by Ed Kovacs
“I’m in California,” said Sheriff McCain, “where two-party consent is required, but I gave my consent to be recorded. So screw you.”
The sheriff slammed the phone down.
Bobby Chan sat there almost speechless. He’d never realized Jim McCain had a pair of brass ones. He looked at the chief and said one word: “Wow.”
“That’s what I like about you, Chan, you’re so eloquent. Here’s the deal: we’ve been dealt a hand, and I’m going to play it as best I can. I’m playing hardball to kick your investigation into a higher gear. And hopefully, that helps both of us.
“Just so you know, Harry Davenport is right now calling the secretary of defense,” continued McCain. “He’s demanding General Duffy’s resignation today. We’re also demanding the name of the NSA systems analyst who spied on you and Franklin, and I want to read in the national media today that he or she has been fired for abuse of authority. They can lie about the specifics, but I want him or her fired. And I’m demanding that those two agents from CID who spoke to you at the morgue…”
“Flood and Bates,” said Chan.
“… Flood and Bates, be in my office before six P.M. today. They will be stopping in to personally apologize to me on their way back to Quantico, because they are off this case, and their military careers are essentially over.”
“To be honest, I’m not sure I see the feds agreeing to any of your demands,” said Chan.
“Did I mention that my hotshot brother-in-law graduated from Harvard Law?”
“And…?”
“And the secretary of defense is his old frat buddy and former rommate.”
Chan nodded as he smiled. “Sheriff McCain, if you will authorize a Code Three patrol escort all the way to the Nevada state line, Franklin and I can be in Vegas in less than three hours. Since CID is desperate to find Staci Bennings, we need to find her first. And wouldn’t it be great to skunk the FBI’s kidnapping detail?”
“Go make it happen, Chan.”
CHAPTER 32
The private security vault off of South Rainbow Boulevard was not to be confused with the twenty-four-hour-access private-security-vault businesses from Las Vegas’s past. Those joints were located in mini malls next to nail salons and catered to a certain type of client who wanted ready access to their “goods,” at least, that is, until those small private vaults were mysteriously robbed and the contents of many vaults emptied. Strangely enough, few police reports were filed, possibly because that would entail listing what had been stolen.
Mainichi was a leading Japanese auction house that had chosen South Las Vegas as the location for their ultrasecure, state-of-the-art U.S. storage facility. While their two-story building resembled most of the other boxy, terra-cotta–colored buildings in the light-industrial complex, as a private vault holding everything from expensive modern art to valuable electric guitars to priceless artifacts and gems, the building was quite different from its neighbors.
Elaborate fire-suppression and environmental systems were built into the windowless steel-and-concrete structure with a three-membrane roof. A ten-foot-high steel fence surrounded the property, and the only gate was manned 24/7 by an armed guard. Over sixty high-resolution CCTV monitors watched the exterior and interiors of the building. Motion sensors, intruder alarms, and compartmentalized access complemented biometric scanners and electronic access control. A minimum of eight armed guards, all former police or military, were on duty at all times and supplemented regular staff members in keeping the valuables secure.
Aside from temporarily securing valuables that would soon be auctioned, Mainichi’s storage clients ranged from moneyed locals to visiting billionaires, who often placed tens of millions of dollars’ worth of goods for safekeeping. One famous casino tycoon alone had a collection of diamonds in his Mainichi private vault worth $500 million. And he just kept adding to it, as security guard Jerry Kotsky, Viktor Popov’s inside man, had reported many times during the last three years.
* * *
Dennis Kedrov inhaled smoke from his Turkish cigarette as he watched men raise tenting up and over the flatbed semitrailer. The long truck had just backed into the old motel’s U-shaped courtyard on South Las Vegas Boulevard. The load on the flatbed was already covered with tarps, but now that everything was under a huge tent, the cargo could be unwrapped.
The cargo was a lightweight R66 helicopter built by Robinson in Long Beach, California. Special hard points—bomb attachments—had already been installed on the helo’s undercarriage.
