by Ethan Cross
It took a moment for Burke’s eyes to adjust from the blazing Nevada sun to the dimly lit interior of the limo. He catalogued the smells while his eyes adjusted. Leather, scotch, the colognes of two men (one expensive and Italian, and one reminiscent of the beach) some type of air freshener (maybe clean linen smell or ocean breeze), and below all that, sweat and gun oil. Both of the men sitting opposite them were armed. Burke could tell from the smells as much as the telltale bunching of their clothing.
Nic shut the door behind himself and dropped down to within about two inches of Burke. He frowned at the cop, who apparently didn’t understand the concept of personal space. He moved to a seat on the opposite side of the limousine.
Carter was the first to speak, saying, “What’s the deal with the limo? I know you foreign services guys like to use up every bit of your budget, but this strikes me as a bit much.”
Burke studied the two men sitting side-by-side in the vehicle’s farthest rear seat. The man on the right wore an Armani suit with bright blue pinstripes, which matched his eyes. His hair was oiled and slicked straight back. The other man wore flip-flops, jeans, and a Las Vegas souvenir T-shirt.
Burke answered Carter’s question before any of the others could speak. He pointed to the man in the suit and said, “This is Mr. Tivoli ‘Ty’ Loria, and I assume this limo belongs to him. Mr. Loria is the Chief Executive Officer for GoBox. And this other gentleman must be the CIA agent.”
Burke looked the agent up and down again and said, “I suppose he must be undercover.”
The man from the CIA smiled like a Cheshire Cat. The grin didn’t reach his eyes. “Undercover. That’s funny. Unfortunately, that’s not the case this time. Airport lost my luggage. You can call me Yoshida.”
Yoshida had coal black hair and strong Asian features but no detectable accent, which made Burke believe him to be American-born. He wasn’t exactly small or out of shape, but he didn’t seem physically imposing. Certainly not muscular like Officer Juliano or the giant South African. Burke noticed that the man’s feet showed signs of severe burns, but they were old scars, probably from childhood. Yoshida also had strange mannerisms. He spoke and acted as if he knew more than all the rest of them. Not that he projected himself as being smarter than everyone, but some confident and indifferent way of speaking that implied that he knew he was five steps ahead of everyone else in the vehicle, and that was how he liked it.
“To what do we owe the honor of your presence, Mr. Yoshida?” Carter said.
“That’s classified,” Yoshida said with a wink. Then he pushed an intercom button and told the driver that they were ready to go.
“Where are you taking us?” Nic said.
Ty Loria blinked several times and twitched his shoulders before speaking for the first time. “We were expecting Sgt. Ortiz or Deputy Chief Edgar.”
Nic leaned back in his seat and adjusted the uncomfortable-looking tactical gear that still clung to his large frame.
“Edgar is busy with the mayor’s office, and Taz hates the CIA,” he said. “So they sent us instead.”
“We requested a company rep,” Burke added. “Why would they send out their chief executive?”
Loria blinked and twitched before he replied, “It’s a volatile situation, and we felt it prudent—”
Nic interrupted, “You didn’t answer my question. Where in the hell are you taking us?”
Loria smiled and crossed his legs with an almost feline, yet feminine, grace. His eyes blinked in rapid succession again. Burke estimated Loria to be the kind of man who would normally be adored by women and respected by men. He had that classy, dimpled chin, country club look about him. But he also seemed to have some disorder which caused excessive blinking and small tics. He wondered how such impediments affected his command of respect from what he knew to be a family that possessed little tolerance or mercy.
“You wanted to know about the facility and what GoBox does,” Loria said. “I’m taking you straight to the belly of the beast.”
Chapter 30
Gabi Deshpande kept replaying her father’s martial arts teachings in her mind.
“The key is leverage and technique. Not size,” he would tell her every lesson until the concept was drilled into her memory. But in this case, she needed much more than leverage and technique. She needed a solid plan, allies, and a lot of luck.
The blonde mute woman was with her, and the blonde did look like she was in excellent shape. Still, she couldn’t haven’t been more than five foot four and 120 pounds soaking wet, and was dressed like a trust-fund princess. Unless Zumba had a martial arts component, the blonde would probably be more of a hindrance than an asset.
Gabi kept eyeing a nearby desk lamp. It had a thick metal base that would make the perfect tool for smashing in the back of a man’s skull. If she could only reach it and have two seconds worth of movement, she knew that they could be out the door and in the protective arms of the law before the giant and the woman he called Doc knew that there was a problem.
But she needed one of the others to provide a distraction.
The Asian businessman finally looked up from his prayers or whatever he was mumbling, but then he stared off in the opposite direction.
She cleared her throat. No reaction. She counted to thirty and cleared her throat again.
This time, he looked her way. She opened her eyes wide and gave him a look of urgency. His face turned to confusion, and Gabi checked to be sure that she hadn’t also drawn the attention of the man with the assault rifle.
When she knew it was safe, she leaned toward the businessman and said, “If you could fake some chest pains, I can get us out of here.”
The look of confusion on his face didn’t change, and in what she guessed to be Japanese, he whispered a few words that she assumed to mean something like, “I don’t speak English, crazy lady.”
