by Dale Nelson
There was a bathroom attached to his room, which it shared with a room on the far side. He locked that door and drew a shower. Jack undressed and stepped in, letting the heat of the water seep into his tired muscles. When it felt like he was loosened up enough, Jack cranked the faucet over to the coldest setting and felt a blast of frigid water. The shock of cold jumpstarted his brain and cleared the remaining fog. Jack turned off the water, grabbed a towel, and dried himself. He dressed in what he had in his pack—khaki travel pants and a white oxford. Even in mid-spring it would be quite warm here, so he rolled up the sleeves to the elbows and kept the top button open. Jack looked much more casual than he felt. He grabbed his phone, put on his shoes, and headed downstairs.
The house was empty and quiet.
Jack walked into the kitchen. He saw Aleksander sitting outside in the shaded area where they’d had a drink the night before and stepped outside to join him. On the far side of the couch, there was a long table and chairs that had an impressive spread of food on it. Aleksander, who was working on his laptop, closed it down when he saw Jack approach. He set the computer down on the cushion next to him, stood, and went to shake Jack’s hand.
“Good afternoon,” he said amiably.
“Hi,” Jack said.
“You slept well, I hope?”
“Like the dead.”
“Well, you’d earned it.” Aleksander motioned to the table. “Come, you must be hungry.”
“Starved,” Jack said. He poured himself a cup of coffee and took a selection of fruits, breads, and meat.
“Iberico is the best ham in the world,” Aleksander said, spearing another piece for himself as he loaded up another plate. They sat at the table.
“Your home is even more impressive in the daytime,” Jack said, looking beyond the pool and the trees to the deep sapphire sea beyond it. “How long have you been here?”
“About five years. I came on a holiday once and never left.”
“I can see why,” Jack said.
“Sure, it’s not as glamorous as the French Riviera, but there’s a level of privacy and anonymity that I can enjoy here, which I’m sure you can appreciate. It’s a good place for quiet wealth.”
“Are you still working?”
“No,” Aleksander said, smiling. “Not for some time. It’s a young man’s game. Now I train and mentor. I set up opportunities for others, and they pay me a portion.” He laughed. “I’m more of a CEO now than an operator.”
“You mentioned setting up work for others, does that mean you’re still with the Panthers?” Jack asked. It was a calculated risk, one he knew could have some disastrous consequences, but he needed to know who and what he was dealing with.
“In a manner of speaking, though it’s not accurate to say one is ‘with’ that organization. They’re really more of a collection of cells, or franchises, I think you would call them in English. Loosely affiliated independent businesses. Something Western news outlets can’t seem to grasp.” Of course, Jack knew all of this already, but it was important to draw out what Aleksander thought Jack knew. “The organization was only ever tenuously connected, at least since we founded it.”
That, Jack did not know.
“You were one of the original members?”
“Of the group that the British press first labeled the Pink Panthers, yes. We weren’t the only people to flee the destruction of our homeland and seek less than honorable fortunes, but of the group that was part of the army, yes I was one of the founding members.”
Jack sipped his coffee. “Was it always a franchise?”
“More or less,” Aleksander said. “The idea was that we would recruit people out of the army that we thought were skilled enough for this line of work, train them, and then take a portion of their earnings. They would then be free to recruit and train their own.”
Jack nodded. It was Amway for thieves.
“I built up quite a large organization of my own over the years and have mostly been focusing on that. I haven’t laid a hand on a stone since 2012 at least.” Aleksander explained that in the early days, they linked up with several other criminal gangs from other former Balkan states that suffered the same fate as Serbia. It was a common misconception that they all came out of the military, though many did. Those with special forces training excelled in their new profession. He estimated that the gang was about two hundred and fifty strong, though there was little interaction between them. “I think they’re largely diluted now,” he said with some finality. “Nothing lasts forever. Some cells still exist, of course, but of the original group, most of us are in our fifties or older.”
