Lawrence Hackett leaned on the windowsill.
“You’re telling me two of the six have failed – two foolproof Mastermind projects have bitten the dust? It’s bitterly disappointing. This is going to be the worst result in the competition’s history.” He looked down at the streets below and the colorful parade of umbrellas as they crossed the street at every light change.
“Sloppy, disappointing, unprofessional, uncreative!” He turned back to the boardroom table taking in the directors sitting around it.
“Richard, what happened in Tokyo?”
Richard Sinclair opened his file.
“Truly, you wouldn’t read about it,” he started. “The project team entered the I.T. area according to plan, disarmed and created a duplicate main server in a matter of seconds, downloaded all the bank’s major clients’ information, swapped back to the original server before anyone realized what was happening, got as far as the exit hallway with the information and the earthquake struck.”
Lawrence noticed his Chief of Staff, Andrew Kenny, suppress a laugh.
“It measured eight on the Richter scale,” Richard continued. “Everything shut down, they couldn’t get in or out and, of course, by the time it was declared safe and the place was re-opened, they were recognized as intruders.”
“Any link to us?” Lawrence asked.
“No. It hit the press, but is old news now. Charges were laid on Seika Tajimo and two accomplices.”
Lawrence swore. “That was a brilliant plan.”
“Act of God … timing’s everything,” Andrew shook his head.
“Phillip, what happened in Munich?” Lawrence continued.
Phillip Saunders put his reading glasses on and read from a report.
“The international press has been all over mine. Initially, everyone believed another set of manuscripts and diaries from a Gestapo leader had been uncovered. At one stage, the competitors even had a bidding war going for them. It was up to the equivalent of $2.4 million U.S., but then they were ousted as fakes – the rest is history.”
“They should have cut a deal and disappeared much earlier,” Lawrence shook his head.
“Egos got in the way,” Phillip continued. “They were riding high on the fame – in demand for media interviews, talk-back radio, you name it. I think they enjoyed the celebrity status.”
“Yeah, well they can keep a diary in prison and see where that gets them,” Lawrence retorted.
“They’ll write a book and sell the rights; they’ll be fine,” Phillip shrugged.
“Are we safe?” Lawrence asked.
“Absolutely. Who’d believe anything they have to say after that?”
Lawrence turned to his Chief of Staff.
“What’s the latest, Andrew?”
Andrew sighed. “More bad news. The Nevada Mastermind failed.”
“Not the gold plane?” Lawrence exclaimed. “Bloody hell, how did that go wrong?”
“Daniel Reid tells me one of the team, the security guard or the pilot, decided to hijack the project for a bigger cut.”
“Bloody hell!” Lawrence shook his head and returned to looking out at the streets of London’s Docklands.
With a glance around to make sure it was safe to talk, Nick began. “I’m not supposed to know about Mastermind,” he said.
“Why not?” Samantha asked.
“Because they only deal with one person; if the job fails and they fall out of the competition, there is less risk of it being traced back to them,” Nick explained.
Mitch interrupted. “Can you start at the beginning? What are you talking about and what is the competition?”
Nick sighed, leaned into the group and lowered his voice.
“‘M.M. or Mastermind is a competition that happens once every five years. This is the third season.”
“Who runs it?” Samantha asked. Mitch glanced at her impatiently.
“That I don’t know.”
“Keep going,” Mitch urged.
Nick continued. “I found this website called Mastermind – it was an Internet game site where you had to mastermind the perfect crime,” he shrugged. “It was a bit of fun. You had to think through all the elements – how you would do it, all that. Anyway, if you submitted an entry, once a month this panel, calling themselves The Directors, would select the best one for the month and the winner would get a prize of five hundred British pounds – it was obviously a British-based site,” he drew breath. “I thought it could be connected to a movie studio looking for ideas and the directors were possibly real directors. Some of the stuff was genius level. So, one night when the four of us were out to dinner …”
Mitch cut in. “Four of whom?”
Nick hesitated.
“Me, my partner, Maria and Johan,” he bit his lip. “We were out and Johan started talking about some bank robbery in Sweden and how it was the perfect crime. So, I mentioned this website. Anyway, I was flying the gold plane route around this time and he was fascinated with it. So next thing I know, he’s put in a Mastermind entry to the site with the theft of the gold plane – and he won the prize for that month.”
