They motored around the island until they had a good view of the mainland and the VIP marina. A windsurfer cut back and forth in the north side of the bay. “How’s this?” Anders asked.
Max nodded. “Now we wait. If no one is coming by two twenty, we head into the marina to take whatever they’re leaving with.”
At 1:30 p.m., at the cabins by the east dock, Raymond had gathered his teams together. “Okay, let’s review the plan. Hernandez’s crew takes the casino. You collect the guards, drive off the bystanders. You set the charges in the exterior wall next to the hotel lobby to create a diversion for your escape. In the meantime, my team will grab the valuables. We mix in with the civilians and meet back at the safe house in town.” He glanced over the group. No one spoke. “Let’s do this.”
The men checked their assault rifles one last time before they slung them onto their backs, muzzles down, and hid them under their loose jackets. Hernandez whistled. seven of the men drifted over to him, and they started through the dunes to the golf cart path. The remaining three men gathered around Raymond. “You guys ready? Everyone know their part?”
The men nodded.
“Follow me.”
They walked off in the opposite direction from Hernandez’s crew. Raymond’s golf cart was waiting for them beside the path. They drove off up the hill into the woods headed for the patio restaurant behind the hotel.
At 2:15, JB and Lulu were already up in the service closet on the twelfth floor. They had both of the pistols Max had left there. “I wonder what’s keeping Max and Kelly Jo,” Lulu said.
“I don’t know, and I don’t care,” JB replied. “Just as long as they show up in time to die. I can’t wait to see the look on his face when he realizes just how far we played them.”
“She really was pissed off, wasn’t she?”
“He must not get out very often.”
“Or he’s better at covering it up when she doesn’t get a selfie.”
“You sent her a photo?”
“The boss said to move fast.”
“No wonder she was spitting fire,” JB said.
“How much time do we have?”
“From two thirty? Thirty minutes to meet Raymond downstairs.”
“So we’re going to need their help to get to all the safes.”
“Meaning?”
“You can’t shoot them until we’re ready to go.”
“That’s up to them.”
“We should stick together. Just in case things go sideways.”
“Really? You think Kelly Jo will partner with you or let Max partner with you? The tricky part will be when we meet at the last safe.”
“I’ll be the straggler,” Lulu said. “They won’t expect anything if we don’t seem organized.”
Out in the bay, Max, Kelly Jo, and Anders sat on the boat watching the coast and the VIP marina. A few water skiers zoomed by, a few fishing boats floated in the distance, but there was no yacht coming from the mainland—nothing fast enough or big enough to contain a million dollars in dirty money and a security crew. Max looked at his watch. 2:20 p.m. “Anders, nobody’s coming. Take us in to the marina.”
At 2:30 p.m., Hernandez’s men were loitering around at the entrance to the casino. They pulled down their ski masks, swung their M4 assault rifles around from their backs, and burst through the heavy glass doors. Three uniformed guards at the security desk reached for their pistols. One of Hernandez’s men bashed the nearest guard in the face with the butt of his rifle. “Die here or live,” Hernandez said. “It’s up to you.”
The guards put up their hands. Hernandez’s men took their pistols and cuffed their hands behind their backs. A few nearby guests who could see what was happening started moving quietly toward the doors of the casino. Hernandez’s men herded the guards together. “To the cashiers’ cages,” Hernandez said. As they started moving, one of Hernandez’s crew fired a burst of automatic fire into the ceiling. “Run!” he yelled.
Guests screamed and stampeded for the doors. “Terrorists!” someone yelled. The security alarm sounded, the ringing echoing off the walls. Hernandez’s men hustled the guards back through the casino.
Meanwhile, Raymond and his team of three were positioned in the hall outside the private dining rooms. As soon as he heard the alarm from the casino, he pulled the fire alarm in the hall. Diners rushed from the dining rooms, confusion on their faces. Raymond spotted the Smithson entourage moving down the hall as a unit—they all looked just like their pictures. The old man, gray-faced and slow, his son, Tim, wire-framed glasses and dad bod, his daughter in-law, Myrna, gym-toned and tan, O’Brian and Ninovich behind them, and a bodyguard on each side. The grandson, Mikey, a small, dark-haired boy in a black suit, was being moved along by the bodyguard on the left side, a big man who was holding the boy’s hand.
