Friday, August 5^th

Darcey woke at 4 o’clock. It was the hour she had come to dread.

She was relieved to find Trent sleeping peacefully beside her. Perhaps it would be a day without symptoms. They could use one of those.

She rolled over, gently laying one arm over his chest, one leg over his. He shifted slightly in his sleep, his hand coming up to cover hers.

It would be a good day.

At least for Trent’s illness.

At eight o’clock Ross Brown called to say he had completed the computer game they asked him to develop. He told them he had loaded the data Scott provided. It was ready to do its work. All he had to do was touch one button when they gave him the word.

Christopher and Trent again followed a circuitous route using the power of the Bentley for the short trip to Brown’s house. They had not identified Ross Brown or revealed this part of their plan to any of the other law enforcement agencies working with them.

So far they had encountered no interference from moles. But they weren’t naïve. Criminal organizations at the level of the four they were confronting would have officials on their payrolls. Some in high positions. Thanks to Captain Albright they already knew about Deputy Chief Amanda Justice. No action had been taken against her yet. Not yet.

Once again in Brown’s historic basement he showed them the “game” he had created. It was impressive. He lit it up for them on a dry run. It looked to Trent like one of those ant hills encased in plastic with thousands of small creatures moving through a maze of tunnels.

Except there were no animals. There were only lights. And the lights connected banks, investment firms, and other businesses in six Caribbean island nations, four scattered across the Pacific, two in Latin America, three in the Middle East, three in Africa, two in Asia. All were countries with few or no laws controlling the movement of money. Or countries that didn’t enthusiastically enforce the laws that were on their books.

Surprisingly, three banks in France were included, as were one bank and three investment firms in Great Britain. In Italy there was only one bank. A bank, they suspected, controlled by Jonathan Rossi. In the case of those three countries, it meant high level employees were simply turning their heads. Failing to report transfers of funds.

“Mr. Douglas gave us all the information we needed to identify the businesses he was using to launder the funds of Rossi’s fiduciaria,” Brown said. “The fun for me was figuring out how to link them up, aim them all to one location, and program them to transfer funds in short bursts when I push this button.” His finger hovered over a silver button.

“Not yet,” Christopher said, anxiously.

Brown laughed. “No worries. I’m anxious to see it work but I won’t get ahead of the game.”

“So we can assume that in each of these circles along the electronic pathways you’ve connected up you have all the account numbers and which organizations are connected to them?”

“Absolutely,” Ross said. “Mr. Douglas kept detailed records. For instance, Rossi has accounts in these two Caribbean countries, one here in the Pacific, one in Africa, two banks in France, one in Great Britain, and, of course, this one in Rome. There are also two banks in the U.S. One in New Orleans and another in Washington, D.C. And there’s an investment firm in Shreveport.” He lit up each small circle along the tiny electronic highway he had built each time he called out one of Rossi’s interests.

“When you hit that button, Ross,” Trent asked, how long will it take for the accounts to be emptied and the money sent on its way?”

“It will be instantaneous. If a banker, say here,” he said, pointing to a Middle Eastern country, “was looking at an account belonging to the Scourge, it would simply show a zero balance when I hit the button. He would have no idea what happened. The account to which we were sending the funds would reflect the deposit just as quickly.”

“We need to get on the phone with our friends in Great Britain, Paris, and Rome so they can be prepared. We also need to talk to FinCEN and the FBI. They should be ready to step into the offices of these firms as soon as you hit the button. We’ll let Interpol be responsible for contacting the other governments. They’ll have a better idea of which of them will take action against these rogue banks and which won’t.”

They spent the next hour on the phone, talking to their European allies, FinCEN and the FBI. They said they could be ready in three hours. It was agreed that at one o’clock Pacific Standard Time Ross would hit the button.

Other than those in the United States, the banks would be closed by then. They would reopen for full service Saturday morning in London and for drive through only in Paris. The bank in Rome was one of the very few Italian banks open on Saturday. The investment firms would be open at varying times, as would the banks and firms in the Caribbean, the Pacific, Latin America, Africa, the Middle East and Asia. Many of them had staff on duty twenty-four hours a day to accommodate large customers.

They would all be stunned to discover that huge accounts were emptied, the funds transferred to a single account in the Rome bank. In those countries serious about enforcing laws against money laundering, the staffs on duty would be further surprised to find members of their country’s police as well as Interpol at their doors.

At exactly one o’clock, Ross pressed the magic button. Pressed it gleefully, Trent thought. Ross really did create, at least in his mind, a new game.

On the screen resembling a plastic-enclosed ant hill, the light began rapidly moving along the lines linking the round dots. As each dot was reached, it went dark. The signal that an account had been emptied.

In less than a minute, all the dots were dark but one. The bank in Rome, controlled by Jonathan Rossi, glowed brightly. So it should. Its coffers had been increased by more than $200 million dollars.

Peter was surprised to receive new orders. He didn’t think it was time to put the tontine into motion. He didn’t think Don Rossi was sufficiently in control. He decided to make some changes in the orders he had received. He made a few calls of his own. He would take twenty men with him and an eighteen wheeler.

He fitted his Heckler & Koch with its sound suppressor. His men, armed with the smaller H&K submachine guns and Sig Sauer semiautomatic handguns, were ordered to attach their sound suppressors as well. While the target was relatively secluded it wouldn’t do to have the sound of gunfire rolling across the community.

