Fast and Loose

by Fern Michaels

“Zip. It’s not going to happen unless someone volunteers the information, and I do not see that happening. Our best hope, I think, lies with Abner and where his true loyalty lies. All we can do is wait and see.”

  Fergus scrunched his face into a tight grimace. “And if he—”

  Charles didn’t let Fergus finish what he was going to say. “Then we do whatever we have to do. One of ours, one of theirs . . . We do what we have to do. We can’t let emotions take over.”

  “Isabelle?”

  Charles sighed again, a long, lonely sound. “Yes, then there is Isabelle.” He finished his wine, checked on his chicken Marsala, and said that dinner would be ready in ten minutes.

  “Sounds good to me. I’ll set the table.”

  “Busy work, Fergus.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Chapter 4

  It was ten minutes past the witching hour when Abner Tookus pulled into a Hampton Inn off the interstate. He wasn’t tired yet, but he was feeling both anxious and frustrated. He’d been driving for over twelve hours, and his body was warning him to pay attention to what he was doing. Besides, he wanted to check his texts and e-mails. Even though he’d sent out that e-mail blast to all his contacts, urging them to call, he wasn’t surprised by the fact that no one had. Hackers did not like talking on the phone; they preferred texting and e-mails so they could then erase it all, leaving no trace of contact. He understood their concerns to a point. But only to a point.

  The night clerk, a college-aged kid, looked as frazzled as Abner felt. He looked up at Abner and asked, “How do you want to pay for this, sir?”

  The words were out of Abner’s mouth before he could think about it. “Cash.” He peeled off five twenty-dollar bills from a money clip in his pocket and handed them over. The kid didn’t blink an eye. The motel wasn’t one of those rent-by-the-hour places, so Abner was surprised that paying in cash did not lead to at least a raised eyebrow.

  Abner pocketed the receipt and listened to directions on how to get to his room. Before Abner was out the door, the kid had his nose back in the textbook he’d been studying when Abner first arrived.

  Following the kid’s directions, Abner went around the corner and up one flight. His room, 302, was the second one on the left. It looked just like all hotel rooms. Neat and clean, with a brown, yellow, and orange bedspread and drapes. The bathroom was done in black-and-white tile and had plenty of towels. Small bottles of everything women liked: shampoo, conditioner, hand lotion, Q-tips, cotton balls, designer liquid soap that smelled like lilacs, a packet containing a needle and thread, and a shower cap. Everything was in sanitized plastic wrap. Thirty-six-inch TV, minibar. Wi-Fi hookup. Home away from home.

  Abner tossed his duffel bag on a stool and stripped down as he headed for the shower. He lathered up and washed his hair as he stood under the pounding hot spray. When he rinsed off, only fifteen minutes had passed. There being no thick, thirsty robes at this motel, he wrapped himself in the extra-large bath sheets provided.

  Back in the bedroom, he unzipped his duffel and pulled out a pair of well-worn sleep boxers and an equally worn oversize T-shirt. He yawned. Maybe he really was tired but too stupid to know it. He hooked up his computer, opened the mini-fridge, and popped a Heineken, which was not ice cold. He opened a bag of chips and a bag of peanuts and munched and swigged away as he scanned his e-mails. Nothing from RCHood. Strange. Very strange. He almost felt relieved. Next, he checked his texts. Forty-four in all. None from RCHood. He’s playing with me, Abner thought to himself. He’s going to make me go to him, because he’s my mentor. He knows something’s up. He just doesn’t know what it is yet.

  Abner wondered how many of the hackers had heard from RC today. He quickly sent out three e-mails and two texts to hackers he stayed in daily contact with to ask that very question. All five responded within minutes, saying RC had checked in around two that very afternoon, asking what was going on and if any of them knew where TRIPLEM was going. All five had told RC they knew nothing. They asked Abner where he was, in fact, going. To which Abner replied, Jackson Hole, Wyoming, without missing a beat. He hated lying, but given the circumstances, at the moment he saw no alternative. There was no way that he was going to reveal to his hacker friends that he was off to Las Vegas, given what was going down at the casinos there. He itched to call Jack or Harry . . . someone. He really needed to do that, but he also knew he wasn’t going to do any such thing until he hit Vegas. The people who had raised him did not raise a fool.

