by Zara Chase
“Asimov is putting a load of dirty money through the casino during the gala, isn’t he?” Peyton asked.
Field glowered at Peyton. “What’s all this to do with you?”
“Just answer the question,” Edmunds said in a monitory tone.
“Yes, he tends to use busy occasions so it’s less noticeable.” Field dropped his head into his hands and shook it from side to side. “What a fucking mess.”
“You didn’t have to get involved,” Clyde pointed out, less than sympathetic. “You could have let him get on with it and turned a blind eye. Why involve Anton and the marina captain?”
“I gamble,” he admitted in a reluctant whine. “Always have. I just can’t seem to resist the thrill of the chase. It’s in my blood.” Clyde blew air through his lips, making it clear what he thought of such a weak excuse. “It got out of hand, and I was in over my head. When I got this job, Asimov said he’d write off what I owed if I agreed to him doing this.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t explain why you were taking a cut yourself,” Clyde said contemptuously. “You could have made a fresh start with the slate wiped clean.”
“I tried to give up the ponies, but I just couldn’t seem to manage it. Just one more big win and I’d quit.” Everyone in the room levelled an incredulous stare on his face. “I know,” he said defensively, “but it wasn’t my fault.”
“That’s what addicts do,” Peyton said. “Always find someone else to blame.”
“I guess I should have looked for professional help, but it’s not always easy to see the wood for the trees when you’re in so deep. I got into debt again, but Asimov already had me where he wanted me. I was implicated by association, and he didn’t need to help me out again. All he said was that if I wanted to earn a little extra I could—”
“Could involve people who needed cash. People who run aspects of the resort that don’t need to equate sales to merchandise.” Peyton glowered at Field. “Presumably, Anton and Captain whatever the fuck his name is were in hock, too, and jumped at the idea. I mean, who’s gonna know how many boats actually stop at the marina and pay mooring fees, or how many people take tennis coaching?”
Field nodded. “We were stupid. And greedy. I can see that now.”
“Bit fucking late,” Clyde muttered.
“Anton got cold feet, which is, I think, why he sent his new assistant to the meeting this week. He’d gotten himself straightened out and didn’t want to fabricate numbers anymore, but I wouldn’t let him quit. He’d gone into it with his eyes open, just like the rest of us, and couldn’t opt out when the fancy took him.”
“He might have ducked the meeting, but he still left fabricated figures for Fabia to present,” Clyde said.
“Yes, that way I couldn’t bawl him out. But he must have known she’d realize they were phony and pull the right ones off the computer.”
“Okay,” Edmunds said, “down to business.”
Field made the formal statement that Edmunds required, which was recorded and sent electronically for some minion to put on paper.
“What happens to me now?” Field asked petulantly.
“It’s absolutely essential that you carry on as normal and that Asimov doesn’t hear about this.” Edmunds fixed him with a menacing stare. “No one outside this room knows who you are, or anything about Interpol’s involvement, so if word gets out it can only have come from you.”
“I’m hardly going to tell him that I’ve grassed him up.” Field shuddered. “In spite of what you think of me, I’m not that stupid.”
Clyde wanted to take issue with that statement but resisted.
“You can have no idea how much my ex-wives fleeced me for. Every fucking penny and then some. They were as much to blame as I was when the relationships broke up, but they took me to the cleaners and got everything. It just isn’t fair. What would you have done in my position?”
No one had anything to say to that, and Edmunds broke the uneasy silence by slapping Field on the shoulder.
“Make sure you act normally round Asimov, because he can detect bullshit a mile away. You’ve finally done the right thing and won’t be arrested if everything goes according to plan and you keep your side of the bargain. But if you don’t…well, let’s just say that you get to choose who you have as an enemy—me or Asimov.” Edmunds’s eyes took on a chilling shine. “Trust me, you really don’t want it to be me.”
Clyde believed him.