“Go on,” Mitch encouraged him.
“It was about four months later when Johan got a call from Daniel Reid. They met and he told him that the directors not only awarded a monthly winner, but once every five years, by invitation, selected six of the best entries to play for real. They had checked out Johan and invited him to play. They provided a small fund and strict terms and conditions – the prize money was unbelievable. Johan wanted to do it.”
“Was Daniel acting on behalf of Globalnet?” Mitch asked.
“Yes, but at the time we didn’t know anything about Globalnet,” Nick explained. “We knew Daniel as one of the website directors, a stand-alone guy, and we had no contact details for him. It was pretty scary not knowing if it was a set-up or genuine. That was the risk both parties took, I guess – we could squeal on them and vice versa. We talked it through and decided to play. We named our entry the Aurum project.”
“How much was the prize money?” Samantha asked.
“Five million … pounds sterling.”
“Holy shit!” Samantha said. “That’s nearly ten million U.S. dollars.”
Mitch frowned. That kind of money could only come from a huge global company – Globalnet. At least, that would make the Daniel Reid connection fall into place. This is enormous, if it’s for real, Mitch thought. He exchanged looks with John. Nuh, too implausible.
He looked back and saw Nick watching him. They held each other’s stare. Mitch realized his team was watching him and Nick as they sized each other up.
Nick broke the silence. “Do you seriously think I would make this up?”
“How do I know, Nick?” Mitch shrugged.
“Do you have any idea of the danger I have put Maria in, and myself for that matter, by talking about this? Contestants have been killed for less. When do you begin to trust me? What does it take?”
“Nick, I’m sure Mitch …” John started.
“Come on,” Mitch cut off John. “You’re one of my long-term friends and this time last week you had a gun pressed to my head out in the middle of nowhere. How’s that for trust? You think now that you’ve helped me land a plane that I have no doubts about your allegiance?”
“My allegiance!” Nick spat at him. “I handed over my fiancée’s sister, double-crossed her for your stupid mission, the only person left connected to Ana.” Nick looked away. “Anyway, since when did you become the guru of trust? Does East Timor ring any bells?”
“You know that was a trap. I can’t believe you’d bring that up,” Mitch straightened, glaring at Nick. He ran his hand over his mouth.
“Do I know that?” Nick snapped.
John intercepted.
“Mitch, Nick, not here,” he said sternly.
Mitch came to his senses and looked around, his eyes scanning the area.
“Right,” he said, “sorry. I forgot where we were.”
He retreated, getting a measure on his anger. John turned back to Nick, dropping his voice.
“So, Nick, given the prize pool, can we assume Globalnet is involved?”
“Assume what you like,” Nick reached for his coffee. Mitch bore John’s frustrated glance.
Nick took a deep breath. “John, I don’t know for sure and to be honest, at the time we didn’t care. Daniel Reid was our point of contact, which was all we really needed. Johan was privy to more than Maria and I – that was part of the conditions of entry so it was less risk to the organizers.”
“Why would you and Maria agree to do this?” Mitch asked.
Nick shrugged. “I didn’t give a toss. She had lost her sister and I think she needed to feel something – fear, hope, I don’t know. Maybe to keep Johan happy.”
Maybe that’s why you did it too, Nick. To feel something. Mitch watched him. He listened to an announcement advising they would be boarding in twenty minutes.
“So, Daniel Reid looked after your project?” Mitch continued.
“Yes,” Nick met Mitch’s eyes. “Johan was told there were six entries selected. Each entry was assigned a director who stayed in the capital city of the country staging the Mastermind job.”
“Daniel in D.C.,” Mitch nodded.
“Yes, that’s why he was located in D.C. Happy now? It’s also easier to justify that they are here on business if they stay in the capital. Less likely to draw attention than having a British businessman located at Broad Arrow.”
“Makes sense, he was supposedly here for a conference.” Mitch recalled. “So, with the competition, can there be more than one winner?”
“Yep. There can be as many as six winners sharing the prize pool, or just one. And as there is only one point of contact on each team—in our case it was Johan—if we failed, he was forbidden to link it to Mastermind – or they’d send in the cleaners.”