Satisfied, Dennis flicked his cigarette, made his way out of the tent, and crossed toward Dr. Rodchenko’s makeshift lab. But before he reached the door, Viktor Popov emerged, followed by three bodyguards. And Dennis knew Viktor well enough to see that the man was not happy.
“So we have the best of both worlds. An American bomb and a Russian bomb,” said Dennis, smiling.
“How long will it take to load the bombs onto the helicopter?” asked Viktor, all business.
“From the time we open the shielded crates to when the helicopter lifts off, will be less than three minutes.”
“That’s satisfactory. But I’ve made a slight change of plans. There is a large empty parking lot one mile south of here. Just before zero hour, truck the helicopter and the bombs there. We’ll load the bombs in the parking lot, and I’ll take off from that location, not here.”
“That brings more risk to us,” said Dennis cautiously.
“When Doctor Rodchenko examined the device on the flight from Albuquerque, he confirmed there was no tracking device installed. He needed to keep the GPS guidance-system unit turned on in order to complete his systems check, but doing that might have given the location to anyone looking for it.”
“So the Americans might already know the bomb is in Las Vegas?”
“Possibly. But I won’t switch on the GPS guidance system until the last minute.”
“Once you do that, the Americans might scramble jets from Nellis Air Force Base—”
“Doubtful. It’s a two-minute flight for me to the target. I’m not worried about being shot down.”
“Then we are almost ready,” said Dennis.
Viktor nodded but showed no joy in that acknowledgment, only concern.
“It’s been a long time coming to this day,” said Dennis. “So much money spent, so much preparation. Now we are ready to push the button, but you don’t look happy.”
“I’d be happier if Major Bennings had been killed by you in Albuquerque, as you promised me he would,” said Viktor coldly.
Dennis casually lit another cigarette. He exhaled and smiled slightly, his ruddy cheeks like two ripe crab apples. “You gave me a last-minute assignment, Viktor, against a target whom you did not truly identify to me. You said Bennings was a defense attaché. You neglected to mention he was a member of the most elite intelligence unit in the American military’s Special Operations Command. He has worked in incredibly dangerous areas prior to the arrival of SEAL Team Six or Delta Force. Do you understand the level of operator that represents and the skills he possesses? If you had explained this to me, my approach would have been much different, because someone such as Bennings is truly a hard target.”
“Then I suppose I overestimated your abilities,” said Popov.
Dennis’s already red cheeks flushed darker crimson with a combination of anger and embarrassment, but he didn’t speak.
“One of the reasons I ordered his sister kidnapped was to keep him from going to the authorities,” said Popov. “But now, my concern is not so much the authorities as it is Bennings himself.”
“Is that why Mikhail has left the country?”
Popov nodded. “My nephew is more prudent than I am. He has chosen to prepare for a worst-case scenario for this deception, and I gave him my blessing to do so.”
“As I have told you before, since I never lie to you, I must repeat that your nephew is a coward. He can order men to kill, but he could never do it himself. This makes him
weak.”
“You’re right. Mikhail is a numbers man, always hedging his bets. But it’s good to have such people in the organization. You and I are warriors, Dennis. Today, we will either succeed spectacularly or fail abysmally.” Popov looked intently, eye to eye with his top henchman. “Now that you know your adversary, prepare for another meeting with Bennings. I don’t think we’ve seen the last of him.” Popov stepped in very close to Dennis and thrust his finger in the blond man’s chest. “And next time, if you don’t kill him, you better die trying.”
CHAPTER 33
The MD 530F helicopter sat parked in front of an end hangar at a private terminal of McCarran Airport, right off South Las Vegas Boulevard. The big sliding door of the steel hangar was closed, but an old Dodge diesel pickup truck stood idle inside.
