Blackout

by Dawson, Mark

"It's me," he said.

  "What happened?"

  "It's done."

  "Logan?"

  "Won't be a problem."

  "And de Lacey?"

  "Ziggy is working on that now."

  "But we're not done."

  "No. Not even close."

  Milton walked by the huge Ferris wheel, the spokes looking ghostly in the light thrown up by the streetlamps on the promenade.

  "How's Josie?" Milton asked.

  "Lucky. The bullet hit clipped on the thigh. Flesh wound. They're stitching her up now. I doubt they'll be able to keep her in. She’s already told them she wants out."

  "Have you spoken to her?"

  "Yes. She said she wanted to see you. She's stubborn as a mule. Says she wants this to be done properly. By the book."

  Milton stared out into the darkness.

  "Milton?" Hicks said. "What do you want me to do?"

  "Stay with her. Call me when she's been fixed up. I don’t need any more surprises from her."

  He went into the store and got supplies: a pack of Fortune menthol cigarettes, two bottles of Coke, a handful of chocolate bars and pre-made sandwiches and two cups of black coffee.

  He paid the clerk, thanked him, and set off back to the hotel.

  76

  ZIGGY WAS still working when Milton returned to the room. He was wearing a pair of headphones and Milton could just hear the muffled sound of music.

  "Hey."

  He didn't hear him.

  "Ziggy!"

  He looked up, nodded, and took off the headphones.

  "What?"

  Milton handed him one of the cups of coffee. "Well?”

  "It was a little more difficult than I expected." Milton could hear the sound of something loud and aggressive until Ziggy thumbed it off. "Sorry," he said. "Helps me concentrate."

  "How much longer do you need?"

  "Nothing. I'm done."

  "What did you get?"

  He held up Mendoza’s phone. "Between this and the laptop, I was able to get into all his email. I reset his passwords, gathered data and accessed everything else: email, social, financial. Open sesame.“

  "I don't care how you did it. I just want a link between him and de Lacey."

  "Fine," he said, bridling a little at Milton's impatience. "So we know they used a Gmail dead drop. Standard email is clear-text. The NSA can sniff that easily. Data transmitted to and from Gmail's servers within a browser is encrypted, so those transmissions don't usually get intercepted. Usually. Whoever set this up with Logan probably thought they were being clever, but they don't know that Logan is dead. Here. They sent this last night."

  Ziggy navigated to an open browser window that showed an open Gmail account. Ziggy moused over to the drafts folder and clicked to open it. There was an unsent email inside. Milton read it.

  FINAL PAYMENT MADE. YOU HAVE MY THANKS.

  "Can you find the payment?"

  "Of course." Ziggy opened another window and Milton saw a statement from an account at Scotiabank in the British Virgin Isles. "This is Logan's account," Ziggy said. "He received a large payment yesterday." He moused up and highlighted a figure in the deposit column. "Half a million."

  "From Polemos?" Milton said, noticing the details of the depositor. “Who’s that?”

  "It's a front company. Registered in Vanuatu. I've just started looking into it. It's the second payment he’s had from them." He scrolled back and highlighted another payment for the same amount.

  "Half up front, half on completion," Milton said. "A million dollars to bring me here and put me in jail."

  "Maybe I should drop them a line and tell them where they can find you," Ziggy suggested with a grin, but, as he looked up at Milton and saw him solemnly looking back down at him, he replaced the smirk with a straight face.

  "You said the dead drops can't usually be intercepted. But sometimes they can?"

  "It doesn't get sniffed, but Google still has the metadata. Including the IP address where the draft was composed."

  "You hacked Google?"

  He shrugged. "Not exactly. I have a friend who works there. Tells me things that he probably shouldn’t. That's why it took a little longer than ten minutes."

  "So where is he, Ziggy?"

  "How about I show you?"

  He went to the wide window that faced out to sea and pointed.

  Milton followed his instruction and looked to the south. A channel separated the land on which the hotel stood from a collection of condominiums. "What am I looking at?"