  The red numerals on the bedside clock said it was 2:10 a.m. when he disposed of his trash, brushed his teeth, and climbed into the bed, which he found surprisingly comfortable. His last conscious thought before drifting off to sleep was the words Screw me over, and I will wipe out your entire bloodline. He clutched the special gold shield in his fist, knowing he had backup in the form of Countess Anna de Silva, the sisters, and the brothers. No sir, his foster mama didn’t raise a fool.

  Abner slept for two hours and was back on the road by five in the morning, in his hand a cup of the lobby coffee, which was so rancid, he tossed it out the window after one sip. He’d stop at the first fast-food joint he saw. He settled back and let his mind race. Travel time from D.C. to Las Vegas by car was thirty-seven hours and two minutes. If his calculations were correct, and he drove straight through, with minimal stopping, he could reach Vegas by midnight. Possibly sooner if the troopers didn’t catch him for speeding. He wondered if there would be a welcoming committee waiting to greet him. There was welcoming, and then there was welcoming. He removed his hand from the steering wheel just long enough to stick it in his pocket to feel the comforting special gold shield.

  A new day! He turned on the Rover’s stereo and listened to Bon Jovi. He cranked up the volume and sang along. Anything to keep his dark thoughts at bay.

  * * *

  As Abner was hitting the interstate, Jack and Cyrus were climbing in the F-150 and heading to the farm, where Jack showered, shaved, and changed his clothes. Cyrus romped in the yard, chasing two squirrels, who, since they knew he was not allowed to catch them, taunted him mercilessly.

  After he made an enormous breakfast for the two of them, which they both devoured like hungry wolves, he called everyone to say he was on his way back to the BOLO Building. All the members confirmed they were also on the way.

  Jack picked up the oversize duffel that he had packed before going to bed, knowing he wouldn’t be coming back to the farm today. If he had anything to say about it, they would be ready to fly out as soon as Dennis alerted the pilot for his Gulfstream. All he had to do was convince the others that going in incognito wasn’t going to work. His gut was clicking away on all cylinders, and he never ignored his gut warnings.

  By 10:15 a.m., everyone had arrived, and the Bunn coffeemaker was working overtime as Jack took to the floor.

  “Look, we can vote on this, but I don’t see the point. I say we go in as ourselves. We’re on vacation because our wives are away. It’s that simple. That way, we don’t have to worry about tripping up on our legends or give Kelly a moment’s worry. I’m going to call Bert and apprise him of our plan, if you all agree. Dennis, if we’re in agreement, alert the pilot that we’re ready to go. Let’s hear it!”

  Every hand in the room shot upward, including Dennis’s right hand, since he was pressing in numbers with his left.

  There was a slightly sour note to Charles’s tone when he said, “Fergus and I came to the same conclusion last evening. As you can see by the door, we brought our bags with us. Our dog sitter arrived at six this morning, so we’re good.”

  The others all had their own stories, but basically, they were all the same. There was luggage piled everywhere. Harry, like Maggie, traveled with only a backpack, and both of them were wearing one.

  “Okay, we’re all on the same page, then. For starters, I don’t think any of us can even venture a guess as to how long we’ll be in Vegas, so we just leave it as undetermined for the moment. I’m going to call Bert now
. If you have any questions, have them ready.”

  Dennis raised his hand to speak. “Wheels up in ninety minutes. We’ll be on the ground mid-afternoon Vegas time.”

  Maggie poured coffee as Jack placed the call to Macau, China. Bert answered on the first ring. He quickly brought Bert up to date.

  “It would help if you could arrange our stay—good rooms, concierge floor, that kind of thing. Don’t forget about Cyrus. Snowden and his men are on the way. Actually, they took a red-eye flight, so they’re already there, though we haven’t heard from him as yet.

  “Knowing Abner the way I do, I expect he’ll arrive around midnight tonight. He’ll drive straight through today. I don’t know this for a fact, but I would guess he stayed on the road yesterday a good twelve hours. He’ll be the last to arrive, so be sure to book his room, too. Do you have anything else we need to know?”