She clenched her fists in disgust, digging her nails into her palms. She just couldn’t catch a break.
Her heart jumped as the door to the vault room opened, and the giant stepped out.
“Sparks,” the giant said in his commanding and frightening voice. “Get ready to send out the next note.”
The younger black man with the military bearing asked, “Who should we use as the messenger?”
The giant circled them like a stalking predator. As he had done previously, he stopped behind the blonde woman’s chair. The giant bowed his massive frame down over the blonde’s shoulder. He seemed to be breathing in her scent.
“Leave her the hell alone!” Gabi yelled.
The big South African cocked his head and stepped toward her. In her mind, all she could think was crap, crap, stupid, stupid, but outwardly, she remained as defiant as ever.
She had learned from her three brothers to never let a bully see your fear or it will allow your power, your control, to become theirs.
The giant said, “Let me see your hand, please.”
She burned holes in his face with her hateful gaze.
He smiled and leaned closer. “It would be much easier if I didn’t have to force you, and we both know that I could.”
Without a word, she stuck out her hand, having no clue what he intended to do.
He laid her small slender hand in the palm of his massive paw. He looked into her eyes and smiled. Then ran a finger across her palm.
It felt like a terrible violation. Like she was back in her eldest brother’s bedroom. About to be desecrated.
She was approaching hyperventilation when, with a swift and precise movement, he snapped her pinky finger at the second knuckle.
The pain was sharp and terrible and traveled all the way to her shoulder in an instant. She forgot about her plans and leverage and her father’s teachings and could think of nothing but the hot, white pain.
The giant said, “Send the message out with the blonde.”
Chapter 31
GoBox had four separate locations in the Las Vegas area—the one in Henderson, two larger
facilities just off the Las Vegas strip, and one in North Vegas that was still a month out from its grand opening. The limo pulled up to the North Vegas location, and August Burke pushed his way out of the vehicle like it was on fire.
Nic Juliano waited as the young doctor climbed over him and Carter. Nic said, “Excuse you,” then to the senior FBI agent he asked, “He doesn’t like riding in cars?”
Carter said, “Dr. Burke adores automobiles and is quite an accomplished mechanic. He just doesn’t like riding in cars with other people.”
“I’m seeing a pattern there. He doesn’t have much patience, does he?”
“Well, he describes it more that neurotypicals are ‘a bunch of self-absorbed assholes who talk a lot of shit but don’t back any of it up’. That ‘we’ say one thing with our mouths and show something else with our actions. He actually loves people. He just doesn’t trust them. And I can’t say as I blame him.”
Ty Loria, the sharp-dressed Italian with the movie star good looks and blinking problem, finished a phone call, and said, “Shall we, gentlemen?”
The group piled out in front of a building that looked almost identical to the one in Henderson. Same windows. Same dark brown brick. Only missing a few minor cosmetic details that could be scheduled to be added before this new location launched.
Nic saw Burke off by himself puffing another cigarette. The guy smoked like a damn chimney.
Ty Loria stepped from the limo and instantly began to check his suit for lint. To all outward appearances, Loria looked like any other executive, although maybe a bit more self-important. But Nic knew better. He had never met Ty personally, but his family had dealings with the Loria crime syndicate, and Nic had met some of the Lorias at “family” events. By all accounts, they were a ruthless and powerful organization. And from what he had heard, Ty Loria was one of the worst in the bunch. The story Nic had heard went that Ty discovered one of his men referring to him by the nickname Twitch. Ty responded by removing the man’s eyelids.
That made it all the stranger when Loria International shifted away from its less than legal activities and put all of its financial eggs into GoBox. Still, Nic knew the type and was sure that there was more to GoBox than the publicly facing legitimate business.
Loria looked to Carter and said, “Where would you like to begin?”
“I’m going to leave that to Dr. Burke,” Carter said. “When he’s done with his cigarette.”
Ty Loria had a way of projecting himself as important when he spoke. He had a commanding voice and presence, but it was much more than that. Loria puffed out his chest and tilted back his head, almost looking down on other people. He reminded Nic of a strutting turkey. One that blinked a lot.
The unassuming CIA agent with the perpetual smile was another story. Despite the friendly demeanor, the intelligence agent had a ruthless confidence in his eyes. Nic had seen the same look in a few of the psychopaths whom Papa Juliano employed for “specialized” work.
Burke finally finished his cigarette, and the tour began.
Loria gave a presentation that seemed like a speech he had practiced for investors, most of which was of little help to the hostage situation. Nic grew bored within thirty seconds and kept checking his phone for updates. He wished that he had convinced Taz to send Strom or one of the others. He hated nothing more than thinking of his brothers in the crosshairs while he spun his wheels on a fool’s errand. After all, they already had the blueprints and video footage. What more could they learn from a site visit?
Loria said, “What we did with GoBox is take the outdated concept of a safety deposit box and bring it into the twenty-first century using the latest in private vault technology. A member can choose from a wide variety of GoBox sizes, ranging from a small box for document storage leading all the way up to massive boxes designed to hold gold bullion or other precious metals, artwork, jewelry, antiques, just about anything you could imagine. It basically gives people their own private vault right at their fingertips.”
