Burke's Gamble

by William F. Brown

  Carbonari began looking around in a panic, realizing for the first time that he really was doomed. “My helicopter. I’m getting out of here,” he said as he turned and ran back into the bedroom.

  From the roof of Tuscany Towers, Ace continued to observe what was happening inside the penthouse, and finally keyed his mic.

  “Ghost, Ace. I have more movement inside. Our four are still vertical and mobile.”

  “Copy that.”

  “And I count seven… no, make that eight targets,” he added as he took up the slack on the trigger.

  “Copy that too.”

  “Orders?” he asked hopefully.

  “Continue to observe and report,” Ghost answered. “When Chester and Bulldog get here, we’ll hit them from both sides and take the penthouse.”

  Theo stepped over to Martijn and whispered. “I believe it is time for us to depart as well.”

  “Agreed,” his brother answered as he turned back to the computer screen and sighed. All that money, he thought, gone. But Theo was right. This had been a good ride while it lasted, but a smart gambler knows when a hot run is over.

  Theo motioned toward the helicopter sitting on the landing pad outside. “Does your ‘friend’ really know how to fly that thing?”

  “Yes. Surprisingly well in fact.”

  “Good. I have no desire to talk to the New Jersey police or the American FBI, and that is a Sikorsky S-70, the civilian Blackhawk. It is quite capable of taking us to New York City, and from there we can head for Canada and back to the Emirates. Are you coming?”

  “No, I believe I’ll take the sailboat. I have known this would end sooner or later, and I have been planning a long, slow cruise through the eastern Caribbean. The timing is not ideal, but it is what it is, as they say. Before I go, however, there are a few things down in my office that I would not want to leave behind.”

  “Like that lovely blonde fringe benefit of yours?” Theo laughed as he turned and looked at Ernie, Linda, Jimmy, and Patsy. “But what should we do with those four?”

  Martijn followed his gaze and studied them for a moment, as Benson joined them. “What do you think we should do?” Martijn asked him. “Kill them?”

  “Whoa! Not so fast.” Benson shook his head. “In the first place, the girl is mine.”

  “Why?” Theo frowned. “What is she to you?”

  “It’s an old story. Let’s say we have some unfinished business, so she’s coming with me. As for the others — his wife, his friend, and the card counter… I wouldn’t recommend it. Burke will never stop until he hunts you down and cuts you into little pieces.”

  Theo stared at Benson for a moment with a thin smile. “Someday, I would dearly love to test that hypothesis, but you are correct. This is not the time. Any other suggestions?”

  “Leave them here and lock them in the coat closet. As soon as you lift off, Donatello can phone his friend, the Police Chief, and tell him they were the ones who killed Roselli’s men up here. He can also tell him that they came from that big yacht across the harbor. That should keep everyone occupied for a while.”

  That was when Carbonari returned from the bedroom carrying a heavy briefcase. “It appears you’ll have some passengers,” Martijn told him. “Theo and his men need a ride, at least as far as New York.”

  Carbonari stared at them, not entirely certain whether he wanted to share anything with them, and began counting heads. “With me, that makes… thirteen. That’s far too many. The damned thing will never get off the ground!”

  “No, you misunderstand,” Martijn answered with a thin smile. “Benson and I are not going, and neither are those four. That brings it down to six, plus you.”

  “It’s still a lot of weight,” Carbonari said as he gave Theo and his mercenaries a cold, appraising glance. The mercs were large, muscular men, like him. Whether the weight was the problem, or whether Carbonari simply didn’t trust any of them was hard to say, but Theo Van Gries knew how to solve the problem. His Glock 17 had been casually hanging down his right leg with its silencer still attached. He brought it up in a swift motion and fired, putting three bullets into Klaus Reimer’s chest. The German had been standing off to the side, leaning against one of the penthouse’s expensive, overstuffed chairs. His eyes were closed and he held his injured arm clutched tightly to his chest. He never saw it coming as the three heavy slugs blew him backwards over the chair and onto the floor.

  “There.” Theo turned back to Carbonari with a satisfied smile. “Now it appears we are six, Donatello. Is that more acceptable?”

  “You animal!” Linda screamed at him. “Is that how you treat your men?”

