by D S Kane
“I can’t do that. All the mercs are all on their way to you.”
“Then hire some help. Get someone!”
“I’ll do what I can. Wing out.”
Cassie crawled off into the bathroom and closed the door. She sat thinking on the toilet. Had she missed something? Is there anything at all she hadn’t covered? She couldn’t think of anything and left the toilet seat, washed her hands and crawled prone to the kitchen.
Coffee. She lived on it, and now, to ensure she remained focused, Cassie made a pot of it. “Guys, this is the last of the coffee.”
Cassie savored her portion and poured small cups for the others. As she did, she thought, Omigod, there’s one thing we haven’t talked about yet. How do we get off the island with Shimmel, without being picked off? Got to ask the guys. How do we exit Maui? And where will I be safe?
Chapter Twenty-One
October 26, 6:22 p.m.
Wailea Spa and Hotel, Maui, Hawaii
Cassie watched her bodyguards prepare for battle. They sat silent behind the upturned furniture, cleaning and loading their weapons and waiting for rescue or death. The water, toilets, power, and fridge all worked. They could eat and eliminate waste while death stalked them. The television in the living room was wrecked from shotgun pellets, but there was a television in each bedroom. So far, no one had tried the one that worked, to see if the siege was making the local news. She didn’t care.
She sneaked a peek out the picture window, saw hundreds of men and women carrying weapons, but no shots rang out. I doubt my situation can be fixed. What can my father do to save me? He’s an economist, and even if he once worked with KGB, what could he know about paramilitary operations? Even I’m just a neophyte.
Cassie wondered if the mercenaries could make a difference. How many can fit on a plane? What if Shimmel can’t find enough seats on commercial flights for all the mercs? She used her cell phone to look at the airline websites and found there were no seats available, arriving in Maui for the next six days. She thought, they’re all filled with hitters! So many hit men, there’s no way any of us will ever get out alive. Oh fucking shit! She worried, just how many hitters are there?
Cassie peeked through the window again for a better, longer look. People dressed for the wrong climate filled the lawn heading to the hotel grounds, carrying rifle-sized cases. Hundreds of them. Oh shit! They must have left their hometowns so fast they didn’t have time to find out the weather or grab appropriate clothing. Killing her was too important. She suspected the problem might be even bigger. She needed to get home to keep hitters from going after Ann and Lee too.
Then a most unwelcome thought occurred to her. She wondered if one of her mercs would try to kill her. There was a ton of money at stake here. She shivered in the heat. What’s disloyalty worth? After all, they’re mercenaries; they work for money. Her mind whirled and twisted in terror. Oh shit, I’m gonna die. One of my own is gonna kill me… and they’re trained fighters. Shit. If they don’t, there are more hitters flying to Hawaii while we sit here on our asses. Fuck!
Cassie hyperventilated. She rapidly lost control, grabbed her legs with her arms and rocked back and forth. But after a few seconds she stopped, thinking, I have to try to achieve focus; I’m of no use with my mind so badly scattered. She tried to force herself to breathe in a long breath, hold it, and then slowly exhale. About the fourth repetition, Cassie looked around again, this time with some objectivity. She and her bodyguards were all safe. But the rest of the situation was as bad as her panic had rendered it. Just as she sighed, a bullet hit the door and blew a small hole through it. She flinched and yelped. But no others followed.
Shimon saw the panic on her face. It had subsided slightly, but too much of it was present. He thought, she’ll make a mistake if she doesn’t regain focus. Then, we’ll all die. He’d seen it before. Soldiers die when they lose the ability to remain cool in battle situations. He looked at his fellow bodyguards and they nodded back. Shimon said, “Cassie, we need to talk about how to keep this from reoccurring after we’re free from here.” He wondered if she’d see his play for what it was: a chance to distract her.
Cassie looked back at him, thought, and then cracked a smile. “Shimon, I know what you’re doing. But you’re right. I need to focus on something other than our imminent demise. So, let’s all plan on how we’ll get the hell out of here. I’m right, yes?”