Loria led them inside and showed them some of the different box sizes and the client relations area. The interior was the same elegant marble and stone and dark wood as the Henderson facility, modern but institutional. The air still smelled of new paint and fresh drywall.
Carter interrupted, “You’ve described these GoBoxes as improvements on safety deposit boxes, but I don’t really see it. Where does the ‘Go’ part of the name come into play?”
“Good question. A safety deposit box is simply a keyed metal box that resides inside a bank vault somewhere. A GoBox is your own private vault that can meet you wherever is most convenient for you. Not the other way around.”
“How does it meet you where you are? Don’t you have to come to a GoBox facility in order to access your box?”
Loria led them into the rear of the building. The security wasn’t in place yet, but the design was the same as the Henderson location. “You don’t have to come in at all if you don’t want, at least not after the initial setup. Through our proprietary app and secure transport system, a client can request that their box be delivered to their home, and we’ll have it in their possession within one business day. But we’re averaging around four hours for delivery times.”
“And then you just request a pickup in the same way?” Nic said.
“Correct. You can also have your box transferred among any of our locations. So let’s say that you move away, or maybe you’re going on vacation and want to bring your good jewelry or something of great value. You can simply have your box temporarily moved, and you don’t have to worry about any of your valuable property being lost or stolen during your trip.”
Nic gave up on the company history lesson and began checking layout, vantage points, and angles of fire. But he still tried to at least halfway pay attention, in case there was any actual useful information presented. He hadn’t made the drive to sit in on a GoBox infomercial.
Carter, on the other hand, seemed to want to discover all the ins and outs of the business model. Burke merely followed on Carter’s heels like a shadow, trying not to be noticed by anyone while playing on his iPad.
“Well, if there are no more questions …” Loria said.
“Oh, I have a few more,” Carter said, pulling a pack of Mentos from his pocket and popping one in his mouth. He offered them around, but no one else partook.
He continued, “What about the controversy over your Delete option?”
Loria smiled like a great white shark. “I really wouldn’t call it a controversy, and it is perfectly legal. We simply offer the option for people to discretely and completely dispose of the contents of their box. This is usually done when a client cancels service.”
Carter made a note in a small leather-bound notebook. “And how are the contents disposed of?”
“They are melted down or burned by one of our disposal specialists, depending on the contents.”
“So what information is required to acquire a GoBox of my own?”
“It’s a very simple process. You fill out your client info, payment options, and chose the size of box that meets your needs.”
“But I’ve heard that you can pay cash up front and rent a box anonymously?”
“That is an option, but certainly not one we encourage. But as long as the client has a matching thumb scan, retinal scan, and knows their eight-character passcode, then they can rent and access a GoBox. And all of that is perfectly legal.”
Carter rolled the Mentos around in his mouth and pursed his lips. “But say I had just killed someone. I could come in here, rent a box anonymously, place the murder weapon in the box, and choose your Delete option to have one of your—what did you call them—’disposal specialists’ eradicate that evidence from existence?”
“The client signs a detailed agreement that prohibits storing any firearms, explosives, narcotics, stolen property, etc.”
“And how is that policy enforced?”
“We have a scanner for explosive residue.”
“That’s great,” Carter said. “What about firearms or narcotics? Do you have dogs checking the boxes?”
“All of our GoBoxes are airtight.”
“So it’s the honor system?”
“We take such violations of our policies very seriously.”
Carter cocked his head in confusion. “So you’re saying that I could anonymously rent a box, drop a couple kilos of cocaine in there, and you’ll transport it across state lines for me, and even deliver it right to my doorstep.”
Mr. Yoshida stepped toward Carter and said, “You’re out of line. GoBox is not on trial here. They’re the victim in this.”
Carter matched gazes with the CIA agent. After a moment, he said, “That’s what bothers me. Victim of what? Why did a group of mercenaries take over that facility? It’s my understanding that the vault where the boxes are stored is inaccessible.”
“That’s correct,” Loria said. “The system for retrieving the boxes is automated and requires the owner’s thumbprint, retinal scan, and code in order for the box to be retrieved from the vault.”
Nic decided that Carter might be onto something and turned his attention from choke points and ingress and egress possibilities to the conversation at hand.
“Carter’s right,” he said. “What’s their endgame? And how in the hell does the CIA fit into this? Why are you here?”
“GoBox is a strategic partner with the United States government,” Yoshida said, “and that’s all I’m at liberty to say.”
Carter laughed. “So the CIA is hiding funds in the private vaults of GoBox and probably using it for a hundred things that a Senate subcommittee would frown upon.”
Loria’s face turned red as his blinking increased and his Italian-American accent grew more pronounced. “Those are baseless accusations, and if you ever—”
Nic raised his fingers to his lips and whistled to get everyone’s attention. When all eyes were on him, he said, “Let’s not get our panties twisted, ladies. We all know the CIA does a lot of shady shit. Why don’t we all remember that we’re on the same team, and that the goal is getting those hostages out alive. Now, are you sure that there is no way that they can access the vault or any of the boxes?”
