Текст книги "26 - Storm Cycle "

Автор книги: Iris Johansen

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EIGHT

LEXINGTON, KENTUCKY

Charles Dawson sipped his mint julep as he gazed around the tree-lined courtyard of Mills Pharmaceuticals. He savored the irony of a health-care corporation plying its guests with alcohol. His host, CEO Theodore Mills, had insisted that he join him in sipping a mint julep in the afternoon sun.

Mills smiled. "Tasty, ain't it?"

"Refreshing." Dawson tried to hide his impatience with the forced Southern charm. Between the ridiculous drink, the Princeton-educated Mills using the word "ain't," and the receptionist's calling Dawson "honey," he was about to gag.

"This really hits the spot," Mills said in an accent that seemed to be getting thicker by the moment. "I might have to get me another one."

Dawson wondered if this bullshit came naturally or if some high-priced image consultant had crafted it for the company. Either way, it appeared to be working. To the general public, Mills Pharmaceuticals had protected its reputation as The Company That Cares.

He knew better.

"I shouldn't be here," Dawson said. "I've already given you my Egypt report. That should be enough."

"Tavak appears to be troublesome."

"Nothing I can't handle."

"Where is he now?"

"He's left Egypt. He's on his way to Las Vegas."

"Really? Why on earth?"

"I have no idea. But I have a man watching his every move."

Mills nodded. "You seem to be moving forward. I appreciate that you don't put this stuff in writing. Plausible deniability and all that."

"Understood. In any case, the operation was a success."

"I'd say it was a partial success. I don't have the tablet. But you got what you needed from the tomb?"

"Yes. We're not quite sure what it means yet, but we're working on it. Once we crack it, we can move on to the next step."

"The question being, is there really a pot of gold at the end of this rainbow?"

"Difficult to say. I guess we won't really know until you get Peseshet's cure into your labs."

"True." He looked down into his mint julep. "When my old friend Jamerson sent me that partial formula, I was very excited. I was even more excited when my lab chief came back with the report. Missing pieces but the possibilities were incredible. I knew then that I was the only one meant to have this discovery. I was the one who could handle it with the care it deserved."

"And if it takes you a few decades to evaluate the cure and keep its existence hidden from the world, that's all the better, isn't it?"

Mills flinched. "That wasn't necessary."

"Of all the pharmaceutical companies in the world, yours is the one that stands to lose most if this cure comes to light. But you've set up a research lab devoted solely to the mere possibility of this cure being genuine. You expect me to believe that you're devoting all these resources to bring out a product that could actually ruin you?"

"That's none of your concern, Dawson."

"Of course it's not. But don't try to play the part of the great philanthropist with me. I know better." It had felt good to pierce the bastard's grandiose vision of himself, but it was time to back off. "Besides, don't you think you're jumping the gun? Natifah's information is scanty at best."

"But you're going to get me more information, aren't you? All the information I'll need." Mills sipped his julep. "I know you're going to come through for me. I regard my judgment as excellent, and the moment I met you I realized I could put this project in your hands." He paused. "And I forgive you for killing my old friend Jamerson. I'm sure it was an accident. You wouldn't have killed him just to make sure he wouldn't spread word of our mastaba wall to anyone else."

"He'd already hired Tavak." Dawson stared down into his drink. "You told me to persuade Jamerson to fire him. He wouldn't be persuaded. So share the guilt, Mills."

"No, I hired you to shoulder the guilt. It's the nature of our agreement. You do the dirty work. I remain clean as snow."

"Snow isn't clean anymore. It's tainted by the environment."

"I'll not be implicated." The Southern accent was suddenly gone, and clipped steel appeared. "You're very clever, and I can see you trying to insinuate yourself into this project at a high level. But you're a hired man, and that's all you'll ever be."

Dawson kept any hint of anger from his face. The son of a bitch was trying to humiliate him, treating him as if he was an inferior, like he was a yapping hound at his heels. "I know better than to take more than I'm given. Particularly when you've given so generously." He sipped the julep. "Is that why you asked me to come here?"

"I have good instincts, and I sensed a troubling aggressiveness beginning to manifest itself in you."

