“I don't recognize the name, Mr. Kelly. Who is Mr. Needlemeyer?” Charles Martin said in his best British accent.
“One of the penthouse owners. No problem, Mr. Martin. I think I have my guests mixed up. Enjoy your stay. I left my card in each suite. If you need anything, call. We're here to serve you. Enjoy your stay, folks.”
Kelly couldn't get out of there fast enough. In the elevator, he kept taking deep breaths and letting them out with a loud
swoosh
. Damn it, something was off. Something, he knew, was wrong. He'd bet every one of those burner phones on his dresser top that he was not imagining things. Who the hell were these people he'd just left on the concierge floor? Friends of Bert?
My ass
, he thought to himself. Well, he might not have the answer right now, but he would find it; he always did.
On their own, with the connecting doors to Charles's and Fergus's suites closed, the group sat down in the luxurious sitting room.
“Someone call Avery and tell him to come straight on up here. I'm sure he and his people are on the floor, taking stock of the casino,” Charles ordered.
Jack quickly tapped out a text to Snowden.
“Why are you pacing like that, Sparrow?” Harry asked.
“Because I'm getting a real bad feeling about that guy Kelly, that's why,” Sparrow snapped.
“Does that real bad feeling have anything to do with Kelly's gibe about the FBI and the Vigilantes?” Ted asked.
“Yes and no,” Sparrow responded honestly. “That did not happen on my watch. If it had, I wouldn't have tried to cover it up. You all need to understand something. Once an agent, always an agent. Your instincts that you honed to survive never leave you. You develop a seventh sense, for want of a better explanation. You, Charles, and you, too, Fergus, should recognize that. Bert and I both came up through the ranks. Bert at one time was the director of the FBI, the position I now hold. Neither of us would be here today, nor you, Charles and Fergus, if we hadn't relied on our instincts. And my instinct is shouting loud and clear to keep an eye on Kelly.
“And I can guarantee you that he is right now, this minute, thinking the same thing. Did you get that bit about a Mr. Needlemeyer? He didn't just throw that name out there, and guys like Dixson Kelly do not make mistakes. There, I've said what I think, so the rest is up to you. I do not know exactly what it is, and if Bert is right, what we're here to investigate probably has nothing to do with Kelly, since he has been here such a relatively short time. Still, something besides what we're here to investigate is way, way off here.”
Dennis was so excited, he could barely contain himself. He inched closer to Ted and whispered, “This is going to get hairy, isn't it?”
“Count on it,” Ted whispered back.
“We'll be able to keep an eye on him for the next few days and report anything strange or out of the ordinary,” Maggie said.
A soft knock on the door sounded. Espinosa opened it to admit Avery Snowden and four of his operatives, two men and two women. Introductions were made, and card readers were turned over to their various suites.
“All present and accounted for except for Abner, whom I just sent a text. He just responded and said he's four hours out and is making good time,” Jack said.
“All right then, we're right on schedule,” Charles said. “I'm going to call Bert now and ask him how he wants us to proceed, now that we're all settled in. Get your questions ready, if you have any. This call is going through on the special phones, so we have no fear of anyone listening in. But before I do that, Jack, which phone did you use to contact Abner?”
Jack held up the special encrypted phone Snowden had gotten for all of them.
Charles locked his gaze on Snowden and said, “Is there even a remote chance that Mr. Kelly, with his CIA background, and who, I am sure, still has some friends in high places, could somehow . . .”
Snowden grimaced. “The answer is no. These phones are prototypes. We're using them as a test. I'm saying no, but we all know about leaks and how things like this, it seems, sometimes just fall out of the sky. I'm sticking with no for the time being.”
Charles nodded as he pressed in the digits to Bert Navarro's secure phone. Bert answered on the second ring. There was no small talk, no amenities.
“Bert, tell us how you want us to proceed. We're all here except for Abner, who is four hours out. Right now, we're pretty much like ducks out of water. But before we get to that, the director wants to talk to you.”
“Put him on,” Bert said.
“Your man Kelly, you vouch for him a hundred percent?”
“One hundred and ten percent, Sparrow. Why are you asking?”
Instead of answering the question, Sparrow asked another one. “Who is Mr. Needlemeyer?”
“Oh, crap! Look, that's just Dix being paranoid, which is sometimes a good thing.” He went on to explain about Dixson Kelly's migraine and the casual meeting with Philonias Needlemeyer in the Tiki Bar. “Google the guy, Sparrow. He's right up there with Mother Teresa. Look, they don't come any better than Dixson Kelly.
