Takedown (An Alexandra Poe Thriller)

by Robert Gregory Browne

  As they got closer to the fruit stand, their car slowed to a crawl and fell in line behind three more limos in the midst of making the turn onto the Latham estate. She craned her neck to see what lay ahead, but the long driveway was bordered by the same jungle of trees that populated the rear of the property.

  Following a route lit by a string of solar lamps, the car twisted and turned through the jungle until she saw the house in the distance, dramatically lit by floodlights.

  “Holy shit,” Favreau said. “What is this place, the Taj Mahal?”

  It wasn’t quite that massive, but it looked a lot larger in person than it had on Warlock’s computer screen. Unlike the hotel, there was nothing Art Deco about this place. As Deuce had mentioned, it looked like an old Southern plantation house, with columns and balconies and large shuttered windows. It was almost offensive in its size, especially when Alex considered the ramshackle houses that surrounded the estate.

  The line of limousines rolled through a raised security gate, two armed guards carefully assessing each vehicle as it passed. Not far beyond, they reached the end of the road and turned slightly, circling toward the front of the house, where a phalanx of white-gloved housemen waited with smiles on their faces.

  As their vehicle came to a stop, one of the housemen opened their door and Alex and Favreau climbed out.

  “I think I’m starting to get it now,” Favreau said, his demeanor having clearly switched from skeptic to true believer. “We might just have to stay for a while.”

  CHAPTER 32

  AS HE NEARED the end of the service road, Cooper said, “I’m almost to the rear gate. Are you guys in position?”

  “We will be by the time you get to the house,” Deuce told him.

  “All right, wish me luck.”

  Taking a deep breath, he drove the catering van over the rise and headed toward the guard shack. One of the two guards stationed there stepped out and held up a hand as Cooper neared. Beyond the lowered security arm, the Latham house and grounds were lit up like a parade float, and Cooper could hear the thump, thump, thump of a bass beat playing.

  He eased on the brake and rolled down his window, painfully aware he didn’t look remotely Bahamian, but hoping St. Cajetan was enough of a melting pot that it didn’t matter.

  The guard came up to the window with a clipboard in hand. “Purpose of your visit?”

  Cooper stared at him. “Seriously? Read the side of the van.”

  The guard nodded and made a note on the clipboard. “Name?”

  Cooper used the one he’d found on the driver. “Winston Laroda.”

  He was taking the calculated risk that with the constant stream of catering trucks going in and out today, the faces and names of the drivers had become a blur to these guys.

  As the guard checked his clipboard, the second guard—who had the demeanor of a man in charge—approached them. “He’s all right, I remember the van. Go open the gate.” He looked at Cooper. “I’ll still need to see what you’ve got in back.”

  Cooper gestured. “It’s unlocked. Do whatever you have to.”

  The second guard went around, opened the doors, and stared in at the metal rack full of pie boxes.

  “Rich or poor, everyone loves pie,” he said, then closed the doors and patted the side of the truck.

  As the security arm raised, Cooper rolled up his window, let out a breath, and hit the accelerator, following the road past the rear of the house and around to a delivery ramp at the side. As he backed down the ramp toward a loading dock, the van beeped a warning.

  “I’m almost in,” he said. “Warlock, are you in range yet?”

  “I believe I am. It’s all up to you now.”

  The plan was for Deuce and Warlock to park the Buick in the adjacent neighborhood, make their way toward the estate on foot, then split up—Warlock looking for a place to perch with his laptop while Deuce positioned himself as close to the house as possible with a sniper rifle, just in case they needed a diversion.

  Or backup firepower.

  “What about you, Deuce?”

  “I’m looking at you as we speak.”

  “See you on the other side,” Cooper said, then came to a stop and cut the engine. He reached down and retrieved a black plastic packet from under the seat, and carried it into the back of the van.

