by Tim Tigner
“I agree. Do you have any clue as to Ivan’s whereabouts?”
“None. He remains as ghostly as ever.”
“And Achilles? How close would you say you are to catching him?”
“He’s no less ghostly at the moment.”
“Thank you for your candor, Agent Zonder. Keep on it.”
As Rip hung up, he found himself feeling better than he had before the call. He felt he’d acquitted himself well. He had gained a powerful ally without giving Riddle any information Brix didn’t already possess. That made the call inconsequential—and thus not worth reporting.
Just ten miles away in the heart of Silicon Valley, Ivan also hung up a phone. Then he kissed it.
45
Sightseeing
French Riviera
JO PULLED A RENTED PEUGEOT up to Vazov’s security booth and lowered the driver’s side window. The actions earned her a blast of hot air and an inquisitive glance. A bald guard with small ears and a sweaty lip asked, “May I help you?”
“We’re with the San Jose Mercury News. We have an appointment with your public relations manager.” She handed over a business card. Bridgette Simpson, Editor-at-Large.
“Yes, Miss Simpson. Chantal is expecting you. How many are in your party?”
“Just me and my photographer.”
Achilles was disguised with a thin mustache, round black wire-rimmed spectacles, and the kind of golf cap often worn backward by men with thinning hair. He inclined his head toward the guard.
The guard politely returned Jo’s card. To her relief, he did not ask her to pop the trunk. “Chantal will be waiting for you in front of the main building. The road will fork a few times, but just keep climbing. If you end up in the ocean, you’ve gone too far.”
Achilles had conjured up the idea of posing as reporters from Silicon Valley’s premiere newspaper. Jo had taken it from there. An insider’s perspective on life at Silicon Hill was how she had pitched it. Tagged onto the end of her vacation, she’d confided. “You get exposure. I get expenses.” Vazov’s public relations manager had seized the last-minute “win-win opportunity” with both hands.
It took a good five minutes to drive up the hill at sightseeing speed. They spent every second studying the compound. The construction was all of a similar style, with off-white stucco walls and red tiled roofs. The grounds were sun-drenched and artfully arranged to leverage the natural landscape. Lots of rock and wild grass interspersed with lush trees and flowering bushes. Despite the heat, Jo kept the window down to enjoy the fragrant air. “Did you know the perfume industry began not far from here?”
“Yes, in Grasse. Can you believe this place? I’m ready to move here and I haven’t even seen the ocean yet.”
“I don’t see how an engineer could resist, especially if she’s young and single.”
“I trust that’s one of the questions on your list?” Achilles asked.
“Actually, I’ve got a dozen regarding recruitment tactics and retention statistics.”
Although they were posing as a team, reporter with photographer, the mission tactic was to divide and conquer. Jo would be exercising her interpersonal skills in the role of reporter, while Achilles broke away to take photographs. He was “a creative genius” who “requires solitude and isolation.”
When they finally reached the hilltop, Chantal was waiting for them as promised. She wore a patterned summer dress reminiscent of the wildflowers they’d driven past. Purple and orange on a beige background. She extended a hand as they stepped from the car. “I’m Chantal. We spoke on the phone.”
“I’m Bridgette. Nice to meet you, Chantal. This is Kevin, my photographer. He doesn’t speak French, but then he doesn’t need to. Thank you for agreeing to the interview.”
Chantal ushered them through enormous glass doors into a lobby expertly designed to showcase its oceanfront location.
Jo stopped cold and spread her arms before bringing them to her heart. “What a spectacular view!”
“It never fails to take my breath away,” Chantal concurred.
It truly was a more spectacular view than most people would ever see. After soaking it in for an appropriate period, Jo turned to the left and found two blue-eyed receptionists smiling at her, perfect as fresh flowers. She nodded acknowledgment before glancing to her right. The wall opposite reception was dominated by a life-sized oil painting of a man playing polo. She made a point of studying it.
“Our CEO, Mr. Vazov,” Chantal said with a touch of pride.
“I wondered. You know I couldn’t find a photo.”
“Mr. Vazov likes to have his cake and eat it too.”
“Pardon?”
“Fame and fortune with anonymity.”
Jo heard Achilles’ camera clicking while they spoke but didn’t look in his direction. She wanted to keep the spotlight off him. “Smart man. After all, who doesn’t detest the paparazzi?”
Chantal nodded approval. “Who indeed?”
They walked past a sweeping central staircase and stopped before the big windows with the boastful view. “We’re in through here,” Chantal said, gesturing left toward a suite of glass walled conference rooms. “Ours is the corner one, the Azure Room. I think you’ll like it.”
Achilles cleared his throat loud enough to draw attention.
Jo looked back to see him wave a circle with his index finger. She leaned in and touched Chantal’s shoulder. “Best if we let Kevin do his thing while we chat. He’s a genius with a lens, but—well, I’m sure you know artists.”
Chantal smiled understanding. “Absolutely.” She turned to Achilles and spoke in English. “Enjoy your quest for the perfect shot. I’m sure you’ll find it. There’s so much to choose from. Ask Giselle if you require assistance.” Chantal gestured toward reception.
