Reciprosity Read online

  “Like hell you do. You just make sure you don’t loose any important body parts.”

  “Promise.” I kissed the phone. She kissed back. “Gotta run. I’ll call you soon as this first act is over.”

  At nine o'clock in the morning our limousine pulled up to the front entrance of the Diamond casino. Carhops hopped to it and opened both rear doors. Della and I climbed out on the left, Ray and Mark on the right. Della was dressed to the nines in a yellow outfit that enhanced her cajun beauty. Ray wore his traditional three-piece charcoal pin-stripe. Mark, a rabid Raider’s fan, strutted in a silver and black suit with matching shirt and tie. He looked like a blonde Howie Long. I requested the tan so I would stand out among my legal-eagle companions. Oddities in a crowd always make people a little distracted.

  We waltzed into the air-conditioned lobby and up to the registration counter. Ray presented his business card to a clerk and asked for the manager. She studied it, glanced at the briefcases we all carried and excused herself. My briefcase was empty, unless you count my Phantom 9mm as a brief. A moment later a tall man in his sixties approached.

  “How may I help you Mr. Mattock?”

  “We are here to see Mr. Diamond.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Diamond is not available at the moment.”

  Ray’s imposing size and steely gray eyes intimidate most people he meets, and the manager was no exception as Ray stepped forward and stared down at the man and whispered, “Tell him it’s about The Gridiron. He’ll want to see us.” Then he dropped the hammer, “Now, or in prison.”

  The manager backed up. “Just a moment, sir.”

  He turned and hurried behind the counter and lifted a receiver. He nodded twice and glanced over his shoulder at one of the ubiquitous CCTV cameras in its little black dome on the ceiling.

  We all looked up and waved at the camera.

  The manager returned and said, “Please wait here, someone will be along to escort you to the penthouse.”

  Even this early in the morning the casino was bustling with tourists, hotel quests, and overweight men and women hustling toward the rows of slots. The casino sounds and the frigid air was the same up and down the strip. The only differences were the aromas they each pumped in to reinforce the casino theme. The Diamond smelled like floral musk, which went well with the glass and silver interior design. Very reminiscent of a Tiffany jewelry store.

  I stopped studying my surroundings—the exits, the security guards, uniformed and plain-clothed, the cute redhead carrying a tray of drinks—when a tall man approached us. He was my age. Similar build. Carried himself like ex-military. He was flanked by two clowns—sorry, clones.

  “My name is Jackson Danvers,” he said, “Mr. Diamond’s head of security. If you will follow me.”

  We followed him to a bank of elevators about a mile away. They do that just so newly arriving guests have to pass through the casino, past the slots and black-jack tables, and the screaming lady hitting the jackpot. I counted my paces, it was precisely one casino-mile. Danvers directed us to an elevator where a key-code was required to open the doors. We rode up in silence to the thirtieth floor and stepped out into Oliver Diamond’s idea of opulence.

  The entire penthouse was glass. Glass and mirrored walls and ceiling. Faceted columns designed to look like they were covered in shimmering diamonds. Glass tables and display cases holding a treasure trove of ancient pottery and blown-glass figurines. The various rooms we could see through the left and right-hand walls were tastefully furnished. The floor was the only surface that wasn’t breakable. It was a highly reflective white marble, inlayed with various darker materials to give the impression of precious jewels scattered across the floor. All of the doors were hand-carved solid sandalwood. One of the most expensive woods on the planet. The aromatic wood, which retains its fragrance for decades, filled the entire penthouse with a floral scent.

  Danvers marched us through the foyer toward a set of massive double doors standing like monoliths in a sea of glass. They opened automatically as we neared. Thirty feet beyond the opening, Oliver Diamond sat behind a desk of polished ebony. A lonely dark island floating upon a sea of white marble.

  Diamond was a tall man with a middle-aged stoop, and a fat gut which he attempted to conceal as he stood to greet us. Shoulders pressed backward, stomach sucked in. His hair was jet-black with streaks of silver. His skin was pale and paper-thin. I had the distinct impression he was not a well man.

