Takedown (An Alexandra Poe Thriller) (31 page)

“Hurry it up, will you?”

“Contrary to popular belief, I can’t work miracles, so hold on. In the meantime, watch yourself. There are two guards coming ‘round from the left, headed for the dock.”

Deuce stepped back and crouched, wishing he had something more than shadows to hide in. He heard voices a moment before he saw the guards round the corner. Holding himself very still, he followed their progress as they moved parallel to the dock and headed to the far right side of the house.

When they were gone, he said, “Come on, dude. Give me that loop.”

“It’s done. Go.”

Deuce lit out, running at a full clip across the yard until he reached the Gold Coast catering van that Cooper had arrived in. He looked past it toward a set of steps and an open door that led into a basement hallway. He knew there was another camera in there. It was next on the list.

“Tell me when,” he said.

“Now. Go.”

He scrambled up the steps, keeping the tranq gun at his side, and ran through the doorway into the hall. Up ahead the corridor angled to the right, where the security stop, manned by two guards, would be located. Another camera, mounted high on the wall, was pointed in their direction.

“Do your thing, dude.”

“Done.”

Deuce may have been a big guy, but he knew how to travel quietly and quickly. He made a beeline down the hall and turned the corner, raising the tranq gun as he moved.

The two guards looked up in surprise and he fired two darts—
thock thock—
dropping them to the floor. As rapidly as he could, he dragged one, then the other, out of sight behind the machine.
 

“Tell me where I’m going,” he said to Warlock.

“Down the hall and to your left, past the kitchen. But be careful, there are people milling about. Put the gun away and act as if you belong.”

“This should be fun.”

“I told you it was suicide.”

“Yeah,” Deuce said, “but who do I have to go home to? My goldfish is probably dead.”

They took Favreau to a room about half the size of a barn, that may have been the most luxurious office he’d ever seen. The chairs, the sofa, the desk, the paintings on the wall all oozed money. The kind of money he’d like to have.

He still wasn’t sure what had happened out there. One minute Alexandra was running away from him, the next he was being grabbed by a couple of goons. He didn’t understand why they’d made such a fuss about Alexandra, although the pistol in her hand had been a pretty good indication that
something
was up.

Where had it come from? And why did she have it?

Had she only made a move on him to get to that party? Was she trying to horn in on his deal and snatch the merchandise? Or was she what he’d first suspected—a spy for Valac?

But if the last were true, why would they grab her like they had?

Whatever she was, Favreau realized he had meant nothing to her. He was merely a stepping stone. All the attention she’d given him had been a con, and he’d fallen for her like a chump.
 

And that made him both sad and angry.

The two hard cases escorting him took off his cuffs and sat him on the sofa. One of them was the guy from the bar the other day. The one who hadn’t said anything.

To Favreau’s right, in a big red armchair, was the guy who had made the speech tonight. Leonard whatshisname. Pappy Leo. And for a man who supposedly had more money than God, he didn’t look all that happy. Like he didn’t want to be here, now or ever.
 

Behind the big desk was a man with a ponytail.
 

Jesus
. Fifty-something years old and he wore his hair like a schoolgirl. What was that all about?

Favreau had never seen the guy before, but he assumed it was Valac. Reinhard Beck. Nobody got a face with all that wear and tear without going through some heavy-duty shit. He reminded Favreau of the guy from those beer commercials. The most interesting man in the world. Only this one had that ponytail, and a look in his eyes that said he’d happily squash you like a cockroach if you got in his way.

Favreau didn’t intend to get squashed. Not if he could help it. He just wanted to make this deal and get out of here.

Assuming there was still a deal to be made.

He was about to say something to that effect when the door burst open and the tall gray-haired man from the bar came in, pushing the whore in front of him. That’s what Alexandra was, wasn’t she? Another opportunistic tart whose only real interest was taking a guy for everything he had, even if it meant screwing with his head and heart.
 

Favreau wondered what they’d done with her partner. Coop. Hopefully, they tied him to a chair and beat the shit out of him.

The gray-haired man shoved Alexandra toward the sofa and told her to sit her ass down. She looked as if she wanted to strangle the guy, but did as she was told, not bothering to give Favreau even a single glance as she sat. They weren’t two feet apart and she acted as if he didn’t exist.

Bitch.

Instead, her eyes focused on Valac, still sitting behind that big desk as if
he
were the true king of St. Cajetan. Maybe he was, meaning the guy in the red chair was an impostor. A sock puppet. Someone so used to being controlled and manipulated and dragged out of his hole to perform for the crowd that he could barely look anyone in the eye when he wasn’t on stage.

That was exactly what was going on, Favreau realized.

When had the coup taken place?

Months ago? Years?

Favreau didn’t have much sympathy for guys like him. All that money and what did it get him? Anyone who was weak enough to let someone muscle in on his territory deserved whatever blew his way.

It took awhile, but Valac finally spoke. “Mr. Favreau, I think you owe us an explanation.”

“Me?”

Valac wagged a finger toward Alexandra. “You
are
the one who introduced this unpleasantness into what should have been a simple business transaction.”

Favreau sat forward. “Hey, she’s got nothing to do with me.”

“No?”
 

Valac picked up a remote from his desk and flicked a button. Behind him a large-screen TV came to life, displaying surveillance footage of Favreau and Alexandra going at it in the ballroom.

Valac froze the image. “Would you like to retract that statement?”

Favreau glanced at Alexandra and saw she had turned away from the monitor. He waited a moment, thinking if only she would look his way, then maybe…

But no. She wouldn’t give him the time of day.

