by Mack Maloney
“Where did you drop him?” Batman screamed at the driver.
The driver was frightened — and he couldn’t speak English. But he knew what they wanted.
With shaking hands he pointed to the top of the mountain.
“Drop off!” the driver was telling them. “Right there … top of mountain.”
The top of the mountain was a gradually sloping rock that ended in a conical peak jutting up into the night sky. It almost looked like a naturally formed Tower of Pisa.
“There!” the man insisted. “Crazy man, all wet, jump out.”
They let the driver go, climbed back into the Maserati and resumed driving up the steep mountain.
Inside a minute, they were close enough to see the peak clearly. And climbing up the face of the weird rock formation was the dripping man.
Twitch cried, “Who is this guy? And what’s he going to do up there? Dive off?”
Batman said, “We got him cornered. He can’t come down from there without us catching him.”
They jumped out of the car, weapons in hand.
“After all this,” Batman growled, “I’m going to personally kick his ass—then ask him what the fuck this is all about.…”
They ran up the sloping field and were soon approaching the rock formation. They could see the dripping man’s silhouette against the night sky. He seemed to be waiting for something.
Then they heard an awful roar behind them. The ground started shaking. The air around them felt like it was vibrating.
Batman and Twitch looked over their shoulders and saw an amazing sight.
A jet fighter was passing right over their heads.
It was not a typical jet fighter. It was a Harrier jump jet, one of the few airplanes that could take off and land vertically, without the need of a runway. It was also devoid of country markings or tail numbers.
Batman and Twitch watched in astonishment as the hover-jet stopped right above the rock formation and, with admirable skill, put its nose wheel on the rock itself. Its canopy slowly opened.
The dripping man clambered up the last bit of the peak and, with some impressive dexterity himself, scrambled up onto the wing and crawled into the open cockpit. The canopy was just closing as the pilot started moving away.
Then the plane quickly picked up speed and roared off into the night.
* * *
The Maserati’s dash back down to Monte Carlo was even more terrifying than the trip up.
There was no conversation. Twitch was focused on getting to the bottom of the mountain as quickly as possible. Meanwhile, Batman had two enormous questions spinning around his head. Who could call in a Harrier jump jet to get them out of a jam like that — an unmarked Harrier no less? And why would someone with that kind of capability go to such great lengths to mislead them with such a lame sci-fi story of glowing boxes and death rays killing people?
None of it made sense.
He was sure of only one thing: Whoever the dripping man was, he knew about the Z-box and he at least knew Maurice’s name.
This meant Beta Squad had to find Maurice.
The problem was, they didn’t know how. They had no phone number for him, they had no idea where he was staying or even his real name.
But they knew four people who probably did.
* * *
They finally reached the city and sped back to the Grand Maison.
The same car attendant took their Maserati, doing so without a word. They headed straight for the penthouse, hoping the four girls had returned. The reasoning was simple: If Maurice had arranged for the penthouse, he must have somehow arranged for the four bikini models as part of the ornamentation. They might know where to find him.
There was also a chance that Maurice himself had returned to the penthouse in the time Beta Squad was out chasing the dripping man. Perhaps they had a message from him waiting there. Either way, they were in a hurry to get back to their luxury digs.
They used the casino’s side door again and headed for the elevator. But right away they noticed all of the plasterers’ equipment was gone from the hallway, as was the yellow caution tape. For the first time, they had an unobstructed view of the casino’s bustling main lobby.
Arriving at their private elevator, they saw the work repair sign was also gone. More surprising, before they could enter their pass code to call the elevator down, it arrived on its own. The doors opened and a couple stepped out. She was young and beautiful; he was middle-aged and wearing a cowboy hat. They brushed by Batman and Twitch as if they weren’t there.
The elevator doors closed before Batman could jam his foot between them. So they punched in their pass code, hoping to retrieve it quickly. But the code didn’t work. They tried a dozen times, with the same result.
Left with no other choice, up the stairs they went. Ten steep and narrow flights in all. They were seriously out of breath by the time they reached the sixth floor.
Here they found a hallway full of unmarked service doors. Because all of the penthouses on this floor had private elevators, none of the doors had numbers on them, only computer locks accessed by encrypted card keys carried by the casino’s service staff. Batman and Twitch had no such key, so they spent the next twenty minutes trying to figure out which doors belonged to their suite.
After using rough triangulation, they finally estimated where the six service doors leading into their penthouse would be. They tried all six, but each one was locked.
So, they knocked on one — and were heartened to hear female voices and someone padding their way to the door.
“Ten bucks it’s the blonde,” Batman said.
The door opened, but it was not one of their bikini model friends on the other side. It was a chambermaid. One they’d never seen before.
They’d guessed correctly, at least — this was their penthouse. They were looking through one of the bedrooms and could see the familiar balcony, the empty liquor bottles and spectacular view just beyond.
But the chambermaid would not let them in.
Not without proper ID.