Lester laughed. “Cassie, this isn’t the first time we’ve been in low-probability outcomes. It’s not your first time, either.”
JD frowned. “So, let’s figure out how we fix this situation.”
Cassie replied, “The only thing I can think of is to call the CEO of the company that runs GrayNet and get him to take the bet off the website. I own a large chunk of the company. Got his contact info right here.” She held up her cell phone. “But what if he won’t do that? We’re so fucked.” She glared at her bodyguards even though they weren’t part of the problem.
She seethed as she flexed her fists. “I just invested in his company and now he lets the business I funded host a call for my death. I really want to ream him several new orifices.” She looked up the contact information for Phillip Watson, the CEO of Predictive Markets, the company operating the website at www.GrayNet.com.
The phone didn’t answer, dumped her into voicemail. Damn. Instead of leaving a voice message, Cassie sent Watson an email:
Dear Mr. Watson,
My name is Cassandra Sashakovich. I suspect that I am currently your largest investor. I have just found out that GrayNet.com currently hosts a bet that will likely cause me to be murdered and mutilated.
Please remove that bet immediately, and reply ASAP.
Sincerely,
Cassandra Sashakovich
They sat in silence as the sky lighted with a blood red sunset. Cassie thought about their chances of survival in the coming night. As the minutes passed, she could see the sun sink into the sea, casting scarlet shadows through the room’s windows.
Ari crawled to the refrigerator and removed five cans of soda. He crawled to each of them, delivering the cans.
JD carefully placed the periscope on the floor and popped the tab on his soda. He said, “Even with Avram’s mercs coming tonight, we should conserve the food and drink as much as possible. We have no idea how conditions may change.” But he drank his soda in four large gulps. Then he picked up the periscope again. “Six hours to go. Soon. They should be here soon.”
Cassie’s cell beeped, notifying her of an arriving email. She scanned the message:
Dear Ms. Sashakovich,
Received your email. Thanks also for your generous support of Predictive Markets, Inc.
I understand your predicament. But I ask you to see this from the perspective of our investors, of which you are merely one. This bet has literally placed GrayNet on the map as the capital of Internet betting. It increased our traffic by over 10,000% and the worth of our preferred stock by over 200,000%. You’ll be pleased to know that the market cap of our company is now almost $100 million. And you did this in less than three days! Congratulations!
If this continues, and it should at least until the contract on your beheading is completed, Predictive Markets will be able to file for an Initial Public Offering in the many countries where our activities are legal. Your stock will be worth somewhere in excess of $80 million.
I’ll not eliminate the bet from GrayNet. However, if you make me a preemptive offer on my stock holdings of Predictive Markets, I might be convinced to sell it to you—if the amount you bid exceeds $100 million.
Best regards,
Phillip Watson, CEO, Predictive Markets
She felt heat in her cheeks as her temper rose. She thought of disemboweling Watson: “I’ll fix that bastard.” The bodyguards looked back at her. It was obvious to them something else had gone wrong. No one dared asked what it was.
Cassie began tapping out search terms on Google. She found Intrade.com, BoundlessBets.com, a
nd several other competitors of GrayNet. Each had bets on her death. Cassie posted two new $150 million bets on each—negative bets on the assassinations of Achmed Houmaz and Phillip Watson. It was more money than Watson wanted. She suspected Houmaz had bodyguards, but Watson might not. To make sure that Watson got the message, she posted both bets on GrayNet as well. She slammed the keyboard of her cell phone shut. “Turnabout is fair play. Let’s see how he feels being hunted.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
October 27, 10:12 p.m.
Half Moon Bay, California
Kiril Sashakovich gripped the phone so tightly it hurt. He tried calling again, for the twentieth time. The line was still busy. He cursed in Russian and hung up the receiver.