"You'll need that aggression if we're going to find that tablet before Tavak does."

"I have no problem with you being aggressive toward Tavak as long as it's handled discreetly. Just don't think you can turn that aggression loose on me."

"I wouldn't be that foolish." Dawson smiled. "But I do expect a bonus if I manage to escalate the recovery of that tablet. Is that too aggressive for you?"

Mills chuckled. "I never mind paying for good work. I'm glad you understand I'm the one in control."

Dawson stood up. "The person who was going to hold the reins was never in question. I'll call you when I have more to report."

"Soon," Mills said quietly. "Very soon." He looked down into his drink. "I have the means to help you, but that would be very expensive for me. Since I've already paid you a great deal of money, I see no reason why I should have to do that. Do your job, Dawson."

"That's what I'm doing."

"A little more efficiency, please." He smiled. "Or I might have to deal with Tavak."

Rage tore through Dawson at the thought. Don't let him see it. "That won't be necessary. You've got the best man working on it now. It wouldn't be smart to change in midstream."

"That's why I haven't made that move." He lifted his mint julep in a toast. "To a mutually profitable relationship. And to Peseshet's tablet, which I earnestly hope lives up to its hype."

Dawson lifted his glass. "Well, a Pharaoh and his entire kingdom believed that formula was the real McCoy."

"Aw, hell, that's no comfort. Those same people thought crocodiles were gods."

"It's no more ridiculous than many of the things in your Bible."

Mills frowned and suddenly slid back into all the Southern phoniness with which he had first confronted Dawson. "Hey, hey, hey. No reason to get all blasphemous."

"Sorry. No offense intended."

"Don't apologize to me."

Surely this fat hypocrite couldn't be serious. Dawson smiled. "Mills, if you really believe in a Christian god, you know we're both going to hell." He inclined his head. "I'll call you."

He could feel Mills's gaze on him as he walked away. Mills had shown a perceptiveness he hadn't expected and had caught him off guard. But Dawson had handled the bastard very well considering the burning anger he was feeling. No one humiliated him as Mills had done. No one treated him as an underling.

In spite of Mills's so-called instincts, he'd bet the man hadn't even realized that he'd just signed his own death warrant.

* * *

Rachel left her suite and walked down the hall to Tavak's room. She felt tension tighten her stomach as she rapped on the door. What if he had taken off?

She shook her head. If she couldn't even trust him to stick around, why in hell was she crazy enough to trust him to do what he had proposed?

Tavak answered the door. He had shaven and now wore khakis and a white undershirt. He gestured for her to come in. "How are your graduate students?"

"Smart as hell. Simon did a good job rounding them up. He's still running drills with them now."

"Good."

Rachel stared at the room's king-size bed, now cluttered with a laptop, cabling, and several peripheral devices. "I see you've been busy."

Tavak smiled. "It was actually easy, thanks to you." He held up four silver keycards.

"Are those what I think they are?"

"Yes."

Excitement flared through her. "Are you absolutely sure?"

"I'll know in about an hour."

The computer beeped. Tavak leaned over the device, pressed a few keys, and pulled a fifth card from an attached EPROM writer. Tavak held up the card, his eyes dancing. "Want one?"

"No. I'm not sure this is a good idea anymore. You're enjoying it too much."

"It's a great idea. Not only do we get to test your algorithm, but it makes the kind of statement Demanski will respond to."

"You're acting as if you know him."

"I know men like him. Hell, I'm like him."

He could be right. Demanski was a high-stakes gambler, and so was Tavak. Only the stakes they played for differed.

Tavak was staring at her. "Let yourself go," he said softly. "Stop worrying. Remember the Rachel who got banned from this strip when she was only a kid. Wasn't that a hell of a kick?"

"I wasn't playing for the same thing. This is serious."

"Then pretend it isn't. Let's have fun with it." He turned back to the computer. "Trust me. And whatever you do, don't send your team in until you get my call."