* * * *
As soon as Field shuffled off, Fabia appeared from the study.
“I can’t believe he wanted you to feel sorry for him,” she said indignantly.
Peyton shrugged. “Weak people never think they’re responsible for their own problems. In this blameless society we’ve created for ourselves, it’s always someone else’s fault.”
Clyde nodded. “Asimov would have had a lot of say about who was appointed as manager here. He would have checked out all the applicants and realized that Field already owed money at other Russian-owned gambling establishments in this part of Spain. The Russians pretty much have that market cornered, so he’d easily be able to find out.”
“So Asimov knew he could manipulate him from the get-go,” Edmunds said, “which is why he got the job.”
“What happens now?” Fabia asked.
Edmunds stood up and stretched. “We get our warrant and pay our friend Asimov a little visit,” he said.
“We need to establish from Sergio if he’ll leave the gala to be there when the hacking goes down,” Peyton said. “My guess is that he will, because he’s a control freak, and because he’ll want the satisfaction of actually seeing all that money being diverted to his account. If I’m right, we need to hit the Kremlin before he leaves the gala.”
Clyde spread the plans of the building over the table, and they all studied them.
“There’s only one gate, but it’s electric and there’s a guard hut immediately on its other side.” Clyde pointed to the map to emphasise his point. “If we march up with a warrant they’ll have to let us in. Problem is, it will also give them ample opportunity to alert their boss.”
“Who’ll probably give the order to hit the target organization ahead of schedule,” Peyton agreed, nodding. “The warrant will give money laundering as the reason for the raid. That won’t bother Asimov, because you can bet your life there’s no illegal funds inside the Kremlin, and he won’t think we know anything about the hacking.”
Clyde scrubbed a hand down his face. “We need to find another way in.”
“Excuse me.” All heads turned toward Fabia. “We also need to find out where my sister will be so we can make sure she’s safe before you all go crashing in there.”
“Of course.” Peyton ran his fingers gently down her arm in an intimately reassuring manner. “Sonia’s our main priority.”
“No question,” Clyde agreed, glancing at his watch. “I wish Sergio would call. I’m nervous about his silence.”
“He will when he can.” Fabia wondered if Peyton was trying to reassure her or himself. “He has to be careful.”
Edmunds talked for a while about the number of men required for the raid. Peyton and Clyde expressed their opinions freely, and Edmunds appeared to take what they said onboard. Only the linebacker kept quiet, but Fabia could see that he listened to every word and took it all in.
“Well, I think that just about—”
Peyton’s phone rang. He grabbed it and checked the display. “It’s him.”
Fabia expelled a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “Ask him how Sonia is.”
“It was gonna be my first question,” he said, smiling at her.
They talked for several minutes, but Fabia was unable to get much idea, from Peyton’s curt questions and the long silences as Sergio answered them, quite what was being said.
“Sonia’s fine,” he said as soon as he hung up. “And relieved that Sergio’s been in contact with you.”
This time, it was Clyde who r
eached out to touch her shoulder. Fabia, close to tears of relief, covered his hand with her own, mindless of Edmund’s avid interest in their intimacy.
“Asimov will attend the gala but return to the Kremlin at about 10:00 p.m. for a short time. Even allowing for the Spanish custom of eating late, dinner ought to be over by then. He’ll slip away before the activity in the casino gets underway, in other words.”
“When people will be milling about between eating and gambling and his absence is less likely to be noticed,” Clyde said, nodding.
“Sonia and the Russian hacker are in the tower room, right at the top of the building.” Peyton pointed to it on the plan. “Sonia never leaves it.”
“Damn!” Fabia screwed up her eyes in frustration. “That’s like an eyrie, impossible to get anywhere near it from outside.”
“Inside isn’t much better. There’s a small bedroom and bathroom up there, which is where Sonia lives when she’s not working. The door to the corridor is double-locked and guarded at all times.”
