The Lazarus Trap (36 page)

Richards continued to study his screen. It was all the confirmation Val needed. “I am countermanding whatever standing orders you have controlling access to these accounts.”

Richards read off the computer screen, “I require detailed codes to unlock them.”

“They were destroyed in the explosion.” Val handed over a second sheet. “I want all these funds transferred to this account.”

Richards worked his mouth a few times before managing, “But this is . . .”

“That's right,” Val agreed. “It is.”

The banker looked from the page to Val and back again. “Without the codes, I fear—”

“But wait, there's more. In a couple of minutes, your phone is going to ring.” Val offered the banker a third sheet. “This man will be calling you. He is going to ask if the funds are still in the account here in this bank. Tell him yes. He will then probably give you transfer instructions. He will have the codes. Tell him you'll do as he orders, but only once you have confirmation that this person is released. Confirmation must come from the father, Arthur d'Arcy. Who must come on the phone and speak with you.”

Richards sputtered, “I couldn't possibly even consider—”

“Do these two things,” Val said, “and all the money piled here on the desk is yours.”

The banker went pale.

Val carefully repeated the instructions. “There will never be anything in writing about this conversation. No record whatsoever of this ever having happened.” Val pushed the tray slightly closer. “One transfer. One phone call. And it's yours.”

The instant Val slipped through the front entrance, Bert gripped his arm and spun him about. “Face the wall, that's a good lad.”

Gerald explained, “Bert thinks we've got some unwanted attention from the hotel across the way.”

“I spotted them from the banker's office,” Val said.

Bert shielded him from the street with his bulk. The bank had a circular awning of colored stone, from which the rain dripped in a steady translucent curtain. Gerald asked, “What's the word?”

“He went for it.”

The two men sighed in unison. Gerald announced quietly, “Dillon rang. His contact came through.”

“We have to be certain.”

“You can count on the lad.” Bert looked from one face to the other. “Then we're good to go, are we?”

Val forced himself to say, “Let's make the call.”

Bert took his phone from one pocket and a slip of paper from the other. He dialed the hotel's number, listened, and handed Val the phone. “Good luck, mate.”

The phone spoke to him. “Good morning, Hastings Palace Hotel. How may I help you?”

“Suite eight-eighteen, please.”

“One moment.”

The phone rang twice before a male voice answered with, “We're still waiting on a fresh pot of coffee up here.”

Val swallowed hard. “I'd like to speak with Terrance d'Arcy.”

“Who's this?”

“Just tell him there's four hundred and eighteen million good reasons for him to get on the phone.”

TERRANCE LAY IN THE SUITE'S SECOND BEDROOM AND WATCHED daylight stain the walls. It had stopped raining during the previous hour. A steady drip-drip pattered upon the windowsill beside his head. Every now and then one of the sentries glanced through the parlor's open door. Terrance lay in his clothes except his jacket, which was cast over the back of a nearby chair. His tie was down a notch. He rubbed his chin. He needed to shave. He could not recall the last time he had been so bedraggled. Or a time when it had mattered less than now. He stared up at the ceiling where the window drapes formed a guillotine's shadow.

One of the sentries stepped into the doorway. “The boss wants a word.”

Terrance knew there was nothing to be gained by arguing. Besides which, he had no interest in lying there any longer. He donned his jacket, tightened his tie, slicked back his hair, going through the motions as though they mattered.

“Pour our guest a cup of coffee,” Loupe ordered.

Terrance did not want any, but he accepted it and held it. Loupe slurped happily from his own cup. “We were discussing the safety measures you kept in your machine. What did you call them?”

“Firewalls. We've gone through this before.”

“Indulge me. Firewalls. Yes. A fascinating concept. Are these firewalls secure?”

Old cigar smoke clogged the parlor. “Anything can be broken into, given enough time and expertise.”

“So nothing has changed. We enter a new electronic age, and yet the old rules still apply.” Loupe seemed to find a bizarre satisfaction in that pronouncement. “And there is no way for you to access your accounts except with your machine?”