* * *

Three hours later Rachel walked across the bridge that traversed the huge reflecting pond of the Demanski Hotel and Casino. It was almost midnight, and thousands of tourists were gathering for the elaborate laser light-and-water show that had become a Demanski trademark. She had been to conferences in which even the most jaded attendees had practically knocked each other over in their rush to see one of the several nightly shows.

"Miss Kirby?" A tall, blue-blazered security officer opened one of the casino's massive front doors for her. "Mr. Demanski is expecting you. Please follow me."

She was surprised. There were hundreds of people pouring into the casino, yet this young man had immediately zeroed in on her.

"This way, ma'am." He motioned for her to follow him through the main walkway.

She looked at the hotel's stately decor and beautifully appointed fixtures, seeing that Demanski had upgraded his taste since the days he had pioneered family-friendly-themed casinos. She turned back to her escort. "What if I told you that I wanted to play a few hands of blackjack?"

"We both know that can't happen."

"Really? Why is that?"

The security officer cast a sideways glance at her. "We all got your file before we came onto the floor tonight. I think you'd have a difficult time playing blackjack in any casino in town."

"Still?"

"When Mr. Demanski says 'banned for life,' he means it. I'm surprised he's actually meeting with you."

Rachel glanced at the multitude of security cameras scattered around the casino's main floor, knowing that there were dozens more above the one-way mirrors lining the ceiling. Somewhere in the hotel, she knew there was a control-room monitor bank that rivaled NASA Mission Control.

She smiled at one of the cameras. "What facial-recognition technology are you using here? FaceIt? Betaface?"

"You know I can't discuss that."

"Everyone knows you have them. Anybody who's ever been accused of card counting or a casino robbery has a visual record in your database, which is then shared with almost every other gaming establishment in the world. Whenever I walk through a casino to a restaurant or my hotel room, it usually only takes about forty seconds before a small army of security guys appear around me."

He smiled. "Maybe they just find you attractive."

"Even Angelina Jolie doesn't get that much attention."

The security officer motioned for her to enter an open elevator. He slid a gold card into a slot on the panel, then stepped out. "Have a nice evening, Miss Kirby."

The doors slid closed before Rachel could respond.

After what seemed like only seconds, the doors opened on the sixty-fifth floor. She stepped onto the marble tile of a spacious atrium lined with floor-to-ceiling Dutch paintings. There was no one in sight.

"Hello?" she said tentatively.

No reply.

"Mr. Demanski?"

There were angry shouts coming from the end of the corridor.

"Hello?" She walked toward the sounds.

"You stupid asshole!" a booming male voice shouted. "Shit!"

Rachel moved quietly down the corridor as the shouting continued. She heard a series of low blasts.

"What are you thinking, dumb-ass? I'm wide open here! Fall back! Regroup, regroup!"

Rachel rounded the corner to see Hal Demanski, dressed to the nines in a tailored black tux, standing in front of a wall-sized plasma television screen. He wore a wireless headset and gripped a futuristic laser rifle. A computer game was on the screen, and Demanski appeared to be shooting acid-spewing aliens. "Dammit, guys! Get your asses over here!"

Four soldiers appeared on the screen and joined him in the alien assault.

"About damn time!" Demanski spotted Rachel in the corridor. "Okay, guys. I gotta run. Clean this up before I get back, will you?" He muted the sound and pulled off his headset. "Rachel Kirby."

"Am I interrupting something important?"

He gestured toward the screen. "Believe it or not, the four men on my team are all Fortune 500 CEOs. Tech guys, mostly. Seeing how much time they spend on this game, I wouldn't invest in any of their companies."

Rachel stepped closer. "It must be quite a team."

"Not really. We're getting our asses handed to us by five fifteen-year-olds in Prague." He flashed the smile she had seen on 60 Minutes, countless magazine covers, and numerous ski-lift chairs alongside supermodels. Demanski was in his late forties and he possessed the athletic, square-jawed charm of a retired football player. But there was an undeniable wit and intelligence behind those brown eyes. He threw down the headset and strode down the corridor. "So why in the hell are you here?"

She kept pace with him. "So why in the hell did you agree to meet with me?"

"Curiosity. I wondered what a woman who stole half a million dollars from me could possibly have to say."

