Sabotage (18 page)

“I’ve been saying the exact same thing. What do you think the next step is?”

“Straight up?”

“Always.” Vanessa Jones wanted nothing else. She viewed her current job as a prelude to much larger perches. She wanted her boss’ job after a little more seasoning. She was not going to be burned by making bad decisions on such fundamental matters. She liked Mandy LaPierre from her brief dealings with her. She wanted to hear exactly what she was thinking.

“This is absolutely unorthodox and if I could think of any other plan in the world, I would gladly give it to you. My boss probably doesn’t want me to suggest it.”

“Do tell,” Vanessa commanded. She had a strong idea of what would be said.

“I think Grant and Amin should go to Las Vegas, where Caitlin is. I think I should accompany them along with guards. I just checked with Washington. To this point, they are still the most promising sources we have.”

“What if Mr. Amin blows up the plane or does something similarly spectacular?”

“Well, Ms. Jones, that’s why I volunteered to go. I figured it was the best way to show my belief in this plan.”

Vanessa let an inch of mirth creep in to her voice. “It does do that. What is the objective in Las Vegas?”

“He hasn’t hit Vegas yet. It’s an obvious target. It means one of two things: he’s there, and that’s why he hasn’t hit it, or he’s going to hit it and hit it big. Either way, it makes sense for us to be there, to rendezvous with Mr. Miller’s friend, and then to see if it brings us any closer to our target.”

This was big and risky. Putting a terrorist on a plane was the kind of thing that could make or break a career, not just Mandy’s, but Vanessa’s, too. As unassailable as it seemed to be, one slip up here and she could find herself out of a job.

“That’s the best you’ve got?”

Mandy swallowed. “I think so. Miller is a touchstone even if he’s not involved. And for the record, I don’t think he is. I think it was either some payback from his little exploits with the princess, or he was just an easy target symbolizing American extravagance.”

Jones nodded. That was her feeling and the president’s as well. They were at this for hours and had not one single other credible lead. They had to take some risks, or this day was going to get a whole lot longer.

She let a little prayer slip silently from her lips and then asked, “Where do you want me to send the plane?”

G
ive him weeks, Tony thought, and he could find about anybody in Las Vegas. He knew bartenders, strippers, bookies, and hotel clerks. He knew craps dealers and high-class hookers. He knew how to triangulate people. If you had enough time, it really wasn’t a problem. If you had only a few hours, it was.

Trying to find someone—someone who was hiding—in a few hours in a city of this size was impossible and unthinkable. It just wasn’t going to happen. He couldn’t believe Paolo. First, he tipped her off that Tony was around and then he brought her unsecured—really? It was unbelievable. Paolo was soft. He didn’t do this kind of work often. He couldn’t go down that road too far, however, or he would have to admit who put him in that position: good old Tony. So when it came down to it, Caitlin’s continued ability to breathe was really his rather large mistake. Easy or not, his best bet was just to keep moving and looking and hoping Britt wasn’t going to have
him
killed.

He should have taken the shot in the condo, but his orders were to catch her, not to kill her. A very stupid decision on Britt’s part. He wanted to remind Britt of this, that you eliminate a target when you can but thought better of it. The rage and the brow beatings were all part of what you put up with to deal with psycho assholes like Britt. He wouldn’t be with him always; he knew that. Regardless of what he decided to do with the rest of his days, he would just as soon stay employed right now, if he could get these thoughts about Britt out of his head. And he certainly wanted to stay alive. Both of those sounded good.

The whole situation made it necessary for him to kill Paolo. He hadn’t enjoyed this. He liked it when the people he killed were considerably “badder” and not just a soft moron from a club. The dumbass should have had her hands tied, or handcuffed, or something when he brought her in—fucking amateur. It was a mistake that cost Paolo his life.

Tony had told Britt everything. Britt had this bloodless quality about himself. He would look as sanguine as an old-hand spy handler, and then, when it served him, unleash all of his emotion at once. He kept quiet when Tony told him the story. Then he, cold as an iceberg, simply told him to find her, find her wherever she was.

That was two hours ago. Even though Tony made a dozen phone calls and visited two properties himself, he knew it was no use. It would take jackpot luck to allow him to find her anytime soon, anytime when it might actually mean something.

He looked at his watch for the dozenth time. It was time to be a man. He called Britt’s number.

“Found her?” Britt cut right to the chase.

“No luck. I’ll probably need a lot more time. This is a big city, and she’s a smart girl.”

Silence. Tony hated silence. And Britt knew this.

“I could …”

He had no idea what he was starting to say. How he hated silence.

“I …”

Again nothing. Britt was letting him twist.

Finally, Britt spoke in that icy voice that was far scarier than any emotion he showed. “That’s a big miss, my friend.”