“My laptop, my home computer, Don Winslow's computer. But only with them.” The codes had to be entered in a precise fashion. All electronic banking was done in this manner, but Terrance had introduced new restrictions such that the bank's computer would only communicate with another computer that reconfirmed as it worked, an ingenious means of ensuring that no outsider could access their accounts. It required both the codes and a knowledge of which bank they accessed.

Which Val Haines possessed.

“Which means we must not grant our opponents sufficient time to move.” Loupe toyed with his cup. “Remind me once again the sum we are discussing here.”

“Four hundred and eighteen million.”

“Dollars.”

Terrance wanted to raise his fists and scream. “Dollars. Yes. Dollars.”

Loupe finished his coffee and sighed contentedly. He asked the sentry, “Still nothing at the old man's house?”

“Not a peep, boss.”

He asked Terrance, “You are certain there is no other number where we might . . .”

His words were cut off by a pinging from the hotel phone. The nearest muscle answered and said they were still waiting for the coffee. Then he held the phone out to Loupe.

The man on the other end did not bother to cover the phone as he spoke to someone else. “There's a bloke on the phone asking for d'Arcy. Sounds like a Yank. He knows about the money.”

A longish pause, then a slightly accented voice asked, “Who am I addressing, please?”

“Val Haines.”

“Mr. Haines. How wonderful. I have been so looking forward to having a little chat.”

“Who is this?”

“Let's be frank, Mr. Haines. There's only one name that matters here, wouldn't you agree? And it's certainly not mine.”

The two men supported Val with their steady gazes. “Audrey.”

“It's so good to deal with someone who can move directly to the matter at hand, don't you agree?”

“I asked to speak with Terrance.”

A faint steel edge crept into the voice. “You're dealing with me now.”

Val fought hard to keep his quivering stomach muscles from affecting his voice. “Long as I get what I want.”

“My thoughts exactly, Mr. Haines. You have something of ours, I believe.”

“That's right.”

“So how would you wish to play this out?”

“A straight swap. The hotel lobby.”

“I would prefer somewhere a bit less public.”

“I know you would. But this is how it's going to be. I want Terrance and Audrey in exchange for the computer.”

“I do not care for your tone, Mr. Haines. Perhaps I should have one of my men help your dear young lady to sing for you.”

“I'll be there in three hours. The two of them for the computer. Your call.” Val punched off the phone. Clenched it to his chest with one hand and reached for the metal pillar supporting the veranda's roof. Pumped his lungs hard. “I'm going to be sick.”

Gerald looked as nauseous as Val felt. But Bert replied, “No time for that, lad. You said it yourself. Timing's everything now. Straighten up, big easy breaths, that's the ticket.”

“Time for the second call,” Val said weakly, and handed Bert the phone.

“No, mate.” Bert coded in another number and handed it back. “You're the captain of this ship.”

The phone rang once, then Arthur d'Arcy said, “Yes?”

“We're on.”

“Bless you, son.” The old man sounded positively joyful. “A thousand times over. Bless you.”

“You be careful.”

“Don't worry about me.” Arthur almost sang the words. “God is on our side.”

Val cut the connection and handed back the phone. “You won't believe what he just told me.”

Bert pointed over his shoulder at the hotel across the way. “I might've recognized one of the blokes. From inside.”

The sick feeling started to press up into his chest again. Val damped it down as best he could. “Nothing we can do about that now.”

“No, suppose not,” Bert said, and followed Val back inside.

“Is it him?”

“For the tenth time, I can't say.” Matt pounded the windowsill and hissed across the street, “Turn around!”

“I'll go over there and sort this out proper.”

“Stay where you are.”

“But—”

“The boss didn't say anything about getting ourselves made, did he?” Matt clawed the sill. “What're they doing standing around in this weather, that's what I'd like to know.”

“We can't sit here doing nothing.”

“Hang on. He's going back inside.” Matt groaned. “And the muscle is going with him. Of all the ruddy luck.”

“What do we do?”

Matt slumped back into the chair. “What we been doing since we started this life sentence. We wait.”