Batman tried to explain to her that while, yes, they had no ID, that they really didn’t need any.
But she was adamant: No ID. No entry.
Both Batman and Twitch fingered their handguns — but hesitated.
What were they going to do? Shoot the woman?
In that moment of indecision, she ended the conversation. She slammed the heavy door in their faces and locked it from the inside.
* * *
They hurried back down to the lobby. The place was crowded, hectic and drunkenly festive. The line waiting at the front desk was a dozen people long, so Batman and Twitch tried to stop ordinary employees to explain their plight. But no one wanted to help them.
Finally Batman grabbed a floor manager and wouldn’t let go. The man barely spoke English, but it didn’t matter. He was clearly uninterested in their story. Batman was persistent though, allowing the man a glimpse of his handgun. His request was straightforward: Who’d reserved the royal penthouse and how could they get in touch with him? Finally the manager told them to wait in the lobby while he disappeared to check the occupancy records. When he returned he told them the penthouse was not listed in either of their names. Nor was it listed under anyone named “Maurice.” In fact, he claimed the penthouse had been unoccupied for the past six weeks while it was undergoing renovations and would not be available for another week or so.
Batman insisted the man accompany them back upstairs, threatening to shoot him if he didn’t. The manager reluctantly agreed. He overrode the elevator’s pass code, and Batman and Twitch rode up filled with nervous anticipation, hoping this was all some huge mistake.
The elevator doors opened, and again, they could see it was undoubtedly their penthouse. But now, from this vantage point, looking directly into the main living area, it was clear the place had been cleaned of all evidence that they’d been there. Plus, it was full of scaffolding, paint cans and plastering mater
ials. And there was absolutely no sign of the four bikini models.
Again, Batman began to protest, but the manager cut him off this time. The penthouse was obviously under repair. And even if it wasn’t, where was their luggage? Their clothes? Their personal effects?
Batman began to sputter, but he had no good answer. The manager hit the “down” button and they were soon back in the casino lobby. The manager told them he’d been working double shifts for the past week and he’d never seen either of them until just a few minutes ago. When they tried to explain that they were always separated from the main lobby by workman’s equipment, he started to walk away in a huff.
Batman caught him by the arm and said: “OK — what about these?”
He and Twitch pulled out the platinum cards the Asian woman had given them when they first arrived at the penthouse; supposedly the cards gave them carte blanche at the casino.
But the manager just looked at them and laughed. “I don’t know what those things are,” he said. “But I can assure you they have no currency here.”
With that, he finally disentangled himself from Batman and walked away.
Two burly security men appeared a few moments later. They firmly escorted Batman and Twitch out the casino entrance and off the grounds.
Then they made it clear — in several languages — that neither should come back again.
If they did, they’d be arrested and put in jail.
* * *
Batman and Twitch couldn’t believe this was happening.
They were suddenly out on the street, with barely any money, no shelter, just the clothes on their backs and their handguns. They didn’t even have Twitch’s laptop with all the spy gear on it.
Someone was messing with them, that much was clear. And it was imperative that they track down Maurice. However, they couldn’t do so by wandering the streets. They had to find shelter first, and then figure out what was going on.
Batman did have his debit card with him, and that meant they could at least withdraw funds from the team’s private bank account in Aden and proceed from there.
All they needed was an ATM.
They made their way through the crowded streets looking for the nearest money machine. It didn’t take long to find a bank with an ATM out front. They began the process of withdrawing $5,000, feeling that would be enough to start with. But then came a problem … the debit card wouldn’t work. As soon as Batman punched in his PIN, a message flashed on the ATM screen in French: CONNEXION REFUSÉE.
Connection Refused.
Obviously the ATM was malfunctioning. They walked a few more blocks, found another and tried a second time.
But once again they wound up staring at a screen flashing: CONNECTION REFUSED. No matter what they did, no matter how many different ways they inserted the card, or how slowly or quickly they punched in the PIN, the same message kept coming back. They found and tried a third ATM, and then a fourth. But they received the same message every time.
Was something wrong with all the ATM machines in Monte Carlo? If so, it would be an apocalyptic problem. They hung around the last ATM and waited for the next person to approach it. A German couple appeared soon after and used the money machine with no trouble. Behind them, a man from a crowd of Chinese tourists withdrew money, just as easily, as did a couple of American college students after him.
But when Batman and Twitch tried again, the result was the same: the machine just would not connect.
* * *
They made their way down to the harbor and found the Sun Casino, advertised as Monte Carlo’s “American Casino.”
The place was crowded and everyone seemed to be wearing a cowboy hat. They went to one of the casino’s cashier cages. Their plan was to use the debit card to withdraw money in the form of chips, and then cash in the chips for the real stuff.
