by Rickie Blair
Watson held out his hand.
“Welcome back, Hari. Sit down.” Hari slid into a leather armchair and laid the thumb drive on the coffee table as Jayden handed him a Scotch glass.
“Thanks.” Hari tilted the glass under his nose, swirled the contents, and inhaled its smoky aroma. He took a sip, allowing the slight burn on his tongue to dissipate before swallowing, and savored possibly the best single malt he had ever tasted. Then he placed the glass on the coffee table next to the USB drive. First things first.
“About our foundation—”
“Did you find anything?”
Hari inclined his head. “If you mean on that,” he said, pointing at the thumb drive, “then no. Those are just the hotel’s quarterly financial statements. I can’t use those to detect fraud.”
Watson sat beside him and leaned in.
“But could you detect it, if you were on site?”
“Look, William, I appreciate that you have a problem and you think I can solve it, but I just want to get our house fixed.”
Watson stood up with a flick of his hand and turned to the door.
“Let me show you the pool.”
With a snort of exasperation, Hari grabbed his Scotch from the coffee table and followed him.
In the kitchen, a circular wooden staircase led to a basement level that extended beyond the length of the house upstairs. TV monitors flickered in a small glass-walled office. Behind the glass, Iain Oliver turned to look at them. Watson gave him a brisk wave and kept walking. Oliver fixed Hari with a penetrating look, then nodded and turned back to the monitors.
On the next floor, a bar and game room gave way to a soundproofed door that lead to a full-size shooting range. With surprise Hari noted two lanes, both with target setups. Watson tapped a code into a gun safe, which opened to reveal a dozen Glocks and Berettas.
Hari felt a tingle of adrenaline at the anticipation of handling the weapons.
“Aren’t those illegal in the U.K.?”
Watson pulled out a Glock 19 and slapped in a loaded magazine. With a slight smile, he handed the Glock to Hari and loaded another. “Let’s have a go anyway, shall we?”
Hari slipped on ear protection, lined up his target, and hammered away. The Glock’s finely tuned balance fit snug in his hand, and a slight recoil jolted his forearm while he squeezed off shot after shot. He compared hits with Watson, laughed, reloaded, and reeled out a fresh target. For the first time in months, he was having fun. They shot more rounds. Finally, Watson called a halt.
“You haven’t seen the pool yet.”
They descended to the next floor and through a glass door. A blast of humidity warmed Hari’s face. He slipped off his jacket and sniffed the air.
“No chlorine?” he asked.
“Salt water,” Watson said.
Overhead lights glinted off the floor’s blue and green ceramic mosaics and the gleaming white walls and support pillars. In the pool, Jayden and two men were tossing around a water polo ball. Jayden waved and then swam over. Resting his folded arms on the pool’s tiled rim, he shook water from his hair like a spaniel and grinned up at them.
“Coming in?”
Watson shook his head, standing next to a box mounted on the far wall.
“Hari hasn’t seen Dickie yet.” Watson pressed a few buttons. The white walls continued to glow while the overhead lights dimmed. A faint gurgle grew louder until waves crashed on a shore and gulls cried overhead. Blue water inched up the walls and Hari caught his breath as his feet and legs turned blue. He held out his hands and watched the water cover them. It was only a trick of light, but his breath quickened as aqua ribbons swirled around him and the rushing water grew louder. Beside him, Watson’s face and beard turned blue.
Hari jumped at a flash of movement. A school of bluestripe snapper swept past. One fish stopped and turned, swam up to Hari and stared at him, gills pulsating. Hari reached for it, grabbing only air. He chuckled, shaking his head. The 3D simulation was convincing enough that he’d fallen for it.
The snappers swirled in sudden panic and darted away, spooked by something unseen. Whale song reverberated through the room. A shadow swept overhead and Hari ducked. He straightened up, feeling foolish. This must be Dickie. A massive fin slapped against the wall and he ducked again. He laughed. He couldn’t help it. Watson certainly knew how to live. Even in Hari’s free-spending days, working with Antony back in New York, his lifestyle had never extended to anything remotely like this.
