by JB Sanders
"It certainly sounds like it, Joan, but we've been over the same documents and recordings. This is the real thing. This is some scary stuff. The idea that a few very wealthy men could get this far, and bribe this many people. It's almost unthinkable."
"So you think the recordings are legitimate?"
"I do. We've got recordings of Archibald Von Tieler from several other interviews. It's a definite match. The things he's discussing in these meetings, the brutality of his methods. It's stomach-churning."
"What do you think the shake-up is going to be, world-wide?"
"It's almost too soon to say. We haven't discovered how deep this conspiracy goes yet, but with just the evidence we have, it's deep."
Tyler muted the TV. The men in the room were in shock.
"What have you done?" Von Tieler said, hoarse.
"What have I done? I've shined a light on you assholes. The media has everything: the lists of people you bribed, some juicy phone conversations, your plans. I gave it to them yesterday, and they started broadcasting the details hours ago." Tyler waved a hand at the TV.
"How did you -- why didn't Paulo call?" Rast said, looking at his cell phone.
"Oh, that part was tricky but not impossible. I re-routed, delayed or blocked your cell phones, hotel phones and internet connections from receiving any hint of what was going on. For about the last twenty-four hours."
"And what about newspapers, television?"
"Fabricated, mostly with real stories but fake where your World Fascist League stuff came up. I routed my own television station to your hotel TVs."
"Ah, the disappearances -- that wasn't those idiot white supremacists. That was you." Von Tieler tilted his head thoughtfully.
"Indeed. Any time our information bubble threatened to burst, any time one of your people learned what was really happening, we pulled them out."
Glen could see that the men in the room were in shock, but that they were also drifting into angry territory.
Alain Rast stood up, his roly-poly exterior evidently hiding a well of anger.
"Why don't we just have our men come in here and shoot them?" Rast said. "It would be messy, but we've certainly cleaned up worse."
Tyler shook his head. "Oh, now that would be stupid."
As if the word was magic, dozens of red laser lines appeared, criss-crossing the room. Each of the men there, except Glen and Tyler, had several of the beams painting their chest or head.
"And if you'd read up on the Boroslav crime family from the Ukraine, you'd know how my relationship with Ivan went down. As you can see, I don't believe in taking chances."
"Don't be ridiculous, Conrad. This is a secure building. Those windows are double-layered bullet-proof glass. This isn't even a threat." Von Tieler looked like he was disappointed in his favorite pupil.
Tyler sighed. "Of course not. Remember, I said it before: I don't make threats. Feel free to go look at the windows, but I'd go slowly so you don't alarm the men at the other end of the laser sights." The bearded maestro got up, slowly and walked over to the windows. "You'll see that the bullet-proof glass which was in those windows was replaced last night with simple double-glazed high-rise stuff."
The man at the window made a grunt halfway between impressed and frustrated.
Von Tieler nodded. "A daring move, but it will avail you nothing. You should know this -- with the scale of money we have, even this media storm." Von Tieler gestured contemptuously. "Is simply a stumbling block."
The Austrian banker stood up, almost pointed at Tyler but visibly thought better of it. "If Archibald can't do it, I'll ruin you!"
Tyler laughed, and the man looked like he'd been slapped. "You'll ruin me? How? Through your police contacts? Your vast wealth?" Tyler pulled out a sheaf of papers from his tuxedo jacket, thumbed through it and pulled out a single sheet of paper. He handed the paper to the banker. "That's what you've come to."
The man read, paled and sat down. "What have you done?"
"My people went through your banks records. Yesterday I made what we found public: your various private accounts, and where several very interesting payments went. Quite a few police officials in Austria, Germany and Italy have been arrested. All of them are singing your name."
"You can't possibly think you can stop us all." Alain Rast looked red.
Tyler leafed through the papers again, and pulled out a sheet, which he handed to Rast. The man read it, and he too sat down like his strings had been cut.
"The public in Switzerland are a little less understanding about affairs than most places in Europe, but they can still be lenient. Not, however, when it's underage girls, particularly Swiss girls."
Lars Svelgi almost swelled with anger. "And for me?"
Tyler wordlessly handed across another paper. "With you we had to be a little more clever. Since you covered your bribery tracks so damned well, I just had my team invent something. You profited from selling weapons to the highest bidder, including that bomb those terrorists set off in Stockholm last year."
Svelgi looked like he was going to take a swing at Tyler, but he only took a step before he recalled himself and looked down at the laser lights on his chest.
"And me?" Von Tieler appeared to have regained his calm.
Tyler turned. "Oh, for you, something very special. And completely true. Your grandfather was a member of the SS squad responsible for looting half of Germany -- in fact, your family's fortune is based on it. Unfortunately for you, he kept detailed books. Ledgers you kept in a safe deposit box in that Swiss bank. Do you know how much easier it is to rob a bank when you own it? Child's play." Tyler handed him his sheet.
"This appears to be a copy of a warrant for my arrest -- in Israel."
"It is. You know, you can't be tried for your grandfather's crimes, it certainly wasn't your fault. I mean, look at me and my grandfather. But you can be tried for all the covering up you've done over the years, particularly when you had members of the Mossad murdered."