The cashier was friendly and cute, but no matter what she did, including calling a 24-hour bank hotline, the same message kept coming back: CONNEXION REFUSÉE
This was getting serious now — and Batman and Twitch were running out of ideas. They discussed returning to the Grand Maison Casino to press the issue with management. At the very least they could make a case that they’d been robbed of their possessions. But the way things were going, they didn’t want to risk being arrested.
They decided a more direct route would be to simply use a public phone to call the Kilos Building in Aden and ask for the cavalry to come to their rescue.
Batman used his last five Euros to purchase a phone card. They found a public phone inside the Sun Casino and started to place the call. But as soon as Batman began dialing the number, the phone ate the card.
They both snapped at that point. Twitch punched the phone, then pummeled it with the handset. Batman took over and did everything but rip the phone off the wall in an effort to retrieve the card. But nothing happened other than them creating a huge scene.
Security arrived to escort them out. But as this was happening, a casino customer walked up and used the same phone with no problems.
Kicked out of their second casino in just thirty minutes, Batman and Twitch knew the time had come to break the rules. Batman took out the special sat-phone the Agency contact had given them back on The Immaculate Perception. They were going to use it not to call the Agency, but to call Aden — and deal with any fallout later.
But though Batman repeatedly dialed the number, the call would not go through. When he finally removed the back of the sat-phone, he discovered the battery was corroded beyond all hope.
“I think I’m going crazy,” he said, hurling the useless phone into the harbor. “I think I’m actually going insane.”
Twitch shook his head. “Welcome to my world.”
They both collapsed to the curb, feeling and looking homeless.
“I guess we’re not going to any of those parties,” Twitch groaned.
“Someone is really fucking with us,” Batman said. “They get us into the city’s best penthouse, then make it seem like we don’t exist? They have us chase some maniac — and he gets picked up by a fucking Harrier? I swear they’re fucking up the ATM machine and pay phones too.”
“But why play with us?” Twitch asked. “Wouldn’t it just be easier to kill us?”
Batman shook his head. There were no answers.
Only their situation was clear. They had no sat-phone. No place to stay. No money. No nothing …
And there was a good chance they’d been taken for ten million dollars.
16
Indian Ocean
0200 hours
The sea had become motionless.
There was no wind. Not even a breeze.
The night sky was clear; the stars above were sizzling. It was still brutally hot.
Nolan had spent the last hour on the bow of the Taiwan Song, at the very tip of the ship, looking out at it all, feeling it all.
Waiting …
This was the calm before the storm and he knew it. The only question was, what kind of a storm would it be?
Why did the Bom-Kats attack the second time?
That was the question that kept coming back to him. He could understand the first attack. They saw the old ship as easy pickings. But they were met with enough firepower to deter a small army. Still they came back again — and with a diversionary plan yet. And cameras.
Why?
After a lot of thought, Nolan knew there was only one explanation.
Gunner was suddenly beside him. He handed Nolan a cracked cup holding something warm and soupy.
“What’s this?” Nolan asked, trying to identify the steamy brownish liquid.
“It’s coffee and cheongju,” Gunner told him. “This is what the ship’s crew was drinking when we broke up their party. I found a little left in the pot.”
Nolan sipped it — it was awful.
“Fuck me,” he said with a grimace. “You sure this isn’t from a bilge pump somewhere?”
“It wouldn’t be this tasty i
f it was,” Gunner said, drinking a cup of his own.
They were quiet for a few moments. Nolan felt the cheongju making its way through his system. It had a slightly numbing effect.
“They know,” he told Gunner unexpectedly.
“Who knows what?” Gunner asked.
“The Bom-Kats,” Nolan said. “They must know we have a very special passenger on board.”
Gunner thought about it. “It would explain why they hit us the second time,” he said. “But how did they find out?”
Nolan shrugged. “We’ve been lax on security,” he said. “They were probably watching us through high-power binoculars, and after the first attack, she was up on deck when we should have kept her below. I’ll bet they started listening to our radio traffic after that and figured it out. Why else would they come aboard with cameras if not to take a picture of her in case they couldn’t kidnap her? As dopey as that sounds, I can’t think of anything else that makes sense.”
He wiped the sweat from his brow. “And that means they’re going to hit us again,” he went on. “They’ll try to roll over us, then take her and God knows what. Asking for a ransom will be just a small part of it, I’m sure.”
Gunner knew Nolan was right. “So what are we going to do when that happens?”
Nolan looked out at the motionless water and just shook his head. They were still chugging along, still trying to make it to the Lakshadweep Islands. But at the moment, they could have been halfway to Africa for all he knew. The ship’s condition was getting worse by the minute. The electricity was failing steadily. Every pump on board had stopped. The leaks below had become endemic and the remaining engine was close to its last gasp. And they were now battling a fifteen-percent list.
“We got to fight them off again,” he finally replied. “Somehow…”
“That won’t be easy,” Gunner said. “We’re just about out of ammo. Not just you, all of us. It could be a big problem.”
Nolan sipped his laced coffee again.
“Actually I think the biggest problem we have is below,” he said.
