The Midas Code tl-2

by Boyd Morrison

  “Chose us for what?” the T-shirt man said.

  “That was rhetorical. Put them away.”

  “But I don’t understand! Are we under arrest?”

  “That’s right. You’re under arrest. And you’ll be tried soon enough.”

  As they continued to protest, Gaul and Phillips dragged them to the other cells next to Sherman and locked them in. He watched in silence. There was nothing he could do for them.

  Orr walked toward Sherman’s door, and Sherman crept back to his cot. Orr opened the covering on the portal and stared at Sherman, who returned his gaze without blinking. Then Orr smiled.

  “Hello, General Locke.”

  Sherman didn’t respond.

  “You’re the stoic type. I like that.”

  “Who cares?” Sherman said.

  Orr laughed. “Your son must have had a great time growing up with you.”

  “My son doesn’t give a rat’s ass about me.”

  “You two might have your disagreements, maybe a lot of them. But blood is thicker than water. If he didn’t care about you, you’d be dead already.”

  “Maybe the FBI is on their way here right now.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “Well, I think I just said I wasn’t sure, but I’ve been evading the authorities for a very long time, and they haven’t caught me yet.”

  “There’s always a first time,” Sherman said, “which would be the last time for you.”

  “You can’t get high rewards without high risks. As a former fighter pilot, you should know that.”

  “And you should know that Tyler will never let you get away with whatever you’re planning.”

  “So you’ve been observing our preparations on your little excursions out of the cell. Have you put all the pieces of the puzzle together?”

  “You’re either a traitor to your country plotting some low-rent terrorist action or you’re a greedy bastard with some plan to get rich quick with money you don’t deserve.” Sherman remembered when Gaul had talked about his payment. That was the only time he’d seen Orr get a gleam in his eye about anything. “My bet is on the greed. You don’t look like someone who gives a shit about politics.”

  Orr smiled. “This has certainly been a fun pissing match. Now, let’s do your video.”

  He threw the wrist and ankle cuffs into Sherman’s room. Gaul and Phillips were standing outside, one with a pistol, the other with the Taser.

  Sherman put the cuffs on. With three of them out there, this wasn’t the opportunity for his escape, but it would have to be soon.

  According to the newspaper, it was now Friday. He’d heard Orr say something about getting the truck out by Monday. Whatever they were planning would be done by then, and if Sherman didn’t make a break in the next three days, he never would.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Grant watched Boerst Properties and Investments from inside the café across the street. Designed to blend in with the eighteenth-century construction of the other stone buildings north of Marienplatz, the structure had been built by Boerst only two years before as a showpiece headquarters. From his position, Grant could see the ground-level entrance into the seven-story underground parking garage as well as the door leading from the garage into the glass-encased lobby.

  Boerst abutted another new building, whose first floor was taken up by an exotic car dealership showing off its merchandise to tourists who gawked through its windows. A truck pulled up, and Grant was worried that it would block his view, but it stopped in front of the dealer and began unloading a bright yellow Lamborghini Gallardo.

  Grant looked at his watch. Nearly four in the afternoon. On his laptop, he checked the GPS readout for the tracker inside the geolabe. Cavano was only a few minutes away. Right on time.

  Stacy sat across from him nursing a cup of coffee.

  “You think Tyler’s okay?” she said.

  Grant waved his hand. “Ah, he’ll be all right. He’s probably taking a nap.”

  “And you think this will work?” she said.

  “If Cavano leaves the geolabe in the car like we think she will, it should go off without a hitch. Tyler will be in and out in five minutes.”

  “What if she takes it in with her?”

  “There’s no reason for her to, but if she does we’ll know from the tracker. You ready?”

  “I can handle my end of the plan as long as Cavano doesn’t see me.”

  “You’ll be fine,” Grant said. “You won’t go in until Cavano is in her meeting.”

