Daniel Ganninger - Icarus Investigations 03 - Snow Cone (24 page)

-Chapter 40-

The guard knocked on my window, and I pushed the thought of backing up the car and getting out of there from my mind.

“Your name, sir,” the guard asked seriously. 

“Boris Costovich,” I announced in my best, fake Russian accent.

The guard looked at the piece of paper in front of him.  “I have no name for you.”

Before he could react, Jane piped in.  “Nikos Christopoulos,” she said in a husky voice.  “I am his mistress, Veronica.  I am here in his place.”  She turned her head slowly toward the man and gave him a piercing stare.  “I am here for the auction,” she said confidently.

The guard peered at his paper again.  “But I don’t have that name here,” he said rather meekly to her.

I reached in my pocket and pulled out the gray disk that Nikos had put in his files.  I placed it on the dash so the man would get a glimpse of it. 

He looked and then looked again at the disk.  “Uh, yes, please step out.  We need to check for weapons and ensure you have payment for the auction.”

“Yakov, show the man,” Jane ordered.  “I’m not going out in that cold,” she said dismissively.

Galveston got out of the back seat, went to the trunk, and opened it. He pulled out a black case and placed it on the body of the car.  “Three million francs,” he told the guard flatly, as if it were a paltry amount. 

The guard didn’t bat an eye, and nodded his head in approval. 
Galveston closed the case and placed it back in the trunk.  The guard then moved back to me.

“I must do a check for weapons,” he told me.

“Do I look like I could be carrying something in this dress?” Jane exclaimed.  “Boris, Yakov,” she barked.  “Do as the man says.”

I got out of the car, and the guard felt for weapons under my coat and pants.  The second guard repeated the procedure on
Galveston.

I felt like I was going to pass out, but Jane’s complete control over the situation put me at ease.  She really was a fine actress.

The guards found nothing, of course, and waved us through the gate.  When we were well up the road, Jane turned to me.  “I could have convinced them without that gray thing,” she said, perturbed I had stole her thunder.  She had prepared a brilliant script for that exact situation.

“It got us through, didn’t it?” I responded.

“We agreed to use it only as a last resort,” she chided me.

“Sorry, darling,” I said with a smile.

“Good job, Boris, ticking off lady Veronica,” Galveston added.

We had a relieving laugh, but when the house came into sight our laughter stopped.

“Wow,” I heard Galveston say from the backseat of the car.

The house was a mansion.  It was huge and
stood out against the mountainside.  The parking area in front of the front door looked like a high-class car lot.  Mercedes-Benz, Rolls Royce, BMW, Bentley; all the big names were there.  I pulled up as far away from the house as I could.  Jane got out of the passenger side of the vehicle and revealed another black case hidden under her long coat.  She gave it to me as I met her on her side of the car.  Galveston opened the trunk again and pulled out the first black case.  He walked away from our sedan, and when he was out of view from the house, he placed it in the snow.

Galveston
then pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed.  “Hey,” he began, “we’re in.”

“You’re loud and clear,” Alex responded.

“We’re about to walk in.  Do you have everything ready?” Galveston inquired.

“Of course.  I have the number you gave me entered in.  If I can’t hear through your suit I’ll call you back.  Good luck.”

“Thanks, we’re going to need it.”  Galveston didn’t end the call, but put the phone in a pocket on the inside of his suit jacket. 

On the outside of the jacket was a fine black mesh of fabric right under the pocket.  It allowed Alex to listen during the entire mission.  If something were to go wrong, he could alert the Swiss authorities in an instant.     

We gathered at the trunk of the car, took off our heavy overcoats, and placed them in the trunk. 

“Are we ready,” I announced as we shivered in the bitter cold.

“Let’s do this,” Galveston responded seriously. 

I picked up the black case, and we walked toward the massive front doors of the house.

I hadn’t been surprised at the lack of security.  Galveston had predicted that there wouldn’t be many security guards to deal with since it brought unwanted attention to the meeting.  Everyone here was a member of the Red Hand, and no one would be stupid enough to try to steal the highly enriched uranium—except us.  For the other members, an act of robbery would sign their death sentence.  As evidenced by Nikos’s demise, the Red Hand didn’t let anyone exit their organization.

The mansion was beautiful, and if I hadn’t been scared out of my wits, I would have liked to tour the place.  But I was relieved that everything was going according to plan.

We entered a beautiful foyer that had a giant crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling that lit the room brightly.  A small man with a moustache approached and greeted us at the front door.

“Hello, my name is Franco.  Please have a drink.  The auction will begin soon,” the man informed us.  I wondered what the man’s position was in the organization.  He had a French accent, but his English was amazingly clear.

He didn’t ask for our name, or to see our money.  I concluded that names were never used here.  He motioned for us to go into an adjacent room.  As we entered, we came face to face with other members of the Red Hand.

They weren’t at all what I expected.  My preconceived notions told me to expect men with tattoos in badly dressed suits with sleazy women hanging off their elbows.  What I saw instead, were aging men in finely tailored suits enjoying a drink and talking lively.  No one looked like an organized crime boss.  The appearance and demeanor of the men made the situation all the more horrifying.  These people looked like ordinary businessmen, and as I scanned the room further, businesswomen.  I realized this was th
eir business.  This wasn’t crime to them, it was their occupation.  We were the ones that stood out.

Galveston
read the look on my face, and he knew we had misjudged them.  These men were much more dangerous.  They engaged in these criminal activities for pure power, greed, and profit.  It was a room filled with dangerous minds.