Natasha entered the front door carrying thick file folders and dumped them on a desk in the entryway. The top one’s title was, “City Incorporation Study for Devil’s Slide.” She walked toward Kiril. He couldn’t hide his troubled expression.
“Kiril, what is it?”
“It’s our daughter. She’s in trouble again but this time I think I may be able to help her.”
“What could be wrong?”
Kiril thought how to tell his wife what Cassie had told him. He shook his head. “She’s made a foolish mistake and let her temper take her into danger. Remember how Cassandra told us she tried to invest in a new cancer cure? Then the company was bought and its cure sunsetted so the buying pharma corp could continue selling garbage to cancer patients. Not only did she buy part of an offshore company sponsoring Internet betting, but then our daughter bet that the CEOs of drug companies would die if they couldn’t offer affordable cures for the diseases that they don’t cure right now.”
“So?”
“Someone saw the bet and had a desire to have her killed the same way. They took out a bet causing an instant contract on her life, probably in response, for all I know. So now she’s sitting helpless in her hotel room along with her bodyguards, with multiple contract hitters in the hallway trying to kill her.”
Tasha gasped and sank to the floor. “Not my daughter! Not again! We just got her back. It’s not fair to lose her now.” She wept, shaking.
Kiril gently grasped her hand and nodded. “I have a plan.”
She shook her head. “But, what can you do?”
He paced the room. “I intend to buy her a way to escape from Maui. I tried calling Misha with regular telephone but he doesn’t answer. But, now I remember. There’s another way.” He headed for the spare bedroom he used as an office. He took out the GNU Radio that Cassie had given him, and Natasha nodded. Cassie had also given a GNU Radio to Misha. Kiril was sure it would be a very long night.
“Kiril, fix her problem. I couldn’t bear to lose her again.”
As he did every half-hour, Watson looked at the “Active Bets” page on GrayNet. “Shit. Shit, shit, shit!”
His fingers flew over the keyboard as fast as he could. Watson eliminated the bet on his own death, then wondered if Sashakovich was sending him a message. He immediately located the websites of all his competitors and found that the total bounty she was offering for his death was $900 million. Most of the bets were less than ten minutes old and the oldest one was thirty-two minutes old. He cursed again as left his office, fast as he could. He realized that she would rather have him dead than pay him off, even though it might cost her many times more money. He could do nothing to end the bets on the other sites. And he was sure she wasn’t in a mood to negotiate.
He searched the drawers of his desk for some items he knew he’d need. His passport, bank account statements, and an 8 x 10 photo of his baby daughter, who lived with his ex. He knew he’d never see them again. He cracked open his cell and pulled up a screen containing a list of phone numbers for each carrier at JFK.
He should have guessed that she’d do something irrational like this. Watson took the elevator down to the garage and sprinted to his red Alpha Romeo. He gunned the engine and drove to the airport without stopping at his apartment for anything. He knew that it might not be safe there. Watson guessed his best hope for survival was to disappear. He patted the vest pocket of his suit jacket and sighed. His passport sat safely in the pocket.
He parked the car in short-term parking, never to be retrieved. Lufthansa had a plane leaving for Munich in an hour. Watson bought a ticket, first class, last minute, for almost eight thousand dollars. He sprinted through airport security and barely made it before they closed the entry ramp door.
Once he arrived in Munich, he’d need a new identity. Then on to someplace far more remote and out of the way. He needed to select a country that was relatively safe but still had access to his bank accounts. And—he thought—very soon he’d need to sell his stock to get cash.
From her hiding spot behind the couch, Cassie made another call, this one to William Wing. “William, I have a list of things for you to do ASAP. First, find a way to remove the bets on my life. Then—”
“Cassie, I tried. Doesn’t work. Search engines don’t update fast enough and the web spiders already picked up the pages. They’ve been widely dispersed across loads of servers. Worse, they’ve been translated into other languages. So taking them down won’t work. You have to get Predictive to retract the bet from their website.”