“He'd still be the CIA's number one, but his cover got blown, and it was either take a job pushing paper, be an instructor at Langley, or get out. Dix elected to get out, but he is still on, if you know what I mean. Just like you and me. Cut him some slack, but if you run into a problem, let me know. I need to warn you about one thing where he's concerned. Dix loves the ladies, and they love him right back. Just so you know.”
“So where do you want us to start, Bert?” Charles asked.
“What I think you all should do is hit the casino floor as soon as we end this call. Gamble. Eat. Drink. Take in a show. You're on vacation, so act like you are. You really can't do anything until Abner arrives and we talk again. Maggie has a bead on it with starting out early tomorrow. While her and the guys are busy with Dix, the rest of you can call, and we'll work out a plan. Now, I've got to head out for a meeting. Call me after Abner arrives.”
The call ended as everyone looked at each other.
“You heard the man,” Ted said. “We need to act like we're on vacation.” He rubbed his hands together in wild anticipation of making a big score, as if that were going to happen in a Vegas casino, even if it was the one owned by a member of the Vigilantes.
“I suggest we split up so we don't look so obvious,” Fergus said. “We should make a plan to meet up somewhere around, let's say, eight o'clock, and we can have dinner together to discuss our wins or losses. That bar Bert mentioned, the Tiki Bar, sounds like a good meeting place. Are we all agreed?”
Ted, Espinosa, and Dennis were out the door before Fergus finished talking. The others followed, with Snowden bringing up the rear.
Chapter 6
T
he four hours leading up to the meet at eight o'clock in the Tiki Bar rushed by in a blur for the gang. Charles and Fergus hit the poker table and won eighteen hundred dollars in the four hours. Fergus said it wasn't a bad return for sitting on their bums and getting something for nothing.
Jack, Harry, and Sparrow hit the blackjack table with gusto. Their total winnings for the same four hours were twenty-nine hundred dollars.
Maggie, Ted, Espinosa, and Dennis took over a bank of slot machines and went at it full bore, with total winnings of $11,315.
Snowden and his people worked the floor, their eyes everywhere. From time to time, they would sit down at a slot machine, press the button, then walk away. Their total winnings for the four hours were $8.50.
Chits in hand at the meet in the Tiki Bar, they agreed that they would donate the money to the Sunshine Foundation. It was Maggie's honor to walk the donation to the front of the casino floor, where an elderly, white-haired lady cried at the sizable donations.
“We are dining at the Knife and Fork, on the sixth floor,” Charles said. “After dinner, we will head for the concierge floor to wait for Abner.”
The restaurant was just crowded enough that no one paid attention to the lively group as they waited for tables to be put together to accommodate all of them.
Drinks were on the way and dinner had been ordered when Jack held up his hand for silence. “Okay, anyone notice anything while we were gambling?”
Everyone started talking at once. The bottom line was they all felt like they were being watched. All eyes turned to Sparrow, the pro in the group.
“We're on Kelly's radar, that's for sure,” Sparrow told them. “I really don't think that Bert told him what's going on, and he is definitely miffed that whatever it is, he's not included. The guy is good. Bert told me all about him a while back. Whatever you do, do not underestimate him.
“Right now, he's checking each one of us out as he tries to figure out what the play is. Hell, he probably did that the minute he left us earlier. He could definitely be an asset to us, but we can't use him, since Bert, while he didn't say it out loud, thinks, despite the time differences, that he might be involved. Right or wrong, for now the man is tainted.”
The group nodded as one.
“Avery, you and your people were cruising the floor. What, if anything, did you come up with?” Charles asked.
“I feel confident in saying Kelly assigned a tail to each one of us. I'm proud of all of you. You acted like everyone else on the floor. As far as I could tell, the tails went back to Kelly with their tails between their legs, no pun intended. In other words, they had nothing of substance to report. We're all doing just what everyone else is doing.
“Before you all go up to your rooms after dinner, I'm going to pass on dessert, leave a little early, and check to make sure the rooms are clean. By that I mean free of listening devices. Like Sparrow said, once an agent, always an agent.”
The others nodded in agreement.
None of them failed to notice the impeccable service they were getting when their dinners arrived all at the same exact time. The Kobe beef and jumbo prawns that Babylon was known for were served piping hot, and no one had a complaint. Water glasses were constantly filled, as were the wineglasses. Waiters in crisp black and white stood to the side in anticipation of a request from one of the diners.