  He chose one of the pie boxes on the center shelf, pulled it open, and removed the pie—French apple from the looks of it. He laid the packet inside, put the pie on top of it, and closed the windowed lid. It was a tight fit, the crust pressing up against the plastic, and he knew it wouldn’t fool anyone who took too close a look, but the casual observer might not notice anything amiss.

  He returned to the front of the van, opened the driver’s door, and climbed out, then went around to the back doors and pulled them open.

  Most of the deliveries had been made during the day so the loading area was empty. Cooper unlocked the rack’s wheels and pulled it out onto the dock. He got behind it and rolled the rack through the service doors toward the hallway on his left.

  Latham’s mansion may have carried the facade of a Southern plantation house, but according to the blueprints, its three stories and basement were a labyrinth of hallways and interconnected rooms more akin to a medieval castle, and easy to get lost in. The second and third floors held the living quarters, the main floor boasted a full-size ballroom and ancillary staff offices, and the janitorial and kitchen facilities were down in the basement with the loading dock.

  As Cooper turned a corner, he found himself staring at a security checkpoint with a metal detection portal in the middle of the hall and once again hoped that the combination of repetition and his uniform would work to his advantage. Trying to look as casual and unconcerned as possible, he rolled the rack toward the portal.

  One of the two guards manning it jumped in front of him, and gestured for him to pass the rack to the second guard.

  “Those things set the machine off every time,” he said. “Too much noise.”

  “Mmm, pie,” the second one said as he rolled the rack around the metal detector to the other side. “This one looks like coconut cream. Do you think we’ll get a slice after we finish our shift?”

  The first guard directed Cooper to step through the portal. “You’re a dreamer, Perry. Once the guests and those vultures in the kitchen are done with them, there won’t be any left.”

  Cooper put his wallet and cell phone in a tray, stepped through the portal without making it beep, then retrieved his belongings and moved toward the rack.

  “Wait,” the second one said, producing a security wand. “I have to check it out.”

  The sight of the wand made Cooper’s intestines clench. He stood there, still trying to look casual, as the guard—Perry—passed his wand over the boxes. Instantly, the thing started to squeal.

  “I don’t know why you bother,” the first one said. “You know it’s these metal racks that do it. Happens every time.”

  Perry flicked off the wand. “I bother because if I don’t and something goes wrong, I lose my job.” He turned to Cooper. “You don’t have any explosives or weapons in here, do you?”

  Cooper grinned at him. “If I did, they probably wouldn’t taste very good.”

  Both guards laughed and the first one said to Perry, “Just check a few of the boxes and let him go. He has a job to do.”

  Perry studied the top row of the rack, peering through the plastic windows at the pies, then opened one up and breathed it in. “I was right. Coconut cream. I wish my wife could bake like this.”

  “You’re lucky you have a wife,” the first guard told him. “Now let the man go.”

  Perry held up a hand to silence him and crouched down to look at the center rack. Cooper glanced at the weapons holstered on their thighs and wondered how quick they would be to use them. From their looks and attitude, he pegged them as temp security staff, not part of Latham’s regular crew.

  Perry reached forward, opened anot
her box, and again breathed in. “Sweet potato. Second only to coconut cream.”

  “Stop salivating and be done with it already. You’re making me hungry.”

  But Perry suddenly froze, his gaze on the center row of pies. “What’s this?”

  Thinking he had just been busted, Cooper’s gut tightened as Perry grabbed hold of a box, pulled it out, and opened the lid to reveal a decadent-looking chocolate chiffon pie.

  “I would kill a man for a slice of this.” He looked up at his partner. “Do you think anyone would miss it?”

  “Put it back or you’ll get us both in trouble.”

  “What’s one pie out of so many?”

  “Put it back, Perry. Now.”

  Looking disappointed, Perry closed the lid and returned the box to the rack.

  “Go on with you,” he said to Cooper as he backed away from the pies. “You’re the devil in a black vest.”

  The guards laughed again and Cooper joined in this time, trying not to look relieved as he grabbed hold of the rack and rolled it toward the kitchen.

