She felt a surge of adrenaline as the wind rippled through her clothing.
“The brake is wrapped around you,” DeSantos said. “When you’re ready, move your right arm out to the side, a couple inches at a time, and that’ll release the brake.”
“Got it. Then I kick off, away from the Huey.”
“Yes, and then you’ll be in freefall. If you do it right, you’ll only brake once, about ten feet before you hit the ground. At about ten feet, pull the rope back toward you, into the top of your ass—the small of your back. That’ll bring you to a stop.”
Vail looked at the rope, at her hand, and then at DeSantos. “Check.” She glanced down again. Robby’s down there. Okay, let’s do it. I’m ready. She nodded.
“Remember, it’ll be a pretty fast descent. “We’re about seventy-five feet above the high-rise now.” He looked her square in the eyes. “You still with me?”
“I’m with you,” she said.
“What are you going to do once you’re down?” DeSantos asked.
“Unclip the carabiner from the rope.”
“Good. Expect some sway from the wind.” He set a hand on her shoulder. “Last chance to back out. No one will think any less of you.”
Vail narrowed her eyes. “Am I the kind of person who backs out of anything?”
DeSantos smiled. “Hell no. But in case all goes to shit, I had to know I tried.” He wiggled his fingers and Vail removed the headset and slipped on the helmet.
The pounding bleat of the rotors was intense without the noise-suppressing effect of the headphones. Vail gave him a thumbs-up. She couldn’t hear what he was saying, but she could’ve sworn his lips mouthed, “Bombs away.”
He smiled and gave her a playful thump on the top of her helmet. Vail took a deep breath, flexed her gloved hands on the rope, then squatted into an L-shape. The downdraft was strong, slamming against the back of her neck like a persistent drumbeat.
With a gloved hand, Vail pushed down on top of the helmet to seat it, shifted her feet on the skids, then kicked away.
She slid down the rope—feeling the burn in her palms, despite the gloves—then moved her right hand back to slow her fall. But the cable swayed more than she’d thought it would, and she was concentrating on the trajectory of the windblown arc.
She started to brake but not fast enough.
The wind blew her past the edge of the roof, and she missed the building’s edge. Fuck! She yanked her arm behind her and braked, hard, now hanging in midair.
But that wasn’t the worst of it. She was now below the top of the tower, which shielded her from the wind. She swung back hard, and the last thing she saw as she hurtled through the air was the thick, black panes of the Vdara’s penthouse glass windows.
ROBBY KNELT ON THE FLOOR beside Diego Ortega’s body. His friend’s cell phone was open, to the left of his ankle. Robby was reaching out to snag it when suddenly something slammed into the living room window.
“What the hell—” Villarreal flinched and hit the floor as the image of a black-jacketed individual scraped across the glass, then disappeared from view.
“Federales!” Escobar said. He turned and headed out the door.
Robby, realizing he might never have another chance, lowered his shoulder and ran forward, ramming into Villarreal’s abdomen. Villarreal’s hip struck the bottom window sill and his neck snapped back violently, cracking his head against the glass. The expansive pane rattled but did not break.
The black figure again slammed against the window fifteen feet to their left, then disappeared into the darkness.
Villarreal, stunned and disoriented, clumsily threw a punch that connected with air. Robby kneed him hard in the groin then searched the writhing Villareal and the surrounding area for a handgun.
Moans from Villarreal.
Get out now, Robby.
No weapon—but he found Diego’s cell phone a few feet away. Robby scooped it up, then scrabbled over to Quintero to search his pockets for a handcuff key. He found one in the man’s jacket and, after a quick check of Villarreal—still in pain but fighting to get to his feet—Robby ran out of the condo’s open door before another of the man’s lieutenants appeared. Two or three mercenaries against an unarmed cop were worse odds than what he had now.
Down the hall, he pressed the elevator button, then went about removing the handcuffs. He had some difficulty, but slowed his efforts and finally freed his wrists.
He tossed the cuffs to the floor as the doors slid apart.