  Guided by Grant’s expertise with electronic surveillance and security systems, Stacy had called Boerst claiming to be with the firm’s security company. They’d found out that the garage was observed by security cameras, but the building had only a minimal guard presence. The guard at the front desk of the Boerst lobby was tasked with monitoring the garage’s cameras along with the other cameras at the back of the building.

  The cameras posed the only problem with their plan, which was why they’d pressed Stacy into service, not only because she spoke German but also because she was sufficiently distracting.

  Grant appraised her blouse, which Stacy had buttoned up to the top.

  “You sure you don’t think my idea would work better?” he said.

  She rolled her eyes. “Showing him my boobs? Really?”

  “It would work on me.”

  “That’s because you’re as mature as a fourteen-year-old. Besides, he could be gay for all you know.”

  Grant smiled. “All true.”

  “Just leave it to me. Keeping someone’s attention is my job. How are you going to let me know to wrap it up?”

  “I’ll text you when Tyler’s got the geolabe.”

  Stacy drained the last of her coffee. “Is this the craziest situation you’ve ever been in?”

  Grant thought about it. “It definitely ranks up there.”

  Stacy laughed. “It ranks up there? See, that’s where you and Tyler are different from me. Everything that’s happened in the last two days would make up the top ten craziest events in my life.”

  “That’s because you’ve never been in the Army.”

  “You and Tyler both were together?”

  “He was a captain and I was his first sergeant.”

  “The first he ever had?”

  “No, that was my rank. It meant I was the top NCO— non-commissioned officer — in his company. We were in some hairy combat situations.”

  “Is that how he got the scar on his neck?”

  Grant nodded. “Along with a Silver Star and a Purple Heart.”

  “What happened?”

  Grant took a deep breath. “Ambush. We were traveling from our outpost to Baghdad when a roadside bomb went off next to our convoy. Destroyed the Humvee in front of us and damaged the lead one. We were pinned down on all sides, and we didn’t know if there were more bombs on the road.”

  “Sounds horrible.”

  “Two guys in the unit died instantly. Another three were injured. Tyler and I and two other soldiers took cover in a ditch. Help wasn’t coming anytime soon, so that meant we had to get out of there, but the guys in the front Humvee couldn’t move. While we provided cover fire, Tyler ran back and forth between us and the damaged Humvee. He dragged all three injured men to safety.”

  “And the scar?”

  “Grenade. With all those bullets whizzing around, he hadn’t gotten a scratch until then. I thought for sure someone was looking out for him. Then, while he was pulling the third soldier back, a grenade landed near him. He kicked it away, but not far enough. He shielded the soldier’s body with his own before the grenade went off. Shrapnel got him in the neck. You’ve never seen so much blood.”

  Stacy leaned forward in her seat with a horrified look. “My God.”

  “Once we got Tyler back to the combat medical hospital, they got him some blood and patched him up. I wasn’t even sure he’d make it to the hospital alive, bu
t he was back with our unit two weeks later.”

  “Sounds like a brave guy. I’m glad I got paired up with him.”

  Grant thought he heard more than admiration there, but he didn’t want to ask. “I’ve trusted him with my life many times. You should, too.”

  Stacy gave him a wry grin. “I already have.”

  Grant checked the tracker again and saw that the geolabe was just around the corner.

  “Here they come,” he said.

  Right on cue, the Ferrari zipped into view followed by a BMW sedan. They both turned into the garage. In two minutes, Grant could see Cavano enter the Boerst building with three men. The guard didn’t make them sign in but instead waved them on to the elevators.

  Grant looked at the tracker. The signal was gone. That meant the concrete floor of the garage was blocking it. If Cavano had taken the geolabe with her, he’d still be getting the signal.

  “All right,” Grant said. “You’re up. Just keep your phone handy.”

  Stacy stood and threw him a jaunty salute. She may be little, Grant thought, but she’s feisty.