Raymond motioned to his men. They pushed into Smithson’s group as if they were confused about the location of the exits. One of Raymond’s men shot the bodyguard point blank. Before any of Smithson’s people could react in the pandemonium, Raymond snatched the boy up onto his shoulder and rushed off down the hall, his men swarming around the boy and him as they pushed through the double doors into the kitchen. Ninovich and the other bodyguard charged after them, guns drawn.
“Diego; Juan.” Raymond motioned back toward the doors. Two of the men took cover behind refrigerators to set an ambush. “Come on, Sanchez.” The remaining man fell in behind Raymond as he carried Mikey out the back door onto the restaurant patio. It was chaos. Guests were yelling and running in all directions, knocking over chairs and pushing tables into each other. A helicopter was hovering above. Raymond waved at the pilot. Mikey was kicking and pounding Raymond’s back.
“Hold him,” Raymond said to Sanchez. He dropped Mikey to the ground. Sanchez gripped the boy by his shoulders. Raymond cuffed Mikey’s hands behind his back. The helicopter touched down. Sanchez lifted Mikey into the helicopter. As Raymond seat-belted Mikey in, Sanchez hooked a control line to his belt and turned in the door of the helicopter, his M4 rifle at the ready.
“Let’s go,” Raymond yelled. The helicopter pilot nodded, and they took off.
Max and Kelly Jo were running up the path from the marina when they saw Raymond burst out of the back of the hotel with another armed man, a boy in a black suit over his shoulder. Alarms shrieked out of the building. Max and Kelly Jo watched as the helicopter set down and Raymond and his accomplice shoved the boy onboard. Two more gunmen rushed out of the back of the hotel, looked up at the helicopter flying away, and then dropped their rifles in the nearest trashcan before pulling off their jackets and disappearing into the crowd.
“Let’s get back to the boat. This is swirling down the toilet,” Max said.
They ran back to the marina, mixing in with the terrified guests who were looking for any way to escape. Their boat was bobbing in the water near to the dock. Anders spotted them and motored up. They climbed on board.
A fat man wearing plaid shorts, his combover hanging down in his eyes, held up his wallet. “Take me with you. I can pay!”
Max shook his head. Anders started to back the boat away from the dock. The man grabbed for the side railing. Max showed him his pistol. “Let go.”
The fat man threw his hands up. His wallet flipped into the air and plopped down into the water. Max turned to Anders. “Let’s get out of here. We’re on the backup plan.”
The Smithson family was huddled together in the hallway. Myrna Smithson, Mikey’s mother, was on her knees, her face in her hands, sobbing. Her husband, Tim, knelt beside her, rubbing her back, whispering. The other bodyguard knelt over the one who’d been shot, keeping pressure on the wound, while the hotel nurse practitioner rummaged in her medical bag. Jeffrey Smithson stood by the wall, huddled with his lieutenants, talking in a low voice. “What’s being done?”
“Everything is still a mess. We know that two of those guys took Mikey in a helicopter. The other two are still here somewhere. There’s a robbe
ry crew trapped in the casino. The casino security team has the casino and the outside covered, so we’re searching the building before the cops get here,” O’Brian replied. “We’ve blocked the ferry and the marina. Nobody’s leaving this island without our say-so.”
“My guys are watching the ferry dock in town,” Ninovich said. “We’ll catch the guys who were left behind. We’re going to know everything they know.”
“I’m going to kill those guys. I’m going to kill all of them,” Smithson said.
“They won’t hurt Mikey,” O’Brian said.
“Hurt him? They hurt him, and I’ll wipe out every one of their families. Grandmas, grandpas, aunts, uncles, everyone.”