  “How may I help you, Mr. Mattock?” His voice was thin with a slight rasp.

  Ray did not offer his hand. “These are my associates,” Ray said as he nodded to each of us in turn. “Miss Delaware Lane, Mr. Markus Swan, and Mr. Lucious Cassine. Mr. Swan is with the Swan Detective Agency. Mr. Cassine represents independent interests. Miss Lane is a paralegal and my confidential assistant.”

  Diamond directed our attention to chairs circling a small conference table to his left. “Please take a seat.”

  Ray shook his head. “We won’t be here that long, Mr. Diamond. We have a few items we need to share with you—of a very sensitive nature. I would suggest Mr. Danvers and his two men wait in the foyer.”

  “I don’t understand. Danvers is my head of security. There is little he is not privy to.”

  “I’m sure you are familiar with the term guilt by association? Well, as a defense attorney, I’m giving you some free legal advice. If you prefer, you can have your own lawyer join us. But, of course, that would then move this friendly conversation to an adversarial one, which in turn would require Mr. Cassine to reveal his independent interests.”

  Diamond squirmed a little bit. Not bodily. It was in his eyes as they darted between Ray and Danvers and his desk phone. “Perhaps I would like to know what those independent interests are before I decide.” With that, he sat down behind his desk, hands out of sight on his lap—or maybe reaching for a panic button or a gun.

  My tool kit contains many items besides weapons. I retrieved a few of those, along with my Phantom 9mm, before we drove here. I stepped forward, reached into my right-hand jacket pocket and held an ID out for Diamond to see.

  Diamond stared at the Gaming Control Board gold star with Nevada stamped on a pretty blue ribbon across the top. Then his eyes darted to my ID and ruggedly handsome face on the opposite side of the leather pouch. It identified me as a chief investigator. The ID was as authentic as the other dozen or so I collected and had modified over my illustrious carrier. It has always amazed me that no matter how lofty or lowly the individual might be, they never ask to examine my IDs closely. Not that it would have made a difference. The Cassine Family forger was a master.

  “This is all highly unusual,” Diamond complained. “Why is the gaming board involved with a defense attorney and a PI?”

  Ray said, “Good question, and one that will be abundantly clear once the room is vacated by your men.”

  Diamond released a sigh. “Very well. Jake, wait outside.”

  I turned my head just in time to see the look on Danvers’ face before he walked out of the office, trailed by his two hounds. It was not the look of a man who wanted to be buddies with me. It was the look of a man who recognized another predator and was prepared to kill or be killed.

  “Let’s get on with it, Mr. Mattock,” Diamond urged.

  Ray didn’t say a word. He pulled three eight-by-ten photos from his case and placed them on the ebony desk for Diamond to study. They were black and white enlargements featuring three faces. They were slightly grainy considering the distance and angle the spy satellite was recording from.

  Diamond said, “Yes. That is Jake in the center and the other two. The one on the left is Jim Jorden. On the right is Kenneth Trevino. What of it?”

  Ray placed a series of photos on top of the previous three. They were time-stamped. Data referencing the satellite source was blacked out. The three new images showed the same three men digging a grave. Tossing a body wrapped in plastic into the grave. And covering the grave with dirt.
/>
  The casino owner was speechless so Ray filled in the missing pieces. “These were taken about three miles west of highway 93 and north of Coyote Springs. I think you know the area better as the gridiron.”

  Diamond mumbled something then said, “Big deal. They were probably burying a deer they hit on the highway.” He shoved the photos away like an unappetizing meal. “Get out of my office.”

  Mark stepped forward, placed his iPad Pro under Diamond’s nose and pressed play. “Watch this.”

  The video was nearly ten minutes in total length. Diamond ordered Mark to stop it after the SUV drove off the highway, drove along a barely traveled dirt and gravel road, stopped at a clearing between sagebrush, dragged a partially visible girl’s body out of the rear compartment, re-tied the plastic wrap, carried her a few paces and dumped her body on the dirt. He didn’t want to see his men dig the grave and bury the poor girl a second time.