  “My men? We are Dutch and he was a German, who made himself a liability.” Theo chuckled as he glanced around at the other four mercs. They were also smiling, all except the Scotsman, Reggie MacGregor, who stood against the near wall.

  Theo turned and faced Linda. “I did not expect you to understand, Mrs. Burke,” he answered. As he did, the barrel of his Glock came up again and he fired a fourth time, hitting MacGregor in the center of his forehead. The Englishman’s eyes went wide as he slowly slid down the wall and dropped to the floor. “Oops, my mistake, Donatello,” Theo added, sounding embarrassed. “It now appears we are five.”

  Ace could only shake his head as he watched. He had received a clear order from a man he respected more than anyone else in the world to lie there and do nothing, but it really pissed him off. They shot Dorothy. He held the most powerful sniper rifle in the world in his hands, and he could do nothing. That was when he saw a series of bright, white flashes inside the penthouse. Gunshots! He was too far away to hear them from inside the closed suite of rooms, but it was four gunshots. He had seen three bright flashes, followed moments later by a fourth. He made a slight adjustment to the focus on his spotter scope, just in time to see a body fall on the floor to a join a second one already lying there.

  “Ghost, Ace. I saw the flash of four gunshots inside.”

  “Our people?” Burke asked anxiously.

  “No, it looks like Tango on Tango… and don’t worry, I’m still holding.”

  Donatello Carbonari backed away a half step from Theo, looking very concerned now.

  “What’s in there, Donatello? Your lunch?” Theo asked as he pointed at the heavy briefcase the young Mafioso was carrying. “Our mother told us that a gentleman should always bring enough to share.”

  “Lunch is ‘Dutch,’ today, Theo. So if you want to go to New York, let’s go,” Carbonari said tersely, ignoring the implied threat.

  Martijn smiled. He raised his Walther PPK and pointed it at Linda Burke as he walked toward the big Chicago policeman. “It is Captain Travers, is it not?” Martijn asked pleasantly enough. Ernie said nothing, and Martijn didn’t really care if he did. “I would like for you and the others to step into that closet, if you would.” Again, Travers said nothing, nor did he move. “Rest assured, I have no desire to shoot a policeman. But you will observe that while I am speaking to you, my pistol is pointed at Mrs. Burke. Do what I say or I will shoot her and the young man without a second thought.”

  Ernie realized that Martijn held the ace of trump, so he motioned for the other three to walk to the closet. By the time they got there, Gramps Benson had joined Van Gries and held the door open.

  Like the rest of the penthouse, even the closet doors and frames were made of thick, New Jersey oak, and the hinges and hardware were solid. “Nice craftsmanship,” Benson said as he tapped on the door. “That should even hold a side of beef like you, captain.”

  Bob entered the south emergency stairwell in the hotel’s six-story tower with The Batman close on his heels. As he ran up the first set of risers, he stopped to look up and listen. He heard nothing. The building was strangely quiet, even though this was prime time in the casino. As he pulled out his Beretta and rechecked the load again, a little voice inside his head told him it was six stories straight up, plus the penthouse. Doing some quick arithmetic gymnastics, h
e realized that meant about one hundred and thirty steps.

  “How’s your legs, old man?” The Batman asked.

  “I guess we’ll find out,” Bob answered as he set off running up the stairs, taking them two at a time. “Remember that op we ran in the mountains north of Jalalabad, where we toted two machine guns, a mortar, full packs and all that ammo?”

  “I don’t want to. It almost killed us.”

  “See? This is nothing,” Bob lied, knowing that three years piddling around in suburban health clubs wasn’t the same as being combat ready. Neither was he, but Linda and the others were up there, so he picked up the pace even faster. As he turned the corner at the fourth floor, he was feeling the pain and burning in his chest and legs.

  That was when he heard a new voice in his tactical radio earpiece.

  “Ghost, this is Dinosaur Actual, copy?” Dinosaur Actual? Bob cringed as he immediately understood O’Connor’s little joke and stopped climbing in midstride. “Dinosaur” was what a handful of the more irreverent junior officers called General Stansky, but only behind his back and when they were absolutely, positively certain that neither Stansky nor Pat O’Connor could hear them. Adding the word “Actual” meant it was the general himself calling, proving that the Old Man really did have a sense of humor. The only problem, Bob thought, was he wished he didn’t have it right then.