“Then we need to grab Phillip Watson. I’ll have Shimmel assemble a team. Since you’ve met him, you know what he looks like. You’ll have to go with the Shimmel’s acquiring team. But first, locate all his bank accounts. I want them drained of every last penny before you go home tonight. And let me know that bastard’s location as soon as you have it.”
“Okay. This will take at least four or five hours. The bank accounts are pretty easy. But as for finding Watson, he could be moving even as we speak. By the time I know where he is, he might be gone from there. He’s smart and he’ll either already be using a different identity or he’ll acquire a new one as soon as he hits his first destination. I’ll do my best. Anything else?”
“Yeah. Please get mercs to our house to help Michael protect Lee and Ann. I don’t know, but I think they might also be targets.”
“I can’t do that. All the mercs are all on their way to you.”
“Then hire some help. Get someone!”
“I’ll do what I can. Wing out.”
Cassie crawled off into the bathroom and closed the door. She sat thinking on the toilet. Had she missed something? Is there anything at all she hadn’t covered? She couldn’t think of anything and left the toilet seat, washed her hands and crawled prone to the kitchen.
Coffee. She lived on it, and now, to ensure she remained focused, Cassie made a pot of it. “Guys, this is the last of the coffee.”
Cassie savored her portion and poured small cups for the others. As she did, she thought, Omigod, there’s one thing we haven’t talked about yet. How do we get off the island with Shimmel, without being picked off? Got to ask the guys. How do we exit Maui? And where will I be safe?
Chapter Twenty-Three
October 27, 7:52 a.m.
616 Vassily, Saint Petersburg, Russia
Misha Kovich was brushing his teeth when the GNU Radio began to buzz. He spit the toothpaste into the sink and quickly rinsed his mouth. “Da?”
The familiar voice spoke Russian. “It’s Kiril. I need your help. It’s for your niece. Cassandra needs an immediate evac from an island and she’s unlikely to survive very long if we can’t help her. There’s a contract on her life and there are multiple hitters. At least thirty, but I suspect possibly hundreds more.”
“How can I help?” He walked to a chair in the living room.
“How much to buy a submarine?”
He stopped pacing, and almost dropped the GNU Radio. He shifted into English without even realizing it. “You want… you want what? Kiril, what for you want submarine?”
“To use for her evac, to get her to safety. She’s being hunted. How much?”
Misha gulped hard as he thought. “Depends. You want nuclear or convention
al antique? You want buy or rent? For rent, you must leave large deposit.”
“Used and old. Conventional will do just fine. There are limits even to her wealth.”
“Okay, Kiril. For family, a discount on rental. I love my niece and don’t want nobody kill her. How about I give you antique for two weeks for, say, two hundred fifty thousand USD?”
“Is it operable?”
“Da. It is able to dive to about thirty meters. No cracks, no leaks. I swear on our mother’s grave. Uses diesel so batteries must recharge on surface. Needs staff of at least ten. Manuals written in Russian. One sub is small, can carry fifty. Other is much larger. Can carry up to ninety. Which one you want?”
“How many are available?”
“What, Kiril, you want buy a fleet?
“No. I want to buy one and rent one.”
“In case one is destroyed?” There was silence as Misha pondered the question. “Okay. Buy one for three million and I’ll get you one rental for one hundred twenty-five thousand per week.”
“When can they be ready?”
“Two days from now.”
“No good, Misha. In two days there will be many dead bodies. Maybe including Cassandra. How about eighteen hours?”
“Shit. Not long enough time to make sure both work.”
“Do it. They both have to work. Where can I pick them up?”
“You can’t pick them up. We deliver. Where to?”
“Maui. Wailea coast. Wailea Spa and Hotel. As close to shore as possible. How much for two crews?”
“I don’t know. Figure twenty men for two weeks is another two hundred thousand.”
“And you can have them there within four days?”
“Nyet! These go at under thirty kilometers per hour. Kiril, is over six thousand kilometers from Siberia, give or take. That will take,” he calculated quickly in his head, “over a week.”