  Diamond fell back in his chair like a rag doll. “What do you want? Why is a defense attorney and a PI involved in this—and the Gaming Control Board?” Then the lights went on behind his eyes as he stared at me. “You’re not with them, are you?”

  Ray stepped forward and drew Diamond’s focus away from me to the video and photos on his ebony desk. I lifted my briefcase from the floor to a resting spot on the edge of his desk, pretending to search for documents within. My Phantom 9mm with silencer was inches from my right hand.

  Diamond stopped listening to Ray, who was explaining that we could do things the easy way or the hard way, and pressed a hidden button under his desk.

  The hard way.

  Danvers and his two foot soldiers came storming through the sandalwood doors. They were reaching for their shoulder harnessed weapons I had detected on our ride up in the elevator.

  I said, “Down,” and Ray and Della and Mark fell to the floor while I simultaneously lifted the Phantom, swung around, leveled, and shot the three men, left to right, between the eyes. Bing, bang, boom. Not bad if I do say so. Momentum carried the three security guards four feet forward before they fell face down on the jeweled white marble. I swung back around and pointed the Phantom at Diamond.

  “You chose the hard way. So be it.” I shot twice, grazing both of Diamond’s shoulders for emphasis. He screamed as the rounds buried themselves in the plush leather seat-back. “Place both hands on the desktop—now.”

  He complied.

  I said, “Thank you. Nice suit. I’m sure your tailor can sew it up. Not so sure that blood stain will come out of the marble. But hey, people who live in glass houses.”

  I let the rest hang in the air as Ray and Della and Mark stood and dusted themselves off. Not that there was any dust in this hermetically sealed glass funhouse.

  Ray and Mark had seen their fair share of death, and even inflicted a few themselves. This was a first for Della but she was handling it like the trooper she was. I suggested they wait down on the ground floor while I finished the business we were here for in the first place. Mark picked up his iPad and the photos and dropped them in his case.

  Ray said, “Just in case I have to defend you in court,” and walked over to the three bodies.

  Very carefully he lifted each man just enough to pull their right hands out from inside their jackets. All fifteen fingers were wrapped around the grips and triggers of their matching 45mm automatics. The weapons were now exposed, clearly showing I had fired in self defense. Fired first, but what the heck, the chicken or the egg.

  A minute later I was in the office alone with Mr. Diamond. I had reassured myself earlier, when we first entered the glass penthouse, that there were no CCTV cameras.

  I said to Mr. Diamond, who was still staring at the barrel of my Phantom, “I assume you wish to live to a ripe old age?”

  He nodded. Tears were running down his cheeks. “What do you want?”

  I placed my briefcase on the floor and sat down on the edge of his desk. “Do you have an assistant or someone who handles all your calls and appointments?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good. Call them and say you are not to be disturbed for the next hour, under any circumstances.” I tapped his glass phone for emphasis and he complied.

  “Now, for a little back-story to put all this in context.”

  “I’m bleeding,” he moaned.

  “Flesh wounds. You can show the scars to your friends and lovers in good time. Now pay attention. A few years ago you arranged for your primary hotel architect to draw up plans for the expansion and remodel of Castle Christoph...”

  “Oh god.”

  “God has nothing to do with this. The contractor you use for all of your hotel projects did the work...”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “Later, so stop interrupting. Here’s what I want you to do. Call your architect and your construction boss and have them email copies of all the digital files related to Castle Christoph to this address.” I handed him one of Ray’s business cards.

  “Now?”

  “Yes. Now.” I lifted the Phantom and aimed it at his heart.

  Ten minutes later the task was complete and we waited patiently for Ray to call and confirm receipt. While we waited I asked Diamond, “What’s it like living in a glass house? Aren’t you worried someone might try to assassinate you from one of those building across the strip?”

  Diamond smiled. “Bulletproof glass.”

  I said, “Really? Have you tested it?”

  “No. Why should I?”