Von Tieler clenched his jaw. "You won't live out the week."
Tyler laughed. It really wasn't a good laugh. Glen was chilled by it. "And that brings me to my last point. I have taken out a very special insurance policy. If Glen, or I, or anyone we care about, dies -- it doesn't matter how, murder or accident or cancer -- you will all be killed."
"You can't be serious!" Rast looked like a deflating sickly balloon.
"I'm perfectly serious. I wasn't able to take away all your money, not yet, and I'm sure you have fallbacks, I know I do. But before you think you can come after me, think twice. I know some very bad people -- folks out of the Ukraine, out of Russia, you know precisely who I mean -- and they are more than happy to stand waiting, their bank accounts full, for the time when they can earn even more money killing you." Tyler swiveled and pointed at each man in turn. "In your safe house in the Cayman Islands, or your Nepalese retreat, or the house in Manitoba, or the bunker in New South Wales, or in that cottage on the Outer Hebrides." With each named location, another man looked pale and shocked. "But I suspect if it comes to that, you'll be stabbed or hung in your jail cell."
Tyler took Glen's hand, and they walked back to the double doors. Tyler turned just before leaving.
"You all took a terrific risk when you decided to come at me and mine. You gambled that I'm some kind of soft liberal idiot, unwilling to get my hands dirty. And you know what they say about gambling, gentlemen: the house always wins. And in this case, I am the house."
Tyler shut the doors behind them.
***
The King's Club security guys were waiting attentively outside. The leader came over to Tyler.
"Mr Conrad. What would you like us to do now?" He spoke in English, this time.
Glen quirked an eyebrow at Tyler, who grinned back at him. "What? I took out some extra insurance." Tyler turned to the imposing man in the body armor. "With my compliments on your professionalism, please assist the authorities on rounding up those idiots in there," Tyler gest
ured at the door behind him.
The man nodded, a small smile on his lips. He rounded up his men and went into the suite behind them. As Glen and Tyler got into the elevator, they could hear quite annoyed squawking.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
And Now The Reveal
Saturday evening and night
They held hands all the way down in the elevator, Tyler quietly humming to himself.
When Glen recognized what he was humming, he squeezed his hand. "When are you taking your bow?"
"What? What is it with you and elevators today?"
"It's you and victory. You're humming Ride of the Valkyries."
"Oh!" Tyler looked surprised at himself, and then smiled like he wouldn't be able to stop. "Yeah, it's been a long year."
"I can imagine. You'll be spinning me the whole tale when ...?"
"When we're safe."
"And that's?"
The elevator dinged, the doors opened, and their security guys were right there. All ten or so of them, which was way more than Glen thought they had left there. Glen and Tyler were immediately surrounded and hustled out a side door, President's security detail on high alert style. They were pushed into a waiting SUV. The vehicle was part of a convoy of six parked on the street. Two of them spun off towards downtown Paris and their hotel. Two more went in the opposite direction, towards the highway that would eventually reach Calais and the channel tunnel. Their pair of SUV's took a different street in an entirely different direction. Whoever might be following them wouldn't know for sure which SUV they were in.
Glen gave Tyler a questioning look as they sped through Paris.
Tyler shrugged and motioned at James, who sat in the front seat of their car. "What? I told James he had carte blanche after I dropped the bomb, and I wouldn't object to any precautions he wanted to take."
Glen blinked at that. "Oh." Then he looked at James. "We are so on lock down for a while, aren't we?"
James nodded, then looked away, his hand to his ear apparently receiving a report from someone.
"What about Lance and Antoine?" Glen asked.
"The lawyers made a deal with the French prosecution. Antoine confessed to the thefts, got immunity and told the French government all about the neo-Nazis. Oh, and Lance was set free, of course." Tyler smiled. "I assume James already took care of getting them out of the country quickly, just in case the King's Club bozos really go the extra stupid on us."
"The two of them are already at the airport, safe and sound." James motioned vaguely out of the car, presumably in the direction they were headed.
Glen sighed and leaned back into Tyler. "Ok, and we're headed where?"
"Tell you when we get there." Tyler smiled at him, and snuggled closer.
***
They got to the airport in what had to be some kind of record time. Although they hadn't been using flashing lights, diplomatic plates, or flying a little flag on their vehicles, they had been roundly ignored by every law enforcement car they'd passed -- even when greatly exceeding the speed limit. Glen wondered if there was such a thing as a reverse APB.
They did pause at the special entrance to the private hangars, and then sped out to one of the aerodromes. Both of their airships, the Hat Trick and the Puck, were parked there. They both looked ready for flight.
The security guys didn't let them out of the vehicle right away. James double-checked through his communications system, and looking around, Glen noticed that there were a lot of vehicles parked in strategic locations, and even a couple of guys on top of neighboring hangars. He was feeling more and more like a head of state getting the full treatment. After the scene with the King's Club, he was pretty glad about it, too.
