Mainichi was a leading Japanese auction house that had chosen South Las Vegas as the location for their ultrasecure, state-of-the-art U.S. storage facility. While their two-story building resembled most of the other boxy, terra-cotta–colored buildings in the light-industrial complex, as a private vault holding everything from expensive modern art to valuable electric guitars to priceless artifacts and gems, the building was quite different from its neighbors.
Elaborate fire-suppression and environmental systems were built into the windowless steel-and-concrete structure with a three-membrane roof. A ten-foot-high steel fence surrounded the property, and the only gate was manned 24/7 by an armed guard. Over sixty high-resolution CCTV monitors watched the exterior and interiors of the building. Motion sensors, intruder alarms, and compartmentalized access complemented biometric scanners and electronic access control. A minimum of eight armed guards, all former police or military, were on duty at all times and supplemented regular staff members in keeping the valuables secure.
Aside from temporarily securing valuables that would soon be auctioned, Mainichi’s storage clients ranged from moneyed locals to visiting billionaires, who often placed tens of millions of dollars’ worth of goods for safekeeping. One famous casino tycoon alone had a collection of diamonds in his Mainichi private vault worth $500 million. And he just kept adding to it, as security guard Jerry Kotsky, Viktor Popov’s inside man, had reported many times during the last three years.
Dennis Kedrov inhaled smoke from his Turkish cigarette as he watched men raise tenting up and over the flatbed semitrailer. The long truck had just backed into the old motel’s U-shaped courtyard on South Las Vegas Boulevard. The load on the flatbed was already covered with tarps, but now that everything was under a huge tent, the cargo could be unwrapped.
The cargo was a lightweight R66 helicopter built by Robinson in Long Beach, California. Special hard points—bomb attachments—had already been installed on the helo’s undercarriage.
Satisfied, Dennis flicked his cigarette, made his way out of the tent, and crossed toward Dr. Rodchenko’s makeshift lab. But before he reached the door, Viktor Popov emerged, followed by three bodyguards. And Dennis knew Viktor well enough to see that the man was not happy.
“So we have the best of both worlds. An American bomb and a Russian bomb,” said Dennis, smiling.
“How long will it take to load the bombs onto the helicopter?” asked Viktor, all business.
“From the time we open the shielded crates to when the helicopter lifts off, will be less than three minutes.”
“That’s satisfactory. But I’ve made a slight change of plans. There is a large empty parking lot one mile south of here. Just before zero hour, truck the helicopter and the bombs there. We’ll load the bombs in the parking lot, and I’ll take off from that location, not here.”
“That brings more risk to us,” said Dennis cautiously.
“When Doctor Rodchenko examined the device on the flight from Albuquerque, he confirmed there was no tracking device installed. He needed to keep the GPS guidance-system unit turned on in order to complete his systems check, but doing that might have given the location to anyone looking for it.”
“So the Americans might already know the bomb is in Las Vegas?”
“Possibly. But I won’t switch on the GPS guidance system until the last minute.”
“Once you do that, the Americans might scramble jets from Nellis Air Force Base—”
“Doubtful. It’s a two-minute flight for me to the target. I’m not worried about being shot down.”
“Then we are almost ready,” said Dennis.
Viktor nodded but showed no joy in that acknowledgment, only concern.
“It’s been a long time coming to this day,” said Dennis. “So much money spent, so much preparation. Now we are ready to push the button, but you don’t look happy.”
“I’d be happier if Major Bennings had been killed by you in Albuquerque, as you promised me he would,” said Viktor coldly.
Dennis casually lit another cigarette. He exhaled and smiled slightly, his ruddy cheeks like two ripe crab apples. “You gave me a last-minute assignment, Viktor, against a target whom you did not truly identify to me. You said Bennings was a defense attaché. You neglected to mention he was a member of the most elite intelligence unit in the American military’s Special Operations Command. He has worked in incredibly dangerous areas prior to the arrival of SEAL Team Six or Delta Force. Do you understand the level of operator that represents and the skills he possesses? If you had explained this to me, my approach would have been much different, because someone such as Bennings is truly a hard target.”
“Then I suppose I overestimated your abilities,” said Popov.
Dennis’s already red cheeks flushed darker crimson with a combination of anger and embarrassment, but he didn’t speak.
“One of the reasons I ordered his sister kidnapped was to keep him from going to the authorities,” said Popov. “But now, my concern is not so much the authorities as it is Bennings himself.”
“Is that why Mikhail has left the country?”
Popov nodded. “My nephew is more prudent than I am. He has chosen to prepare for a worst-case scenario for this deception, and I gave him my blessing to do so.”
“As I have told you before, since I never lie to you, I must repeat that your nephew is a coward. He can order men to kill, but he could never do it himself. This makes him weak.”
“You’re right. Mikhail is a numbers man, always hedging his bets. But it’s good to have such people in the organization. You and I are warriors, Dennis. Today, we will either succeed spectacularly or fail abysmally.” Popov looked intently, eye to eye with his top henchman. “Now that you know your adversary, prepare for another meeting with Bennings. I don’t think we’ve seen the last of him.” Popov stepped in very close to Dennis and thrust his finger in the blond man’s chest. “And next time, if you don’t kill him, you better die trying.”
CHAPTER 33
The MD 530F helicopter sat parked in front of an end hangar at a private terminal of McCarran Airport, right off South Las Vegas Boulevard. The big sliding door of the steel hangar was closed, but an old Dodge diesel pickup truck stood idle inside.
Also inside were five people who were anything but idle. Jen worked her magic at a folding table covered with laptops, weapons, maps, and communications gear. Yulana sat hunched over a different table working a laptop. Angle started a portable backup diesel generator to test it, then quickly shut down the loud machine. Buzz made notes as he talked on a cell phone. Kit stood looking at a huge map of Las Vegas taped to the back wall.
Kit checked his watch and turned to the others. “Okay, everybody. Can we have a sitrep now?”
Everyone disengaged from what they were doing, and Kit and Angel moved closer to the tables.
“First and foremost, the search for Staci,” said Kit, looking toward Buzz. “We have eighteen armed searchers working in pairs. They’re coordinating with each other. All either retired cops or former military. They all know the risk, but they obviously don’t have the big picture.” Buzz crossed to a highlighted area of a Las Vegas city map that was tacked to an easel. “The challenge is that there are hundreds and hundreds of possible third-floor locations in the area Staci described in her text message.”
“Could the Russians have moved her?” asked Kit.