"I did nothing illegal. You have teams of statisticians calculating odds for you. But because I was able to do it for myself, I'm a thief?"

"Spare me. I've heard all the arguments."

"If I was really a thief, why didn't you call the police? Why wasn't I arrested?"

"You know that the law-enforcement community doesn't share our opinion of the situation."

"Because card counting is not stealing. No more than it's stealing when you instruct your blackjack dealers when to hit or stay."

"Makes no difference. We now have systems in place that keep that from happening. Your scheme may have worked ten years ago, but it would never work today."

As they rounded another corner, they came into sight of Demanski's office. It was cavernous, at least as large as the foyers of most big-city office buildings. The ceiling was thirty feet high, and the entire back and sides of the room were made up of floor-to-ceiling windows that offered stunning views of the city. Demanski plopped into the large chair behind his ten-foot mahogany desk. "This desk used to belong to the Romano? family. What do you think? Too much?"

"Only if you had to cut it in half to get it up here."

"I'd never do that. It's priceless. We took out two of these windows and had a helicopter bring it up."

"Incredible."

"I never do anything halfway."

"That's nice to see. It makes me think you'll like my proposal."

He tilted his head. "That remains to be seen. I'm listening."

"How would you like to help form one of the most powerful computer systems in the history of the world?"

He stared at her for a moment. "For what purpose?"

"Several purposes. Most of the resources are directed toward disease cures. We can save millions of lives."

"Not millions. Thousands, maybe."

She frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"Late-onset Globoid Cell Leukodystrophy. It's an extremely rare disease. Your work benefits a very small group of people."

"You're familiar with my project, then?"

"I do my homework. Very impressive, but your real interest is helping your sister, isn't it?"

She ignored the question. "First, I currently have nine projects that have nothing to do with GLD, including weather-systems modeling and earthquake simulations. And this is only the tip of the iceberg. One day, disease research labs all over the country will use my software for their projects."

"You're very sure of yourself."

"Yes, I am." She stared him in the eye. "Aren't you?"

He chuckled. "Hell, yes. Give me another ten years, and I'll own this state."

"And I won't own much in ten years. But instead of donation boxes, foundations will put cartons of USB memory sticks on store countertops that people can take, insert in their computers, and help cure cancer. It won't cost donors a penny, and it won't interfere with their computer usage one bit."

"So what do you want from me?"

"Computing power. You purchased an enormous networked system eighteen months ago, and most of it is underutilized."

"So my tech people keep telling me. They want me to buy a payroll and billing services company to make use of it."

"I have a better idea. Let me have those processing cycles to make the world a better place. Promote it any way you want. I know you're trying to expand your casinos into new markets. You'll have an easier time of it if you can convince the local politicians that you're an upstanding citizen."

Demanski laughed. "Thanks, but a private jet stocked with food, alcohol, and beautiful women usually does the trick."

"You're not going to buy a payroll company, Mr. Demanski."

"Call me Hal. And what makes you so sure?"

"You can't even say the words 'payroll company' without your eyes glazing over. You like the big ideas. Ideas like your casinos, your race-car teams, and your commercial space shuttle everyone is sure will fail."

He leaned back in his chair. "It could fail."

"But if it does, it won't be because you didn't try."

Demanski nodded. "Nice pitch, but you forgot something. All those things have some risk attached, but they have a tremendous upside. I see no real upside in helping you and your project."

"Even for causes as worthy as mine?"

"They still don't benefit me or my business."

Rachel shrugged. "I thought you might react that way. You see, I also do my homework."

"Good."

She walked over to the tall windows overlooking the strip, which was practically on fire with neon. "You said that you now have systems in place to catch card counters."

"Of course. You're not the first superbrain to try and break the bank. And you certainly weren't the last."

"But no system is infallible."

"Oh, we may lose a few thousand here and there before we catch on. But we do catch on."

"I'm guessing there's no way you would give me a tour of your surveillance center."

"No way. Especially not with your history."

"But if I were to get a tour, I'm sure I'd see analysts at keyboards entering the cards and bets of all your big winners. The software would tell you pretty quickly if you have a card counter at the table."

