that Mr. Dudka had agreed to personally carry the marker and that I wanted to make arrangements to repay my debt and reclaim my collateral. She promised to look into it and call me back.”
“And?” asked Tom.
“And fifteen minutes later, I got this voicemail.”
He pressed a button on the phone. There was a loud beep followed by a woman’s voice: “Mr. Crocker, this is Jaclyn Goldberg following up on your inquiry about your marker with Mr. Dudka. Mr. Dudka wanted me to relay that, as is casino policy, you have until midnight tonight to pay off the balance of your debt if you wish to reclaim your collateral. He also said that any further inquiries into this matter should be directed to his associate Mr. Black at 702—”
Crocker pressed the button again, cutting off the message. “That’s it.”
“What did she mean by ‘as is casino policy’?” asked Vegas. “They do this often enough that they have a policy about it?”
“She was establishing plausible deniability,” replied Larry. “In case we take her message to the FBI, she wants to be able to say, ‘Oh, I had him confused with someone else. I certainly didn’t mean to imply we’d kidnapped his friend.’”
“That’s exactly what we should do,” said Tom. “We should take the recording to the FBI. Let them bring the wrath of God and J. Edgar Hoover down on Dudka and the rest of the Winter Palace.”
“Come on,” said Larry. “You don’t think Dudka is holding your friend there in the casino vault, do you?”
“Maybe not, but the FBI can put in wiretaps, set up roadblocks, call in SWAT teams—do all the stuff the FBI does.”
“Under normal circumstances,” said Crocker, “I’d agree with you. But the only way the FBI could possibly pull together enough resources to find Ashley by midnight tonight is to involve local police, and we already know that Dudka has a mole somewhere in one of the local departments. If Dudka gets word that the FBI is onto him, Ashley will disappear faster than you can say ‘shallow grave.’”
Jennifer imagined a pair of hikers finding Ashley’s naked body with no head or hands or feet, like a macabre department-store mannequin.
Just a torso with a hummingbird tattoo.
She felt the hot sting of bile in the back of her throat and grabbed Tom’s hand to steady herself.
He glanced at her, squeezed her hand in return, and turned back to Crocker. “So what do you suggest?”
“Like I said, we’re going to offer to repay the money.”
“And when Dudka and his goons realize we don’t have it?”
“One step at a time. The first step is convincing them we have the money. That should be enough to get me in the same room as Ashley, which is a lot closer than we are right now. Once we have that figured out, we’ll work on step two, a getaway plan for Ashley and me.”
Tom sighed. “No offense, chief, but step two is kind of a big step.”
Scarlett rose from Larry’s lap. “It sounds like you all have a lot to talk over. Vegas and I should get out of your hair.”
“Speak for yourself,” said Vegas. “I want to help.”
Scarlett rolled her eyes. “Do you have eight hundred large?”
Larry frowned. “Hon . . .”
Scarlett settled back onto his lap. “I’m just saying.”
“We’re not actually going to give Dudka eight hundred grand,” said Crocker. “At least I assume we’re not.” He turned to Jennifer. “You don’t have access to that kind of money, do you?”
“Hardly.” She thought for a moment. “I mean, maybe if I had a week to meet with each of the firm’s senior partners and explain the situation . . .”
Crocker shook his head. “If we had that kind of time, we’d have other options. Even an extra day or two would give the FBI time to put something together.”
“Hell,” said Larry, “just a few more hours would give you time to swipe the money from Le Tournoi and pay the ransom outright.”
Crocker turned back to his notes. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”
Larry laughed. “Like you’ve never thought about walking out of there with a suitcase full of cash.”
“What cash?” asked Jennifer. “From the poker tournament?”
Crocker seemed annoyed. “Remember what Jim Birdwell said about casinos being required to report cash transactions over ten thousand dollars?”
She nodded. “That’s why the envelopes each contained exactly ten thousand dollars.”
“And that’s why the entry fee for Le Tournoi is exactly ten thousand dol
lars. A lot of the rounders—the professional poker players—prefer to stay off the IRS’s radar. They pay the fee in cash, and I and the other private patrol officers guard that cash and transport it to the vault. We also protect the prize money, which is on display during the tournament.”