  "I found the IP address. It's over there."

  "The condos?"

  "No," Ziggy said. "That's Alphaland Marina. It's a very exclusive yacht club. And Tactical Aviation owns a yacht. A big one. It docked three days ago. That's how he's going to leave. In style."

  77

  MILTON TOOK the cigarettes out to the balcony, shook one out of the pack and lit it. He looked to the marina, a mile away to the south. Dawn was two hours away and it was still too dark to see anything in detail, but he could make out the shape of the yachts from the lights on the jetties. There was one yacht in particular that arrested his eye. It was anchored in the bay and much larger than the others, its sleek lines picked out by the bright white running lights that were set around the perimeter of the superstructure.

  Ziggy had found a report in CharterWorld saying that Tactical Aviation had purchased a ninety-foot superyacht six months ago. She was called the M/Y Topaz, and, when Ziggy had checked the records at the Manila customs house, he had found papers for a yacht of the same name.

  Was de Lacey on board now?

  It seemed likely.

  Milton finished the cigarette and went back inside.

  Ziggy was busy on his computers, sitting amid empty sandwich packets and discarded chocolate wrappers. "I've got something else for you," he said. "The captain of the Topaz applied for departure clearance yesterday. Everyone on board who wants to leave needs to be noted on the application. Look."

  Milton watched over Ziggy's shoulder as he scrolled down through a series of scanned pages from the passports of the passengers aboard the yacht. He stopped scrolling when he reached the page from the passport of a Mr. Fitzroy de Lacey.

  Milton peered at the photograph. De Lacey was staring straight at the camera.

  "When are they leaving?"

  "Eight tonight. In sixteen hours."

  "So we need to send the email."

  Ziggy nodded. He grabbed Logan's laptop and navigated to the Gmail client that he had been using.

  Milton looked at the email that they had decided upon. It was simple; just five words.

  WE NEED TO SPEAK. URGENT.

  "Save it."

  * * *

  THEY WAITED.

  Ziggy refreshed the browser every minute, and then every five minutes. There was nothing.

  "The payments to Logan," Milton said. "From the shell company."

  "Polemos," Ziggy added. "What about them?"

  "Can you prove that de Lacey made them?"

  Ziggy rubbed his eyes. He'd been up all night, too. "I can try," he said.

  Milton went back out to the balcony and called Hicks.

  "Good timing," he said. "She's just discharging herself."

  "Can you get over here? I think I'm going to need you."

  "Sure," Hicks said. "She’ll want to come, too.”

  “You can’t just leave—“

  “No. She’d probably arrest me if I tried.”

  Milton sighed. “Fine.”

  “Where are you?"

  Milton told him that he was at the Conrad. Hicks said he would be there as soon as he could. Milton hung up.

  He took out another cigarette, aware that he had already smoked half of the pack and hardly caring. He lit up and inhaled, then stared at the distant yacht through the wisps of blue smoke. Dawn was breaking, a slow lightening at the horizon that seeped up into the darkness, gradually revealing more and more of the marina and the yachts that
were berthed there.

  Milton looked out into the bay and to the Topaz.

  De Lacey was there.

  Was he asleep in one of the luxurious cabins that Milton remembered from his time aboard the yacht's predecessor?

  He found himself wondering what he would do if there was no response to his message. A direct approach would be impossible. The boat was anchored in the bay, for a start, and that alone would make an assault impossible. He could take a boat, but it was difficult to imagine how he could get aboard that way. He could swim out to the yacht, but then he would be limited in the equipment that he could take with him. He remembered from before that there would be a well-armed security detail in place to protect de Lacey. Milton would be outnumbered. He would need more gear than he could transport underwater.

  He closed his eyes, aware that he hadn't slept. He thought of Jessica, and the shape of Logan's fingers in the bruises around her throat. Logan had paid the price for what he had done, but that was only half of the revenge that Milton was minded to exact.

  He needed this to work.