VAIL BOUNCED OFF, then slapped back against the windows, scraping along the surface when suddenly she was pulled up. Clar must’ve brought the Huey higher.
She spun in a dizzying twirl, holding on and hoping she did not slam against the building again. It didn’t feel good the first two times, it sure as hell would not feel any better a third.
Vail rose above the rooftop, then swung back over it. That was her cue—before the wind blew her away again. She brought her arm out slowly, lowered her body to the surface, then braked. Unhooked the carabiner and undid the cable. It retracted and the helicopter moved off, presumably to drop Dixon, Mann, and DeSantos onto the grounds somewhere below.
Vail found the roof exit and pulled open the metal door. Clanked down the stairs and came out on the fifty-seventh floor.
Glock in hand, she moved down the hall toward one of the condos, where light splashed out into the corridor. When she arrived, she saw a man of about Robby’s age, lying still on the floor. Pooled blood around his head.
She felt a pang in her stomach—but as she approached, she could tell the body type was significantly smaller and slighter. Gunshot wound to the head. No need to check for a pulse.
Vail rapidly cleared the rooms and found them empty. “Robby! You in here?” Listened. Nothing, not a grumble, a moan, a kick against a closet door. She moved back out toward the hallway and pulled LOWIS from her pocket. The signal appeared to be strong, glowing green and yellow.
She pulled her two-way and raised Clar on channel 9. “Mark, LOWIS has two lights: green and yellow. What does that mean?”
“Where are you?”
“Fifty-seventh floor of Vdara. Outside what I’m guessing is Villarreal’s condo. There’s a DB, GSW to the forehead.”
“We’ll call it in. Meantime, go down to a lower floor. Here’s the key. Green and brown are your friends: they mean you’re within fifty yards on the x-axis for green and within fifty yards in the y-axis for brown. Yellow or amber are bad: you’re out of range in the y-axis. But blue is the worst. You see blue, you’re cold—she’s totally lost the signal. They’ve moved beyond about a hundred yards in all directions.”
“Jesus, could you have made it more confusing?” Vail ran toward the staircase. No—the elevator. It was a risk, particularly if they were on a middle floor and she went down too far, she’d pass them by—but walking down dozens of flights would take too long if they were headed out of the building. How high is a floor in this building? How many yards?
Vail looked down at LOWIS and stopped. “Wait a minute—the signal. Mark, the display, LOWIS went black!”
“Stand by,” Clar said.
Vail stood there, heart pounding, emotion flooding her body, tears forming in her eyes. She stared at LOWIS’s blank screen. “C’mon, god-dammit, work! What’s wrong with you?”
“Okay, okay—” Clar’s voice boomed over the radio. “She’s fine. She’ll come back online. The signal from Ortega’s phone cut out. Either it was shut off or the battery came dislodged. But the FBI techs got it back and they’re using it as that roving bug we discussed. So here’s what you need to do. See that flat button on the right side?”
Vail fumbled with LOWIS and found the slight protrusion. “Yeah, yeah, I got it.”
“Push and hold it for five seconds. She’ll reboot and then she should pick up the new signal.”
“Reboot? I don’t have time for that. C’mon, Clar, what kind of piece of shit did you build?”
&nbs
p; “Karen, another time I’d take offense to that.” His voice was calm and measured. “But I know you’re under tremendous stress. Take a breath. She’ll be up in a few more seconds.”
As Clar promised, the device had begun loading its operating system. “Okay—it’s scrolling through some red computer code.” She closed her eyes and took a breath. “Sorry about what I said.”
“Already forgotten. Now pay attention, she’s almost ready. She’ll reacquire the signal automatically. Nothing for you to do.”
Vail moved forward and pressed the elevator button. “What am I looking for?”
“Green and brown are good, remember? They mean you’re within fifty yards on the x- or y-axes. If you see amber or yellow, you’re out of the fifty yard range.”
The elevator door opened and Vail got in. “What about purple?”
“Oh, right. If she’s purple, turn left or right. Don’t know which. That’ll be in version 2.0. Like all of us, LOWIS has her limitations.”