  “No. Thanks for doing this, guys. You, too, Maggie. I hope I’m not sending you all on a wild-goose chase. I don’t think so, but in this business, you never really know. You realize you can reach me any hour of the day or night on these special phones. Always use them, since they cannot be hacked. Hell, they haven’t even been manufactured yet, just the prototypes we have. Snowden deserves a medal for getting them for us. He must know some pretty influential people.”

  “He does,” Charles said, a smile in his voice.

  “In that case, I think you all should communicate with each other only using these phones once you get to Vegas. And, of course, when you call me. Can’t be too careful where all this is concerned. We’re talking tons of money blowing out the doors of the casinos. I have to be honest with all of you. I can’t believe I’m the only one who tumbled onto this. Those guys at Wynn and MGM are like sharks. If anyone should have tumbled onto it, it’s them.”

  “Maybe they’ll give you a finder’s fee if we pull this off,” Dennis chirped.

  “That would be nice, now wouldn’t it? I’d donate it all to the Wounded Warrior Project. Stay in touch. If you need me to run interference with Kelly, just let me know. Sometimes, he can be a real pain in the ass and full of himself. Step on him, and I’ll set him straight.”

  The connection was broken.

  “Sounds like we’re good to go,” Ted said.

  Maggie unplugged the coffeemaker and rinsed the carafe out. “Now we’re good to go.”

  Cyrus was already waiting at the back door, Dragon and Goldie clutched between his teeth. He was patient, knowing that Jack had to set the timers for the lights and key in the security code before they could go.

  * * *

  It was an hour past noon when Dixson Kelly made his way to the registration desk to make sure Bert Navarro’s instructions were followed to the letter. He felt on shaky ground because he’d never heard that tone in his boss’s voice before. Never mind the actual words, which had made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

  “Don’t give me any shit on this, Dix. Just do what I tell you, and do it as soon as we end this call. There’s no reason for you to question me. I’m giving you a goddamned order, so obey it, okay? Whatever it takes, make it happen, and then get back to me.”

  He’d called down to the main desk, issued the order, and been told it was impossible. He was now on his way to make the impossible possible, bang some heads or worse, as he wondered what the hell was going on and who these people were that Bert had said deserved such VIP treatment at a moment’s notice. He was supposed to be in charge—he even had a contract that said that was the case—and here was his boss, who was half a world away, telling him what he should do. “This damn well sucks,” he muttered under his breath.

  His face like a thundercloud, Kelly opened the gate that would allow him to step behind the counter. The senior floor supervisor immediately headed to his private office in the back, followed by Kelly. His name was Neal Sanders. He was a fussy little man with a full head of hair that wasn’t real, contacts a shade of blue that wasn’t on any color chart, and lifts in his shoes. Sanders took the initiative the moment he closed the door behind him.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Kelly, but I cannot accommodate you. Where do you think I can come up with fifteen rooms, with nine on the concierge level, at a moment’s notice? Everything is booked, has been booked for months.” To prove his point, the little man whipped out a room chart, turned on his computer, and started talking at warp speed, repeating the word impossible as many times as he could fit it into the conversation.

  Dixson Kelly clenched and unclenched his teeth as he struggled to remain calm, professional, and authoritative. “I guess you didn’t hear the words ‘whatever it takes.’ What that means to you is you have roughly two hours to clear out those rooms, give the guests whatever they want. If necessary, send them to Wynn. We have the same agreement with Wynn about our overflow as they have with us. Two hours, Sanders, not a moment more. And I want flowers and champagne in every room. Have housekeeping make sure to put in new robes and the big bath sheets. Go heavy on the amenities.”

  The little man started to run his hands through his hair, then thought better of what he was doing. “This . . . this is outrageous! What will the guests think? No one likes having someone else touch their things, much less pack them up. They will not understand. This can’t be happening,” he wailed. “Two hours! That is not nearly enough time.”

  Kelly leaned in closer, his eyes narrow slits that matched the grim slit of his lips. “Make it enough time. Help out your staff. My instructions are to tell you that if there is even one glitch, just one, you will be on the unemployment line tomorrow morning. I’d get cracking if I were you.”

