by D S Kane
The man shook his head. “Sorry, no. But the bus seats seventy-eight, so we’ll just have to put all your suitcases overhead and on the empty seats.”
Shimmel nodded silently and began mustering the mercs into the bus. Each merc had a large black canvass satchel. Each was just wearing a specially treated Hawaiian shirt bearing a picture of Jimi Hendrix burning his guitar at the Monterey Pop Festival. As they passed him, Shimmel held his finger to his lips, signaling silence. It was nearly midnight when the bus pulled out of the airport.
* * *
Phillip Watson still wore his business suit when he got off the plane in Dubai. The temperature was one hundred fourteen degrees Fahrenheit. He walked onto the tarmac and headed toward the terminal, feeling the suffocating dry heat through his clothing. Within minutes he felt he’d been basted in his own perspiration and was cooking like a tented turkey.
The flight from Munich had taken him ten hours, mostly because of airport delays. He wanted to stay in Dubai for as short a time as possible.
The passport he’d had a cobbler make for him in Munich declared him to be Henry Guthrie. It had cost most of the cash he’d brought. He’d called the cobbler from the plane and had the man meet him at the airport. He’d bought a suitcase at the airport in Munich, and there was some fresh, new clothing in it. The forged passport had wiped out all but forty-seven dollars. He hadn’t yet had time or a place to clean himself or change clothes. He felt filthy, smelling his own foul odor whenever he stopped and stood in one place for more than a few seconds.
He needed a place to stay while he transferred some money from one of his bank accounts into a debit card in his new name. Preferably into the Deutsche Bank current account he’d set up for Henry Guthrie. Watson knew that he’d not been trained to think like either an operative or a hacker. He hadn’t any idea how to arrange the instant appearance of a new debit card. He didn’t have a card imprinter so he’d need to have a bank branch do the work. He looked for an Internet café where he could use one of their rent-a-computers to find branches of Deutsche Bank in Dubai. It took him over an hour in the small airport. He sat with a cup of Starbucks Coffee and read his email. Watson cursed himself for not even having a notebook computer with him when he fled New York.
There was one email, from someone named William Wing, one of his minor stockholders, asking where Watson was and if he’d kindly call or email back because Wing had a small problem with the stock he’d purchased.
Watson laughed out loud. There’d be a large problem soon. Then he had a bright idea. He had no records of any stockholder contact info with him. All the stockholder records were stored in the stockholder register file in the desktop computer at his office. But maybe, since there was this one stockholder kind enough to offer a reply email address, he could squeeze a bit of cash from the man. Watson didn’t want to use his limited funds for an international phone call, and his cell phone wasn’t set up for calls outside the United States.
There was no Deutsche Bank branch in the airport. Damn! But, he found a Citibank branch and walked inside.
“I’d like to know what documentation you need to accept a third party wire transfer.”
The bank branch clerk called over a bank officer who could speak English. Watson repeated his request. Fifteen minutes later, he had all the information he needed.
He walked back to the Starbucks and waited on line again to use the computer terminal. Watson keyed a reply to the email message:
Dear Mr. Wing,
It is so kind of you to contact me. I’m currently traveling abroad on business for Predictive Markets and GrayNet.com. I’ll be moving from one place to another and cell phone reception is dicey, so my phone number won’t help you. Hence, this Gmail.
I will attend to your request concerning the stock shares you own just as soon as I return home to the United States.
However, I am about to announce that revenues for Predictive Markets have exceeded break-even this quarter, for the first time. We’re getting close to an Initial Public Offering on a major stock exchange. If you’d like to increase your share holdings of Predictive Markets before the IPO, this is the time to do so. While the price per share at IPO time might easily exceed $20 per share, I am pleased to offer you shares now at only $12 per share.
If this interests you, please wire funds directly to me. The minimum investment is $24,000. Contact information for my bank account follows under my signature line. Reply via Gmail to alert me to your interest.
Best regards,
Phillip Watson,
CEO, Predictive Markets
* * *
Cassie’s cell phone buzzed and vibrated against her pants pocket. She saw Wing’s name flash across its screen.