Vail kept her eyes on the glowing green, yellow, and purple lights as the elevator descended rapidly. She pressed the button for 38, and would thereafter stop at 28, then every ten floors—and assess LOWIS’s color, because her target would be moving as well.
At 38, the display went blue—and a cold sweat broke out across her forehead. Her gaze flicked over to the numerical floor level display—to hell with the ten-floor plan. She hit L and watched LOWIS’s screen. As she approached Lobby, the light changed to green.
Bingo.
The doors slid apart and she ran forward, watching the LED display. Brown, amber—and purple. She could only turn left, which led her down the hall, toward the garage and the back of the building. A moment later, she sighed relief: LOWIS sported green and brown lights.
Vail left Vdara and followed the signs into the walkway that led to the Bellagio’s Spa Tower, a separate, though connected, high-rise that housed a glass-ceilinged conservatory, convention rooms, and luxury facilities for pampering hotel guests.
According to the placards she had seen, above her was the monorail that ferried guests from CityCenter directly into the Bellagio. She rotated her head left and right, Vegas’s unmatched nightscape partially visible through the glass walls. Halfway through the tunnel, she glanced down at the tracking device.
Brown and amber lights stared back at her. They were on the same level as she was, but more than fifty yards away.
Shit! She quickened her pace, then sprinted out of the walkway and into the Spa Tower. Ahead was a large, glass-enclosed storefront, “News-stand” emblazoned on the sign above the door. She ran past it and continued down the hall. The green LED came on, but the purple light once again flicked to life. She looked ahead, through the throng of passing people, but couldn’t see Robby—or anyone else who appeared to be moving at a pretty good clip. But as LOWIS had indicated, about a hundred feet ahead there was a turn in the corridor.
Vail pressed forward, pushing through the masses, weaving in and out, down a slight incline, then past Sensi, a futuristic bar with a water fountain cascading down the wall, its countertop a mirror of black liquid.
LOWIS went dark—then the green and purple LEDs popped on. Vail looked up and swung right, her only choice. Shorter corridor. Dominating the wall to her left—the Jean Philippe Patisserie—the coolest pastry shop she’d ever seen. Multilevel, furrowed blown glass troughs formed what was surely the most unique chocolate fountain ever created.
Vail elevated onto her toes and peered over the heads of the people milling about the wide hallway, but despite Robby’s height, she did not see him. She was beginning to think that LOWIS, with her high-tech proximity sensors and smart ping digital signal processing abilities—or whatever the hell Clar had called it—was leading her on an old-fashioned, low-tech wild goose chase.
THE CHOPPER HOVERED over the main artery, South Las Vegas Boulevard, southeast of the Bellagio’s main entrance. A tree-studded grass-carpeted knoll stood nearby that separated twin three-lane drives leading up to the property, where the bellmen worked feverishly to unload new arrivals.
Slow-moving traffic came to a stop to watch—and steer clear of—the hovering helicopter. Dixon and DeSantos dropped to the ground, then Clar retracted the rope and took the chopper higher, away from the roadway.
DeSantos slapped Dixon on the arm. “Let’s go!”
VAIL FOLLOWED THE CORRIDORS past the conservatory on the left, then ahead into the bright and expansive Bellagio lobby. Decorative molding-edged squares checkerboarded the ceiling. At its center sprouted an oblong bouquet of blown glass flowers bursting with colorful hues, from blood red to lime green.
Her rubber soled shoes gripped the cream-and-brown granite tile as she ran toward the location LOWIS directed her: the front entrance. The LED glowed green and brown, which meant she was close. And headed in the right direction.
Vail exploded through the doors into darkness—her eyes had to adjust from the brilliant lights of the lobby—and she emerged in the carport. Doormen and bellhops were moving about, ferrying new arrivals into the hotel, and departing guests into waiting taxis.
The screen added purple to its array of colors—they had turned. But which way? If I lose them now, they’ll blend into the crowd. Even with the homing device, there’d be myriad places they could go. It’d be near impossible for her alone to search all the buildings, alleyways, ancillary roads, and casinos. And how long will that cell battery last? What if it wasn’t Robby she was pursuing?