Also inside were five people who were anything but idle. Jen worked her magic at a folding table covered with laptops, weapons, maps, and communications gear. Yulana sat hunched over a different table working a laptop. Angle started a portable backup diesel generator to test it, then quickly shut down the loud machine. Buzz made notes as he talked on a cell phone. Kit stood looking at a huge map of Las Vegas taped to the back wall.
Kit checked his watch and turned to the others. “Okay, everybody. Can we have a sitrep now?”
Everyone disengaged from what they were doing, and Kit and Angel moved closer to the tables.
“First and foremost, the search for Staci,” said Kit, looking toward Buzz. “We have eighteen armed searchers working in pairs. They’re coordinating with each other. All either retired cops or former military. They all know the risk, but they obviously don’t have the big picture.” Buzz crossed to a highlighted area of a Las Vegas city map that was tacked to an easel. “The challenge is that there are hundreds and hundreds of possible third-floor locations in the area Staci described in her text message.”
“Could the Russians have moved her?” asked Kit.
“Too risky to move her, don’t you think?”
“Probably. But just so you all know…” Kit made eye contact with each of them. “If Popov doesn’t make his play by tonight, I’m joining the search for Staci.”
Angel started to say something, then he looked over to Buzz, who in turn looked to Jen. It was Jen who spoke up. “Kit, we could use you here, but we all understand how you must feel. Anytime you want to join the search, just go. We’ll handle this end.”
Kit looked at his team for a long time. “Thank you.”
“I have to say, though,” said Buzz, “that we might not be the ones who find Staci.”
“Meaning?” asked Kit.
“I have a friend in Metro PD, Criminal Intelligence Bureau.”
“Buzz, how do you make all these friends?” asked Angel.
Buzz chuckled. “It’s called being old and having spent your entire life working in intelligence and federal law enforcement. Anyway, I checked in with her when we started looking for Staci yesterday, and she told me there were two guys from army CID already working with Metro detectives trying to find her.”
“CID?” Kit looked puzzled. He’d managed to get a short nap in the truck after Buzz had picked up him and Yulana at Jean Airport, but he felt like he could sleep for an entire day. He rubbed his red eyes. “Staci must have left messages on other numbers and they found one. Or they hacked my phone account. Shouldn’t it be the FBI trying to find her, not CID?”
“Kit, I think everybody and their brother is trying to find Staci right now. And that’s not a bad thing.”
“There’s probably one or two folks trying to find us, too,” said Angel.
“You think?” said Kit smiling. “Okay, I feel good that we’re doing what we can for Staci. Jen, what do you have on the jet?”
“The plane that carried the e-bomb from Albuquerque was a Citation XLS, tail number N313XXX. It took off from North Las Vegas Airport shortly after it arrived. Its present location is unknown, but it belongs to a shell corporation suspected of being controlled by Popov.
“Chances are no one on the ground saw anything,” continued Jen, “and there’s zero indication that Popov is using North Las Vegas as his HQ. There’s no sign he’s here at McCarran, and no evidence he’s working out of Henderson Airport, either.”
“For all we know, he’s going to use a drone to drop the bomb. So he could operate it off some remote paved road,” said Angel.
“Or take off from a dirt strip if he’s in a crop duster,” said Kit. “But that might be good news. If he has farther to fly to the target, the better chance we have of stopping him.”
“When the GPS signal returns, I can neutralize the bomb, regardless of its location, anywhere on earth. Which is what I recommend,” said Yulana.
They all nodded. “That’s good news,” said Buzz.
“What if they’ve installed some other guidance system? A different GPS guidance system that we can’t track?” asked Kit.
“Possibly, but that would be a gamble to use an untested guidance system. Too much chance of failure, so I don’t think so,” said Yulana.
Kit nodded. “Okay, but we have to proceed on the assumption that when Popov goes airborne he’ll be carrying both bombs. I would if it was me.”
