“Us or the banner?” Terri asked, still light on her toes and fresh faced despite the journey.
“Banner,” Crouch said. “And probably us too, to be fair. This is where the real terrorists join the fun.”
Terri frowned. “Fun?”
“Sorry, that’s my stupid humor.”
“This could be our last shot at freedom,” Terri muttered.
Crouch kept it low. “This time, I agree. Try to sync whatever we do together though.”
The mercs had been forced to leave their guns behind since all modern casinos in Vegas possessed state of the art security measures. Their overpowering threat was their number, and Omar’s ruthlessness. Crouch was a soldier, though, and willing to test their enemy at the favorable time; he assumed Terri and Cutler would be ready to help.
Although Cutler appeared to have become even more reticent, ignoring Crouch now.
They passed through the entry doors and followed a path between slot machines to the elevator banks. The doors were silver and comparatively narrow. Although they had arrived in Vegas early, at 6 a.m., they had waited until ten minutes before the meet to head up to the top of the tower. Omar didn’t want to appear too keen. Inside, the elevators were marked accordingly. Omar pressed the button that would take them to the meeting rooms, just below the observation and roller-coaster decks, which pleased Crouch no end. He was scared of heights; he just chose not to let the fear debilitate him.
Silence accompanied their short journey upward. All the men knew their jobs. Omar had talked it through a hundred times; but the sudden silence was still deafening after the clamor inside the casino. Crouch found himself standing with his hands down by his thighs, pinned there by sheer weight of bodies as securely as any zip-ties.
“Not how I imagined my first entry to the Stratosphere,” he said to ease the tension. “Any of you been here before?”
He wanted them at ease; wanted them to discuss their plans; wanted them to think of him as just an annoyance. In an ideal world — he wanted them to discuss onward plans with the terrorists.
Unlikely.
But they were a talkative bunch.
It was Terri that answered, though. “We’ve been here before, but not to gamble. It was mainly at night too.”
Crouch sighed. “I guess it’s that kind of place.”
“For us, it had to be.”
The elevator slowed and the mercs growled a warning. Crouch was glad to be free of the restrictive box. He found himself in a narrow, carpeted corridor and followed Omar to the right. It was good to know your escape route, and now he had locations of all elevators and the staircase positions. Omar slowed and checked his watch.
“Get your game faces on. This is what we came for.”
The mercs muttered affirmations and checked for what Crouch knew were many improvised weapons. Even a credit card, cut along the edge, could be deadly if wielded by someone that knew what they were doing.
Terri nudged Crouch. “We see what we’re dealing with first.”
He nodded. Omar knocked at a discreet door and then immediately opened it. The entire group filed in.
Crouch entered a large conference room — a huge wooden table at the center of a wood-paneled, wood-floored room, with eighteen chairs fitting perfectly underneath. He saw pitchers of water and pristine glass tumblers on the table, and several plates with an assortment of plain and sweet pastries, and a high-end Gaggia coffee machine. The room pervaded a strong coffee aroma, mixed with baking. Very civilized. At the far end a high bank of windows overlooked the Strip as it bent south toward the other casinos, which Crouch knew included the Mirage, Paris and Luxor. A huge horizon greeted him, sending his nerve receptors into overtime until he forced his eyes away. Still a little dizzy, he scrutinized the other occupants of the room.
The so-called terrorists were seven strong and dressed like tourists. Several I Love Vegas T-shirts were in evidence, as well as the What Happens in Vegas staple. Caps hid faces. Trainers were brand new and poorly laced. Crouch observed that everyone had their hands in their pockets except for one man, who stepped forward.
He was tall, the same height as Omar but much more solidly built. His face was open and clean shaven, but his eyes were as dark as the worst pits of sin Crouch had ever seen. His hair was cut and trimmed to designer quality and pitch black; a display of free enterprise perhaps, but maybe just part of the disguise.
“I am Ricci,” he said. “At last, we finally meet. I wasn’t sure you would make it.”
Omar stepped forward and poured himself a glass of water. “If I am being honest, it has been harder than expected.” He sipped a little. “But here we are.”
His men ranged out at his side, many pairs of eyes watching many more. The tension inside the room was a living thing, crushing the rest of the world away, removing it from consciousness. Crouch, as much as anyone, was waiting for something to go wrong.
Ricci looked them over. “Is that the banner?”
Omar nodded and ordered his men to heft it along the floor until it lay at Ricci’s feet. In turn, the terrorist boss ordered his men to unwrap and examine it.
“I see you have captives. Why are they here?”
“We couldn’t exactly leave them in the car.” Omar forced a laugh. “Don’t worry, they are to be sold. They will not bother you.”
“Are these two our world class thieves?” Ricci nodded toward Terri and Cutler.
“Yes…” Omar said hesitantly and a little suspiciously.
“And who is the other man?”
“Ex-British soldier. Appears to work for the FBI now.”
Crouch’s heart sank. How had they found out?
Ricci’s face gained a malevolent grin and his eyes swirled with vindictive potential. “Soldier, you say?”
“Yeah; it’s his crew that have been chasing us from DC.”
“And you lost them?” the terrorist asked.
“Sure did. Over the Rocky Mountains. We haven’t stopped since.”
Ricci nodded and then spent a few minutes conferring with the men who’d been examining the banner. A nod of satisfaction followed and then an appraising glance over at Omar.
“You know what we’re going to do with this?”
Omar shrugged. “I don’t care.”
“Yet you are American.”
“I support only myself, not the country that uses me. Once I am rich, then I’ll choose somewhere to live on my own terms.”
“Ah, an entrepreneur. Well, I wouldn’t choose America. She’s going to implode right after we make this British soldier burn their flag live on air.”
Omar made a face. “He’s worth money, and insurance for us.”
“I thought you said you lost his crew.”
“We did, and he’s not bugged, but I prefer safe than sorry.”
“I’ll pay you extra for all three. One million bonus, wired to your account right now.”
Omar whistled. “You need the thieves too?”
“They will make a good warm up act, if you get my drift.”
Omar winced. “You’re able to transport them all to Hawaii?”
“It’s not your concern. Don’t worry, I don’t need your help with that and I have many plans ready. Private jets fly from LAX to Honolulu all the time. These three may even find Turtle Bay relaxing for a short time, depending on what we do with them whilst we wait for the Shoshone Star. Do you agree?”
“To the trade? Yes.”
“Then all is good.” Ricci smiled and spread his hands — a manicured demon emerging from his own personal hell — just for a moment. “Make the transfer.”
Another man laid a laptop on the table and started tapping away.