Maggie Spritzer, long known for her out-of-whack metabolism and ferocious appetite, mumbled something that sounded like “I could get used to this kind of dining real quick.”
The others heartily agreed.
As dessert was being served, a double chocolate mousse cake, Jack's cell phone pinged. Abner had just sent him a text. He looked up at the others. “Abner just pulled into the parking garage. He wants to know what he should do.”
“I'll go down to meet him and take him up to the room,” Harry said. Other than Snowden, he was the only one at the table who had passed on dessert. “We'll wait for you.”
Dennis looked at his dessert and frowned. Harry had told him more than once that sugar was a killer, and he had lost
all
that weight. “I'll come with you,” he said, getting up from the table. Maggie's hand moved quicker than a magician's as she scooped up her multimillionaire junior reporter's dessert plate.
“I know you're all anxious to get up to your rooms, so go ahead. Fergus and I will settle the bill,” Charles said.
All the guys were on their feet in a second, except for Maggie, who was stuffing the mousse cake into her face as fast as she could.
Charles raised his hand to indicate he was ready for the bill.
The head waiter smiled and said, “Sir, Mr. Navarro left instructions that you and your party are our prime guests, and as such, dinner is compliments of the house. We hope you enjoyed your dinners, and we look forward to seeing you again during your stay. By the way, we offer a varied menu for in-room dining, if you feel that is something you might like. The kitchen is open twenty-four hours.”
Charles beamed his pleasure as he peeled off three one-hundred-dollar bills for the tip. “One way or another,” he said to Fergus, “you pay. The life of a waiter or waitress is not easy.” He turned to Maggie. “Come along, missy, and let's see what Abner has in store for us.”
* * *
Well out of sight, Dixson Kelly listened to the voice at the other end of the phone he was holding to his ear, telling him that the last guest on Navarro's list had just arrived and was parking in the garage. The voice, which belonged to Pete Justice, further informed him that the last guest had just placed a phone call or sent a text. From his vantage point, he couldn't be sure which it was, not that it mattered all that much.
Dixson Kelly clenched his teeth together so hard, he thought his jaw would crack. All present and accounted for. At least for now. “Pete, what did you come up with on the background checks for this crew?”
“Done and on your desk, boss. Anything else?”
“Anything interesting?”
Justice laughed. “I'll let you be the judge of that, boss. It did make for some interesting reading, I will say that. A word of advice. Tread carefully around that guy Harry Wong. Just so you know, on our best day, I and my entire Delta team couldn't take him out. Even in our prime. That guy Emery, even though he's some kind of lawyer, is no slouch, either. Then there's this young kid, a reporter who is Wong's protégé. In other words, when it comes to mixing it up down and dirty, the three of them are a force to be reckoned with.”
Kelly made an ugly sound in the back of his throat. “I knew about Harry Wong, since he's been in Vegas a number of times, but you're making it sound like Armageddon is right around the corner. I'll keep it in mind, Pete.”
Kelly took the elevator to his office, where he poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot that was freshened hourly, and settled down to read the background reports on Bert Navarro's guests. He perched a pair of reading glasses on his nose and started to read.
When he was finished, thirty minutes later, he snorted in disgust.
Four reporters here to do a week in the life of a Vegas honcho. One lawyer who used to be a district attorney. The number one martial arts expert in the world. A Scottish gent by the name of Fergus Duffy, who used to head up Interpol. A British chap who worked both sides of the pond, was Elizabeth's childhood playmate, and was still on a first-name basis with the queen of England.
Serious firepower there
, he thought glumly.
Absolutely nothing on the guy Snowden and the four people who were with him. His background was a pure blank, as were those of the four others. Aliases. Not against the law. He was going to have to dig into that.
Jackson Porter Sparrow. Framed by his own agents back in the day and spent a hitch in the federal pen, until Bert and a bunch of women proved he'd been framed. The president had pardoned him, and now he headed up the FBI, following the guy who had succeeded Bert, who had succeeded Elias Cummings.
Good guy. Salt of the earth. Usually went by the rule book until the book didn't work anymore, then, like Frank Sinatra said, did it his way. The moment he took over the Bureau, he cleaned house, set up new rules, and he was now actually the envy of the CIA. Yep, good man. The question was, what the hell was he doing here with this particular bunch of people?
Which left Mr. Abner Tookus, whose report had three times as many pages as the reports on the others.
