B005J4EW5G EBOK

by Mack Maloney

  But with the last squeeze of his trigger, Nolan heard a disturbing click!

  Damn …

  He was out of ammo.

  15

  Monte Carlo

  THE FOUR BIKINI models had been a fixture in the Grand Maison penthouse since Beta Squad’s arrival.

  They’d tried valiantly to get Twitch’s laptop connected online via Wi-Fi. They’d kept the penthouse’s bar well-stocked. They’d made the luxurious surroundings that much more luxurious just by lounging around and looking gorgeous. They’d also used a lot of towels.

  But now, almost two hours had passed since Maurice’s visit and yet the girls never returned from their swim.

  But that was OK with Batman and Twitch. Maurice’s last instruction to them was to sit tight, stay low, and await further information on the time and place of the grand gagnant.

  And that’s what they were doing, without the girls distracting them.

  * * *

  THEY WERE OUT on the balcony again when they heard the penthouse elevator coming up.

  Batman was waiting when the door swished open and a thirtyish somewhat world-weary man stepped out. He was dressed informally for Monte Carlo—jeans and a t-shirt—but because he looked like someone who made a living working with his hands, Batman’s first thought was that he might be the real technician, really here to fix the Wi-Fi.

  Then the guy said: “Maurice sent me. I have some information for you.”

  Batman and Twitch led the visitor out to the balcony and had him sit down. Batman poured him a Portuguese Sagres beer.

  “So, what can you tell us?” Batman asked him. “You have the details on the grand gagnant?

  “Even better,” the man replied—like Maurice, he was an American. “I have details about the Z-box itself. What’s in it, what it’s all about.”

  “You’re joking,” Twitch said.

  The guy shook his head no. “I’ve seen it myself, just recently,” he said. “Maurice had me flown in just to brief you guys.”

  Batman and Twitch were suddenly paying rapt attention.

  “Tell us everything,” Batman urged him.

  “I work the docks on Little Nicobar Island,” the guy began. “Ever hear of it?”

  Batman and Twitch nodded yes. Little Nicobar, aka “Little Nicky,” was part of an archipelago off the northwest coast of Sumatra. Though physically closer to Indonesia, it was claimed as part of India. It was a weird little place, a real tropical paradise but also notorious as a smuggling center for everything from drugs and weapons to stolen luxury cars and jewels. A lot of human trafficking also took place there. Extremely high Acapulco-style cliffs made up its northern coastline and many of the natives spent their time diving off these peaks into the ocean below, near suicidal behavior for anyone less than an expert. It was said anyone who lived there was wacky because Little Nicky seemed to be hit by tsunamis, typhoons and/or major earthquakes on almost a monthly basis.

  “I was in the U.S. Navy until a few years ago,” the visitor went on. “We stopped at Little Nicky on a tsunami relief mission and I fell in love with the place. It’s really paradise. When I mustered out, I went back to visit and decided to stay.

  “But as you must know, there’s also a lot of illegal activity happening there. Drugs, stolen merchandise, forced prostitution—weapons. Lots of weapons. The Indian police do very little because the place is so far away from the mainland.

  “I was there about a year when the Agency contacted me and asked if I could keep an eye out for anything terrorist-related transiting through Little Nicky’s port. They said they’d pay me a couple hundred bucks a month, so I signed on.”

  He took a long swig of his beer.

  “Fast forward to just a few days ago. These guys come to us; they’re pirates, Indonesian types, though they’re sailing a Vietnamese eel boat. They had some rifles they wanted to put in storage. That sort of thing is done a lot on Little Nicky, too. My boss on the docks asked me to help unload these things. They were crates that looked pretty old; I’m not sure any rifle inside them would even work.

  “Once everything was off loaded, I saw these guys had this other thing, something they were keeping with them. It looked like a little metal coffin. It had a large ‘Z’ carved into it and a weird locking device that looked like it needed a special key to open it.

  “Three of these guys were just grunts fooling around with this box while their boss was helping store their weapons. One of them had a battery-powered screwdriver and wanted to use it to open the box. They argued for a while about whether they should try to break the lock, to see if the box would open.

  “They finally decided to do it. But as soon as they did, as soon as that lid opened, this green glow came out, and seconds later these three guys standing closest to it all dropped dead.”

  Batman and Twitch were stunned. “Dead?” Twitch asked. “As in no-longer-breathing dead?”

  The guy nodded emphatically. “I don’t know if it was radiation, or some kind of biohazard? Or something chemical? Maybe a combination of all three,” he said. “But they were DOA, just like that.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Twitch groaned. “So, it is a weapon.”

  “How close were you to this box?” Batman asked the informant.

  The guy sipped his beer. “I’m not sure,” he replied. “Maybe ten feet or so.”

  “And the inside of this box—you said it was glowing?”

  He nodded. “Like something from a horror movie.”

  “Pretty powerful stuff,” Batman said.

  The guy nodded again.

  “Who finally closed the box?” Batman asked him.