Achilles met the blonde receptionist’s eye, then inclined his head toward Chantal and touched his cap.
The game was on.
46
Checkpoint Charlie
French Riviera
SILICON HILL’S lack of security surprised Achilles. Aside from the front gate, there appeared to be no guards. No cameras either, at least within the main building. And to his knowledge he hadn’t passed through a metal detector. While that environment was normal enough for office parks, it was atypical for criminal enterprises.
Of course, the lack of conventional defensive devices didn’t mean that security was slack at Silicon Hill. Defense came in many forms. Which was more secure: a jewel locked in a stainless steel vault, or one hidden where thieves would never look?
Achilles reminded himself that he was dealing with Ivan. Or not. Which of course was the point. The master of camouflage would blend into the background. Were you looking at a lizard, or just a pile of leaves?
The person portrayed in the lobby painting might well be the same man Achilles had once met on the back of a mega yacht, giving credence to Jo’s theory. The basics seemed to fit: age, race, size and build, as did the facial features. Then there was the location and the flamboyance, both of which synched with their previous encounter.
But he was still far from sold.
Achilles found the first element of a sophisticated security system almost immediately. The staircase labeled as leading down to the East and West Wing Labs was located behind and beneath the central sweeping stairway. To reach it, a person had to pass through one of several sets of swinging glass doors. Each set was split barroom style, and rose floor to ceiling. Functionally, the arrangement was reminiscent of a subway entrance, with multiple side-by-side channels, but the floor-to-ceiling glass construction was foolproof and far more elegant.
Watching from behind his camera lens as employees came and went, Achilles observed that the system was smart enough to always open the door away from the user. Whether he or she was coming or going, the doors swung away swiftly, then closed just as quickly. No way you could surreptitiously tailgate someone.
Achilles decided to try the direct approach.
Walking as though guided by his camera lens, he approached one of the doors.
Nothing happened.
No alarm. No flashing red light. Just the absence of motion. It was like he didn’t exist. He figured RFID chips triggered the doors, rather than motion. Employees probably had them embedded in their identification cards. Very elegant. Very unobtrusive. Very effective.
An employee exited as Achilles was failing to enter. A younger guy, with bright eyes and a California look. Achilles said, “Excuse me. When does Mr. Vazov usually arrive?”
“Vazov. He usually doesn’t. But then I’d be playing polo too, if I had the option.” The Californian gestured toward the painting as proof positive and kept going.
Interesting.
Achilles walked back to Giselle. “Would you kindly buzz me into the labs.”
“Afraid I can’t do that. They are restricted to authorized employees only.”
“I just need to snap a few quick photos. For the paper. We’re going to make everyone back in Silicon Valley very jealous.”
“I’m sure you are, but I really can’t help you. I’ve never been down there myself.”
“Seriously?”
“Stealth mode. Laboratory access is strictly for team members only.”
“Which lab team is bigger, East Wing or West Wing?”
“I couldn’t tell you. From up here I can’t see which way people turn.”
“Do you know where the senior engineers work?”
“Everyone here is pretty senior.”
Achilles felt like he was playing ping pong. It was his serve, but he had yet to score. “Where’s Mr. Vazov’s office?”
“It’s upstairs with the other executives, but he’s not here today.”
“Tomorrow?”
Giselle appeared ready to answer but stopped herself. “I thought you were flying back to the States tonight?”
So Chantal had passed along the context of their visit. She was thorough. “In the morning. Late enough that we might manage a shoot if he’s an early riser?”
“I’m afraid not. And anyway, he’s not big on being photographed.”
“Just painted,” Achilles said with a wink.
Giselle smiled.
“I won’t take up any more of your time.”
“Do let me know if you need anything.”
Gaining access to the labs would require stealing an ID card. Jo could do that in her sleep, but Achilles wasn’t willing to risk it. He suspected that the RFID chips triggered more than just the laboratory doors. A smart security system would have them connected into everything. The housing, the athletic facilities, the restaurants. What better way to keep track of your people—or ensure that the loss of a card was quickly detected?
That left Achilles the second floor for now. The executive offices. The trick would be reaching them. The sweeping stairway was in full view of reception. Part of the decorative architecture and yet the functional equivalent of Checkpoint Charlie. To reach the second floor undetected, he was going to have to get creative.
47
Insufficient Funds
Silicon Valley, California
THE SELECTION of a specific target from the thousands of options available was largely dependent on three factors. First, the individual or his company needed instant access to at least $10 million in cash or credit. That wasn’t too much of a stretch in Silicon Valley. Second, target executives had to have a habit that left them alone and isolated at a predictable time. Michael had expected that to be challenging, but it turned out that most people maintained a habit that made them vulnerable. The challenge was proving to be the third requirement: the ability to get Raven in and out without detection.
Pavel and Boris had practiced unloading and reloading Raven in and out of the Tesla to the point where they worked with the efficiency of a NASCAR pit crew. About ninety seconds at either end. But those ninety seconds had to happen in a concealed location accessible by the Model X. And on nights like tonight when that location didn’t have line of sight on the target, Michael had to operate elsewhere. He didn’t like splitting up the team or operating alone. And he didn’t like Ivan looking over his shoulder.