Wealthy
was the first word on the report, followed by his marital status, followed by his friendship with Maggie Spritzer, currently the star reporter and formerly the editor in chief of the
Washington Post
, which just happened to be owned by Babylon's owner, Countess Anna de Silva. So that web of connections would account for Tookus being here and belonging to this particular group of people.
Kelly continued to read. Tookus did not have a nine-to-five job. He worked on his own as a freelancer, doing stints for every government agency in the nation's capital. Even the FBI. He was a computer genius. He wrote code, did designer security, set up Web sites that could not be hacked, ones with impenetrable firewalls.
Kelly snorted. There was no such thing, in his opinion, as an impenetrable firewall. Tookus's latest gig, as of six months ago, was installing a system for Homeland Security, for which he was paid a cool two million dollars. He snorted again when he read the words
the United States government's number one computer expert
. In parentheses was the word
GENIUS
, in capital letters.
Well, woo-hoo, boo-hoo, and all that jazz
, Kelly thought.
And here the number one computer genius in the country is suddenly, along with the number one martial arts expert in the country, right here, under my very nose. Not to mention the rest of the crew. Like I am really supposed to believe this whole gig is just a little gambling junket for fun and games. It has to mean something. But what?
One thing he knew for certain was that these people were not here for a vacation or for shits and giggles. They were here for something else. Now all he had to do was figure out what that
something
was.
Kelly spread all the reports across his desk and looked at them.
Eeny, meeny, miny, moe, catch a monkey by the toe
. . . Where to start? What should he dig into first? He took a mighty breath and let it out slowly. The computer guy, of course, this Abner Tookus. But first he had to make some phone calls. To old pals still in the business. Old pals who knew their way around the different government agencies, who knew who had whose ear and what was going to go down before it went down. One way or another, he was going to find out what was going on.
* * *
An hour after his arrival, allowing time for Abner to shower, put on fresh clothes, and eat, the gang gathered in Charles's suite to talk.
Jack thought Abner looked and acted like a cat on a hot griddle. Harry agreed. He decided to spare the computer expert the dance he was getting ready to orchestrate and get to the bare bones of whatever it was that was bothering him.
“Okay, Abner, spit it out. I know . . . we
all
know something is bothering you big-time. We saw it back in the BOLO Building. Thank God you don't play poker, because if you did, your face would give you away. You know something. What is it?”
Abner cleared his throat. “You're right. I
think
I know something. The operative word here is
think
. I didn't say anything then, because I wasn't sure. I'm still not one hundred percent sure, but I'm going to tell you, anyway, and you can all judge for yourselves if I'm right or wrong. I know where my loyalties lie. With all of you. That's a given. But . . . I have another loyalty I have . . . had to consider. I'm able to do what I do because of my mentor of old. I owe him everything. He's never asked anything of me in return. He's like a beloved cyber grandfather. You probably don't understand that, but I had to weigh that against all of you. At the same time, I didn't want to bring the wrath of God down on him if I was wrong. I am having a real hard time with this, in case you haven't noticed.
“Think about all I've been able to do for all of you over the years. I don't know where we'd all be if I hadn't been able to help out. Able to help out because of the person who took me under his wing and worked with me, taught me everything I know. He was there for me all the way. What I am trying to say here is that there is only one person in this whole world who I think could do what Bert thinks was done. RCHood. That's his cyber name. I have no idea what his real name is. RCHood stands for âRobin Cool Hood.' He robs the rich to help the poor. That's the bottom line.
“There is nothing he cannot hack into. I mean
nothing
. The man is a legend in his own time. You would have to live in my world to understand the fear the man generates. Fear and respect. I don't know.... Maybe you have to see the words in black and white to understand what I mean. RCHood is most famous among people like myself for saying, âYou screw me over, cross me, babble about me, or try to find me, and I will wipe out your entire bloodline.' Is it true? Would he do that? Does he have the capabilities? I don't know, and neither does anyone else, and none of us have ever, at least to my knowledge, tried to find out. Best to let sleeping dogs lie, as they say.”
Avery Snowden wagged his finger in the air to indicate he had something to say. “What Abner is telling you is the absolute truth. I've had my ear to the ground, as well as the ears of a lot of people in the field, and RCHood is the name that comes up time and time again. It is virtually the only name that came up. No one talks about him. I'm not guessing here when I say you could stick lighted matches under those hackers' toenails, and they still wouldn't talk.