Inside, dozens of patrons in tropical shirts sat on high-top chairs around small tables watching baseball on large-screen TVs suspended above the bar. No dart board in sight.
As he walked closer to the back of the room, the ambiance changed. A young Bahamian couple sat at a small bar decorated above by cheap strings of Christmas lights. Jalen and Ramon sat with a third man on pink chairs around a bright green table, their attention captured by the actions of another man standing with a dart in his hand.
Jalen cheered when the dart hit the target. He raised a bottle of beer to his lips and swallowed the remaining liquid.
When the man went to retrieve his darts, Niko walked over to their table. “Jalen… Ramon. I found the place.”
“Professor Zhora.” Jalen stood and grabbed an unoccupied chair from a nearby table. “Have a seat.” He moved the chair to their table and encouraged his friends to make room.
“Please call me Anton,” said Niko. “We’re not in class here.”
While Niko took a seat, Jalen introduced him to everyone, including the man who returned with the darts.
Niko glanced at the bottles of Kalik sitting around the table. He raised his hand for a waiter and ordered five more beers.
Ramon turned the conversation toward computers and networks. Jalen joined in asking Niko about the finer points of the TOR network. The other men at the table seemed uninterested.
When the second round of beers arrived, Niko excused himself to go to the men’s room. On his return, he walked past a large Bahamian man, brushing against him lightly on the way to his table.
The man grabbed Niko by the shoulder and spun him around.
Niko looked him in the eye. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bump you.”
The big man glanced at his friends with a smile, then glared at Niko. “You do not belong here. Leave now before you get hurt.”
Niko pointed to the table with Jalen and friends. “I’m here with them.” He started to turn around when the man made a fist and took a swing at him.
His Krav Maga training automatically engaged. Niko brought his left arm up to block the blow. He turned to grab the man’s wrist with his right. “I’ll bet your beer’s getting warm. I know mine is.”
The man’s eyes narrowed as he tried to pull his hand away. “You punk. I’ll —”
Niko twisted the wrist outward.
Surprise and pain showed on the man’s face as his body tried to follow his wrist while his knees buckled.
Still holding the wrist, Niko pulled the man to his feet. “I really must get back to my friends now.” He let go. “Unless you had something else to say.”
“You’ll pay for—”
Niko twisted his wrist once more. “What were you saying?”
“Nothing,” said the man. He shook his head and walked away.
Niko took a seat. “What’s with that asshole?”
Jalen shook his head. “Bad juju that one.” He raised his bottle in a mock toast. “You taught him a lesson, you did. Where’d you learn that move?”
“High school,” said Niko. “I was a wrestler.”
Ramon laughed. “Must have wrestled some tough guys.” He pointed to Niko’s missing finger. “What’s the story with that?”
Niko narrowed his eyes. “If I tell you, I’ll have to kill you.”
Everyone at the table looked confused, maybe even worried.
Laughing, Niko added, “Just kidding. I did something dumb with a table saw in wood shop.”
Ramon confessed the dumb things he did in school, and the others joined in with stories of their own.
Niko got out his phone, took group pictures and selfies, then showed everyone the results. At one point, he got close enough to Jalen’s pocket that the phone vibrated—indicating proximity to a security badge. A longer vibration followed, indicating a successful copy.
After his third beer, Niko said his goodbyes and headed back to the apartment where he turned on the local news. He set up the badge-making equipment and created a copy of Jalen’s ID with his own photo on the front.
A television reporter caught Niko’s attention—something about new developments in the mysterious shootout Monday night in Highland Park:
Police originally confirmed the death of two drug dealers, but our investigators obtained the photo of a third man. He is said to be alive, but comatose.
A picture of Sokolov appeared on the screen. He was lying in a hospital bed with his eyes closed. According to the news report, no one could identify the man and police refused to comment.
The picture must have been taken by someone in the Nassau hospital, because the CIA had flown Sokolov to the States on Tuesday. Niko wondered if Zatan had seen the same the article.
He called Vyper. “I’ll bet you’re happy to be leaving the hospital. I wish I could be there with you.”
“I miss you, too.” There was a sadness to her voice. “But we’ve got to finish everything with Zatan first.”
“You all set for the trip?”
“I just lie in bed. Smith’s people do all the work.”
“Something has come up.” Niko took a breath. If he remained calm, perhaps Vyper wouldn’t be overly alarmed. “Sokolov’s picture is in the papers. It’s a recent one—probably from the hospital. No one has identified him, but local reporters are investigating.”
Vyper’s breath was uneven, then the phone went silent for nearly a minute. Finally, she spoke. “Zatan will not discover this right away. When he does, I am not sure what he will do.”
“I think his first priority would be to bury the story. If the Russians learn he hid Sokolov from them, Zatan would be a dead man. I’m pretty sure he’ll go after Sokolov’s money, too—assuming he doesn’t already know where it is.”
“You could be in danger, Niko. Zatan might come to Nassau.”
“I’ve been thinking about it. If we abort the operation, Zatan will still be out there—a danger to you. Also, Smith is counting on us to stop the Russians. Maybe we can stop this nuclear standoff.”
“So, you intend to go ahead with the plan?”
“Yes. We have one more day to work out the details. Then Saturday, I go in.”
On Friday afternoon, Niko tried on the dark blue coveralls delivered earlier by the CIA. The logo of Zettabyte, a major computer storage vendor, was embroidered below the collar. According to datacenter records, Zettabyte personnel often delivered service to Blue Koala and other datacenter clients late at night and on weekends. Anyone in this familiar uniform would blend into the background.
He reviewed the details of his Blue Koala network diagrams. Most of the details were probably accurate, except for the restricted portion. For that section, he made an informed guess. Tomorrow, when he got inside, he’d have a bit more information to go on. Hopefully, he’d have a cable in his toolkit that could make the connection.
By the time the sun set, he was ready. He made a call to Vyper. “How are you feeling? Are you all moved in?”
“The CIA safe house is a lot more comfortable than the hospital. I got all my computers set up like I like them. When you go in tomorrow, I’ll be right there with you—well, I’ll be there virtually anyway.”
Niko told her about the Zettabyte uniform and his other preparations. “Jalen’s badge will get me inside the datacenter and into Blue Koala, and the uniform will get me past Coral security.”
“And I will use their cameras to watch everything you do,” said Vyper. “Meanwhile you will be a ghost. Wherever you appear on camera, I will override the images for security. Their video will show the room to be the same as it was before you entered.”
“Suppose I do something that sets off an alarm.”
“I have you covered. I can control all automated equipment in the entire center. Alarms will come to me first. I will only send along the ones I want them to see. If anyone tries to enter where you are, I will lock them out.”