  “Dinosaur Actual, this is Ghost,” Bob acknowledged. The Army’s Rifleman tactical radio was a great piece of equipment but it wasn’t designed to operate inside high-rise commercial buildings. “You’re breaking up some. I’m inside a lot of concrete down here.”

  “You and Jimmy Hoffa. This is New Jersey, Bobby. What’s going on down there?” Stansky asked.

  “Targets are in the penthouse and on the Bimini Bay roof, we have eyes on, long guns on, are closing in from below, and are about to engage.”

  “Any additional casualties?”

  “Negative.”

  “Good. You sound like you’re puffing. Guess you didn’t take the elevator?”

  “Roger that.”

  “Your objective is lit up like Times Square on New Year’s Eve, and there’s a large bird parked on the pad. Looks like civilian Blackhawk. The Irishman and I will be loitering up here for a while. We’re stealthy as hell and locked and loaded lots of ordnance, so you can make my day if you want me to take it out, or if you need anything else dented.”

  “Roger that,” Bob said, shaking his head.

  ‘Locked and loaded? Dented?’ Bob laughed to himself. He hoped like hell that the “Irishman” would remind Stansky that this is a large civilian hotel in downtown New Jersey, not a hot LZ near Pleiku in Vietnam or the Republican Guard headquarters on the road to Baghdad. No need to inform the other guys, Bob realized. Stansky had spoken on their local, tactical net, and they had all heard.

  Theo stood on the other side of the room talking with Smit, Bakker, and DeVries as Benson joined Martijn at the closet door. He allowed Ernie and Linda to pass through but he stopped Patsy and pulled her aside. Jimmy turned and was about to go after him until Gramps raised his Beretta and pointed it at the Geek’s forehead. “Don’t be stupid, boy, and do not cause a scene. You and I went through this once before on the boat,” he reminded him, speaking in a hushed voice. “You ended up with a very ugly dent in your head but you’re still walking.”

  “You’re not taking her anywhere!” Jimmy stood up straight and dared him to shoot.

  Benson stepped forward and pressed his Beretta against Jimmy’s forehead. “Get inside, or that talented brain of yours will be splattered all over the closet. Understand?”

  “I’ll be fine, Jimmy,” Patsy told him. “He doesn’t want me, he wants the gold Vinnie stole, that’s all.”

  Benson’s expression turned angry as he shoved Jimmy backwards into the closet. After he locked the door, he dragged a heavy dining room chair over and jammed it under the doorknob, wedging the door shut. That was when he felt the barrel of a Glock 17 press against the back of his neck, and he heard Theo Van Gries’s voice behind him.

  “The gold? Did I hear that right? The girl knows where Pastorini hid the gold?” Theo asked quietly as he reached over Benson’s shoulder and took the Beretta from his hand. “You knew this and you did not tell us, Benson?”

  “No, no, it’s nothing like that. You’ve got it all wrong. You see…” Benson tried to stall until he could come up with a better explanation, but he knew it had to be good. Theo Van Gries was the Devil incarnate. He could see through people, and he was almost impossible to lie to.

  That was when Bensen heard Martijn Van Gries’s voice behind him as well. This was the perfect storm he had been trying to avoid. “Wait a minute,” Martijn asked him as he began to remember. “Did you say Pastorini? Vinnie Pastorini? Tell me you don’t mean that infuriating American Army Sergeant who started all this?”

  Theo spun Benson around, looked him in the eyes, and said to Martijn, “We knew Pastorini in Iraq. My men and I were asked to assist Iraqi Intelligence with a little job — actually it was quite a large job — that blew back on us. We ended up holding 'the bag,' so to speak, and the investigators began watching us like hawks. We couldn’t move them, but Pastorini could, by putting it in some American machinery he was shipping back to the States. We told him if he did, we’d cancel his gambling debts and cut him in for a share of the profits. Unfortunately, when he got back here, he forgot about his partners. That was why I sent Benson and another man over here. But it looks as if the captain caught the same disease Pastorini had. Tell me, Martijn, what did you mean when you said, ‘He started all this?’ ”

  Martijn stepped closer and also eyed Benson. “Several weeks ago, Pastorini lost a lot of money in the casino, three hundred, maybe four hundred thousand.”