“And I should remind all of you that if he detonates the Russian EMP device we assume he possesses, then those of you who will be responding on the ground must realize you will be heading into chaos,” said Yulana. “Everything operated with electricity will stop working. Traffic lights will go out. All lights. Backup generators may come on, if they are diesel, but the devices they power may already be worthless. No phones or radios will function. Anything that has a battery, from children’s toys to your laptops and iPods, will be ruined. Car and truck engines will stop and never run again. Except for some older diesels. Any aircraft flying in the target zone will likely crash.”
“That’s the big question: What is our target zone?” asked Buzz.
“Look at the military targets he could hit,” said Kit, turning to the map. “Nellis Air Force Base, the Nevada National Security Site, the drone operations at Creech Air Force Base, the Tonopah Test Range…”
“And then there’s the really secret stuff, a little farther north,” joked Angel.
“I don’t believe he’s going after a military target,” said Jen. “How could he benefit? And remember, just because the power and communications go out doesn’t mean that bullets won’t fire from soldiers’ guns. He doesn’t have enough thugs to overpower our security forces at sensitive facilities.”
“It’s got to be a casino,” said Angel.
“Popov would need a small army to physically remove the cash from a casino. When he steals money, he does it electronically,” said Buzz.
“Except for that armored-truck heist,” said Jen.
“Actually,” said Kit, “that’s not quite true.”
“What do you mean?” Buzz looked quizzically at Kit.
“I went back and did some research into that caper you told us about. The truck wasn’t full of cash. The cargo was gems. Diamonds. Everyone assumed it was cash because it was an armored truck that had just done a bank pickup, but there was very little actual money in the truck. The jewelers who lost the gems didn’t want publicity.”
“Okay, so maybe not a casino,” said Angel. “Unless one of them has some big diamond collection on display or something.”
“The Wynn Casino has tens of millions of dollars in fine art, but I haven’t heard about any diamond collection,” said Jen.
“The thing about Popov is that he’s primarily an information broker. What valuable information could he obtain by exploding the e-bomb?” asked Kit.
No one had an answer.
“Could it be information kept on computers in Faraday cages?” asked Jen. “That could explain hitting a military or government target.”
“A Faraday cage,” said Yulana, “is supposed to protect sensitive electronics from electromagnetic pulses. But the truth is that Faraday ca
ges don’t always work when an e-bomb is detonated. Popov would know that.”
“And just to complicate our little puzzle further, don’t forget that Yulana figured out there are most likely two targets,” said Kit. “The first target requires the effects of an EMP weapon for the takedown, while the second target only requires a power outage from a rolling blackout.”
Buzz, Angel, and Jen all shook their heads.
“Whatever it is, it has to be a big score,” said Buzz. “Huge. Gargantuan. Popov would not risk having the full might of the U.S. government come after him for detonating an EMP device on our soil unless he stood to gain … hundreds of millions of dollars. Minimum.” They all exchanged looks.
“That’s more than I make in a month,” cracked Angel, breaking the solemn mood.
“A little more than you and me combined, Angel,” said Kit smiling. “We’re going to have to live with the fact that we don’t know the target yet. So we keep working the phones. Everyone is ready? Everyone knows their responsibilities?”
They all nodded.
“The truck and helicopter are loaded with goodies,” said Angel. “All of the weapons have infrared or thermal sights, in case we roll at night. And if Jen loses power here in the hangar when we’re out in the field, I rigged the generator to come on automatically.”
“Some of my local contacts who are well connected introduced me to the people who really run this town,” said Buzz. “And I’m not talking about the mayor or any politicians. I had a conference call with a few people and gave them a friendly, unofficial heads-up that there might be a big heist coming down soon, and I suggested they may want to tighten up their security. What does this get us? Right now, nothing. But if Popov pulls off a robbery that affects these people, we’ll have some new friends in this town who will go to bat for us.”
“Always good to have more friends,” said Kit. “Thanks for all the good work, everybody.”
The impromptu meeting over, Kit reached into a bag from the Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf and grabbed an extra-large green-tea latte as Yulana joined him.