No Remorse (11 page)

“Gotta go, Ben. I’ll call you later. Promise.”

She pressed the button to answer Tony’s call and terminate Ben’s.

Mac and Tony were in a room on the second floor of the Chanticle Hotel wearing overalls and yellow fluorescent vests, with fake nametags dangling from their necks. By the door were two equipment bags. Maintenance workers’ gear that would allow them to enter Brazhlov’s suite without raising suspicion. They were waiting for Brazhlov and his bodyguards to leave.

Yesterday, Tony had installed a tiny wireless videocam beside the fire switch in the hall across from Brazhlov’s suite, so they could observe their comings and goings. There had certainly been more comings than goings, with a parade of beautiful women at intervals late last night and early this morning. Brazhlov had taken breakfast as room service.

“The man’s a machine,” Tony said, as three women hobbled out of the suite looking exhausted.

Somehow that comment reminded Mac of the last time he’d had sex, around three months ago, in an Abrams tank at Fort Bragg. One of those bucket-list things. Most uncomfortable place he’d ever done it. Thankfully, Carole, a medic from the 44th, had taken gymnastics as a kid and still had the flexibility.

“Even machines need to be refueled,” he said, pacing the room. “Maybe they’ll run out of the white powder and do lunch.”

Sure enough, shortly after midday, Brazhlov and his boys appeared on their monitor and got into the elevator. A few minutes later, out the window, Mac could see them walking along the pebble beach.

Tony plugged in his Bluetooth headset and called Tally. “Brazhlov’s gone out.” After a pause, he turned to Mac. “Tally’s in the internet café now. Let’s go.”

As Tony had explained it, eight weeks earlier Rosco had managed to embed a keylogger onto Brazhlov’s notebook computer using a Trojan virus in an innocent-looking email. When Brazhlov had accessed his online banking, the keylogger had recorded his account numbers and passwords. He had at least twelve numbered accounts in tax havens. But there remained a problem. They’d discovered that his accounts had the additional security of a
token tag
. This bank-issued electronic device generated a six-digit “token” or PIN number that had to be entered, in addition to the password, each time the account was accessed. They needed the token tags for a few minutes so they could log into Brazhlov’s accounts.

Tony and Mac had been given the task of raiding Brazhlov’s hotel room safe in the hope the tags would be locked in there. It would be safer for Brazhlov to leave them than to carry them on him to the places he frequented. As the newbie, Mac knew that his every action would be under scrutiny by Derek—and especially by Tally.

When there was no answer from room 402 to his knocking, Tony used a metal card attached to an electronic device to gain entry. Inside, the suite had been trashed. Empty champagne bottles were scattered like dead soldiers among food wrappers, broken glasses and leftover food. Six trolleys with demolished meals had been shoved together in the center of the living room. Bedsheets, towels, clothing, and several condom wrappers littered the furniture. One used condom was stuck to a curtain.

“Filthy pigs,” Tony said, tiptoeing around the mess.

Mac took a wrench out of his bag and went into the bathroom where he loosened the stop valve on the toilet just enough for water to start dripping onto the floor. Came back and stood by the door. “I’ll keep watch. You can bet they’ve told housekeeping to clean up while they’re out,” he said, glancing through the door’s security viewer.

Tony went into the bedroom and opened the cupboard containing the room safe. He held a small rectangular device against it, and after a few seconds Mac heard the distinctive whirring noise as the safe opened.

Tony called Tally again. “I’m in, Tal,” he said, wiping his sweaty forehead as he spoke into his headset. “There’s a laptop computer, a bundle of euros, a baggy of coke, an envelope… Gotcha!” He grabbed the wire loop holding the token tags and pulled it out. It caught on the safe door and came apart, scattering about a dozen token tags across the floor like plastic cockroaches.

“Holy shit!” said Tony, scrambling to collect the devices among the garbage on the floor. “I’ve dropped them…” he explained to Tally.

“Just take it easy,” Mac said. “Do you know how many there were?” He picked up three tags and passed them to Tony before resuming his position at the door.

“I think that’s all of them. Okay. Okay. Which bank do you want first?” Tony asked Tally as he threaded the tags back onto the wire.

A pause.

“Okay.” Tony had the tag she wanted. “Got it.” He pressed the button on the device. “The token is six, three, five, seven, two, six.”