  She left the café and walked across the street. Once she was inside and speaking to the guard, Grant called Tyler, whose stronger cell signal could penetrate the garage floor while the tracker couldn’t.

  “You awake?” Grant said.

  “It’s actually more comfortable than I thought it would be,” Tyler said.

  “Cavano’s in, the geolabe’s in the garage, and Stacy’s chatting up the guard. You’re clear.”

  “What’s the car look like?”

  “BMW M5.” He gave Tyler the license number. “The geolabe’s probably in the trunk.”

  “All right. Time to stretch my legs. I’ll call you when I’ve got it. Just one request.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Next time I do this,” Tyler said, “remind me to bring a bottle of water.”

  “I’ll have one for you when we’re done.”

  “You’re a prince among men. Call you back in a few.” Tyler hung up.

  Grant caught the waitress and asked for the water. With that easy task done, all he could do was wait and hope that Tyler wouldn’t have any trouble finding the BMW once he got out of the rental car’s trunk.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Using the spare key fob for the rented Audi, Tyler popped open the trunk. The rear of the car was so close to the back wall that he had only a foot of space to get out and stretch his legs. He closed the lid and looked around to get his bearings as he adjusted his Seattle Mariners cap.

  He’d brought a flashlight in case the garage was cloaked in darkness, but the seven-story structure was well lit, probably to give the security cameras a clear view. Tyler took the heavy flashlight with him anyway. It would be the easiest way into the locked BMW.

  The robotic system for parking cars was simple for the driver. On the ground floor, there were two bays enclosed with glass doors, one for cars entering the garage and the other for cars exiting. Once the driver parked the car in the bay and got a ticket, the car sank into the underground structure on a tray.

  The garage itself was designed to maximize space. The cars were stacked in cubbyholes on either side of a center atrium, and the tray moved on a track system to place each new car in an empty slot with its rear to the wall. The tray with the car would slide into the slot, and the empty tray already there would slide out at the same time.

  The garage was supported by girders, so there were no walls between the vehicles. Since people weren’t parking the cars, there was no chance of getting a door ding. Another advantage of the automated garage was that thieves couldn’t break into or vandalize the cars. Unless, that is, they hid in the trunk of a car as Tyler had done.

  That’s what the cameras at either end of the atrium were for, in case anyone tried this kind of trick. Tyler just hoped Stacy could keep the guard’s eye away from the monitor while he prowled around the garage.

  Tyler went to the front of the Audi and stopped at the edge of the center atrium to note that he had ended up on the sixth level up from the bottom. It had been difficult to gauge how fast the system moved from inside the trunk.

  In answer to his unspoken question, a bare tray whooshed by and stopped in front of a VW two levels below him. In a few seconds of whining motors, the bare tray was exchanged for the tray holding the car. It zipped along the tracks until it was at the end of the garage, where it rose until it disappeared into the ceiling. The VW’s entire retrieval took no more than a minute.

  He searched the garage and saw the BMW with the license number Grant had given him. It was one level below him on the opposite side. Cavano’s Ferrari was on the lowest level, its bright red paint job shining like a beacon.

  Cavano had mentioned putting the geolabe in the trunk when she was in her office, which had to mean the BMW. Since the Ferrari was a rear-engined V8 with no room for a trunk, it had only a small storage space under the hood. Still, it might have enough room, so he’d check there if he didn’t find the geolabe in the BMW.

  To get to the BMW, he’d have to cross the center atrium, but at twenty feet wide the span was too far to jump. Mounted on either end of the garage were access ladders and narrow walkways for maintenance crews to work on the equipment.

  Tyler was in the middle of the row of cars, so he squeezed past their trunks to make his way to the catwalk on his level, trying to stay out of view of the cameras as much as possible in case the guard glanced at his screen. He pulled his cap lower to shadow his face, making him unrecognizable even if the camera did catch sight of him.