  “I did,” he said. “Shielded my eyes. Tried not to look at it. Just kicked it closed.”

  Batman glanced over at Twitch. His expression told him he was beginning to smell a rat, as was Batman.

  Twitch then asked: “So you got pretty close to it.”

  “I did…”

  “Then how come you weren’t killed? Or affected at all?”

  The man suddenly tensed up.

  “I don’t know,” he sputtered. “Beats me.”

  Batman came nose to nose with the man.

  “You want to tell us why you’re really here?” he growled at him.

  The guy half smiled.

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I did,” he replied.

  Then without another word, he stood up, climbed onto the balcony’s railing and to the astonishment of Batman and Twitch, did a perfect dive off the railing and into the huge pool, six stories below.

  “What the fuck?” Batman yelled.

  The man expertly hit the water, swam a bit under the surface and then got out of the pool at the opposite end. He took a gracious bow to the delight of those people sunning themselves poolside. Then he saluted Batman and Twitch up on the balcony and ran off.

  “Fucking guy?” Twitch cried out. “He was a disinformation agent? A ‘disinformant?’”

  The wholly invented word, created right then and there, just tumbled out of Twitch’s mouth. But it applied.

  Batman repeated the word. “A disinformant … trying to punk us.”

  “But why us?” Twitch asked, scratching his head. “We’re bit players in this. Unless one of Maurice’s guys just went nuts or something.…”

  Batman thought a moment, then said: “Let’s find out.…”

  “Find out how?” Twitch asked him. “I’m not jumping off here.”

  Batman retrieved his Glock 9 from his travel bag, and said, “Maybe it won’t be so hard to find the only soaking wet guy running around Monte Carlo.”

  * * *

  THEY WENT DOWN the elevator, Twitch also grabbing his handgun as they were leaving.

  They arrived in the hallway just off the casino’s main lobby. As before, the lobby was mobbed with guests and dignitaries in town for the Grand Prix.

  The repair sign was still on the elevator’s door and the hallway leading to the lobby was even further blocked off by ye
llow tape and scaffolds and what now appeared to be equipment belonging to plasterers. All this conveniently separated Batman and Twitch from the rest of the casino.

  They went out the side door and ran around to the main entrance. The area in front of the casino was just as busy, just as hectic, as the inside. Many Rolls taxis were coming and going. Some were carrying celebrities traveling with large entourages and dozens of pieces of luggage; others were full of models and model wannabes. But everyone they saw was well dressed—and absolutely dry.

  They made their way through the crowd, finally locating the attendant in charge of retrieving guests’ cars. They tried to explain that a car had been reserved for them, a Maserati. But the man did not speak English.

  They used sign language to urge him to call over a nearby coworker. This man understood some English. Batman showed him the gold key. The man then asked them in a thick accent: “Which color Maserati would you prefer?”

  “Any color is good,” Batman told him hurriedly.

  “Convertible or hardtop?” the coworker asked. “It’s a bit hot today, but it might rain, so…”

  But Batman cut him off by growling: “Whatever—just get us a car!”

  Chastened, the man ran off, returning a minute later with a solid gold Maserati GranTurismo Stradale hardtop. It looked like a car from twenty years in the future.

  But then … another problem.

  Batman started to climb into the driver’s seat, but stopped. He could fly a helicopter with one hand—but how was he going to drive this ultraexpensive car? He had to shift with his right hand, meaning he’d have to steer with his mechanical hook? It wasn’t going to work.

  Yet the thought of Twitch driving the $250,000 beauty was downright scary. It was just not in his skill set.

  But they had no other choice.

  “I guess I go shotgun,” Batman said. He’d been high as a kite—still intoxicated on life itself—until the guy went off the balcony. Now his buzz was long gone.

  Twitch happily switched places and jumped behind the wheel. He took off with a screech, startling everyone huddled around the casino’s main entrance. Some even hit the ground.

  No surprise, Twitch was a maniac behind the wheel. Batman was soon holding on for his life as they rocketed through the narrow, winding streets of Monte Carlo. The noise, the faces, everything started going by in a blur.

  “How the fuck do people race on these streets?” Batman cried out.

  “You should try it in Shanghai,” Twitch yelled back, laughing crazily.

  Batman finally got his shit together and began navigating. He got Twitch going around the immense block that housed the Grand Maison Casino. The disinformant had disappeared to the rear of the casino’s concourse, heading west. So, they had to go west too.

  This necessitated a right onto Avenue des Beaux-Arts and then a very sharp left onto Avenue Albert I. They made both turns and stayed in one piece—and then, almost immediately, Batman spotted their quarry.

  He was walking on Avenue Albert I, hurrying away from the casino grounds, trying to look inconspicuous, though he was still dripping wet.

  “There’s the asshole—right there!” Batman yelled, pointing.

  But Twitch was driving so fast down Avenue Albert I, that by the time he heard Batman, he’d completely overshot the man.