“I’m just a patsy here,” he said. “I don’t know what she’s up to or who she’s working for and I don’t
want
to know. I came here to make a deal with you and that’s it. As far I’m concerned, we could’ve handled all this over the Internet, but it was your idea to turn it into a vacation getaway. Not mine.”

He was talking too much, sounding too desperate, and he knew it. But he couldn’t help himself. It was all true, wasn’t it?

“I would like to believe you, Frederic.”

“Then believe me. I’ll give you the codes, you give me my money and let me off this goddamn island.”

“You have them with you now?”

“I probably shouldn’t, but yeah. They haven’t left me since I got to St. Cajetan.”

“Show me.”

Favreau started to reach into his jacket pocket, but Valac signaled to the hard case from the bar, who grabbed Favreau’s wrist.

He winced. “What the hell?” The guy’s grip was like the bite of a pit bull. “You people already searched me. I’ve been through a metal detector. You know I’m not carrying any weapons.”

“Neither was she when she arrived,” Valac said.

“Yeah, well, I don’t know anything about that.”

With a nod from Valac, the thug released Favreau.
 

Favreau rubbed his wrist, then stuck his hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out the two key cards he’d removed from his wallet earlier. He handed them to the thug, who in turn took them to Valac.

Valac studied them. “Very clever, Frederic. I must admit I would not have given these a second thought.”

“That’s kinda the idea,” he said.

“Which of them holds the codes?”

“The one with the tiny nick on the corner.”

Valac inspected them. “I don’t see any nicks.”

“Look closer. It’s there. I made it myself.”

“That may be true, but I still don’t see it.”

“What’re you, blind?” Favreau started to rise, but the second hard case stepped forward and shoved him back down.

“Do that again,” Valac said, “and I will have him break your legs.”

Favreau swallowed. This wasn’t going the way he hoped it would.

Valac held out the two cards to the thug who had brought them to him. “Karl, check these with the reader.”

The thug took them and headed for a computer station to Valac’s left. Favreau noticed Alexandra was tracking the guy with her gaze, looking at the cards. He couldn’t help staring at that face and body of hers, wishing she hadn’t turned out to be such a bitch.
 

Why couldn’t he catch a break when it came to women?

Valac said to him, “I assume you put some type of protection on the card?”

Favreau snorted. “You think I’m stupid enough to hand those things over to you without an insurance policy? You transfer the money to my bank account, let me verify the transaction, and I’ll give you the password when I’m safely back home.”

The gray-haired guy laughed. “That’s a bit one sided, wouldn’t you say?”

“How so?”

“How are we supposed to check the authenticity of the codes if we don’t know the password?”

Favreau shrugged. “I guess you’ll just have to trust somebody for once in your life.”

Valac nodded. “Trust. Yes. As you trusted the young lady.”

“Hey, I told you, I’m not responsible for—”

“What type of encryption did you use?”

“What do you mean?”

“On the key card. AES? Blowfish?”

“I used an MD5 hashing algorithm, and believe me, you can try all you want but you’ll never crack that password.” He tapped his temple. “It’s all right here in my head.”

“So you have me beat, do you?”

Favreau grinned. “You bet your ass I do. And I gotta tell you, it feels pretty good to pull one over on the great Reinhard—”

Valac raised a pistol and fired.

Favreau felt the impact, felt his chest go numb and saw a neat round red hole there.

Then he toppled forward and hit the carpet.

L
EONARD
L
ATHAM
YELPED
and pushed back in his chair as if he wanted to disappear into the cushion. “Jesus Christ, you just shot that guy!”

Valac narrowed his eyes at him. “Thank you for stating the obvious, Leonard.”

At the sound of the shot, Alex had jumped to her feet and was backing away from the body. Favreau lay facedown on the floor, a pool of blood spreading beneath him. The guy had repulsed her and probably deserved to die for a multitude of reasons, but she wasn’t thrilled about being a witness to it.

Hopcroft frowned at Valac. “Was that really necessary, Reinhard?”
 

“I didn’t like him much.”

“I get that impression.”

“He was an amateur. I do not have time for amateurs.” He waved his pistol at the muscle boy, Karl. “Are you going to check those cards or not?”

Karl gestured to the body. “You just shot the password.”

“Were you not listening to him? The MD5 hashtag algorithm has been considered unsafe for over a year now, and our software will break it with ease. So scan both cards, see which one asks for a password, and we’ll know we have our codes.”

As Karl went back to work, Valac turned his reptilian gaze on Alex. “Don’t think I have forgotten about you, Ms. Barnes. You treated my friend Frederic there quite poorly and look at him now.”

Alex didn’t respond. What could she say to a sociopath? It took all of her will to resist shooting a glance at Hopcroft.

“Jesus Christ,” Latham said again. “How could you just shoot the guy?”

Valac trained the pistol on him. “It’s quite simple, Leonard. I point the gun and pull the trigger. Any more questions?”

Latham hastily shook his head.

Valac signaled to his other man. “Salvadore, take our host up to his room and give him his pill. He looks as if he could use it.”

Salvadore gestured with his fingers and Latham rose from his chair, trying not to stare at the corpse as they stepped past it and crossed the room to the door.

When they were gone, Alex said, “How long has he been like that?”

“Who? Leonard?”

“From what I’ve seen of him on TV, he always struck me as such an egotistical bastard.”

“He gave us trouble at first, but now he’s a good boy. But what about you? How do you fit into all of this? Who is it you’re working for?”

He obviously hadn’t done much research on her yet, and she knew Hopcroft wasn’t about to share. But before she could come up with a suitable answer, the one named Karl said, “Reinhard, we have a problem.”

Valac sighed. “I’m speaking to the young lady. I don’t appreciate interruptions.”