Directly in front of her stood a curving roadway that slanted down and away, to the left and to the right, split by a central tree-covered island where people seemed to be gathering to watch something ahead of them.
Vail climbed atop a short cement column—and saw two men running along the roadway to her right.
She jumped down and took off in that direction.
ROBBY BURST THROUGH a crowd in the Bellagio’s lobby. Two men, who had engaged him as he exited the Vdara elevator, remained in close pursuit.
He’d knocked down three women a hundred yards or so back, but it couldn’t be helped. If those pursuing him pulled a weapon, there’d be a lot of people permanently on the floor. And he didn’t want that to happen.
Robby pulled Diego’s phone and once again pressed various buttons, but in brief glances as he ran, it didn’t appear as if the keypad was working. He had already removed and reseated the battery, but it had no effect. He flipped the lid closed and shoved the cell back into his pocket in time to stiff-arm a door with a large brass B on the handle.
He exited the hotel and ran through the carport, then angled right onto a walkway beside a dense row of privet hedges. To his left, throngs of people lined a cement retaining wall that bordered a large man-made lake. Loud music began blaring from the speakers. Jets of water spewed forth into the night sky.
Robby chanced a quick glance over his right shoulder and saw the two men paralleling him on the other side of the tall, wide row of hedges. If he could get to the end of the road before they did, he’d be on the main strip, where, despite his height, it’d be easier for him to get lost in the throng of milling tourists—or find a circulating Vegas police cruiser.
He pushed forward and began picking his way through the crowd.
VAIL RAN TOWARD the cement walkway that snaked along the periphery of the manmade lake she had seen from the Huey.
There—bobbing up and down, the unmistakable form of the head and shoulders of a six-foot-seven man as he twisted and bumped his way through the dense mass of humanity.
Vail felt a swell of excitement—Robby was alive, and he was only a few dozen yards away.
But off to the right, two large Hispanic men ran alongside the hedges, one slightly behind Robby and the other considerably ahead.
As Vail opened her mouth to scream his name, the roar of bass-booming music blared from the large, camouflaged speakers, followed almost immediately by the spurting of high-powered water jets. As if vacuumed away, her shout was swallowed
by the noise.
Vail pushed forward, forcing her way through the crowd, twisting sideways and using her shoulder to part the masses.
Robby’s only fifty yards away.
And an armed hit squad was in pursuit.
Either Robby or one of the two men pursuing him was carrying the cell phone she’d been tracking. As long as she could maintain eye contact with Robby, it didn’t matter. The dense wall of privets was, for the moment, preventing the men from reaching him. But in the distance, the hedge—and the path—came to an end.
She had to get to the pursuing assassins before they could get to Robby—or risk firing off a few rounds into the lake. The gunshots would hopefully cause a stir and be reported to Vegas Metro Police, which she figured maintained a respectable presence on the strip. Problem was, she didn’t see any cops where and when she needed them: here. And now.
The water jets blasted and the music boomed, sounding like a twenty-one-gun salute.
And up ahead, a glimpse of Robby’s head. So close—and yet unreachable.
She yelled—knowing he couldn’t hear her—but she didn’t know what else to do. She grabbed her radio. “This is Vail. Anyone on Las Vegas Boulevard, near the Bellagio entrance?”
She brought the radio to her ear, uncertain she would be able to even hear the response above the noise.
“Negative.” DeSantos’s voice? Clar’s? Mann’s? Vail couldn’t tell.
“I’ve got eyes on Robby,” Vail said. “Being pursued through the crowd by two armed mercenaries. Need assistance.”
“In pursuit—”
Dixon’s voice. But she couldn’t make out the rest of her transmission.
Vail looked skyward. Where the hell’s the Huey?
As Robby approached the boulevard—amid the intense glare of Planet Hollywood’s turquoise lights and Paris’s neon-striped hot air balloon—she saw Robby’s head and shoulders stop abruptly.
He turned back in her direction, took a step, stopped again, then looked around.
Other armed men must’ve appeared ahead of him, blocking his way. Shit—
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