"That's fairly common knowledge. The trick is to develop the right software."

"And I'm sure you've committed a lot of resources to that."

"I have. I've employed some of the world's finest mathematical minds, including a Nobel laureate."

"Impressive."

"Like I said, I don't do anything halfway."

"I happen to know that your Nobel laureate is Dr. Hans Felder. You mentioned him in your Wired magazine profile. He's brilliant."

Demanski's eyes narrowed. "You've met him?"

"No, but I saw him read a paper at a conference once. And of course I've read every other paper he's ever written."

"Of course." A sudden wariness had entered Demanski's voice.

"He has some interesting ideas about rules theory. I have a pretty good idea how he thinks."

"Maybe you should have a Nobel Prize of your own."

"All in good time." Rachel pulled a portable DVD player from her satchel and lifted the screen. She placed the unit on Demanski's desk.

"What's this?"

"It's a video taken in my conference room at Bally's." She angled the player in Demanski's direction. Rachel herself was on camera, handing stacks of money to four young women and two men. "I spent many hours of research deciding how Hans Felder would catch card counters. I then spent another two hours devising a system in which he might not catch one. Today I taught my system to these six young people and gave them ten thousand dollars apiece to turn loose on your tables."

Demanski stared at the video, then looked back up at her. "There's no way. We'd know if they hit us."

"Unless you've heard from your security chief this evening, I'd say you wouldn't know. It's really a simple system, once you get the hang of it. Each player assigns points to the cards as they appear on the table. We alternate between variations of the Revere Advanced Point Count system and the Red Seven Count system, mostly. Bets are dictated by however many points have been accumulated."

"I guarantee you, half the muumuu-wearing, blue-haired ladies in the casinos downtown know those systems. We would have caught on in under five minutes."

"Not if we changed systems every fifth, ninth, and thirteenth hands."

Demanski's brow wrinkled. "Fifth, ninth, and thirteenth… "

"Each prime number plus two. There's more to it than that of course, but that will do for a start."

Demanski gazed at her face for a long moment. "Holy shit," he murmured. He grabbed a red phone on his desk. "Gower, get up here. Now!"

Rachel leaned closer. "Tell him to bring up my team. I told them to wait by the main elevators."

He grimaced, then spoke into the phone. "Did you hear that? Yeah, two men and four women. They look like they're in their early twenties. Bring them up."

Demanski let the phone receiver fall back into the cradle. "How much?"

"We'll have to ask them."

"Shit."

In less than two minutes, a short, dark man who looked like a bar bouncer entered the office with Rachel's team.

Demanski stood up. "Rachel Kirby, this is my director of security, Larry Gower."

Despite his brutish appearance, Gower spoke with a gentlemanly air of sophistication. "Good evening, ma'am. A pleasure."

Demanski crossed his arms. "How are things downstairs tonight?"

"Pretty calm. We had to eject a few rowdies at the table slots. The bank was hit hard by some high rollers." He gestured to the six young people behind him. "Who all happen to be right here."

Rachel nodded to her team. In almost perfect synchronization, they unzipped their identical knapsacks and dumped the contents on the desk.

Demanski stared at the mountain of cash. The bills were collected in hundreds of identical stacks, neatly held together by his casino's white paper bands.

A young woman with close-cropped blond hair stepped forward. "That's 2.7 million dollars. We could have gotten more if Dr. Kirby had let us play longer than seventy-eight minutes."

Demanski was still staring at the cash. "Seventy-eight minutes?"

Rachel picked up a stack of hundred-dollar bills and rifled though it. "That's as long as they could play without being in danger of getting caught." She tossed the stack back down on his desk. "I've been in touch with colleagues near your casinos in Reno, Monte Carlo, and Macao. I estimate I can take you for almost 200 million before your statisticians catch on."

"Really?" Demanski said without expression. "Unless I give you the computer cycles you want."

"Let's just say I'd be very appreciative."

"That's extortion."

"Damn right it is," Gower said. His face was red with anger. "What do you want me to do with them?"