Smithson glanced at his son and daughter in-law. There was nothing he could do for them. He stepped over to the nurse practitioner. “How’s Allen?”
“We need the ambulance as soon as possible,” she said.
He turned to O’Brian.
“Ambulances are on the ferry right now.”
By 2:50 p.m., the private security assault team had turned off the alarms and taken control of the entrance and emergency exits to the casino. Inside, the casino was strangely quiet except for the odd slot machine noise and the whir of the air-conditioning system. The security guards and the cashiers were all sitting on the floor, their hands and ankles zip-tied. Five of Hernandez’s men stood over them, talking in Spanish. Hernandez got out his burner phone to call Raymond. No answer. What did he expect? No matter how the kidnapping went, they were on their own. He walked over to the corner of the room nearest the hotel lobby. His other two men had just finished setting explosives against the wall. “All ready?”
“Say when,” the taller one replied.
Hernandez whistled back to the others, who started across the room. Then Hernandez and the demolition team ran back behind a row of slot machines. The explosion blew a gaping hole into the hotel lobby. The sprinkler system came on. Hernandez and his crew rushed through the hole into the lobby and out through the exit to the patio restaurant, ditching their jackets and weapons as they ran. Once outside, they scattered, mixing in with the panicked guests who were still wandering the property, as the assault team hurried onto the patio looking for them.
Upstairs in the hotel, two of Smithson’s men, burly guys in shapeless suits, got off the elevator on the twelfth floor. As they moved down the hall, JB and Lulu came out of one of the suites, each carrying a small gray duffel.
The men pulled their pistols. “Stop,” the smaller one said.
“Whoa,” JB said, holding up his hands, “we’re hotel employees.”
“What are you doing up here?”
“Something kicked off the fire alarm, so we’re checking the electrical systems in the rooms.”
He pointed at Lulu. “She’s not in maintenance.”
“We’re short on staff with all the commotion.”
“Let me see the bags.”
The taller man started toward JB. He threw his duffel at him and turned to run. The shorter one fired his gun. JB stumbled and fell. Lulu huddled against the wall, whimpering, her hands in front of her face.
“You shot me.” JB held his lower leg. Blood leaked between his fingers.
“Doesn’t look too bad,” the shorter one said. He glanced at his associate. “The bag.”
The taller one unzipped the duffel. “Jewelry and cash.” Lulu’s duffel lay at her feet. He snatched it up and looked inside. “More of the same.”
Lulu looked from the taller to the shorter one. “He made me do it. It was all his idea.”
The shorter one shook his head. “Don’t care.”
She gestured at JB. “He threatened me, said he’d hurt me if I didn’t help him. I don’t know anything about all this.”
“You hold on to that story,” the shorter one said. “I’m sure the boss is going to love it.”
“Just let me go. I’ll make it worth your while.”
“You’re going to make it worth my while anyway.” He got out his phone. “We found two of them.”
Hernandez jogged down the golf-cart path on the east side of the island, heading back to the broken-down dock. His boat should be waiting there. What he hadn’t told Raymond was that the key to working with Koenig on his high-risk, high-reward jobs was to always have your own getaway plan. Did Koenig’s people always end up dead or in jail by design or just through bad luck? He hadn’t ever really though much about it. He’d always done well working with Koenig, and you could be sure that after a job was over, there was never any blowback.
He ran between the dunes and out onto the pea gravel. There it was. The little motorboat he’d rented yesterday. His cousin waved to him from the cockpit. He slipped his hand into his pocket and gripped the butt of his pistol, just in case there was someone else hidden on the boat. If Raymond had the kid, the money was as good as theirs. Nothing was going to keep him from making it to the safe house.
The helicopter flew over the bay south to Lover’s Point. Mikey was whimpering, holding his jaw tight to keep from blubbering. Raymond studied him, thinking about his life, his choices, what he might be capable of if he thought his situation was hopeless. Sure, he was a twelve-year-old rich kid, used to being pampered, but that didn’t mean he should be underestimated. He might try to escape, try to drop a clue, try to hurt himself. None of those were acceptable.