  “The fool never could gamble.” Theo shook his head. “He owed us a great deal, too.”

  “We were holding Pastorini in a fifth-floor room while Burke went to get the cash to pay off his markers, but there appears to have been some kind of an accident. Pastorini tried to get away, and he fell from a window ledge. We thought one of my security men did it, that idiot Shaka Corliss, but Corliss kept denying it. Anyway, that is what brought Burke and his Deltas into this.”

  Theo’s eyes turned hard and cold, and he suddenly jammed his Glock hard into Benson’s neck. “You told me he died in a car accident before you could get him to tell you where the gold was, didn’t you? So who is this girl?”

  “Oh, I can tell you that,” Martijn jumped in. “She is Pastorini’s girlfriend. They were living together at Fort Bragg and they came up here to Atlantic City together.”

  “Of course!” Theo said. “You knew Burke and all the others. You were one of them! You knew they would come up here and tear this place apart to avenge Pastorini, and you knew my brother would counter by calling in me and my Dutch Special Ops friends to stop them, didn’t you?” Suddenly Theo began to laugh. “Oh, this is so very delicious! It is too bad that you and I did not compare notes earlier, Martijn. Don’t you see? Benson orchestrated this little charade of his in hopes that Burke and I would kill each other off. That would leave him with all the gold, with no one chasing him, and with no need to split it with anyone.”

  “And you almost pulled it off, didn’t you, Benson?” Theo jabbed him again with the pistol. “Something tells me that Martijn’s security man had nothing to do with Pastorini falling out that window, did he? Perhaps Pastorini got you angry, perhaps he still refused to share, perhaps there was a fight or he ran. In any event, it was you who killed him.”

  “You’re out of your mind, Theo,” Benson tried to argue. “Why would I do something like that? I don’t have the gold. Vinnie never told me where it was.”

  “Perhaps not, but you know something, or you think the girl does.”

  That was when Eric Smit joined the conversation. “Gold?” he asked as he dug his hands into Benson’s pants pockets, turning them inside out until he found the glittering lion medalli
on and its broken gold chain. “He tore this from the girl’s neck while we were on that boat tonight. It is part of what we took from that museum in Baghdad, isn’t it?” Smit glared at Benson. “Give him to me and Lucas. We will pound the truth out of him.”

  “There is no need for that,” Theo said as he took the lion medallion from Smit’s hand and held it up, admiring its rich yellow glow. He turned toward Patsy. “Where is the gold?”

  “Like I told him,” Patsy pointed at Benson, “it is in a box in the garage, up in the corner of the ceiling. Take it! It’s all yours. I don’t want it, and I never did.”

  Theo smiled. “From the mouths of babes.”

  “Gentlemen, gentlemen, this is all a misunderstanding.” Benson tried to smile, but by that time Joost DeVries, Lucas Bakker and Smit had drawn in close, and they all had their Glock automatics pointed at him.

  “You know, in the Dutch Army we have a term for a soldier who cheats his comrades,” Bakker said to Benson. “Rarely does it end well for the fellow.”

  “The gold, how much are you talking about, brother?” Martijn asked, more than a little curious.

  “Ten million Euro, give or take, and now we have half the number of partners to split it with as we did when we started.” Theo smiled. “Are you sure you don’t want to reconsider and come with us?”

  “No, I have some business of my own to attend to,” Martijn answered, “but we do need to get out of here.”

  “Yes,” Theo quickly agreed. “And there will be a slight change of plans. Now that I have lightened the load, Benson and the girl will come with us too. Donatello will make a slight detour to drop us off in North Carolina on his way to New York City.”

  “I’m doing what?” Carbonari whipped around and glared at the Dutchman.

  By that time, however, Theo had his Glock 17 pointed at Carbonari. “Donatello, I do not really need to take Benson along and I no longer need the girl. For that matter, Sergeant Smit is quite capable of flying a Blackhawk so I do not need you either. So, the choice is yours. You can either fly us down there and be on your way, or you can join the rest of the bodies strewn about your penthouse.”