  He went back inside.

  "Have they responded?"

  "Not yet."

  "What about Polemos?"

  "It's not easy."

  "That doesn't help me."

  "I told you—Polemos is registered in Vanuatu. You know how secretive it is over there? It makes Switzerland look wide open."

  "I know that. But you said—"

  "I'm trying, Milton. You know how it works? The directors of Polemos appoint nominees in Vanuatu. The nominees sign powers of attorney to hand control back to the directors. But no one knows who the directors are. There's nothing recorded online. And if there isn't, there's nothing for me to hack."

  "I need to prove that de Lacey made the payments. I need it in black and white."

  "I'd have to get into the bank in a big way. Not possible in thirty minutes."

  "How long?"

  "A few days."

  "De Lacey's going tonight."

  Ziggy shrugged. "I don't know what to say."

  Milton closed his eyes and tried to remember back to the time before, when he had been closer to the centre of de Lacey's circle.

  A thought occurred to him.

  "How much of the Polemos paperwork is publicly available?"

  Ziggy looked at his screen. "The nominee declaration. That's there for everyone."

  "Show me."

  "Hold on." Ziggy worked for a moment and then started to read. "I, Richard Taylor, Director POLEMOS LTD, having agreed to the appointment as Director of a company duly incorporated under the laws of Vanuatu, hereby declare that I shall only act upon instruction from the beneficial owners—"

  "Not him. Keep going. The names. Just give me the names."

  "There are five," Ziggy said. "Cocks. Sparks. Connors."

  "The last one," Milton cut him off. "Is it Olsen?"

  Ziggy looked up in surprise. "Yes. Marthe Olsen. How did you know that?"

  "I remember it from when I was with de Lacey before. He has companies all over the Caribbean. I remember the name of one of the nominees."

  "Why that one?"

  "Marthe Olsen is my ex-wife."

  "I didn't even know you were married."

  "It was a long time ago. The names were a coincidence. It stuck in my—"

  "Shit," Ziggy said.

  Ziggy had absent-mindedly refreshed the Gmail page. The draft email that they had saved had been deleted and replaced with another.

  IT'S DONE. WHY DO YOU NEED TO SPEAK?

  "What do you want me to say?" Ziggy asked.

  "Give them the website."

  Ziggy switched windows and navigated to the home page of the Manila Bulletin. The lead story was headlined BILIBID JAILBREAK SPARKS MANHUNT. Ziggy copied the URL and pasted it into the email. He looked up at Milton for approval.

  "Do it."

  Ziggy pressed save.

  He waited, and then refreshed.

  INCLUDING OUR FRIEND?

  "Say yes. And say that you have news, and that you need to meet."

  Ziggy typed in the message and saved it.

  Milton found that his stomach was clenched tight with nerves.

  Ziggy refreshed the browser.

  Nothing.

  He tried again.

  Still nothing.

  "They're thinking about it," Milton said, more to himself than to Ziggy. "Come on. Come on."

  Ziggy refreshed for a third time, and a new message had replaced the old one.

  WHERE ARE YOU?

  "Tell them we're at the Conrad."

  Milton clenched his fists and tapped them against his thighs.

  Ziggy refreshed.

  BE OUTSIDE AT 1200. WE WILL SEND A CAR.

  78

  HICKS AND Josie arrived shortly afterwards. She was walking with the aid of a stick, her face bearing witness to the pain that each fresh step was causing her.

  "Josie," Milton said. "How do you feel?"

  "Like I've been shot through the leg."

  She sat down, wincing.

  "You should—"

  "Don't bother telling me I should be in hospital," she interrupted testily. "This needs to be finished. And I want it to be done properly."

  "That's fine. Me, too."

  "Hicks wouldn't tell me what happened. He told me to ask you."

  "Mendoza's dead."

  “Fuck,” she sighed. “And Logan?"

  "The same. They both are."

  She closed her eyes. "Damn it, Milton."

  "They got what they deserved."