“Shut up or you’re dead,” John said.
“Yes, and they’ve kept their word in the past, from what I understand. That’s why I had to try and keep you unaware of that side of it.”
“This is enormous; international crime on a major scale,” Mitch drummed his fingers on the table. “And the gold plane failed, so that’s one of the six out of the running. Are there any Masterminds still to take place?”
“I don’t know,” Nick answered.
Ellen reached for her drink. “If Johan won’t talk, what evidence is there linking the Aurum project to Mastermind?”
“Nick!” Samantha suggested.
“Nah,” Nick shook his head. “I’m working on both teams, almost related to one of the crims; I’m not the credible witness you need.”
“We need to find Daniel Reid and confirm he’s acting as an agent for Globalnet on this project. Nick where would he be now?” Mitch asked.
“Probably packed and on his way to the airport as we speak. The representatives leave as soon as the plan is completed or fails.”
“Then we’ll be following him, I guess,” Mitch thought out loud. John pulled out his phone, made a call and gave a directive.
“The office will get back to us in a minute and tell us what flight Daniel is booked on,” John said, hanging up. In less than a minute, his phone rang. Mitch watched him as he took down the details.
“Looks like he couldn’t get a flight until three tomorrow afternoon,” John informed them.
“Good, we can sort out how to handle him in the morning,” Mitch said hearing the boarding call for their flight. The team rose. Mitch lagged behind with Nick as Samantha and Ellen headed for the boarding gate. John lingered.
“I can’t believe you’d bring up East Timor,” Mitch said.
“Forget it,” Nick told him. “I was riling you. It’s not important.”
“Bullshit, Nick, it obviously is.”
John coughed and Mitch looked over at him. John came closer and stood next to the pair. “Can you two work together?”
Mitch looked at Nick.
“Of course we can,” he answered.
“Then sort this out later somewhere in private, not here,” John ordered them, “and sooner rather than later.”
Mitch nodded. Grabbing his duffel bag, he strode past Nick and John, following Ellen and Samantha on board.
It was close to ten p.m. when Mitch turned the key in the front door of his house and entered the warmth of the living room. He looked around for signs of Charlotte’s on-again, off-again boyfriend, Lachlan. She appeared in the doorway.
His eyes washed over her; this girl who did his head in, the girl that he wanted to hold, kiss and own, who belonged to someone else.
“Hey Mitch, welcome home.”
“Hi, it’s good to be home.”
“Are you alright?”
“Sure, why?”
“You’re bruised again and you look … thinner,” she walked toward him. “Don’t they feed you when you’re away?”
“I’m fine.” He threw his bag from the doorway into his room and stood looking at her.
“Uh, want tea or coffee?” she asked, turning towards the kitchen.
“Yeah, coffee would be great,” Mitch removed his coat and followed her. “God I feel like I’ve been away for a lifetime,” he dropped onto a stool in the kitchen.
“I know, feels like that for me too,” she said, then looked up. Mitch saw her flush. “So, did your trip go according to plan?”
“More or less. How did your first group therapy session go?”
“It went well. It’s a bit easier than one-on-one.”
There was a brief silence and their eyes met. They both spoke at once and then stopped.
“So, will you do more of them?” Mitch filled the silence. “Group sessions? Or are you a one-on-one girl?”
“No, I enjoyed it, I’m up for more.” She poured boiling water into two cups.
Again they were silent. He watched Charlotte add milk to their coffees. She pushed a coffee cup towards him and sat on one of the kitchen stools near him.
“Mitch,” she met his eyes, “I’m going to cut to the chase – um, do you think we should talk about what you said at …”
“No” he cut her off.
The last thing I need is an analysis of my comments. I’ll look like an even bigger idiot, he thought.
“But …”
“Forget what I said, Charlie. I said too much. Everything’s fine.” He looked down at his coffee. You’re an idiot, why did you say anything?
“Is it?” he felt her watching him.
Mitch leaned back against the wall.
Great, I’ve just walked in the door and straight onto the psychiatrist’s couch!