Jesus, these guys never knew what they were asking. “I know. I’m gonna keep looking.”

Emotion crept back into Britt’s voice. This was ruining his scenario. This dumb bitch and her intuition was going to cost him everything. “Fuck it, Tony. You didn’t get the job done when you had the chance. I’m going to put someone else on Vegas, someone she doesn’t know. Your next role is in Tahoe. Go to the cabin there and thank your lucky stars you’re still employed. I’ll call you first thing in the morning.”

Tony nodded and then realized he hadn’t spoken. “Okay, boss. I’ll talk to you in the morning. Sorry, boss.”

“Look,” Britt said. “Clean up these things. Get to Tahoe. I’ll speak to you in the morning.”

He spoke to Tony as if he were a seventh grader.

Tony was near the strip, so he headed out of town toward the interstate. He had eight hours ahead of him. Tony checked the gas. He had enough to get him out of town but would have to fill up once and maybe into a second tank. Might as well do it now. He was sick with the conversation. He liked it a lot better when Britt screamed.

At the gas station just outside of town, Tony pulled out the credit card Britt gave him and charged the gas. He leaned against the Escalade and twisted the card in his fingers while the gas poured. He had a good run with Britt, but this whole thing had gotten very weird. A new person in Vegas. Tony knew who that was, but he was too pissed off to break the news to her that she would soon be getting a call. And why so insistent about Tahoe? There was nothing there but a second-rate hideout. Was his boy leaving town?

Tony knew very little about the plan, but it was becoming clearer Britt was very tied to what happened today. All of the tragedy and loss. Tony had a cousin who died in a firefight in Afghanistan after September 11. He still hated that whole chain of events. Tony may have been a life-long criminal, but he wasn’t a fucking terrorist. He had a boy in Los Angeles who could hook him up with work. Suddenly, that sounded a lot more inviting than Tahoe. He could stay in Britt’s pad on the coast there tonight and then disappear tomorrow before Britt even knew. He had contemplated this moment for some time, but that last bloodless call did it. You always needed an out in his business.

Clean up your own mess, Britt. Take the pepper spray yourself. Kill your own crazy bimbo. She was better than you anyway. See you in the next life.

B
ritt had known this was going to be a problem. Why could he not control his feelings? Feelings had always been easy for him. He thought at times he became immune to them. But now, at the worst possible time, here they came: anger, betrayal, confusion, impotence. He was the king of the fucking world, and yet he couldn’t control his own erection.

This rage, though—maybe this rage would do it. He went back upstairs. The girls were there, cooing, nuzzling, and kissing. It was nothing worse than you would see on Cinemax. Priscilla kissed Jilly’s neck. Her back was arched, feeling it, taking in the moment. Tilly smiled when she saw Britt. She motioned for him to join them.

“We’ve been waiting,” she said in a practiced but effective purr. He lay down and they all moved to him. This was power.

Tilly undid his shirt, button by button. She flung it open like something out of a rock video and kissed his nipple. He knew it was supposed to be sexy, and it was. But nothing happened.

Root canal, deposition, random errands—they were just as stimulating to him. His breathing grew stronger. The girls figured he liked it, but the whole endeavor was making him nervous. He wasn’t moved by this fantasy that most men would give years of their life for. These girls were all his and would give him any wish. Priscilla could sense something wasn’t right. She grabbed his crotch—should-be heaven, but still nothing.

What was wrong with him? What was wrong? Fuck, what moved the needle? What did he need to have to make him powerful? He knew. He had it right there. He stood up and moved across to the other side of the room.

He got his gun.

R
aylon for Becky—by the time they got back to Hollywood, that was a trade Joey was very happy to make.

During the last fifteen minutes of the car ride, Becky couldn’t shut up. The shock of the explosion had worn off, and she huffed and puffed about who she gonna call and what they gonna say about all dis shit. After telling her twice not to tell anyone he was alive, Joey figured out he was better off
not
emphasizing this; she was clearly the kind of girl that did something just because someone didn’t want her to.

He let her out just about four blocks from where he had found her, winked at her, and told her he would call. They both knew he wasn’t going to, but he had to say it if there were any chance it would help her shut the hell up.

Becky got out, Raylon climbed in, and Marvin drove the pair away while Becky made loud noises so that everyone would notice what a fancy car she had gotten out of. She was sure she could keep Joey’s secret. She knew something that no one else in the world knew.

Raylon was hurt but knew he couldn’t show it to Joey.

Joey felt horrible but knew he couldn’t say anything to Raylon. They sat on opposite sides of the limo, looking like freshmen who had just gotten invited to a formal with the upperclassmen. They said nothing and barely moved.

Marvin ended the silence by asking where they were going. Joey told him to head toward the beach. He didn’t intend to end up there but figured they would almost certainly end up going west.