  Kelly turned on his heel and left the office. He felt like a heel for reaming out the guy who, more than anyone else, really did care about their guests’ comfort. But he was following Bert’s orders to the letter, because he knew Bert would send him to the same unemployment line as Sanders if he didn’t do as he was told.

  Kelly walked the main casino floor, his eyes everywhere, his thoughts jumbled and confused. He headed for the Tiki Bar and ordered a cup of coffee. He carried it to his favorite dark corner and sat down. He could feel a monster headache coming, one that would turn into a full migraine, as he tried to make sense of Bert’s order. Friends of Bert were checking in. That had to mean in some way that they were also friends or associates of Countess Anna de Silva, the woman with the diamond tiara who happened to be the owner of Babylon. As everyone in the casino knew, she was one lady you did not mess around with.

  Kelly’s head started to pound full force when he thought about relocating all the high rollers already in residence. A few of them would give him a pile of shit; he knew it as sure as he needed to draw another breath to keep on living. He thought of the bad press this was going to bring down around his ears. He gulped down the coffee, which was growing cold. He picked up his cup, walked back to the bar, and told the bartender to add two fingers of good whiskey. A first for him. He’d never in his life drunk on the job. Well, there was a first time for everything, and this was one of those times.

  Back in his chair in the corner, Kelly pulled the sheet of paper out of his pocket where he’d scribbled the names of the arriving guests. Other than Harry Wong, the world’s number one martial arts expert, who had been in Las Vegas for demonstrations many times, he recognized the name of only one person: Jackson Porter Sparrow, the director of the FBI. Well, shit, shit, shit, shit! He rubbed at his temples, his eyes closed. When he opened them, his vision was slightly blurry. Standing in front of him was the biggest man he’d ever seen in his life, one Philonias Needlemeyer, owner of not one, but two penthouse apartments here at Babylon. Bert had introduced him to the giant a few years back, but this was the first time he’d seen him since.

  He tried to smile but knew he failed. He stood and held out his hand. “Dixson Kelly, Mr. Needlemeyer. Bert Navarro introduced us right after I came to work here.”

  Philonias held out one massive hand. “I remember that. You look like you might n
eed some aspirin, Mr. Kelly,” Philonias said, setting down a tempting-looking salad on the bar table.

  “Oncoming migraine, sorry to say. Anything I can help you with?”

  “No, but thank you for asking. I’m good.” Philonias saw Kelly’s eyes go to the spindly bar stool. He laughed, a great booming sound. “Not to worry. I’m not going to sit on it. I’ll stand up and eat, the way I always do. I’ve heard that two Aleve will knock out a migraine within minutes. I don’t know if that’s true or not. Just thought I would mention it. Well, it was nice meeting you again, Mr. Kelly. Good luck with that migraine.” That ended Philonias’s end of the conversation. He turned his massive body toward the table and attacked his salad.

  For no reason that he could fathom, Kelly felt like the big man chowing down on the healthy-looking salad in front of him had just issued a threat to him. He shook his head once, then again, to clear his thoughts. He never could think straight when he had a migraine. Either that, or he was losing it entirely.

  Kelly felt like his head was on an anvil that was being pounded with a very heavy mallet. He walked as fast as he could out to the main floor, then to a boutique at the end of the hall, where he bought a bottle of Aleve and swallowed two of them dry. Then he headed for the elevator that would take him to his apartment. He needed to think. Really think.

  What the hell, he wondered, had just happened in the Tiki Bar?

  Chapter 5

  Kelly pressed the digits on his in-house cell that would connect him with his assistant, Pete Justice.

  “Pete, I need you to take over for me for the next two hours. I have something I need to attend to.”

  Assured that his orders would be followed, Kelly yanked at his tie with the perfect Windsor knot as he simultaneously tried to shrug out of his jacket. He tossed both on a chair as he kicked off his shoes, then flopped down on the couch, which was more comfortable than his bed. He took a second to set his internal clock for a ninety-minute nap, which hopefully would take the edge off his migraine. He’d promised Bert he would be on hand to greet his guests when they arrived. Knowing Bert, his ass would be grass if he didn’t follow through on that promise.