Hunkered down together, Michael and Jake strategized during their flight to Las Vegas. For Michael, there was a sense of urgency. Everything he was finding out about Max Miller played to his fears. If Nataliya was with him, he was convinced her life was in jeopardy.
Michael handed Jake a memory card. “I created a file last night with all sorts of stuff about Max Miller. You know how Michael Jackson supposedly got away with crimes in plain sight, and Jeffrey Epstein paraded underage girls for all the world to see? My gut tells me Miller has been doing much of the same for a long time. People say he’s an eccentric and don’t look beyond that. Michael Jackson had Neverland Ranch, and Epstein had his Pedophile Island; Miller’s got the penthouse in the Yin-Yang.”
“It’s hard to wrap my head around the idea that women might be imprisoned in his penthouse,” Jake said.
“That’s what Miller and people like him count on. What we know for sure is that a few years ago there was an extensive remodel of his penthouse. After the work was finished, you could no longer see inside. And since completing that remodel, Miller stopped all his entertaining. No one has been in the penthouse since then.”
Jake said, “I don’t want to throw shade on what you’re saying, but it makes no sense to me that Miller would have sent his henchmen halfway across the country to get Nataliya and transport her back to Las Vegas. Why take that risk? Why not target someone local?”
“Maybe he wanted to avoid a spotlight being shined in his backyard. Or maybe he was quite particular in getting what he wanted, and Vicky was his special procurer, just like Ghislaine Maxwell supposedly recruited girls for Epstein.”
“There was something unique about Nataliya?”
“That’s my guess. And let’s not forget the American girl that Keebler and company traveled to Florida for.”
“How is it that wealthy sicko predators always seem to find individuals willing to pimp for them?” Jake said.
“Poor people are crazy; rich people are eccentric. Moon Man buys what he wants. He’s also bought his way out of a lot of trouble. It’s in that file I just gave you.”
“Moon Man?”
“One of Miller’s nicknames, along with Mad Max, although neither is said in his presence. Years ago, Miller was known for his full moon parties. He was obsessive about it, people said. You know how the crazies supposedly act up during a full moon? That’s Miller all over. But from most accounts, Miller’s kind of madness doesn’t need a full moon.”
“Isn’t it about that lunar time of the month?”
“I think we’re three or four nights away.”
A touch of turbulence shook the plane, and Jake gripped his arm-rests. “Did I mention that I don’t like flying?”
“Not to me.”
“The only thing I like about flying is the landing part.”
Michael asked, “Ever been to Las Vegas?”
Jake shook his head. “Never. What about you?”
Michael nodded. “For half a year I was with the 58th Rescue Squadron at Nellis Air Force Base, which is around ten miles outside of Las Vegas. The 58th is known as the guardian angel squadron.”
“Any friends of yours still at the base?”
Michael nodded. “A few very good friends.”
Their conversation tapered off, and both men continued to prep for their mission. Michael used his laptop to review footage taken from some of Miller’s full moon parties, before he had chosen to live a cloistered lifestyle. One piece of film, in particular, Michael found himself returning to watch over and over.
In the tape, Miller was heard shouting, “The windows are unbreakable. They are indestructible. The big, bad wolf could huff and puff, but never blow them down. They are impregnable and unassailable!”
His speech was frenetic, and Miller’s guests cheered on his pronouncement. The camera zoomed in on his eyes. There was something kaleidoscopic about them.
“They are unbreakable!” he repeated; his declaration was met with applause and shouts.
The partygoers gathered around for a spectacle, and the Moon Man didn’t disappoint them. He sprinted toward the window, slamming into it. The loud impact made the spectators recoil, but the window didn’t shatter. Instead, Miller bounced off the glass and landed on his feet.
Raising his arms to the loud cheers, Miller once more shouted, “Unbreakable!”
“Again!” yelled a man, and others took up his call. “Again! Again!”
A crowd formed behind Miller. He swayed from side to side, readying for his next assault upon the window. Behind him his guests began to imitate Miller’s movements, almost as if they were in a conga line.
“Ready?” shouted Miller.
“Ready for what?” asked a striking-looking woman, an actress Michael recognized. She was one of several celebrities attending the party.
“Ready to dance with the universe!” Miller shouted. His words resonated with the crowd behind him.
And then he ran at the window, throwing himself with his hands and legs spread out as if to embrace the skyline. He struck the glass, the loud crash silencing the crowd, but only for a moment. The revelers began yelling and applauding, then some of them decided to join in on the fun. Men and women ran at the glass, bouncing into it. But Max was not to be outdone.
He parodied a martial arts fighter with screams and posturing, and then ran at the window, striking it with a spinning heel kick.
“Unbreakable!” he screamed.