Scarlett leaned forward, almost falling off Larry’s lap. “You couldn’t really steal eight hundred grand, could you?”
Crocker shrugged. “Five hundred players checking in over the course of five hours, a tournament room located nowhere near the vault, and a million dollars sitting in a glass safe in the center of the gaming floor—it’s theoretically possible. But I’m not interested in spending the next twenty years in prison, so...”
“So no asking Dudka to extend the deadline,” said Larry.
Crocker shook his head. “Even if we had a realistic plan for coming up with the money, asking to extend the deadline would completely destroy our credibility with Dudka. The only way we pull this off is if we make him believe we already have the cash. If we so much as call and say we’re stuck in traffic, he’ll cut and run.”
Larry grinned. “And so ends my dream of an Ocean’s Eleven–style casino heist.”
Tom’s cell phone chimed again.
“Any news?” asked Jennifer.
Tom checked the phone. “No, just a message from Meredith Higgins, suggesting that New Wave associates forgo attending tonight’s receptions”—his voice assumed a high, preachy tone—“‘lest we appear callous in the face of New Wave’s recent loss.’”
“Typical,” said Jennifer. “Meredith never misses an opportunity to act like a self-righteous bitch.”
“Returning to the topic at hand,” said Crocker, “are there any other suggestions for convincing Dudka we have the money?”
“Could we fake it?” asked Jennifer.
“How do you mean?”
“Well, could we take stacks of one-dollar bills and place hundreds on the top and bottom so that they look like stacks of hundred-dollar bills and show that to Dudka’s people and tell them they can have it as soon as we have Ashley?”
“Wouldn’t that still be a lot of money?” asked Vegas.
“It would be a far cry from eight hundred thousand dollars. A ten-thousand-dollar stack could be replicated with”—Jennifer did the calculations in her head—“less than three hundred dollars. That means we’d need”—more quick math—“just under twenty-four thousand dollars in all.”
“I’m skeptical that such a simple ruse would work,” said Larry, “but I probably have that much on hand here at the Pear. Crocker, if you want to call it a personal loan, I’ll spot you the cash.”
“This could work,” said Jennifer. “We could get one of the local casinos to convert it into the denominations we need and have it ready to go in a couple of hours.”
“Hang on,” said Larry. “We’re talking about eighty stacks of a hundred bills each. How big is that? Can one person carry it by hand?”
“It’s big,” said Scarlett, “but it would probably fit inside a large shopping bag.”
“I’m afraid to ask how you know that.”
She punched him playfully in the arm. “I was a bank teller, you paranoid old man.”
Jennifer turned to Crocker. “What do you think?”
“I think a bunch of guys who deal in drugs and kidnapped women are going to be looking for that sort of double-cross from the moment I walk in.” He sighed. “But we’re not coming up with a lot of other options, so let’s assume that maybe—and I stress ‘maybe’—flashing a bag full of cash is enough to get me face-to-face with Ashley. What then?”
“Step two?” asked Tom.
“Exactly. I walk in, show them the cash, and tell them they can count it after I see Ashley. They bring in Ashley, I hand them twenty-four thousand dollars, and . . .”
“You shoot them?” asked Vegas. “Like the robbers at the truck stop?”
Crocker shook his head. “Those were couriers. For this, Dudka will send soldiers. We need a plan that doesn’t hinge on me being quicker on the draw.”
The young woman in the bustier and ruffled panties seemed to consider this. “Then why not do the exchange someplace where there aren’t any guns, like at the airport?”
Jennifer cast a hopeful look at Crocker. “What do you think? Would Dudka go for that?”
“I like the idea of trying to disarm Dudka’s men,” he replied, “but they’re not going to meet us at any location they suspect we’ve scoped out in advance, especially not a location secured by federal agents.”
“That’s true,” said Larry. “I dealt a little pot in college, and I could always count on my supplier to call a few minutes before we were scheduled to meet and change the location. When you operate entirely outside the law, paranoia becomes a survival skill.”