Finally, James pulled open the door and ushered them into the Hat Trick. Inside, Lance and Antoine stood up from the circular observation sofa. Glen couldn't help noticing that they both had mussed hair. It made him smile.
Behind Lance and Antoine, dressed uncharacteristically in jeans and a simple blouse, was Rebecca Sterling. She took a sip from her martini glass and smiled at him. Glen almost tripped in surprise.
"Glen!" Lance jumped forward and hugged Glen, hard. Then he let him go and pulled Tyler into a hug. "Thanks, Tyler."
"You're welcome, Lance. Happy to oblige." Tyler smiled and clapped Lance on the back.
Rebecca Sterling came up the steps from the sunken lounge and put out her hand. "I guess I should get in line to thank you, too. Especially for this captivating escape plan of yours. I didn't realize these things were so roomy!"
Tyler nearly beamed at her. "Only forty million a pop. Glad you could join us. Sorry for the rush at the end."
"Not at all, darling Tyler. Wouldn't miss this little adventure for the world. And such enchanting company..." She directed her gaze at Lance and Antoine and then at Glen and Tyler. "These two are very ... energetic."
Antoine came forward a little shyly. "Also thank you." He offered his hand to Tyler and then Glen. He looked subdued and nervous -- and hot, of course. "I am a little, uh..." He gestured around at the airship.
"Overwhelmed?" Tyler said with a grin.
Antoine nodded and looked ...glum.
"What's wrong?" Glen asked.
"I do not know where this is going." Antoine looked a little trapped, even. "I mean, with Lance, yes, anywhere," The two of them smiled sappily at each other for a second. "But..." Antoine shrugged, the smile fading, his eyes wide.
"Don't worry about it." Tyler made a gesture at Tim, who produced an envelope. Tyler pulled a couple of reddish passports out of it. "Here you go, one for each of you. Also some keys, and some spending cash for later."
"These are ... these are UK passports, Tyler." Lance looked bewildered.
"Oh yeah, they still owe me a few favors."
Behind them the doors closed and Tim motioned them to take seats for lift-off. The whole thing vibrated as the engines kicked on and spun up. The airships were VTOL (vertical take-off and landing) capable, but it could still be a little rocky getting them in the air. Once there, though, the things were like being on a cruise ship.
"The United Kingdom owes you favors." Lance looked bowled over. "Are these even legal?"
"Oh, perfectly. When a government gives you false passports, they're not really false anymore." Tyler paused reaching for a drink. "And part of the deal is that Antoine will have to return to France to testify against the skinheads, but after that he's got a whole new government-made identity, kind of my own brand of witness protection."
"Thank you." Antoine looked almost like he was going to cry. Lance put his arm around Antoine's shoulders and kissed the side of his face. Glen was quietly thrilled to see that Antoine started a quiet smile at this, and visibly relaxed under Lance's attention. Yup, Glen thought, love was in the air.
Ah, Paris.
***
Shortly after take off, they had that large meal at the conference table. Glen wasn't sure how Tim or James had arranged it, but the food was take-out from some extremely fine restaurant.
"So, we are on our way to the island," Tyler started.
"The New York one?" Lance licked chocolate off his fork.
"No, the Caribbean one. We're going to hide away there for a few weeks, then you two are off to San Francisco -- and afterwards Glen and I are taking the ship out for a spin."
"Spin? You mean tour?" Glen smirked at him.
"Yeah, that."
"Uh, San Francisco?" Lance looked confused.
"The Hurston Art Institute has an opening in their summer term."
Lance looked gobsmacked. "It does?"
"And you qualify, so I made arrangements."
"You did."
Tyler gave Lance a level look. Lance blushed, Glen-style, and ducked his head. "Thanks, Tyler."
"You're welcome."
"And me?" Antoine still looked kind of lost.
"You? I was hoping that you would consider working for me."
"As what?" Antoine narrowed his eyes.
"Doing what?"
"Sort of what you used to do, only now you'd be doing it for the Skuld Foundation -- doing good works for people who need help."
Antoine looked thoughtful. "How would stealing help peoples?"
"Oh, you never know -- remember, we don't just build hospitals and rescue schools. We also help political dissidents and oppressed minorities. Sometimes you might need to extract a little something from a corrupt government."
Antoine nodded, still thinking. "But when I am not working for you, I will be with Lance, yes?"
"Definitely."
Antoine looked at Lance, who nodded at him. Antoine faced Tyler squarely. "Then, yes."
Rebecca Sterling glanced around at them. "I must say, you not only put out a superb spread, you have the most interesting dinner chatter I've ever experienced. I presume this delicious lad," She nodded at Antoine. "Is the thief who stole all those paintings last week?"
"He is, but don't hold it against him. He's otherwise a great guy." Tyler grinned at Antoine. "Plus he's family now."
At that, Antoine had a slightly stunned expression. Lance just smiled.
They concentrated on the dessert for a few minutes, in companionable silence. Then Glen smacked himself in the forehead, and while the rest of the table looked at him, pulled out a coin.
"Flip you for it," Glen said to Lance.
"What?" Lance looked like Glen was offering him dodgy Florida real estate.