“Cassie, we know where he is.” She struggled to hear him with gunfire and explosions all around her.
“William? Please repeat that. Can’t hear you. You know where who is?” The smell of cordite was heavy in the humid night air. Cassie heard a bullet pass so close to her head that she felt the air move. She was sure Wing could hear that one as well.
“Phillip Watson. He’s in the airport in Dubai, at a Starbucks using one of their computer rentals. He doesn’t even have a notebook computer. He must have seen your bet on GrayNet and fled as fast as he could. He probably doesn’t have any cash remaining since my guess is he had less than a thousand USD after he raided his checking account at the airport. And I’d bet that he doesn’t even know it was me that bankrupted him. Nothing at all left in his bank accounts. The only one that had any real money was his merchant account at Citibank. I removed all his cash via a FedWire drawdown and sent it to one that belongs to a government agency. Tomorrow, I’ll begin migrating those funds into various hidden corporate accounts to bury the trail. Then I’ll hack each bank and wipe out the trail. Meanwhile, Watson won’t have the cash to travel. And I’ll keep looking at the bank account number he gave me in his email so if any cash arrives, I can get that for us as well.”
“Well done, William. What about Achmed Houmaz?”
“That one is more difficult. I raided all his personal accounts and got over eighty million USD. I’m developing a plan to close him down forever. But that isn’t ready and will take time. How are you, Cassie”
“Not well. We’re all injured and this is just another lull before they come at us again. We’ve stacked almost twenty bodies from hitters in and around our doorway to provide cover for us. Sooner or later though, they will get through. I’m hoping Avram and the mercs arrive before that happens.”
But, with our hotel room mostly destroyed and broken, how long can my bodyguards and I last?
CHAPTER 24
October 28, 12:21 a.m.
The road between Kahului and Kihei,
Maui, Hawaii
Shimmel wasn’t aware of how much time had passed. So immersed was he with re-running alternative plans for the attack and imagining contingencies. As the bus pulled past an upscale shopping mall, he looked out into the darkness and saw the massive hotel looming closer.
The bus pulled to a stop. The driver opened the door and sixty-three mercs debarked into the circular driveway of the hotel. Shimmel folded his copy of the floor plans to the hotel which Wing had hacked for him. He’d scribbled notes on timing and movement of his soldiers in battle onto the map’s margins.
He descended to the sidewalk, smiled, and gave the driver cash for the trip.
“Thank you, sir. That’s very generous.”
Shimmel nodded and turned toward the hotel’s entrance.He followed the men into the building. They took the elevators to the tenth floor. It took nine trips and over twenty minutes for all to arrive. They walked through the shattered security gate and all put on their night-vision goggles. At just before 1 a.m., Shimmel called Cassie’s cell phone. “We’re down the hall, behind about five hundred of your hitters. I can see your room. It’s the one with its door shredded and bodies spread over the entryway. Right? Give me your status.”
�
�Oh, Avram, I’m so glad you’re here. We have serious injuries. We’ve all been hit at least once and Shimon has a hole in his leg and a big one in his lower chest. Ari has some shrapnel in his left arm. So do I”
Shimmel shook his head. “Understood. Let me clear out the hitters from this floor, then we’ll send you a medic with supplies.” He pointed to Major LeFleur. “Jacques, have the men take out the trash.”
LeFleur signaled and thirteen men and women began assembling silenced sniper rifles with infrared night scopes.
From within the room, Lester watched through the make-shift periscope as nearly silent pops began to rain on the hitters. A few turned and aimed, but no one lived to take shots at the snipers. It was all over in less than two minutes. Several hundred bodies lay still along the floor of the outdoor hallway. “One of ours is coming,” said Lester, and a huge man pushed through the doorway, carrying a satchel and a stretcher.
Captain Karl Jamison nodded as he removed objects from his black satchel. “Where’s Shimon?”