At that moment, Mac saw the elevator door open and a trolley appear. “Fuck! The cleaners! Close up!”

He quickly pulled a wrench from his tool bag. Then he spotted a loose token tag beside the wheel of one of the trolleys.

No time.

“Housekeeping,” a woman’s voice called as she knocked.

After a moment the door bumped against his back.

“
Un moment, s’il vous plaît,”
Mac yelled.

Tony placed the wire loop with the tokens back inside the safe and closed up. Mac stood back from the door. Two dark-skinned women pushed it open and stood on each side of the cleaners’ trolley.

“
Qui êtes-vous? Que faites-vous ici?”
demanded one of the women, who was holding fresh towels. Her eyes drifted past Mac into the room.
“Oooh! Mon Dieu! Misha!”

The other woman peered into the room with a horrified look. She didn’t make a move to enter.

Mac pointed towards the bathroom, then pinched his nose.
“La toilette est bloquée. Merde! Revenez plus tard.”

The woman spoke vigorously to her colleague and waved her free arm. She dumped the clean towels in his arms and they scurried away, pushing their trolley towards the elevator.

“They’ve gone.” He put the bottle down and picked up the loose token. “The Mediterranean Commerce Bank of Cyprus.”

“Fuck! Fuck!” Tony was freaking out. “I’ve got to put that back!”

Mac heard the
ding
of the elevator. “Wait.” He checked the security viewer. “Oh, shit. They’re back! Get in the bathroom. Quickly!” He handed Tony the wrench.

Moments later the door was flung open and one of Brazhlov’s hefty bodyguards stepped into the room. He reached his hand in his jacket, but didn’t pull out the weapon that was obviously there. The man glared at him and yelled a string of foreign words that sounded like they were probably expletives.

Thank God for the fluoro jacket, Mac thought.

He shrugged.
“Entretien. La toilette.”
Mac pointed to his bag of tools and waved his finger lazily towards the bathroom.

The man pushed him into the bathroom, where Tony was kneeled at the toilet with the wrench.

“Stay! You stay here!” the man yelled in English. He hurried back into the bedroom and after a moment Mac heard the whirring noise of the safe being opened. Would the guy count the token tags and find one was missing?

“Finished,” Tony said.

“Let’s go.”

Mac led Tony out into the living room and gave a lazy salute to the bodyguard, who was walking out of the bedroom.

“Okay,” said Mac.

The man said something that again Mac and Tony didn’t understand. Then he said in a gruff voice: “Clean! Clean!” and waved his hand around the room.

“Lady clean!” Mac yelled back and shook his head. Looked at his watch. “Lady clean!” He held up five fingers. “Five minutes!”

The bodyguard nodded and looked relieved. Waved them out.

“
Merci, Monsieur.”
Mac lingered by the door, palm out meaningfully.

The bodyguard pulled a face and tossed him a two-euro coin.

As they hurried to the elevator, Tony said, “We’re screwed if Brazhlov notices one of his tags missing.”

Tally’s excitement mounted. At the Royal & International Bank of Seychelles
Log In
prompt, she typed the number of Brazhlov’s account and password that she knew from memory. A soft ‘beep’ sounded and another popup screen appeared.

“Give me the token, Tony.”

She typed the token as he read it out, then hit Enter. The screen went blank while the bank’s security authentication protocol processed the data. After a moment, a list of accounts appeared.

“I’m in!” she whispered, but Tony had disconnected.

In Brazhlov’s account were six sub-accounts, all with amounts in US dollars. The amounts ranged from $420,000 to $320 million. Brazhlov had named each account after a bird: there was a Falcon Account, Eagle Account, Hawk Account, and so on. Tally memorized these in case she could gain access again later.

She called Tony back and got voicemail. What had happened? She started to feel guilty that she’d been hoping Mac would screw things up. Now her concern was that without more tokens she wouldn’t be able to access any of Brazhlov’s other accounts. If that was the case, she would need to recover as much as she could from the accounts now showing on her screen.

So be it.

She went through each sub-account, checking the last four month’s transactions. The largest transfer was from the Eagle Account, for $41 million. She mentally crossed her fingers as she typed in a transfer of $40 million to the numbered account ASTA had opened at the Standard Global Bank of the Cook Islands. She held her breath. Waited. After a moment, the confirmation screen appeared, signaling the funds had been transferred.