  The music inside the mansion wasn’t loud enough to be annoying, but the thump of the bass vibrated in Alex’s bones. She had been expecting a more stately kind of party, with a string quartet and politely applauding guests, but instead she heard the peal of raucous laughter beneath the equally raucous music.

  As guests entered the mansion’s massive entryway, they were greeted by beautiful women carrying computer tablets and wearing tight, low-cut dresses. A tall and stunning black woman approached Alex and Favreau and said, “Invitation, please?”

  Favreau produced his from his jacket pocket and handed it to her as he took her in appreciatively, not bothering to hide it from Alex.

  If she had given a damn, she probably would have made a crack, but she had too many things on her mind at the moment to concentrate on her playacting. Favreau could pour this woman into a glass and drink her, for all she cared.

  The woman touched the screen of her tablet, then held the invitation in front of the built-in camera lens so it could read the barcode at the bottom of the card.

  The tablet beeped and she smiled. “Good evening, Mr. Favreau.” She turned to Alex. “May I see your invitation, please?”

  Uh-oh.

  “Mine?” Alex said. “I don’t have one. I’m with him.”

  The woman looked apologetic. “I’m so sorry. I’m afraid Mr. Favreau doesn’t have clearance for a guest. I can’t let you in without an invitation.”

  “Didn’t you hear the lady?” Favreau said. “She just told you she’s with me.”

  “Yes, I understand that, sir, but—”

  “What? I’m not allowed to bring a friend?”

  “Did you request that she be included?”

  “I’m requesting it now.”

  She smiled politely. “Just a moment, sir.” She touched her screen, and tapped the headset clipped to her ear. After a beat or two, she said, “Yes, I have a Mr. Favreau here and he’s insisting his guest be allowed in without prior clearance.” She paused, then looked at Alex. “Name, please?”

  “Alexandra Barnes.”

  She pointed. “Can I have you look up at that camera in the corner?”

  “Why?” Favreau asked.

  “You have to understand, sir, that we’ve had trouble in the past with people trying to crash Mr. Latham’s parties. We need to check her face against our database and make sure she isn’t one of them.”

  Favreau started to protest, but Alex stopped him. “It’s okay. I don’t want to cause any trouble.”

  She looked up at a camera mounted near the ceiling.

  After a moment that felt as if it lasted forever, their greeter touched her earpiece and nodded. “All right,” she said, and looked at Alex and Favreau. “I’m sorry for the delay. You may proceed to the security station.”

  Alex knew she may have passed the initial scan, but she was concerned security wouldn’t stop with a search of the internal system, and sooner or later would get a hit on one of the international databases. She could only hope she’d be done here before that happened.

  “And I thought I was paranoid,” Favreau said, as they followed the crowd toward one of three security portals. “You’d think this guy Latham is the leader of the free world.”

  “He does make your ten million dollars look like pocket change.”

  Favreau grinned. “You’d better be careful or I’ll tell that African goddess to throw you out.”

  “And here I was about to suggest a threesome.”

  Favreau’s eyes went wide and he looked as if he was about to choke. Alex feigned a laugh and patted his back. “Easy, darling. Don’t have a heart attack before the night’s festivities begin.”

  “What festivities are we talking about?”

  “Oh, do I have plans for you,” she said.

  They stepped up to the center security portal. Beyond it was a large ballroom, dimly lit and crowded with people. If Hopcroft was in there somewhere, and she certainly hoped he was, he might be impossible to find.

  “Wallets, keys, and cell phones in the tray,” the attending guard told them. “Purses on the conveyor belt.”

  As Alex put her purse on the ramp, she noted a hint of concern clouding Favreau’s face.

  “What do you need my wallet for?” he asked.

  “It’s part of the procedure, sir. When you step through the portal, we don’t want you carrying anything that might set off the alarm.”

  “And how’s my wallet supposed to do that?”

  “I didn’t set the rules, sir. Wallet in the tray.”