“I’ve never dealt drugs,” said Crocker, “but I used to be pretty tight with an undercover narcotics officer, and she said that if a trafficker meets you where he said he would, you’re in trouble.”
“So where does that leave us?” asked Jennifer.
“As I see it,” replied Crocker, “any workable plan must meet three criteria. First, Dudka and his men must believe we have the money. If they get even a hint that we don’t, you’ll never see Ashley again.
“Second, Dudka and his men must believe they have the upper hand. They’re not going to show unless they think they’re one step ahead of us.
“Finally, Dudka and his men cannot, under any circumstances, actually be allowed to gain the upper hand. If we don’t stay at least three steps ahead of them at all times, Ashley won’t make it out alive, and neither will I.”
“All right,” said Jennifer, “so how do you propose we do that?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe we can trick them into selecting a location we control. Then we could run the show but let them think they’re in charge.”
Larry snorted. “How about we just tell them we’d be happy to meet anywhere except for ‘that there briar patch’?”
“The Briar Patch?” asked Scarlett. “Is that the old strip club in Carson City?”
“No, hon, it’s an old story about—”
“Hang on,” said Crocker. “Tom, your coworker Meredith may have given me an idea.”
“What?” asked Tom.
“You’re invited to a bunch of receptions tonight, right?”
“Well, not me personally, but—”
“Is one of them hosted by a group called LCR?”
“Sure,” said Tom. “The LCR reception is one of the big ones. All the senior staff are invited. Why?”
“Senior staff—does that include you, Jennifer?”
“Yes,” she said. “Why? Is that the reception you were asked to work?”
“Yep. And if I call in a favor, I think I can still get on the security team.”
“How is that going to help us?” asked Larry.
“Because,” said Crocker, “the reception is taking place in the most secure building on the Strip, the Stratosphere Tower.”
“I’m sorry,” interrupted Vegas, “but I’m completely lost.”
“It’s the edge we’ve been looking for. After 9/11, the Stratosphere put in airport-style security at the entrance to the tower. They won’t let you onto the elevators with so much as a pair of scissors unless—”
“Unless,” said Jennifer with a smile, “you happen to be on the security team for a private event hosted in the tower.”
“Exactly.”
“Okay,” said Larry. “I can see how that might give us a pretty nice advantage, but how do we get Dudka and his men to pick the tower as the site of the exchange? If we suggest it, they’ll just change the location at the last minute.”
“There isn’t any way to guarantee th
ey’ll pick the Stratosphere,” said Crocker, “but we can make it a whole lot harder for them to pick anyplace else.”
“How?” asked Tom.
“We’ll do exactly what Vegas suggested—we’ll insist that the exchange take place at the airport.”
“I don’t get it,” said Vegas.
“The LCR reception is from eight until eleven, so we’ll schedule the exchange to take place around nine thirty. We’ll tell Dudka’s men that we have one condition—we’ll only do the exchange if it takes place at the airport. We’ll be adamant that we’re not going to go through with the exchange unless we know that everyone has passed through metal detectors.
“Dudka’s men will naturally look for another location with metal detectors, a location they’ll assume we haven’t had a chance to scout.”
“And you think they’ll pick the Stratosphere?” asked Jennifer.
“I know of only two places in Southern Nevada that have functioning metal detectors at nine thirty on a Thursday night—the airport and the Stratosphere Tower.”
“And if they pooh-pooh your insistence on metal detectors?” asked Larry.
“I don’t think they will, not if we convince them that we have the money and that the metal detectors are a real sticking point.”
“And if they somehow locate another venue with functioning metal detectors?” asked Jennifer.
“Then we go with plan B.”
“Which is?”
“We make a last-minute call to the FBI and pray we’re able to get Ashley back before Dudka’s moles alert him that it’s a setup.”
“So what happens if everything goes according to plan?” asked Jennifer. “You and the other guards lay a trap for Dudka’s men?”
Crocker shook his head. “As soon as I alert the other guards, they’ll lock down the tower and call for police backup. We can’t risk involving them until we have eyes on Ashley.”