As the overhead shadow disappeared and the whale song faded, Watson walked to the control panel and flicked a few switches. The simulated water lowered to just above ankle height. The show was over for the most part, although the odd fish still languidly swam past their feet.
Jayden pulled himself from the pool as Watson headed for a chaise.
“Get our guest a suit,” Watson said over his shoulder.
Hari tried to protest.
“Oh, don’t be such a puss,” Jayden said. “Relax.” With his wet feet slapping against the tile, he led Hari into a change room and pointed to a bureau drawer that overflowed with swimming gear. “Help yourself.” Jayden walked out, closing the door.
Hari changed into a pair of trunks and returned to the pool. Watson, who already had a glass in his hand, gestured to the chaise next to him. Hari sat, leaning back. On the table beside him was a fresh glass of the 25-year-old Bowmore Scotch he’d enjoyed upstairs. He swirled the glass under his nose. Yes, Watson certainly knew how to live.
“I didn’t come from money, I hope you know,” Watson said, gazing at the pool.
Hari turned to face him. Was that a rhetorical question? He knew his background, as everyone did. William Watson was a legend in the business world.
“You don’t know what it is to have nothing.” Watson lapsed into a broad Scots accent. “It’s a sair ficht for half a loaf.” He scowled and flicked a hand, still without looking at Hari. “You’re going through a rough patch, I suppose, but how long are you going to live off your parents?”
Hari’s breath caught in his throat, his mouth going slack as he stared at Watson. A snapper swished past his chaise with a flap of its lemon-yellow tail.
“That’s none of your—”
“She drowned, didn’t she?”
“What?”
“Your girlfriend. The news reports were a bit cryptic. What happened, exactly?” Watson sipped his Scotch, turning his dark gray eyes on Hari.
“That’s what happened. Just that.” A sudden image of Leta striding into the ocean under a waning moon jolted him upright.
“So why do you feel guilty?”
“I don’t—” He slammed his glass onto the table, sloshing Scotch. “It’s none of your business.”
Watson smiled slightly, then he leaned over the arm of his chaise, speaking softly, his eyes fixed on Hari.
“Go to Vegas. Do this job for me. Move on.”
Hari stared at Watson, whose white hair was the only thing keeping Hari from smashing him right in the lip. He turned his head to stare at the pool, breathing heavily. Move on? Wasn’t he trying to do just that? He was here to sell his parents’ house and then … what? Hari slumped back against the chaise. He hated to admit it, but maybe Watson was right. A new case would be a distraction, and he could use the fee. He shook his head. Too complicated. Taking off his glasses, he placed them on the table beside his drink. A swim might clear his head.
As he stood by the pool water lapped the edge, spilling over his toes. His shoulders creaked as he rolled them while shaking out his hands. With a shake of his head, he dove in and surged through the water. He broke through the surface, tasting salt on his lips. His last salt water swim, on that moonlit shore in Southampton, flashed through his mind. Leta glancing over her shoulder while she waded into the ocean. His chest tightened with the memory.
He struck out for the wall in a furious crawl. At the far end, he turned and headed back. His arms faltered so he stopped, treading water, his heart r
acing. A sudden movement drew his eyes to the left and he saw a wave splash over a floating white shirt, tugging it under the surface. Moonlight glinted off a woman’s bare shoulders. As the memories flooded back, his dizziness grew. He raised a hand to his throat, splashing water onto his face. He swallowed a mouthful, his head lolled back and he sank. His feet and then his knees hit the bottom of the pool and his arms spread out to either side, buoyant.
Wavering figures reached through the water to pull him up. He collapsed onto the mosaic tiles, retching. Jayden knelt beside him, tossed a towel over his shoulders and gave his back a sympathetic rub.
“You gave us a shock. Are you all right?”
He peered up at Jayden’s blurry face. Was this really happening?
“Forgive me,” Hari whispered.
“There’s nothing to forgive,” Watson said, leaning over them to place a hand on Hari’s shoulder.