  Batman yelled for him to stop and turn around, but Twitch just wound up spinning the sports car in a triplet of screeching 360-degree turns.

  Even in a place where Maseratis were common, this display attracted a lot of attention. The soaking wet man saw it all and ducked down the nearest alley.

  Twitch finally got the car under control. They sped off toward JFK Drive hoping to catch the dripping man on the other side of Regent Square. By the time they made their way through the traffic, though, there was no sign of him.

  They drove up and down De La Costa Boulevard and then D’Ostende Avenue, but still no luck.

  Then Batman got an idea.

  He told Twitch to stop. They pulled over to the side of Boulevard de Suisse and just waited.

  Monte Carlo was more like a small town than a city. There just weren’t many places a soaking wet man could go. So, what would happen if they stayed still, just another Maserati parked along the curb, and waited?

  They sat there for two minutes, engine idling, handguns on their laps. Then, sure enough, they spotted their prey again.

  He’d popped out of an alley three short blocks away and began walking west again, this time toward Avenue Saint-Laurent. Twitch jammed the Maserati in gear, hit the gas and resumed their pursuit. But after fighting traffic and blasting the horn all the way up the Escalier des Fleurs they were stopped by a line of policemen cordoning off a section of the roadway for a practice lap of Grand Prix cars.

  Once more the dripping man managed to lose himself in the crowd. But Twitch was not going to let him get away so easily this time.

  Steering around the policemen, he again slammed the Maserati into gear and started driving right on the famous racecourse itself. And for a third time, they actually caught up to the mystery man. Walking through a crowd of Japanese tourists, still dripping wet from his dive, he stuck out easily from everyone around him.

  They had him …

  But … at that moment the sky darkened. Where just minutes earlier there were no clouds, now a huge black overcast had moved over Monte Carlo. It opened up and the sunny place for shady people was suddenly treated to a massive downpour.

  People scattered. Windows were slammed shut. Awnings were quickly lowered. Even the policemen ran, as if they would shrink if they got wet. The deluge was so intense it was impossible to see much of anything. Twitch had to pull the car to the curb again to wait it out.

  The torrent lasted just a minute, and then the clear skies returned. But now everything had changed. Now, just about everyone within their view was walking around soaked to the skin.

  Batman couldn’t believe it. This was crazy.…

  I knew I should have gone to Gottabang, he thought suddenly.

  But then came a bit of luck. Just as they were about to give up, a taxi went by them, weaving through the post-storm traffic. As it passed by, the passenger in the back seat looked out his window and right into the Maserati.

  It was their dripping man.

  “Son of a bitch!” Batman cried. “There he is…”

  The taxi immediately accelerated with a squeal and was off.

  Twitch turned to Batman and asked: “What do we do?”

  “Chase him!” Batman yelled.

  Another deafening screech, and Twitch was again in pursuit.

  The taxi was really moving. Apparently in Monte Carlo during Race Week, everyone thought they were in a Formula One car and, therefore, drove like a madman.

  But Twitch was a madman all year round. He wheeled his way in and out of traffic like a pro. Riding the curb, downshifting, upshifting, double clutching, triple-clutching—he was doing it all, and with a prosthetic leg no less. It was madness—and they weren’t doing the Maserati any favors either. But Batman could do nothing but hold on and hope for the best.

  And somehow it worked. Because by the time the taxi reached the outskirts of Monte Carlo, the Maserati was only a few blocks behind.

  But then the game changed yet again. The taxi began climbing one of the steep winding roads that led out of Monte Carlo, heading toward France.

  Now the advantage was greatly in the taxi driver’s favor. Not only was he driving as insanely as Twitch, his little Fiat was more than a match for the powerful sports car at taking turns, especially when traveling at more than 100 mph. They lost sight of the taxi within seconds.

  Still, the chase continued. The sun was gone and suddenly it was night and Twitch had a hard time finding the Maserati’s headlamps switch. Batman tried to help, but he had his seat belt pulled so tight he couldn’t move but a few inches forward. These few particular moments of madness, driving on the incredibly twisting, recently wet ro
ad, with no lights, going in excess of 100 mph, with Twitch at the wheel, were simply terrifying. Batman found himself wondering if such a fancy sports car might have an ejection button he could push.

  Finally, Twitch found the headlights switch, and suddenly the road was illuminated, just as they were going around a very sharp bend at warp speed.

  That’s when they saw the taxi again.

  It went cruising by them—going in the opposite direction.

  Twitch made yet another heart-stopping 180-degree maneuver, overtaking the taxi, then turning wildly a second time. There was dust, smoke and burnt-rubber fumes, but when it was over, the Maserati was blocking the road. The taxi could not get by.

  Batman and Twitch jumped out of the steaming car, weapons in hand, and rushed up to the taxi. But they quickly discovered only the driver was inside. No one was in the backseat.

  Twitch yanked the driver out and threw him to the pavement. Batman vigorously searched the backseat and even the trunk. But there was no sign of the passenger, other than the backseat was soaking wet.

  “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?”