“Really, Mitch? Is everything fine? So when you tell a girl that you … that you can’t be anything but friends because your heart … because you like them more than … you know what you said,” Charlotte stumbled with frustration. “So you didn’t mean it or did you have time to think about it and change your mind while you were away?”
He turned to face her.
“Look Charlie, I love living with you, that’s all there is to say. I don’t want to change that situation because you think I can’t handle it. I know you think of me as the brother-type and you’re still working things out with Lachlan … I spoke out of school. End of story. End of talk. OK?” He sipped his coffee.
Charlotte looked at him.
“No.”
Mitch glanced up at the clock. “Listen, I’ve got an early meeting tomorrow; I need to read some reports before bed.”
“Mitch, you’ve just got home! You can’t be all work.”
Mitch sighed.
“You have to have this discussion with me sometime and I don’t want to be dodging each other for the next month.”
“Exactly Charlie,” he leaned across the counter. “I don’t want to be avoiding each other either, that’s why we are going to forget it and not have this conversation.”
Charlotte persisted. “Mitch, I don’t work for you.”
“What does that mean?” he bristled.
“It means you don’t get to make all the decisions and close down every conversation when you’ve had enough,” she said.
“Charlie, it’s not about me being in charge, it’s about you and me wanting to discuss … how we feel. And it’s my right not to discuss my own feelings. You don’t force your counseling clients to talk do you?”
Charlotte considered this. “Nice deflection, Mitch. Won’t work with me though.”
“Charlie,” he pleaded.
“Mitch, I didn’t know you felt that way. Why didn’t you say something much earlier?”
Mitch ran a hand through his hair. “We’re having this discussion aren’t we?”
Charlotte smiled.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she said.
He exhaled and rose, moving to the window. He could see their reflections in the glass.
“Mitch?” she pushed.
“When?” he turned to face her. “When would I tell you? In the whole time we’ve lived together you’ve been on-and-off with Lachlan. The timing wasn’t right. I didn’t want to make a move when you were still rebounding from Lachlan.”
“Why now? Why this time?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. You got too close,” he returned to the stool. “Nothing would have changed if you hadn’t come to me and … I mean, when you’re lying that close.” He felt the color rise in his face.
“You could have said something; it would have been OK.”
“If I felt less for you … if it was going to be just a fling, I might have,” he said. “I couldn’t say anything without betraying how I felt, and I didn’t think the risk was worth it—worth our friendship, our roommate situation, the whole package—particularly when you made it clear that you didn’t feel the same way about me that day we had drinks with Sally. In fact, I wish I had never said anything at all, I didn’t want to get into all this.” Mitch looked away, he felt exhaustion starting to override him. “So can we forget it and carry on as usual?”
“I’ve been thinking about that day,” Charlotte ignored his request, “I was embarrassed when Sally said we should date, that’s why I said we were like brother and sister; it was an instant reaction. It doesn’t mean I wanted you to agree.”
She reached out for his arm and he stiffened.
“Listen, Charlie, I’m really tired …”
“We need to finish this discussion, Mitch.”
Bet this is the subject of a future Charlotte and Sally discussion!
Mitch sighed. “I can’t second-guess you or how you feel – you’re not that easy to read. I’m OK with us being friends. So, can we drop it, counselor?”
He felt her withdrawing her hand, then touching the bandage under his shirt.
“What happened to your arm?”
“A few stitches. It’s nothing,” he recalled the stabbing.
“Mitch, what about me?”
Mitch groaned. “OK. What about you?”
“What if I felt the same as you?”
Mitch started to speak then stopped.
Is she testing me, playing me or sincere? Surely she wouldn’t be playing. Would she? God, my heart’s beating a thousand times a minute. Can she hear that?
“What are you saying?” He cleared his throat.
“I’m asking if I felt the same way as you do, what becomes of us then?”
“Well, hypothetically, if you did … if you did …” His eyes met hers, “I would ask you out.”
She nodded. “So, ask me out.” She smiled.
Mitch stared at her, a slow smile forming. “OK, Charlie, I will.”
“Good!”
And leaning across the counter, he pushed their coffee cups to the side and pulled her closer, within inches of him.
He stopped to look at her again. “Are you sure?”
“Shut up.”
“Right.” He heard her hold her breath as he closed the gap between them, and kissed her.