Hari shoved Watson’s hand away.
“Leave me alone.” He rose shakily to his feet and stumbled into the change room.
* * *
Watson looked up from his armchair as Jayden came through the front door.
“Did you see him home?”
“It’s only next door. But yes, I did.”
“Did he seem all right to you?”
“I guess. What set him off, anyway? He’s a strong swimmer, why did he suddenly flounder like that?”
Watson gazed at the Rothko, admiring its rich fields of color.
“No idea.”
Chapter Eight
Las Vegas
Zeke Turner ducked behind a pillar in the Starlight Hotel’s vast casino and tried to calm his pounding heart. Customers packed the gambling floor, shrieking with laughter or hunching over cards and slot machines. Cocktail waitresses with plastic smiles, dressed in skimpy costumes modeled after Barbarella, circulated with drinks. Overhead, replica Apollo command modules hung from the vaulted cobalt ceiling surrounded by thousands of twinkling lights. Underfoot, a multi-colored carpet competed for attention with the chiming and flashing of hundreds of garish slot machines.
But all Zeke could see was a swarthy man with a prominent gold tooth, asking a waitress if she had seen Zeke Turner. The waitress shook her bouffant hairdo and walked away, holding a tray of drinks aloft. As she passed Zeke’s pillar, she said out of the corner of her mouth, “Better get out of here, Zeke.”
He scurried between the slots with his head down and dashed headlong into an elevator whose doors were closing. The doors slammed into his arm before bouncing back to admit him.
“Thanks,” he gasped at the elevator’s other occupants, a middle-aged couple. “Nice day, isn’t it?” Zeke stared past the couple at the elevator’s fake wood paneling as he rubbed his arm. It didn’t matter what kind of a day it was for the Starlight’s owner, William Watson. He won big every day.
After swiping his card through the elevator’s reader, Zeke punched the button for the locked eighth floor. His shift in IT had started twenty minutes ago, but he had been trying to give Dragos Luca’s man the slip since spotting him outside his condo building that morning. Zeke had left for work by ducking out the back door and climbing over the fence.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to repay Dragos Luca. He just couldn’t raise the cash. When he had tried yesterday to get another advance on his salary, the woman in the cashier’s cage shook her head.
“Can’t do it. There’s a note on your file.”
“A note? What does that mean?”
She leaned across the counter and lowered her voice.
“It means, no more advances.” She leaned back. “You need to lay off the ponies, kid.” She motioned to the person in line behind him. “Next.”
Zeke had stepped aside while a young couple with matching grins clattered an armful of chips onto the counter. Lay off the ponies. Funny. He had never even been to a track. Something much more exhilarating than horse racing had landed him into this predicament. Online poker. How stupid was that?
Still puffing from his dash through the casino, Zeke watched the elevator’s LED display click past seven floors. He got off at eight, walked to the glass-walled IT office and swiped his card through the lock. He recognized the irony of a full-time IT expert and part-time black hatter brought down by online gaming. If his friends Dragnet or Lord Phreak found out, he’d be a laughingstock. For God’s sake, he had hacked the Pentagon once. Almost. He shrugged. Close enough.
With a nod at Elena, his supervisor, who craned her head over her monitor to frown at the wall clock, Zeke slipped into his chair and swiveled to face his computer. His PC here at the Starlight was nothing compared to Big Blue, back in his rented condo. He had intended the name as a reference to the once-mighty IBM and an ironic statement on the ultimate fate of all things digital. Not everybody got it, though. If he sold Big Blue, it would make a big dent in his debt to Luca. His gut wrenched at the thought.
Zeke pulled his keyboard closer and hunched over it. The last time he borrowed money from Luca and didn’t repay it, Luca made him harvest information on the Starlight’s guests. Zeke had siphoned off credit card numbers, addresses, credit history, passwords, anything he could get his hands on. It wasn’t really a crime. Luca could have gotten the information elsewhere. Anyway, people should be more careful with their online data.
And he vowed to never, ever do it again.