  In two minutes, he had crossed the catwalk, climbed down the ladder to the fifth level, and trekked past the back ends of the cars to the slot with the BMW, approaching from the passenger side. The heavily tinted windows and the darkness of the parking spot made it impossible to see the interior, but the most likely place for the geolabe was the trunk. The rear of the car, however, was so close to the wall that it would be difficult to stand behind the car and thoroughly search the trunk. He decided he’d push the car out from the wall to give himself some space to look through the luggage.

  With no key fob to disable the security system, he’d have to do this the old-fashioned way. No one would be able to hear an alarm down here.

  Tyler put on the leather gloves he’d brought with him and raised the flashlight to shatter the window but stopped before he swung it down. Would they really set the alarm? he thought. Maybe they wouldn’t even bother to lock it.

  He lowered the flashlight and tugged on the passenger-door handle. The latch released.

  With nowhere else to put it, Tyler stood the flashlight on the roof. He pulled the door open and put a knee on the passenger seat of the left-hand-drive car. He flicked the manual transmission to neutral and released the parking brake so that he’d be able to push the car away from the wall. The trunk release was by the driver’s foot just inside the door. He leaned over and punched the button. The trunk popped open.

  Tyler rose and was about to get back out of the car when he felt the cold metal of a pistol barrel press against his left temple.

  He froze, and heard Pietro say, “Buon giorno, Signor Locke.”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Pietro couldn’t believe his good fortune. He’d been forced to remain with the BMW because he had let Locke escape just the day before. Now he had a chance to make up for his failure.

  He was supposed to keep an eye on both cars, but when he saw the interior of the garage, he couldn’t imagine there would be any kind of security threat. So he had stayed in the backseat to stretch out and listen to his iPod.

  The music had been so loud that he hadn’t heard Locke approach. It wasn’t until the door opened that he realized someone was there. When Pietro saw who it was, he knew it was the perfect opportunity to redeem himself. He silently drew his SIG Sauer pistol and when Locke was upright again, he made his move.

  He didn’t know much English, but the gun at Locke’s head made any a
dditional communication unnecessary. His captive didn’t move.

  With his free hand, he took out his phone and dialed Salvatore.

  “Sì?” Salvatore answered.

  “Sal, I have a surprise for Gia,” Pietro said in Italian. “Come and get me.”

  “She’s busy.”

  “Then you and Tino. I have something she’s been looking for.”

  “Okay. But this had better be good.”

  “Just get me,” Pietro said, and hung up.

  He tilted his head toward the door so Locke would close it. Locke pointed at it questioningly, and Pietro nodded.

  But instead of closing it Locke slowly got out of the car with his hands up.

  Pietro said, “No, no, no!” But the imbecile kept going until he was leaning with his hands against the roof, as if Pietro were a police officer making an arrest. Stupido.

  Pietro didn’t really care about killing Locke, but Cavano would want him alive. Wounding him was always an option, but that would get blood all over the car. Pietro didn’t know how to say, “Get back in the car, you idiot!” He’d have to work on his English.

  With his gun trained on Locke, Pietro opened his own door. Locke remained standing by the side of the car with his hands still up high.

  Pietro got out to put Locke back in the passenger seat. As he stood and brought the pistol up, Locke whipped around in a lightning move and the heavy flashlight smacked into Pietro’s arm, sending the SIG flying.

  Pietro cried out in pain at his shattered wrist. He stumbled back and lashed out with a kick as Locke came at him with the flashlight raised for the knockout blow.

  His foot caught Locke in the midsection, sending Locke reeling back against the Mercedes parked in the slot next to the BMW. Pietro reached into his jacket pocket, drew his switchblade, and clicked open the wicked five-inch blade.

  He crouched and warily moved toward Locke, his limp right hand cradled against his body. Pietro wasn’t going to bother trying to keep him alive any more. Even with one hand useless, he was a master with a knife. If he could just get in close enough, nothing would stop him from cutting Locke’s throat.