“So you won’t be able to get to Sonia before they press the button and activate the scam,” Fabia said dejectedly.
“Not from inside, no,” Peyton said, smiling at her.
“I don’t know what there is to smile about,” she complained huffily.
“I do.” Clyde’s smug grin matched Peyton’s as he pointed to a large flat roof adjacent to the tower room. “Unless I miss my guess, that’s the perfect surface upon which to land a helicopter.”
Fabia gasped. “No, it’ll be much too dangerous.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Peyton said, affecting hurt.
The two men worked out the dimensions of the roof from the plans and nodded.
“Landing there will be a piece of cake. Getting through the window won’t be so easy. Accordingly to Sergio, it’s triple glazed and permanently locked. Sonia couldn’t open it from the inside even if she wanted to.”
“You’d need to cut through the glass,” Edmunds said. “We can get you the necessary equipment for that.”
“Yeah, I figured you could.” Peyton shook his head. “My worry is that the noise of the helicopter will be heard and someone will come and investigate before we have time to get in.”
“Won’t the warrant distract them?” Fabia asked.
“We have to go in before that. Once they know about the warrant, we’ll lose control.”
“How about getting Field to bring the firework display forward to just after dinner?” Clyde suggested. “He could say he’s doing it then instead of at midnight so as not to interrupt the festivities later.”
“Good thinking,” Peyton said. “You know how it is here in Spain, nothing much gets going before the witching hour anyway.”
“You need to get word to Sergio of the plan,” Fabia said. “So he can warn Sonia to expect you and, if necessary, hold up the scam until you get there.”
“Will do.”
They talked a little more. Then Edmunds and his lackey dashed off to do their thing with the warrant.
“You do realize, I suppose,” Fabia said when she was alone with her guys, “that I’m coming with you in that helicopter.”
“Out of the question,” they said together.
She shook her head and a finger at them. “It’s nonnegotiable.”
“You’re scared of flying, babe,” Peyton pointed out. “And although we won’t find anything untoward about landing on that roof, I know it will terrify you. We won’t have time to look after you.”
“Then I shall just have to look after myself.” Fabia squared up to them both, hands on hips. “I know it’s a hard concept for you to grasp, guys, but even a fragile female like me might be able to help if things get dicey.”
The two men exchanged a glance. “I hate to admit it, but I guess she’s earned the right,” Peyton said dubiously.
“It is her sister we’re trying to rescue.”
“She might withhold favours if we say no.”
“Not sure I’m prepared to risk that.”
“Stop talking about me as though I wasn’t here,” Fabia said crossly. “I’m coming, and that’s an end to it.”
“Okay,” Peyton and Clyde spoke in unison.
“We know when we’re beaten,” Clyde added, blowing her a kiss.
“Much as I’d like to linger,” Peyton said with a martyred sigh, “duty calls.”
“He has a night lesson with the lovely Mrs. Stanton,” Clyde said, chuckling.
“Oh, so does that mean I get you all to myself for a while?” Fabia asked, flashing Clyde a wicked smile.
“It sure does, babe.”
He snaked out an arm, snagged it round her waist, and tumbled her into his lap.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Peyton said, kissing the top of Fabia’s head and leaving them to it.
Chapter Thirteen
“You just make sure you save me a dance later.” Simon placed his sweaty paw on Fabia’s thigh and offered her a lecherous smile. “Let’s see if you’re as nimble on the dance floor as you are on the tennis court.”
Fabia moved her legs so that he was forced to drop his hand and flashed a noncommittal smile. “I’m not much of a dancer,” she said.
Actually, she wouldn’t be here for the dancing, thank God, which is the only reason why she’d put up with Simon’s clumsy attempts to flirt with her through a meal that she thought would never end.