Cassie pointed and Jamison moved to him. A bullet flew through the window from outside the hotel and Jamison dived for cover. “Shit. You guys have unfriendlies outside the hotel as well.” He took an infrared night-scope from the satchel and peeked outside, toward the beach. “There’s got to be at least a thousand more there, all aiming rifles.” He called Shimmel and told him. Jamison crawled to where Shimon lay and shook his head. “Those wounds are close to a major artery. He’ll need a hospital ASAP.” Jamison injected something into Shimon’s arm. “I’ll carry him out then come back and see to the rest of you. Mr. Dushov, can you help me with the stretcher?”
* * *
After Shimmel’s mercs terminated the shooters on the lawn outside, the medic examined Cassie and her injured bodyguards. Her left arm was bandaged and in a sling. Ari and Shimon were headed to the hospital.
Now, hours later as dawn emerged purple through the shattered windows, Lester, JD, and Cassie sat on the floor in one of the suite’s bedrooms with only the bathroom light on.
Avram Shimmel entered the room and sat next to Cassie. He said, “I’ve told Lee about this. As I expected, he’s in not in control of his emotions.”
Cassie shook her head. “I wish you hadn’t.”
Shimmel stared back at her. “William sent me an email specifying your request to protect the family. I hired several new bodyguards to assist with covering Lee and Ann. You, Sashakovich aren’t thinking rationally. Houmaz wants vengeance, pure and simple. It always continues until everyone on the other side that could someday cause trouble is dead. Did you think Lee wouldn’t notice? Did you think that he and Ann would remain safe if they weren’t aware of your trouble?”
She just shook her head in resignation. “Okay. Bodyguards were a good idea, but telling him, well it’s like igniting a drought-stricken forest.”
“He needs to know, and anyway, he’d have noticed the new bodyguards following him. Now, we have to plan our exit and relocation.” Shimmel looked at the group. “And, it won’t be simple. The island is covered with hitters. We’d never be able to get you to the airport. Your picture is on the website with the contract on your death. Even if we did get you there, the hitters would swarm you.”
She nodded. “A submarine. I bought two. But they’ll take about a week to arrive. My uncle Misha is an arms dealer for the Russian mafiya. Former KGB.” Cassie tried to smile.
Shimmel’s brows shot up at this unexpected answer. “Your pedigree is more interesting than I’d guessed.”
She stared at the rubble of the room. “We’ll need some way to survive here until the subs arrive. One week. While we were waiting for you to arrive I wired the money to Misha and he’ll pay for the subs tomorrow when the banks open.”
Shimmel shook his head. “Much can happen in a week. I’ll have the mercs shop for about ten days of food for you and the men and women I’m leaving with you.”
She nodded and frowned. “Yes, and I have a mission for you, one that I hope will end this problem. But, I made a mistake in a fit of anger, and this will make your mission more difficult. I sent your quarry into flight.”
“Quarry? What do you want?” He frowned.
Her face steeled into a mask of decisiveness. “Meet William in Dubai and locate Phillip Watson. He’s the CEO of Predictive Markets. I need you to get him to remove the inverse bet on my life. If he won’t, then give him truth drugs and torture him until he does. Get the website passwords and server location info. Since this, as you say, is a vendetta, whether or not he cooperates, kill him. But he may suspect you’ll be coming, so take care. I’ll call William and get him on his way.”
“Dubai? It will take at least two days to get there. Same for William. And this must be completed rapidly. I have to return here by the time the subs arrive in Lahaina.” She watched him calculate the probabilities. Close to a minute passed. “Okay, Sashakovich. The planes leaving Maui are empty. You’re the one they’re looking for and you’ll stay here. I’ll take a few mercenaries with me.” With that he turned and left.
Major Alister McTavish met Shimmel at the door and they exchanged a few words she couldn’t hear. Shimmel returned and shook his head. “Another twist. It seems that the Yakuza own this hotel and they also own most of the news media in Hawaii. So no news of your problem here has found the airwaves as yet. Maybe that’s for the better, because it would act as a clarion call for hitters. But it seems they also own the law enforcement on the island. So here, it’s us against the mafiya. Trust no one from the hotel.” With that, he was gone.