“Stick to the plan,”
Galveston whispered to us, “and stick to who you are.”

An obese gentleman strolled toward us with a fat cigar hanging out of his mouth.  “How do you do?” he asked politely in a British accent.  “My name is Reginald, and you are?” he asked Jane directly.

“Veronica,” she replied without giving a last name.  “How are you?”

“Better now,” he said with a wink.  “So you’ve come here for the party.”

“Yes, I needed a new present for myself,” she said slyly and let out a small chuckle.

“Well, I hope your men have something pretty special in that case then.  Many of us are also here for that present.”  He touched her arm.  “I look forward to seeing what you have to offer.”  He bowed to her and returned to stalking the room.

“He’s sizing up the competition,” Galveston said.

“He’d crush anyone who tries to size him,” I quipped, attempting to relieve our tension with a little sophomoric humor.

We moved awkwardly to a corner of the room and talked amongst ourselves.

“Is the case ready?” I asked
Galveston.

“Yeah, I hope it works.  Alex isn’t the best with actual tools.”

“Now you tell me,” I sighed.

“Gentlemen, please proceed this way for the auction,” Franco announced. 

The group of men and women shuffled toward the next room where a large dining table was set up but nothing was on it except notepads at each seat. 

“Primaries in each seat, please.  Secondaries behind,” Franco instructed.

“That’s you, Veronica,” I whispered to Jane.

“I guess we’re the secondaries,”
Galveston added.

She smoothed out her dress and proceeded to the nearest seat.  Unfortunately, our fat friend plopped himself beside her.

Franco didn’t waste any time.  “Gentlemen and women, there is a pad in front of you for your bids.  You will write your bid on the paper, and I will pick it up.  We will continue this way until we have a winner.”

I was amazed about the formality of the situation.  It sounded like a game show. 

“The opening bid is three million francs,” he announced.  Franco motioned to another man behind him who pushed out a cart with a metal box on top.  The man put on a pair of yellow gloves and opened the box.  The room grew eerily silent.  He reached in and pulled out a round, gray piece of material that was the size of his hand. 

“Highly enriched uranium-235,” Franco said nonchalantly.

Everyone strained to see the object before it was placed back in the box.

“Start your bidding now,” he ordered.

We had set a bidding schedule for Jane to follow, but the price was already near our max.  She looked over at me, and I raised my thumb for her to go higher.

She wrote down “3.5”, folded the paper, and raised it over her head, just as the other men were doing.

Franco gathered the pieces of paper and announced the bid for the next round.  “Four million francs,” he said.

The room didn’t react, and the men and women began to write their next bids.  Some men had already stopped writing.

I checked my watch and determined we would need a little more time.  We had figured the process would have gone slower.  Galveston and I were now getting nervous.

Jane turned to me again, and I gave her an indication to go up more on the bidding.  She wrote down a five and held the paper over her head again.

Franco gathered the pieces and announced the next winning bid.  “Six million francs,” he said.

My head was swimming.  I didn’t think the bidding would have gone this high so quickly.  Other members of the organization were clearly exasperated at the price too.  One man called Franco over and discussed something with him. 

“You may discuss your next bid with your secondaries,” he stated.

It was the time break I had been hoping for.  While everyone was distracted, I nodded to
Galveston, who immediately put our black case on the ground.  He reached down pretending to tie his shoes and pressed a small button on the side of the case.  He stood again and pushed the case to the wall behind us with his heel.  It stopped under a curtain to a large window.

“It’s on,” he whispered to me.  We had fifteen minutes before the magic happened.

I moved toward Jane to inform her, but Reginald, the obese man next to her, leaned over to say something in her ear.  I stopped and noticed something around his neck as it fell out of the top of his opened shirt.

I nudged
Galveston and moved my head toward the direction of the man.  He noticed the same thing around Reginald’s neck that I had in my pocket.  It was a gray disk, and the brown cord we had been confused about was simply a loop so it could be worn as a necklace.  It was the identification for members of the Red Hand.

The men and women around the room discussed their next bids quietly with members of their faction.  There were only a few players left in the bidding, and they did quick calculations on the notepads in front of them.  It was a surreal sight.  The people in the room were negotiating to control material that could potentially kill thousands of people.  There were no morals in the room, only a driving obsession for power and money. 

I checked my watch again; we had ten minutes remaining.  A man on the other side of the table from Jane called Franco over.  He gestured with his hands as he talked.  Franco nodded his head many times before making an announcement to the entire room.“I’ve had a request to examine the material.  It will be allowed, if there are no objections,” Franco instructed.

The room went quiet again and no one objected to the examination.  The man that had made the request spoke over his shoulder to another older man.  The older man went directly to the case where the uranium was secured and opened it.  He pulled out a small probe connected to a small electronic device.  He moved the probe over the material and checked the readings on the device.  He then stopped and pulled out a loupe, similar to the magnifying glass a jeweler would use to check the cut of a diamond.  He looked the material over carefully before returning to his apparent boss.

The older man whispered in his employer’s ear.  The boss’s face turned to anger after the older man had finished.

“What is going on here?” he demanded of Franco.

The reserved Frenchman was taken aback and stuttered to respond.  “Whatever do you mean?” he asked.

“My expert has discovered that this is natural uranium, not weapons grade.  The radiation levels are too low.  This is not highly enriched uranium,” he stated angrily.

The other people in the room turned to their partners and each other, causing the noise and the furor to grow.