“Well, again, this is all very impressive,” Jack said. “You’ve done very well for yourself it seems.”
Aleksander shrugged. “Yes and no,” he said, somewhat dismissing Jack’s sentiment. “Like I said, nothing lasts forever. I have experience that can’t be replicated.” Aleksander stood, taking a look around. “Walk with me.” He stepped away from the table, and Jack followed. Aleksander led him around the far side of the pool to a pathway through the trees, apparently heading toward the water. “Take Viktor, for example,” he said when they’d made their way around the pool and were away from the house. “He’s good, but I don’t think he’ll ever be great. He’ll never be like you.”
“You can’t know that. I was never in the army, and I’ve done all right.”
“Remember what I said. I have experience that can’t be replicated, at least not with the tools I have available to me. The army taught me how to lead men, how to plan an operation, how to execute it, and how to take risks. When my country was pulled apart by our ‘leaders,’ I, and others, applied those skills to more lucrative pursuits. Viktor, as I said, is a very good thief, but I think he lacks instinct. Please don’t get me wrong, I am very fond of him, but he’ll never be a Milan Radić.”
Jack bristled, and his jaw clenched. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t share your assessment,” he said.
“I was speaking only in a professional capacity, you understand.”
Jack stopped walking and turned toward Aleksander. “What am I doing here, Aleksander? I truly appreciate the ride out of Paris yesterday, but I’m anxious to get back home.”
Aleksander stepped out of the shade of the trees and into the bright afternoon sun, removing the sunglasses from his shirt pocket when he did so. “You’re nothing if not direct,” Aleksander said, smiling.
The lawn gradually rolled down a low hill and ended in a wall similar to the one Jack passed through on his way in. There was a gate at the end of a brick path that led to the emerald waterfront. The hill’s angle was steep enough that the wall didn’t obstruct the view of the Mediterranean from the house. “Milan was my protege. I’d hoped he was going to start his own cell, train and run crews, and pay a portion of those proceeds back to me.”
Jack held his tongue.
“He came to me about the Carlton job, you know.”
“That right,” Jack said in a flat voice.
Aleksander laughed. “I told him to forget it. I didn’t want to cross Ari Hassar,” he said. Aleksander gave Jack a long stare, his expression inscrutable behind the large glasses. “By then, Ozren Stolar was out of control. We’d kicked him out of our organization, which is, I believe, how you came to know him. He was dangerous. Finally, we’d had enough. He was a liability for us. Milan, too, had gotten reckless, which is what got him arrested in Switzerland. He was being held at their prison in Orbe. I’d actually hoped that was going to cool him out a bit, teach him consequences. Unfortunately, it seemed to have the opposite effect. The last time he and I spoke, the day he escaped, Milan told me that he had a lead on that job. I told him to forget it. The rest, I think, you know,” he said, and his voice sounded genuinely remorseful.
“Yes, I do,” Jack responded.
Ozren, Milan, and two others showed up at the crew’s safe house and murdered them, thinking they’d just executed the heist and gotten away with it. The the
ft was all over the news. What they didn’t know, what none of them knew, was that Jack had gone in several hours before and done it right under their collective noses. When they found nothing, Ozren called Reginald LeGrande, who told him that it must have been Jack.
Jack knew that he shouldn’t blame himself for Gabrielle and Gaston’s deaths.
But he did.
He carried it with him every day.
Enzo was left for dead and very nearly did die. He’d never fully recover.
Jack split part of the Carlton take with Enzo, but he learned that you couldn’t buy your way out of guilt.
“So, no, it wasn’t a coincidence, your being here. Though, I’ll admit I hoped it would be celebrating the successful outcome of the Hôtel Ritz. Once I learned about you through Alonso, I wanted to get one of my people on your crew. I assumed you’d never accept an invitation once you knew about my connection to Ozren and Milan.” Aleksander put his hands in his pockets and stared out over the sea. “As I said, I wanted to apologize to you for Milan, man to man.”
“Why? Why apologize?”