Rachel raised her eyebrows. "Are you going to take us to one of your back rooms?" She turned to Demanski. "If you lay a hand on any of these kids, I'll break you. And if you don't think I know how—"

"Easy, easy." Demanski held up his palms. "What exactly do you want?"

"Just computer cycles that aren't being used anyway. I'll run it by your IT guys, and you'll see it won't impact your business at all."

"It's a good deal, Demanski," Tavak said from the doorway. "Take it." He was wearing a tuxedo and looking completely different from the Tavak to whom Rachel had become accustomed.

Demanski stared at him. "Who in the hell are you? How did you get up here?"

Tavak came toward them. "Tavak. I'm a friend of Rachel's. I thought I should be here." He smiled. "Actually, I just wanted to be in on the fun."

Gower was obviously stunned. "Mr. Demanski, I swear I didn't let him up here."

"He's telling the truth," Tavak said. "I let myself in a couple of hours ago. I've been enjoying a private behind-the-scenes tour. Quite a place you have here."

"I'm glad you approve," Demanski said. "Am I to be told what the hell is going on here?"

Tavak produced his five silver keycards and tossed them onto the desk. "I knew that Hans Felder was behind all of your software security systems here. The trouble with a world-renowned mathematical genius for hire is that it's pretty easy to find documentation on how he thinks. I applied Dr. Kirby's algorithm to defeating his security encryption packages. After that, it was fairly simple to strike new security keycards that let me go pretty much anywhere I wanted. The one on top is a copy of yours, Demanski."

"Indeed." Demanski leaned back. "Is that supposed to make me feel threatened?"

"Maybe." He met Demanski's eyes. "Or maybe you can take it as a wake-up call."

"Yes, but it's my choice how I decide to take it."

Tavak shrugged. "Anyway, it also let me test Rachel's algorithm before she sent the students in here. I'd say it worked on both counts."

"Oh, it worked all right. Believe me, I'll be calling Dr. Felder to tell him just what he can do with his Nobel Prize."

Rachel stepped forward. "It's a win-win. You help us, we help you."

Demanski pointed to the cash on his desk. "And what about this?"

"Keep it. If you go back on your word, I can always come for more. A lot more."

Demanski stared down at the cash. "If I agree to this, I'll also need to know how you did it."

"Of course. This will save you money. It was only a matter of time before someone figured out how your system worked, especially with the way you like to brag in interviews. Lucky for you, I figured it out first."

"Yeah, I'm a lucky guy."

"After you're up and running on my network, I'll tell your software experts everything they need to know to plug the hole. It's an easy fix."

Demanski sat on the edge of his desk, looking between Rachel, Tavak, and the stack of money. He finally nodded. "Part of being a good poker player is knowing when to fold. Okay, Dr. Kirby. You've got yourself a deal."

Rachel felt a wild surge of triumph. They'd done it!

Then, as she saw Demanski's expression, some of her elation ebbed away. She was suddenly aware of the immense power and intelligence that Demanski radiated. Backing Demanski into a corner was like going into a tiger's cage without a weapon.

Demanski's glance shifted to Tavak. "You took a big chance, Tavak. I don't like intruders in my space."

"So I've heard."

Demanski studied him for a moment. "And that made it better for you."

"Just more interesting."

Demanski shook his head and turned away. "Crazy as a loon. Get them all out of here, Gower."

They had barely reached the front door of the casino when Tavak told Simon, "Take everyone over to Bally's and give them all the liquor they can drink. My treat. Great job, guys."

"We'd do better to get them out of town," Rachel said. "Demanski's not going to take kindly to us celebrating his defeat on his turf."

"He doesn't own Bally's."

"He might next week. He says he's going to own all of Nevada."

"Well, we'll worry about that next week." He took her elbow as they started across the street. "We did good. I want to pat ourselves on the back." He glanced at her. "And so do you. You had a hell of a good time up there. Your cheeks are flushed, your eyes are bright, and you're walking tall."

"I did what was necess—" She broke off. "Okay, I loved it. And I was ten feet tall."

He chuckled. "Then let's go sit at a bar and let those kids tell you that you were."