But now Luca wanted him to do exactly that. His demand had been delivered two weeks ago by two guys with Slavic accents who picked Zeke up outside the Starlight and drove him to a diner outside town. He was nervous at first, but relaxed as they shared guffaws and dirty jokes in a leatherette-upholstered booth, their elbows resting on the Formica table while they waited for their burgers and fries. One of the men was short, no more than five-two. He smoothed back his long black hair repeatedly but said little other than his name, Roman.
The bigger man grinned, displaying a solid gold tooth. Black tattoos covered his knuckles. His name, he said, was Petru. He was right out of central casting, and Zeke didn’t take him seriously. Until he took Zeke out behind the diner, racked the slide on a semi-automatic and pressed it to his temple. Zeke was so scared he nearly pissed himself.
Back inside the diner, Petru slapped him on the back.
“Was good joke, no?”
Petru shoved fries into his mouth, his gold tooth gleaming under the overhead lights, and cackled. Zeke tried to laugh along, but found it impossible to swallow the lump in his throat. He pushed away his plate with his burger untouched. Petru pointed at it.
“You no eat that?”
Zeke shook his head. Petru grabbed the burger and shoveled it into his mouth, chewing with gusto. The sight did nothing to calm Zeke’s churning stomach.
Petru winked at him.
“Two weeks, you understand?” He pointed an outstretched finger to his head to mime pulling the trigger.
And today, Zeke’s time was up.
At his desk in the Starlight’s IT department, he rubbed his temple to erase the memory of the gun’s hard muzzle. If he went to the police, Petru would deny threatening him. No one at the diner would contradict that since the three men must have looked like old friends. And if he told the police about Luca’s demand to steal data from the Starlight, it would alert the hotel to Zeke’s earlier theft. But if he couldn’t satisfy Luca, his only other option was to disappear. Zeke rubbed his temple again and slumped in his chair, defeated. He couldn’t repay Luca. And he couldn’t disappear, either, without money, so how—
He sat bolt upright. What if he stole the data and then sold it himself? He knew his way around the dark web, and he knew how Luca’s online auction worked. He just had to set up something similar. And then, once he had enough cash, he could leave town before anyone suspected.
“Zeke?”
He looked up, startled. Elena, wearing a blue suit adorned with a Starlight employee pin—a cobalt blue bar overlaid with a silver comet—stood over him. Zeke’s hand reflexively covered
his shirt pocket. He had forgotten his own pin, again.
“Sorry, Elena, I didn’t hear you. What did you say?”
“I said, watch your step. Head office is sending someone to look over the books. They want to see everything in IT, too.”
His throat tightened and he tried to clear it with a swallow before replying.
“When, exactly?”
“This week. So make sure your files are up to date. No slacking off.”
Zeke clenched his jaw while he watched her walk away. He couldn’t mine the Starlight’s digital loot with an audit team looking over his shoulder. It was hard enough to disguise it the first time, but at least then he only had to fool Elena.
He flopped back in his chair, staring at the screen. What was he going to do now? He rubbed his temple again and shuddered.
Chapter Nine
The police officer glanced at Millie’s house and repeated his question.
“What’s going on here?”
“Nothing that concerns you,” Ruby said, thrusting out her chin.
The officer’s eyes flashed. Watching his hand hover over his Taser, Ruby immediately regretted her answer. What was it about police officers that always set her off? You would think she’d know better by now. She grimaced, recalling a drunken roadside encounter in Jersey years ago that had landed her on the front page of every tabloid in the country.
She took a deep breath and started again.
“What I meant to say was,” she added in a carefully modulated tone, “we are visiting a friend, but unfortunately,” she tilted her head at the notice on Millie’s front door, “she’s not home.”
The officer didn’t look at the house this time.
“How do you know Millie Havelock?”
Ruby lifted a finger.
“That is not—”
She was interrupted by the Audi’s door, opening and slamming. Felicity strode up and placed a hand on Ruby’s arm, squeezing it in that familiar, reassuring way of hers that meant, Shut the hell up, Ruby.