He shrugged. “I always respected and admired you as a professional. You’re like an artist. We, and I admit this freely, are barbarians. Oh, the costumes are fun,” he waved a hand dismissively, “but most of the time it’s just smash and grab.” One of the first jobs credited to the organization, and the one that earned them their moniker, was pulled on London’s famed New Bond Street by a man wearing a ostentatious and garish suit, dark glasses, and a high, pompadour wig. The store, evidently, thought he was someone that actually dressed like this, an eccentric celebrity, and let him in. A move that cost the store millions of pounds.
“What are you getting at, exactly?”
“I want you to come work for me,” Aleksander said.
“You what?”
“I want you to train my crews.”
Jack paused a moment and then said, “I’m not sure that I understand.”
“Think about it, Jack. No more risk. You’re one of the best in the world, but you can’t keep this up forever. We both know that this is a young man’s game. I’ve seen what you’ve done since the Carlton job, at least the scores that I think I can connect to you. They’re not the same.”
Jack shrugged. “What I need is a fixer to set things up for me. I don’t have time to vet and train a crew as well as source the job and do the recon. It’s been a lot riskier since I lost Reginald.”
That was an excuse, and Jack knew it. Likely, Aleksander did too.
Paris was sloppy. Four or five years ago, Jack would never have worked with people he didn’t know, and he damn sure would have worked with people who knew not to bring a gun. He had a reputation for planning jobs to the nth degree, expertly executed by professionals, and everyone got an equal take. But after the Carlton, everyone thought Gentleman Jack had one hundred forty-five million dollars in diamonds to his name. There was always the chance that someone would try and take it. So, he went back to working under an alias, basically starting over. He was also planning the jobs himself, rather than working through a fixer who did all of the prep work. It was something that proved increasingly difficult as he was also trying to run a legitimate business on the other side of the world.
So many times, he questioned why he was still doing it.
Paul Sharpe cleaned him out. Ten million gone in the blink of an eye. It took the Carlton and all of Jack’s savings to keep the winery afloat. Now, he had next nothing. What happened if he had to run? If his past caught up with him? So, he worked. Small jobs, two or three a year, takes between three and four hundred thousand. The Ritz, which he knew was a bad idea from the get-go, would’ve given him enough to coast for a while.
Aleksander beamed in the bright sun. “That’s exactly the point, Jack. Risk. You’re taking all of the risk. What I’m proposing is for you not to. Retire. Train people to do what you do.”
“Why don’t you do it?” Jack looked back at the seaside villa and the pool. “You’ve done very well for yourself, Aleksander. I don’t know that I can teach anything that you couldn’t. Hell, by the look of it, you’re better off than I am.”
Aleksander actually laughed. “I will admit something to you. Milan shook my confidence badly. Either I grossly misjudged his character, or I didn’t teach him well enough to know when to walk away.”
Jack couldn’t argue with that.
“But I also only know how to do things one way, and the police are starting to catch up to that. Thieves need to be savvier now. Frankly, your way is safer, smarter. The high-profile jobs are impossible now.”
Jack couldn’t help but agree. “That’s why no one robs banks anymore. At least not in my country.”
Aleksander turned back toward the house.
“I have some affairs that I need to attend to this afternoon,” Aleksander said, “but Viktor will take you into town so that you can purchase some things.” He favored Jack with a wry smile. “I saw the bag you came in with, and I know you couldn’t possibly have packed many clothes.”
“I can travel in what I have with me,” Jack said. “I don’t want to impose on you any more than I have. If I could trouble you for a ride to the airport—”
“My god, no,” Aleksander guffawed. “I wouldn’t hear of it. It’s no imposition at all. But please, I wish you to be my guest. It is my honor. We have much to discuss yet.”
“Aleksander, again, I’m very grateful for,” Jack waved an arm, “everything. But I really need to get back home.”
Aleksander held up a hand. “It’s too late in the day to get a flight out anyway. I’d like you to be my guest at dinner. Let’s discuss some business and then decide what to do. Fair?”