The guys had insisted that she attend the gala dinner as planned. If her relationship to Sonia had somehow leaked out, she needed to be seen to be acting normally. Irritatingly, she could find no reason to argue with their logic. Sonia’s safety was paramount. Peyton and Clyde had made an excuse, much to the obvious chagrin of Stephanie, who ran the bar. She was dolled up to the nines, her tits hanging out of a skimpy sequin top, and had been heard to ask several people if they knew what had become of Peyton and Clyde. Peyton’s erstwhile student Mrs. Stanton was only slightly less obvious.
Fabia felt hard done by. The guys were playing with the chopper, making absolutely sure everything was as it should be. Now wasn’t the time for it to break down on them. That was all very well for them, but she was stuck here with Simon and other male tennis players, all of whom were making very obvious efforts to chat her up. The women appeared to think she was encouraging them and regarded her with hostility.
She wore a red silk, tight-fitting dress with a respectably high neckline and a hem that finished just above her knees. Compared to most of the other women present, it was understated. Hell, it was understated. There was no need for the women to be so aggressive. Their men were perfectly safe from her.
She sat at the table Anton had reserved for the tennis club, doing her damnedest to seem relaxed, willing the time to pass more quickly. Her heart had leapt into her throat when Asimov entered the restaurant like royalty, flanked by his minions, bestowing benevolent smiles on people he knew as he passed their tables. He didn’t even glance in Fabia’s direction. Fortunately, he didn’t seem to notice how agitated David Field was, either. If he was behaving normally then his version of normal had to be pretty weird. Fabia’s table was some way away from his, but she could see how agitated he was. He didn’t seem able to sit still, reacted violently when anyone approached him unawares, and his gaze flitted about like a demented animal caught in a trap.
Finally, the meal came to an end, chairs scraped against the tiled floor, and a swarm of nattily attired guests table-hopped. Fabia excused herself, heading in the direction of the restrooms. Out of sight of the restaurant she slipped out a side door and climbed into the golf cart that Peyton had left there for her use. In true Spanish style everything was running late and she was beyond frustrated by the delay. It was already ten thirty, but since the fireworks hadn’t started the guys wouldn’t have left without her. Fabia ground her teeth. They damned well hadn’t better have.
Without switching on the lights, she headed straight for the flying school. The wretched cart moved at a
snail’s pace. If it weren’t for her four-inch heels she’d have abandoned it and simply covered the distance on foot. Eventually she arrived and did the golf-cart equivalent of screeching to a halt. She almost jumped out of her skin when a hand grasped her arm.
“Peyton!” Blood rushed to her head and her heart beat at double its usual rate. “You frightened the life out of me.”
“What kept you?”
“Spanish timekeeping.” She shrugged. “You ought to know how it is by now.”
“Okay, well you’re here now. We were getting worried.” He kissed her. “You got anything else to put on your feet?”
“Didn’t think of that.” She took her shoes off and carelessly threw them into the golf cart.
Peyton led her toward the waiting helicopter. “Might have trouble climbing aboard in that dress.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “Not that I’m complaining, mind.”
“I’ll mange.” She hitched the skirt up as high as it would go, and Peyton gave her rear a shove from behind.
“Nice view,” he said.
“Don’t you ever think about anything else?”
His grin was unrepentant. “Not when you’re around.”
“Hey, babe.” Clyde leaned back and winked at her. “Everything all right in there?”
“Asimov didn’t pay me any attention, and Field’s behaving like a rabbit caught in headlights, so I guess you can say it’s service as usual.”
Peyton handed Fabia her headphones and helped her to strap in. Then he climbed in the front, next to Clyde. “Well, Field doesn’t have much longer to sweat it out.”
“Just as well. He’s a car wreck.”
The first of the fireworks shot into the sky, Clyde’s cue to start the chopper up. The rotor whirled into life, the sound of the bird lifting off drowned out by the noise of the pyrotechnic display. They flew without lights, as low as they safely could, cutting a direct course for their destination. They were there in less than a minute.
“Now for the tricky part,” Clyde muttered through the headphones.