Sometime during the morning a squad of mercenaries went shopping and bought food and supplies from the local ABC Store in Kihei. One of them brought the general manager of the hotel to Cassie’s room. She told him, “I claim total responsibility for all damage. I’ll pay to have it all fixed, but only if I live to sign the checks. Is that clear?”
The general manager looked around. “This is going to cost a lot of money. Well,” he sighed staring at the armed mercs, “I’ll do what I can to improve security on this floor.”
“Wait. Before you go, can you tell me why no one’s tried to stop the violence?”
The man turned away. “Uh, the new owners are the Japanese Building Society. All the employees hate them. They’ve put a clamp down on all communications in and out. All the other hotel visitors were evacuated the day after you arrived. And, Yakuza own the local newspapers, radio, and television stations. Not to mention the local government.”
She grimaced. Now she had confirmation of what Shimmel had told her. “You mean the Yakuza has me trapped here and unable to get word out?”
He frowned. “Yeah. We hate them, but they pay our salaries.” Then he smiled. “Say, you can always use your cell phone. Maybe you can raise some help that way. Oh, and I noticed an Internet news article that mentioned you being here and the attacks. So, it’s not so secret anymore. If you do get to the outside world, have the authorities get us out of here.” He seemed oddly detached from the situation. “We can’t leave either.”
She took a deep breath and tried to relax, looking out the smashed window. One of the mercs had a bullhorn and was telling the hitters to disperse or die. Some began to leave the premises. Cassie went to the master bedroom and righted the bed. She wondered if she was better off with news leaking out or not. News meant more hitters, so maybe not. She lay down and fell asleep within seconds.
Lester said to JD, “She’s got the right idea. Let’s get some sleep while we can. I think after dark, things won’t seem so rosy.”
* * *
William Wing hated travel. As a hacker, he feared exposure, and the potential dangers of recognition. Travel meant being meticulously careful. So much more than anyone else had to do. He hated time zone travel especially, because his body functioned poorly when his sleep cycle altered. He hated being stupid and time zone travel made him just plain dim-witted. This time, he was so anxious he’d forgotten to pack his toothbrush. He sat in one o
f Dubai’s terminal waiting areas, looking outside through a window and frowned. According to the thermometer, it was 115 degrees Fahrenheit. Getting crisp, he thought. He looked at his wristwatch. Less than an hour until Shimmel was scheduled to arrive. Then, time to boogie.
He’d filled his tote satchel with electronic devices, voltage travel converters, patch cords and a few changes of clothes. Jet-lagged, he felt woozy as he staggered off to Starbucks for a cup of coffee. William’s eyes never strayed from the entrance. He’d met Watson once and was ready to cover his face with the cell he held in his left hand. He couldn’t let their target recognize him. But over the hour he sat there, he didn’t see anyone that even looked remotely like Watson.
His cell phone started to vibrate, and he answered it. “Wing here. Where are you?”
* * *
Shimmel waited his turn to leave the jet. He spoke into his cell, “On my way to the ramp off the plane, along with five men. We checked luggage containing plastic .38 caliber handguns, non-metallic ammunition, and ceramic cutlery. Where should I meet you?”
“I’m at the airport Starbucks right now. But this is where our man was for a while, so let’s not meet here. Safer at baggage claim. Wing out.”
The group of mercs included Shimmel, two other men, and three women.
The men were from Germany and Italy, the women were from France, Germany, and Great Britain. Shimmel had worked with each before when he served as a consultant to NATO. The Germans, Horst Frankel and Gretchen Wierstein, were both experts in Martial Arts. Sylvia Orley, from France was an expert in small arms, and so was Alphonso Gerelli from Italy. But, for this mission, the gem of the group was his specialist in interrogation, Jillian McCain, a Britsh citizen. McCain was actually Jewish, born in Tel Aviv. Lester Dushov had trained her in the use of chemical agents and counterterrorism psychology.
