Lassiter addressed the crowd.
“I’ve never been surrounded by so many rock stars in my life!”
Applause.
“Super stars!”
More applause.
“Let me tell you the story of how I joined my friend Earl’s company,” he said, launching into the tale as Bryant hurried back stage. The big finish would be Lassiter pressing the enter key on his laptop, and Bryant placed the computer on a small, wheeled table. He’d made sure the wheels were oiled prior to his introduction to make sure they didn’t squeak when he rolled the table onto the stage.
As Lassiter wrapped up his background, Bryant rolled the table out and placed it beside his friend.
“I’m going to tell you all about our new updates,” Lassiter said as Bryant departed once again, “and then I’ll press a button to make them happen and we can all watch the world change together.”
Bryant almost laughed. It was such a loaded statement, he almost couldn’t keep from letting out a chuckle. He felt like a school kid who had just stolen a rival school’s mascot. Except the rewards were ten times--no, twenty times—that of such a juvenile prank.
Bryant, of course, knew that his fortune was in as much danger as everybody else’s in the United States, so he’d spent the last few months strategically moving his assets into secure accounts that wouldn’t be affected by the sudden “hack” of Wall Street. His private Caribbean hideaway would suit him fine while he waited out the chaos. Lassiter had a hideaway, too, but in the interests of security, neither had shared the location of where they planned to be during the storm.
Bryant stayed on his feet while Lassiter talked all of the techno mumbo jumbo that the audience loved so much. He’d lived with it; he didn’t need to hear the details again.
He paced in short bursts, checking his watch, waiting for the end.
Mueller and the mob goons would clean up the lab to the point where nobody would know anything happened, and he once again thought how fortunate he’d been to make such an alliance when he presented the local Mafiosi with the mutually beneficial plan of providing the kind of security he required, while he helped them launder money through his company.
It was the kind of arrangement he knew Zahra Tajik and her F.B.I. counterparts were scurrying to discover.
But she wasn’t an issue any longer.
And by the time the F.B.I. discovered she was gone, he’d be long gone himself.
Only a few more minutes.
Presently Lassiter began wrapping up his speech. He paused dramatically.
“Are you ready, rock stars?”
The crowd cheered.
“Get ready. I’m about to press the enter key. When I do, it will launch the latest updates to the Bryant company software and we will take our first steps into the future.”
Bryant paused to watch.
Lassiter stood before the laptop. The jumbo screen behind him showed the computer keyboard and his index finger as it hovered over the enter key.
Lassiter pressed the key.
The audience roared.
Lassiter turned to face them, his arms outstretched, his smile bigger than the ass of an elephant. Strobe lights hit the stage, creating a kaleidoscope effect and Lassiter walked off the stage and joined Bryant behind the scenes.
They high fived each other.
“Now it begins,” Lassiter said.
Bryant almost wished he could see the software updated in person. Watching it on a computer screen, which was mostly silent and not in any way like the fireworks show that would have truly marked the occasion, wasn’t the same. But the excitement was just as palpable.
“Let’s go back to the penthouse,” Bryant said. “One drink before we leave the country.”
Lassiter thought that was a fine idea indeed.
Devlin Stone gave the suppresser attached to the Beretta 92FS Brigadier a reassuring twist as he heard the voices in the hall.
He had to admit that Bryant had a very comfortable couch, its back to the wall-length window overlooking the city. It might have been nice to enjoy the view but he had business to wrap up.
And he wanted a tidy bow on the package.
He’d been through a lot on this mission and none of the breaks had been in his favor.
Until now.
When it counted the most.
His thirst for vengeance over Monty Stuart probably affected him more than he realized, causing mistakes, miscalculations, everything to go wrong. Had it not been for Tatiana Ivanov, not once, but twice, he’d have been dead days ago.
He owed her one. Maybe two.
When Earl Bryant and Simon Lassiter stepped into the living room, their chatter stopped. They froze at the sight of Stone.
“Hi,” Stone said.
He aimed the Beretta at Bryant’s nose.
“Earl, has anybody ever told you that your nose makes a terrific target.”