“I’ll make the ransom call,” Ivan said, plucking the MiMiC phone from Michael’s hand.
What was going on? Michael tried to take the change of plans at face value. Ivan was here, so of course he wanted to get behind the wheel and have some fun. But things were rarely that simple with Ivan.
Michael pushed his worries from his mind, and resolved to enjoy the show.
With The new Claw, the grabs practically ran on rails. Of course, with the boss by his side, fate might want to make tonight an exception.
He and Ivan watched from their hillside with rapt fascination as Raven swooped in like a shadow. Pavel dropped The Claw just one second before the strike. As Sangster turned to investigate the buzzing sound, Pavel closed The Claw and scooped the screaming CEO from the ground.
Michael had questioned the wisdom of abducting anyone holding pruning shears, fearing what a motivated man might do to The Claw, but Sangster dropped his tool to the dirt beside his martini, precisely as Pavel predicted.
“A thing of beauty,” Ivan said as Raven ascended. “Like watching an eagle catch salmon.”
“Pavel’s really got it down,” Michael concurred as the headphones descended.
Ivan went to work with the phone. He put Sangster on hold—talk about a double entendre—while connecting with Sangster’s CFO, George Milton.
During the half-dozen calls he’d made, Michael had honed his extortion technique to minimize their exposure time. The clock was the key. The display of remaining battery life. By artificially reducing that number to nine minutes, he eliminated all hesitation and dickering. Everyone knew what it meant to run out of power. Everyone had also encountered online delays due to slow connections or technical snafus. Combine those with the threat of impending death and nobody’s focus wavered.
Ivan created a three-way call and began talking. “Listen up! Both of you. This is a ransom call. Mr. Sangster, the number you see blinking above in bright green is the remaining minutes of battery power. Mr. Milton, repeat after me. If I see any sign of the police, or we don’t receive a $20 million transfer in the next nine minutes, your CEO will be dead.”
“If you see any sign of the police, or you don’t receive a $20 million transfer in the next nine minutes, my CEO will be dead.”
“Very good. I’ve just texted the account number to your phone. Now, get typing.”
“Pay it, Jim. Pay it now!” Sangster screamed. “I’ll explain later, but for God’s sake don’t waste time asking questions.”
“How—What—” Milton cut himself off, catching himself doing exactly what his boss had just forbidden.
Michael leaned toward Ivan and whispered in his ear. “They don’t have $20 million.”
Ivan didn’t react.
“Just pay the money,” Sangster repeated, his voice cracking. “If you don’t, I’ll be dead in eight minutes and thirty-seven seconds.”
Milton’s tempo remained calm and controlled, but his timbre edged up. “We don’t have immediate access to $20 million. We have $3 million in cash and $15 million in overdraft instant credit. We could borrow the remaining $2 million, no problem. But not in the next eight minutes.”
“Is that enough?” Sangster shouted, his voice imploring. “Is $18 million enough?”
Ivan said nothing.
“Hello? Are you there!”
Ivan said nothing.
“Maybe the call dropped,” Milton said.
“Is $18 million enough?” Sangster repeated.
Ivan said nothing.
Sangster said, “Pay it.”
“We don’t have $20 million to pay.”
“Don’t screw around. If $18 million is everything we’ve got, pay him $18 million and include a note in case he isn’t listening. I’m down to seven minutes.”
“Initiating the transfer
.”
Michael looked over at his boss, impressed. Ivan had gotten them to give him everything they had.
“Transfer complete,” Milton said. “Do you hear that? We’ve given you everything we have available. Let him go now. Please!”
Ivan said nothing.
Michael had his laptop open and refreshing. The account they’d given Milton was in Barbuda, and after tonight, it would never be used again. It was programmed to immediately forward any funds received to another account, which had a similar imbedded instruction funneling the money to Vazov. All arranged at considerable expense, Michael assumed, by Ivan’s darknet banker.
The $18 million appeared. He gave the thumbs up to Ivan.
Ivan broke the silence. “Not good enough.”
“We can pay the remaining $2 million tomorrow.”
“Now or never,” Ivan said.
A cacophony of pleas and promises erupted. It morphed into an explosion of threats and curses when Ivan failed to reply.
Michael looked over at Ivan, but Ivan remained focused on the windshield. He muted all the microphones and set down the MiMiC phone. Then he spoke into the car’s hands-free phone. “Can you hear me, Pavel?”
“Loud and clear.”
“Wait until the timer hits zero, then drop him.”
48
Child’s Play
French Riviera
ACHILLES STUDIED the comings and goings of Silicon Hill employees while photographing the sweeping stairway that led up to the executive suite. Oddly enough, nobody appeared to be using it.
Whereas there was a steady trickle of scientists going down to the labs, Achilles hadn’t seen a single person going up to the big offices. He extended his observation period by pretending to fuss with various camera settings.
Still no action. Not one executive in sight.