  Favreau’s concern triggered Alex’s curiosity. She furtively watched as he reached into his jacket pocket and fumbled around for a moment, before producing his wallet and cell phone and dropping them into a tray. The wallet fell open slightly and Alex was surprised by what she saw.

  Or, rather, didn’t see.

  The hotel key cards that had occupied the uppermost slot were missing. There had been two of them in there—one of which she and Warlock had tried on Favreau’s door with no success, and returned to his wallet while he slept in her bed.

  So why would he remove them before putting the wallet in the tray?

  She was almost sure that’s what he’d done.

  The answer came to her in a flash as she passed through the security portal.

  Oh, crap.

  She needed to get Warlock on comm as soon as humanly possible.

  CHAPTER 33

  THE KITCHEN SUPERVISOR told Cooper to take the rack of pies to the staging room. Thankfully, the blueprints had given him a fairly good idea of where it was located.

  By the time he reached the room, he had reactivated his transmitter and extricated the plastic packet from the pie box, stuffing it down the front of his pants. This was a bold move, considering the intermittent CCTV cams and how busy it was down here, but he’d been partially hidden by the rack and he doubted anyone had taken notice.

  If they had, he’d know soon enough.

  The staging room was bustling with kitchen staff frantically preparing trays of hors d’oeuvres to be taken upstairs to the ballroom. Several servers stood by, snatching up the trays as soon as they were ready. Cooper parked the rack of pies against an empty wall, then swept past them all and exited the room. He turned a corner and moved down a hallway, trying to get his bearings.

  “Hey, Warlock,” he said, “refresh my memory. I’m in the south hall headed west. Which hallway leads to the server room?”

  “Second on your left,” Warlock told him. “And it’s bound to have a camera on it, so you’d better activate your jammer. I figure you’ve got a minute or less before they start to wonder if it’s something more than a glitch.

  Cooper looked up and saw the cameras covering the two halls. Reaching into his pocket, he pressed a button on his cell phone to activate the signal jammer. He quickly made the turn, and found himself in a short corridor that dead-ended at a windowed door marked IT STAFF O
NLY. He tested the knob, found it locked, but was relieved to see it was old school and could easily be picked.

  After pulling the plastic backing from his phone, he extracted his lock-pick set from the hidden compartment and was inside less than ten seconds later.

  The IT room was small and packed with racks of wires and hard drives and an array of routers. He found the CCTV unit mounted on the wall in back, then reached into the cell phone compartment for a micro-wireless transmitter and a miniature pair of wire cutters. He went to work, splitting the main feed and routing it through the transmitter.

  When he was done, he said to Warlock, “You should be getting a signal now. How’s it look?”

  “A thing of beauty, my friend, and in record time. I almost feel like God.”

  “Do you see Alex anywhere?”

  “Hold on, I’m checking…and if I’m not mistaken, she’s entering the ballroom with Freddy, who looks as if he’s trying desperately to grab her bum.”

  “He’s lucky she’s in character, otherwise he’d be missing a hand.” Cooper closed the CCTV box and pocketed his phone. “I’m headed upstairs to make the drop.”

  As they stepped into the ballroom, Alex still saw no sign of Eric Hopcroft or Reinhard Beck or even the night’s host. Not surprising considering the dim lighting and the density of the crowd.

  At the moment, though, finding them wasn’t the first thing on her to-do list. That would come when they contacted Favreau. And while it might be nothing more than a distraction, a reason not to think about her real purpose here, her current number one priority was talking to Warlock.

  She turned to her escort. “What time are you supposed to meet with your friends?”

  “No idea,” Favreau said. “These guys like to keep me in suspense.”

  She pointed at the bar. “Why don’t you get us some wine? I need to find the little girl’s room.”

  “You’re gonna leave me here all by my lonesome?”

  She gestured to a buxom blonde dancing vigorously nearby. “You can sightsee while I’m gone.”

  Favreau smiled and rubbed Alex’s butt. “You’re something else, you know that? Don’t trip and fall into any billionaires’ beds. You’re all mine.”