  I raised the Phantom and fired a single round at the right-hand wall of the office. It passed through the glass wall and shattered the glass display case I was aiming at on the other side.

  Diamond gasped, “Oh my God!”

  I suggested, “You should have a long conversation with your builder. But I wouldn’t use the gridiron again if your builder is not accommodating.” ”

  Just then the phone in my left pants pocket buzzed. I took it out and read the text message: Got it. Let’s go.

  “Just to wrap up, Mr. Diamond,” I said. “We know all about your doppelgänger ploy with the Feds. So do they, by the way. In fact, the Feds are digging up the gridiron just about now. Shouldn’t be too long before they come calling. Maybe you can try the hard way with them.”

  I stood, placed my Phantom back in the briefcase, and walked toward the sandalwood doors. Over my shoulder I said, “Your phones and communication network are being monitored, so don’t think about alerting President Christoph that I’m coming.” This was all nonsense of course, but it would give the hotel magnate an additional worry.

  I said my thanks and goodbyes to my friends at the GCE terminal. Hugged Della, shook Mark’s hand.

  Ray handed me a new iPad Pro, which contained the building plans for my next destination. “This has been highly modified by Kate’s team. It’s fully encrypted and tied into Novatek’s satellite network.”

  I was climbing the steps to board the courier jet when Ray stopped me.

  “Luke, You do realize the authorities will want to question you after Diamond tells his side of the story? Plus, there’s that business with Adams.”

  I grinned. “If you know a good defense attorney, call me.”

  Ray gave me the finger as I entered the hatch.

  19

  The Looking Glass satellite didn’t only receive and transmit covert recordings. It was also equipped with the same ET-11 surveilance cameras used to monitor Area 51. It was only natural for Thomas Novak to load all of the spy bells and whistles his company developed for DOD into his crowning achievement. Looking Glass had spent the greater parts of the last two years spying on world leaders before the project was terminated. In just the last two days, Looking Glass recording had brought down many of those same leaders. In particular, it was responsible for the downfall of the very leader it was once again surveilling. Domhnall Christoph. Former president of the United States. Heir to the Genesis Project and the Guardian Eagles, the Wächteradler, who guard it—and him.


  Virna was ensconced on the comfy couch in the room she had come to call Alice’s room. The office with the sliding glass wall at the end of the wine cellar. The room where she and Luke had twice held off people with bad intentions. First it was a DOD hit squad in January. And most recently, John Adams and his merry band of praying angels. The glass wall was open now and her brother, Giovani, was sitting next to her, munching popcorn. They were staring at the large display on the cherry paneled wall behind the desk where Alice resided.

  Alice, the amazing machine that looked like an ordinary steel briefcase, was operating at 99.99% efficiency. According to her own diagnostics. Alice’s case top was open and facing Virna so she could converse with the new female avatar on the small screen. Virna had recently discovered in a review of Alice’s operating manual that the computer possessed the ability to project a human likeness and personality via her display and audio. Together, they settled on an avatar that resembled the real-life 10-year-old actress who modeled for Disney’s animated version of Alice. Virna and Luke were now the only two voices Alice would respond to. Virna explained this to her brother.

  “Alice was built by Thomas Novak and only he knew the passphrase to access her. When we first opened her in January, she asked for that code. I made a wild guess and whispered it to Luke who spoke it, activating Alice. At first she didn’t recognize Luke’s voice so he explained that he had a cold. That seemed to do the trick in January. But a few days ago when we reactivated her, we sensed that Alice was on to us. Just before leaving on your boat, Luke gave new instructions to Alice, transferring command from Thomas Novak to Luke Cassine and his beautiful assistant, me. Isn’t that right, Alice?”

  “Correctamundo, Virna.”

  Virna turned to her brother. “Alice thinks she’s funny. She constantly scans the internet for humorous responses. Watch this. Alice, where did you learn that expression?”

  “It was first popularized by the character Fonzie on the sitcom Happy Days. Would you like me to tell you the other references in pop culture?”