Lassiter broke the silence on the enemy side. “You’re supposed to be dead.”
“So are you,” Stone said. “I fail to see your point.”
Two figures moved behind the men. Tatiana Ivanov jammed a stun gun into Bryant’s back. The man uttered a scream, his back arching, his body landing hard on the floor. Before Lassiter could react, she stunned him, too. He landed near Bryant.
Zahra Tajik, stepping over Bryant’s body, made a call.
Within minutes her F.B.I. handler, John Mitchell, and a team of agents arrived to collect the unconscious Bryant. Agents slapped cuffs on his wrists, lifted him upright, and carried him out. When Mitchell asked about Lassiter, Stone told him he’d be taking care of the cyber terrorist, and the Feds departed. Stone rose form the couch, put away the Beretta, and told the women to leave.
Zahra tried to argue but Tatiana convinced her otherwise. She led the confidential informant out of the penthouse.
Stone walked over to Lassiter’s body.
He bent down in a squat and picked up the other man in a fireman’s carry, throwing him over his shoulders.
Stone grunted under Lassiter’s weight as he crossed the living room to the open patio door leading to the wrap-around balcony outside.
It was time for payback. Stone internal questions about the difference between justice and vengeance would have to wait. He wasn’t interested in philosophy right now. What he wanted was revenge. He wanted to help Monty Stuart’s soul rest.
If true rest was possible.
Stone dropped Lassiter against the balcony wall, draping his arms and part of his head over the side.
He slapped Lassiter’s cheeks.
“Wake up.” Slap! “Wake up, Simon.” Slap! Slap!
Lassiter finally snapped out of his stupor, his body tensing as he realized he was almost dangling over eternity.
He froze when the cold muzzle of the Beretta Brigadier dug into his neck.
“Here’s the thing,” Stone said. “Your little super worm was dead before you had your party. You didn’t search my pockets, Simon. I had a neat little USB drive with a counter-virus on it that wiped out Bryant’s servers. You failed.”
Lassiter sucked air through his teeth.
“Take a look, Simon. This is almost like the last view Monty Stuart had.”
“You can’t do this!”
“Why?”
“It’s murder!”
“So now you’re a moralist?” Stone tossed the gun. It skidded across the balcony’s concrete floor.
“Take it like a man, Simon. This time you’re not coming back.”
Lassiter tried to fight but Stone had one hand clamped on his head and the other on his crotch. He lifted one end of Lassiter’s body and let gravity do the rest.
As Lassiter fell, he screamed. The wind carried his scream for an instant, but then he was too far away for Stone to hear more. Stone watched as Lassiter’s body became smaller and smaller and then a big splash on the ground below.
Chapter Thirteen
San Diego, California
Stone sat in f
ront of Brad Preston’s desk back at Eagle Alliance headquarters. The drapes behind Preston were open, the big window looking out on part of the blue ocean and San Diego International Airport.
“The Feds have had a field day with Bryant’s office and his files. They’re learning all kinds of things about his connection to the mob, etcetera. Turns out the mob provided him with muscle while he laundered money. You probably don’t care about that.”
“Not really.”
“Funny how Lassiter committed suicide, isn’t it?”
“I wanted to bring him in,” Stone said, “but in our struggle he broke free and took a swan dive off the balcony.”
Preston shrugged. “Well, I guess there’s no coming back a second time, is there?”
“Not for him.”
Preston nodded. “I’m afraid you missed Monty Stuart’s funeral, but you should take a trip to New York and see his grave.”
“I think he’d appreciate that.”
“It was a nice service,” Preston said.
“If there’s nothing else, I’ll go home and pack.”
Preston nodded. Stone left the chair and headed for the door. He felt Preston’s eyes on his back, but didn’t stop or turn around. He knew the boss didn’t believe his story about Lassiter, but he wasn’t about to reveal the truth. What happened was between him, Lassiter, and Monty, and he hoped Monty would approve.
But now he had a new question. If he’d helped Monty rest, who was going to help him achieve the same result?
He pulled the office door shut behind him, trying to turn his mind to anything but the mess inside his head.
Zero Hour Page 9