Jack could get any number of flights out of Alicante tonight, but it may be difficult to get a flight back to San Francisco on such short notice. While he could admit to himself that he was almost certainly overthinking this, the prospect of spending a day in an airport hotel in Amsterdam, Frankfurt, or London didn’t appeal to him very much. They were all too close to Paris. Not that Alicante, Spain was exactly a world away, but it was different. He needed to check in with his network and see what the police activity was on the Paris job and, more importantly, whether any of those idiots who were arrested had talked.
All of that to say nothing of the legitimate business he was neglecting in California.
“I really do need to get back,” Jack said.
“You’re worried about Paris, yes?”
“A little,” Jack admitted.
“That’s why I sent Rafael last night.”
“How did you know to do that?”
“Viktor told me about the situation, so we assumed a heightened amount of risk, but I also wanted to make sure there was no possibility of your being thrown into a French prison. I had something at the ready. That’s just a touch of what I can offer.” Aleksander put an arm around Jack’s shoulder and guided him up the path back to the house. “Tonight, we will break bread and discuss business. Then, we shall see what’s what. In the meantime, Viktor will take you into town. You’re welcome to anything in the garage. And I do mean anything.”
When they returned to the patio, they found Viktor waiting for them on the couch beneath the overhang. He was wearing a white shirt with black short sleeves, white pants, and sandals. Good luck running in those, Jack thought. Maybe there was something he could teach, after all. Jack said he needed to go up to his room to grab something and would meet Viktor up front. He went into his room and got his wallet and sunglasses. As he was leaving the room, Jack turned and went back to his backpack, opening up the interior compartment. Empty. He searched the others, all also empty.
His passport was gone.
Five
Forcing himself to calm, Jack methodically searched his room, but within a few minutes, he confirmed his fear that his passport was missing. Walking the morning back, Viktor or one of Aleksander’s other flunkies must have gone into his room and taken it while Jack was
downstairs with the boss. Now, Jack was angry. He forced calm, however, as losing his cool wasn’t going to help. He also thought he might be able to learn something about their intentions if he ignored the theft, gauge their reaction to it. Or lack thereof.
Jack walked downstairs and met Viktor. They walked across the driveway to the five-car garage. Viktor stopped in front of the middle door. “I could show you all five, but I don’t need to,” he said. “Aleksander told me which one you’d want.” Viktor keyed the panel next to the garage door, taking care to put his shoulder between the keypad and Jack’s line of sight. Smart. Viktor finished the sequence and watched the door open. The door lifted, the garage’s interior light winked on, and Jack knew the car immediately.
The Ferrari Portofino GT.
This was the successor to the venerable Ferrari California and had just been released the year before. The Portofino was an eight-cylinder touring car, and while not as fast as its big brother, the 488, it would do zero to sixty in three and a half seconds and be well over any speed limit on the planet in ten. The car was impossibly low; its roof was waist high on Jack. Jack had eagerly anticipated the release of this car. Ferrari purists panned the vehicle as “entry level,” though its performance characteristics were similar to that of the meatier 488. The car’s front end and the sides of the grille angled up slightly, giving it a demonic-looking grin. Aleksander had chosen a dark blue matte paint.
“I’ll—” Viktor started, and it was a good effort.
Jack held out his hand. He didn’t even look at him.
Viktor placed the keys in Jack’s hand. Jack walked over to the car, placed a hand on the handle, and opened the door. He was already sensing the acceleration, and he wasn’t even sitting in it yet. Jack opened the door and slid into the black and red cockpit. The convertible top was already down. Jack pressed the start button, watched the gauges flare to life, and pressed his foot on the pedal once to rev it. He felt the engine’s throaty rumble as much as he heard it. The overused jungle cat analogy was too cliché for him, but he had to admit that it was apt. When Viktor was seated, Jack eased out of the garage and wheeled around. The gate’s sensor picked them up and opened.