Though he was unaware of it, Peter and his men arrived at the Richmond warehouse at the exact moment Ross Brown touched his magic game button. Five cars and a large truck. As the truck driver was backing up to the loading dock under Peter’s direction, one of the warehouse doors rolled up. Two Barons of Lucifer stepped out of the dim indoor lighting.

“What’s this?” one of them asked, tersely. His eyes focused on the nasty-looking rifle Peter was holding.

“Just conducting a little business,” Peter replied with a smile. “Business is always good, right?” He put his arm around one of the Barons and led him back into the building. The other one stared at the truck for a few seconds, then followed.

Inside the warehouse were two stacks of recently arrived crates. One stack was marked “Furniture.” Peter knew it contained Glock 40s, powerful handguns. Peter had heard the Glock 40 was capable of taking down vicious feral hogs.

The guns were intended for the FBI. The Barons had thought hijacking the shipment was a huge joke. The weapons would sell quickly on the black market for a healthy profit.

The second, smaller crates, marked “Candles,” contained drugs. Heroin. Cocaine. Prescription painkillers. And Ecstasy, the party drug. Peter couldn’t keep up with the various names for this one. It was Molly for a while. Now he was hearing it called Strawberries or Candy. It was all money to him.

“I’d better get the Dutchman,” the first Baron said.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Peter said. “I’ll take care of him.”

With that he lowered his submachine gun and, with hardly any noise, left a trail of bullet holes beginning at the first man’s right shoulder and moving across his chest. The second man took all three bullets in the belly.

As previously ordered, his twenty men spread out through the building, killing any Baron of Lucifer who showed his head. Thanks to the sound suppressors, Peter could hardly hear any noise, except for the occasional lucky shot a Baron got off before falling in a hail of bullets.

Peter followed in the wake of his soldiers to the second floor. While they broke into every room looking for Barons, he walked purposely down the hall. He kicked in the door of the Mad Dutchman’s apartment and wasn’t surprised to see the naked leader of the Barons aiming his semiautomatic handgun at the door.

The Dutchman made a fatal mistake. He let his surprise at seeing Peter leading the attack force slow him for a second. No more. Time enough for Peter to let loose with a burst that blasted the weapon from his opponent’s hand.

“Oh, I’ve ruined your pretty little pistol, Lin,” Peter said, with an evil laugh.

The Dutchman was overcome with rage. He charged Peter completely unarmed. Before he took three steps Peter riddled him with bullets. The Mad Dutchman was mad no more.

Nor was the unfortunate naked woman cowering in the bed behind him. Peter couldn’t afford to leave her alive.

Two of Peter’s men had been wounded. One was shot in the foot; the second in the neck. Peter shot them both in the head. He left their bodies on the warehouse floor.

No witnesses.

They were in and out within fifteen minutes. No Baron of Lucifer unfortunate enough to be at their headquarters was left alive.

The truck drove away with cargo worth millions.

Peter thought it had been a good day.

Darcey worked from home. She didn’t want to leave Miles alone just yet. He continued to sleep. When he woke briefly that morning, she managed to get him to eat a few bites of scrambled eggs. She gave him one of the anti-depressants. He didn’t need another pill to go back to sleep. He spent a second day in bed.

Trent came home at five o’clock. He seemed buoyant. Mixing martinis for both of them, he led her out onto the terrace to tell her about Ross Brown’s game. How effectively it had worked.

When his phone rang, he was not surprised to see Christopher’s name show up. They had fired yet another round into the den of snakes. He assumed the cop wanted to discuss the next step.

He was mistaken.

“Someone hit the Barons of Lucifer headquarters in Richmond today,” Christopher said. “Nancy says not one Baron was left alive, including the Mad Dutchman. And any goods, whatever they might have had on hand, are gone. The ware house is full of nothing but dead bodies now.”

Trent was taken aback. He hadn’t expected that.

“Well, when you get the snakes snapping at each other, you don’t know what will happen next,” he said. “But I have to admit I didn’t expect this. And the timing. This operation was carried out before it was known that Brown sent all the fiduciaria’s funds to Rossi’s bank in Rome. Does Nancy have any idea who might have done it?”

“We might have a pretty good clue. Two of Rossi’s men were found dead on the scene.”

“Maybe Rossi decided one or more of his partners were out to get him so he decided to strike first,” Trent said. “Or maybe someone recruited a couple of Rossi’s men just to set him up. Either way, our snakes are striking at each other. And that’s exactly what we want them to do.”

Trent and Darcey dined on Hunters stew, redolent with mushrooms, onions, and Louisiana spices. After dinner, Trent made them each a second martini.

“From now on events are going to be unpredictable, Darcey,” he said. “I would appreciate it if you and Miles would stay here in the condo. It’s a secure building.”

“No argument from me,” Darcey agreed. “One kidnapping a week is my limit.”

“And keep the M16 right near.”

Abdul was temporarily stupefied when a government official on his payroll called to tell him that the warehouse headquarters of the Barons of Lucifer had been attacked. He was told that all the Barons who were on site were dead. That included Lin Winters, aka the Mad Dutchman

When asked if the police had any idea who carried out the massacre, he was told only that they were guessing two of the dead worked for Jonathan Rossi.

Abdul immediately called Kiettisuk Jetjirawak who hadn’t yet heard.

“Our partner has turned against us, Kiettisuk,” Abdul said, barely able to control his already bad mood. “The question is now, ‘What do we do about him?’”

“Yes, what indeed?” Kiettisuk replied. “We must plan carefully, Abdul. Let’s think about it and talk later in the day.”

Kiettisuk smiled as he ended the call.