One down, five to go!

She released her breath and sneaked a covert grin at Rosco, who winked in return. She moved the cursor to the Hawk account, which had a $243 million balance, with the highest transfer being $15 million. As she attempted to transfer $14 million, a message in bold appeared:
Maximum transfer permitted on this account: $10 million
. Brazhlov must have changed the daily transfer limit. She transferred nine million and moved to the next account. After a few minutes, she’d transferred $87 million to the Cook Islands Account.

She dialed Tony again, but again it went to voicemail. She dialed Mac’s number. He answered on the second ring.

“What happened? I can’t get Tony.”

“He’s down in the basement bringing up the rental. We’re checking out. One of Brazhlov’s men came back to see if the room was being cleaned. Good news. I have another token tag. The Mediterranean Commerce Bank of Cyprus. Care to try that?”

A few minutes later, Tally had recovered a further $64 million. She was shaking. She wanted to run from the internet café before the police stormed in and arrested her. At the same time, she could scarcely restrain herself from squealing with delight. She pressed speed dial. After a moment a voice came on the line.

“Wisebaum.”

“One hundred fifty big ones, Derek!” she whispered.

“Great job, Tal. Now clean up and walk out nice and slow. We’ll talk later.” He disconnected.

She deleted her applications, cookies, history, and residual files, then reconfigured the switching server at the Nice Exchange. She rebooted the computer. Taking out a small perfume spray bottle, she sprayed the keyboard, desk and mouse. The alkaline mixture would destroy any fingerprints.

“Let’s hope Brazhlov doesn’t want to check his balance tonight,” Rosco said to her as they arrived back at the Negresco Hotel to meet the others, before departing for the airport.

Clearance of the funds would occur in two to three days. After that, the funds would be electronically shifted among hundreds of accounts at various banks in Liechtenstein, Turks and Caicos, Panama, Cyprus, Cayman Islands, Bermuda, and Antigua and Barbuda. They would be then consolidated in three Monaco banks before being shifted to various ASTA accounts around the world. The Cook Islands account would then be closed. Within five days, there would be no trace of the funds’ final destination.

They just had to wait.

At his suite in the acute care wing of the Pierre Morrell Cancer Clinic in Dubai, Prince Abu-Bakr Yubani smiled weakly, beckoning Khalid closer until the cracked lips almost touched his ear. His father’s foul breath had a metallic edge, and the old man struggled for air before gaining sufficient strength to speak. The words came out in a hoarse whisper, interspersed with shallow, weak coughs. “Our fortress?”

“Finished. It’s magnificent, father. I pray you’ll soon be well enough to fly to Andaran and see it. Everything is ready. We finally have a donor girl with excellent compatibility, and Dr. Xi’s team has practiced the operation on four other patients. When will the doctors say we can move you?”

His mother, Princess Aliya, stopped talking quietly with Rubi and came over to adjust Abu-Bakr’s pillows. “The doctors say he’ll be released in about two weeks. He just needs a little more rest after the pneumonia.”

“It is in Allah’s hands,” Abu-Bakr said. “Is the fortress completely secure?”

It will be, once Fanning and his wife are eliminated,
Khalid thought. But he knew better than to worry his ailing father about that.

“It’s totally secure, father. Tell me about these threats Ibrahim mentioned?”

Abu-Bakr put his finger to his lips before whispering the words, “Jing-Ho.” He grimaced as he tried to shift his body to a different position.

“The old man who looks after your villa in Paris? Surely he is not threatening you?”

Abu-Bakr shook his head and gestured to Princess Aliya, who took an envelope from her handbag and handed it to Khalid.

“Just before he was admitted to this place he wrote things down,” Princess Aliya said. “The rest you’ll get from Ibrahim and your father’s attorney.”

Khalid felt a weariness wash over him. He wanted to be gone from this morbid place. “I’ll go then, mother. I have business at home.”

“Ibrahim…” Abu-Bakr croaked, pointing to the door.

Khalid called Ibrahim into the room.

“Ibrahim, you must retrieve the cargo…” said Abu-Bakr, grabbing the oxygen mask and taking a few breaths. “…and move it to the fortress.”