  "That's not the point. What happened?"

  "You saw," Milton replied. "Logan shot Mendoza."

  "Why? To clean up?"

  Milton nodded. "Things were starting to look messy. Too many variables. He didn't want anything to lead back to him."

  I would have done the same, Milton thought.

  "And then?"

  "And then you did what I told you not to do and you got shot because of it."

  "I know that," she said, laying her fingers on the spot on her thigh where the bullet had winged her. "After that?"

  "I shot him."

  "Did you get what you wanted?"

  "Some of it."

  Milton kept the content of his conversation with Logan—and especially its conclusion—to himself.

  "What about the bodies?"

  "I put them in Mendoza’s car and torched it."

  She sighed and shook her head. "Of course you did."

  "It's important that Logan isn’t identified today."

  "Why?"

  "Because I don't want de Lacey to know that he’s dead."

  "Because this isn't finished?"

  Milton shook his head. "No," he said. “Nowhere near.”

  "What are you going to do?"

  "Do you want to be involved?"

  She didn't answer at once.

  "Josie? Hicks said that—"

  "I think I'm done with the police."

  "Why? You're a good—"

  "Don't patronise me, Milton," she said. "I know I am. I know I'm good. But it's not that. Things have never been as bad as they are now. I thought, when I enrolled, that I'd be able to make a difference. But that's naïve. Men like Mendoza are everywhere now. They think they can do whatever they want. Maybe they can. Maybe. And you know what? I'm not just naïve. I'm selfish. I have Angelo to think about. He's already lost his father and then I got shot last night. I was lucky. It could’ve been worse. So I swore to myself that I’m never going to put myself in a position where he might end up losing his mother, too."

  "So you don't—"

  "After this," she added. "That's when I'll stop. But I want to do one more thing the right way before I do. If de Lacey did what you say he did, then he should be in prison. I swore an oath to uphold the law. And so that's what is going to happen. If you want him, it has to be by the book. We bring him in and charge him and then we let the prosecutor take him to trial."


  Milton had given his next move careful thought, and the conclusion that he had reached was inescapable: he couldn't easily get to de Lacey on his own. It would be too difficult even though he knew that Hicks and Ziggy would volunteer their help. And, more than the practical difficulties, he knew that he owed Josie. Logan had killed Jessica, and now Logan was dead. He would have preferred to kill de Lacey, too, but there was poetry to the idea of sending him back to rot in the prison that he had tried so hard to leave.

  "All right," Milton said. "I'll give him to you."

  "That's not enough."

  "What do you mean?"

  "All I've got is you telling me that he was behind all this." Milton started to protest, but she waved away his objections. "I believe you, Milton. But that's not enough. I need to make a case against him. I can't bring him in just because I believe what you've told me. I need evidence."

  "Ziggy?" Milton prompted.

  "Evidence,” he said. “Yes. I can help with that."

  Ziggy told Josie about the two payments into Logan's account, and that Polemos—the company that had made them—was likely connected to de Lacey.

  She listened with an expression that grew more and more incredulous. "So, let me just make sure I'm understanding this. You're making the connection based on the fact that a woman with the same name as Milton's ex-wife was involved in the formation of Polemos and another one from years before? That's it? Seriously?”

  "I know it's circumstantial," Milton said.

  "Are you out of your minds? And this evidence about the payments," she went on with increasing agitation, "not that I'd call it evidence—how exactly did you get it?"

  "I..." Ziggy started to speak, but the words trailed away.

  "He hacked it," Milton finished for him.

  She put her hand to her forehead. "So you’ve broken the law to get it?”

  Ziggy shrugged.

  “It's completely inadmissible. It’s useless."

  Milton took a breath. She was right, of course. It was useless. Milton didn't need to deal in absolutes. He knew, of course, what had happened and who was responsible. His standard of proof was low. But Josie wanted to do things the right way and, if she was to do that, she would need evidence that would stand up in court.

  "All right," he said. "We can do better."