At Lover’s Point, the helicopter set down in a field just behind the parking lot. “Kid,” Raymond said, “you’ve got nothing to worry about. This is just business. Your gramps is going to pay. By Monday afternoon, you’ll be home. You understand me?”
Mikey wouldn’t look at his face.
“We don’t want to hurt you. You do what you’re told, you’ll be as comfortable as we can make you. Food, TV, games, the works.”
Mikey nodded.
“But right now, I need to blindfold you and put these noise-cancelling headphones on you. It’s for your own protection.”
He blindfolded Mikey and put the headset on him. He turned to Sanchez. “Go get the car.”
Sanchez trotted over to the parking lot, his assault rifle hidden under his jacket, and climbed into a Ford Transit with tinted windows. Raymond led Mikey across the field. When they got to the parking lot, the helicopter took off. He got into the back seat of the Transit with Mikey and buckled him in, and then patted the back of the front seat. “Nice and easy,” he said to Sanchez. “We’re home free now.”
6
The Cops
Detective Gower with the organized crime taskforce got off the ferry and started up the walkway to the casino hotel. He was a blocky man with a gray crewcut and a perpetual scowl. A uniformed officer glanced at him, saw the badge hanging from his sportscoat breast pocket, and nodded. Gower nodded back. Trash and pieces of clothing were scattered over the grounds, tables and chairs near the fast-food kiosks were all askew, groups of people were meandering aimlessly or talking in small groups. Four uniformed officers stood at the ferry dock checking IDs and taking down information from a long line of guests waiting to leave the island. They were like passengers waiting in a TSA line at the airport on a holiday weekend. Indignant, resigned, relieved. So much for the weekend getaway.
To his left, paramedics were set up under the picnic shelter attending those injured in the initial crush. The front of the casino hotel was marked off by police tape and temporary barriers, while crime scene markers were scattered over the steps by the doorway. He rubbed his hand over his head. An attempted casino robbery. Jeffrey Smithson’s grandson kidnapped. Who would be stupid enough to kidnap Michael Smithson? Up ahead he saw his partner, Jamil Johnson, waiting at the hotel entrance. He looked completely at ease. A skinny black guy with his hands in the pockets of his tan suit. Gower still didn’t know how Johnson was getting away with the cornrows at his age. “How did you get here so fast?”
“Why did it take you so long?”
“I was out on Putnam golf course.”
“Traffic must have
been a bitch.”
“All the way across town.” He squinted to see into the interior. “What have we got?”
Johnson pulled a notepad from his pocket. “Looks like twelve perpetrators, two teams. Eight guys hit the casino. Four guys went for the kid. Two casino robbers shot dead by the private rapid response. Robbers blasted through the wall of the casino to escape into the hotel. One of Smithson’s guys shot bad during the kidnapping.”
“Any surveillance footage?”
“Up the wazoo. Casino, hotel registration, the grounds. It’s going to take some time to go through it all. We’re getting complete cooperation.”
“Who’s in charge?”
“Harold O’Brian.”
“Smithson’s guy?”
“He’s passed muster with the gaming commission.”
“Is the building clear?”
“We’re still searching the upper floors of the hotel.”
“Grounds are going to be a pain in the ass, what with the woods and the marina.”
“Yeah, this is one hell of a crime scene. We’ve got the marina locked down, but there’s too much rough terrain.”
Gower noticed two young men filming them with their smartphones and called over to a nearby uniformed officer. “Richards. Tell those tourists to put their phones away. Get their info and move them along.” He turned back to Johnson. “What were the Smithsons doing here?”
“It’s his birthday.”
“His birthday? So it was a family gathering?”
“Son, daughter in-law, grandson, plus O’Brian and Ninovich and four soldiers that we know of.”
“O’Brian is mixing with them out in the open?”
“His shtick is that he’s just offering the resort’s support to an important guest during this trying time.”
The Casino Switcheroo Page 8