"Diamonds Are Forever"
Disclaimer: The characters belong to James Cameron, not me. I only own my laptop, black like Max's mood.
Rating: PG-13
Scene 1, 2019, Exterior of Mitchellson Jewelers, Seattle
Robert, the exterior security guard checked his watch. They should have been here fifteen seconds ago. Mr. Booke was extremely punctual. A dark car with tinted windows pulled up. The driver got out and opened the back door. Robert's boss's client, Mr. Booke, a tall, wealthy man from South Africa climbed out, holding a briefcase, that upon further examination, was hand cuffed to his wrist. He stood for a moment, examining the old brick building. It had stood there for two centuries now, and had been in the family for longer. Booke smiled to himself.
Booke climbed the step up to the door, where Robert was waiting for him.
"Did you have a nice trip, Mr. Booke?" Robert asked, pronouncing it 'book'.
Booke smiled, "Robert, is it?" The guard nodded and Booke continued, "The spelling usually throws people off."
"Well, sir, Mr. Mitchellson would not like it if his client's names were mispronounced."
"Of course." Booke smiled again and was ushered into the vestibule of the store. There he met the other security guard, Sam. Sam patted him down and then had him walk through a metal detector. Booke unhandcuffed the briefcase from his wrist, placing it and the handcuffs on a table next to the metal detector. He passed through and took the briefcase.
"Was that really necessary?" he asked Sam.
"In these days, sir, you never know." Sam went back to his chair in front of the security cameras. Booke's driver stayed with him.
In the main room of the shop, Booke found himself surrounded by displays containing nothing but diamonds. He again smiled to himself.
"Hello, Mr. Booke," Mitchellson said, coming out of the back. He was in his sixties, white haired, and starting to bend from osteoporosis, "I have the diamonds if you have the money to pay."
Booke put his briefcase down on a display case and opened it. Inside were several layers of twenty-dollar bill stacks. Booke pointed to it. "Is this enough?"
Mitchellson laughed, "Plenty, my boy, but in today's society, not many people have that. Well," he turned toward the east wall of the room, which had been transformed into a giant wall safe of a hundred and fifty locked safety-deposit boxes. "I have pinks, whites, nothing less than 75 points, whatever you want, you have the money for." He opened one box and took out a tray of pink-tinted diamonds. He turned towards his worktable, preparing to show the diamonds off. But Booke stepped behind him and quickly pulled a garroting wire around the man's neck.
In the vestibule, Sam saw what was happening on the security monitors. He got up, but Booke's driver shot him with a pistol, silencer attached, so as not to make any noise to alert Robert outside.
Booke threw Mitchellson's body aside and grabbed his keys. He opened drawer upon drawer, throwing their contents to the floor, becoming very aggravated.
His driver stepped into the room. "We should go, now."
"Its not here," Booke was extremely annoyed.
"Then he doesn't have it. Lets go."
Booke reattached the briefcase to his wrist and followed his driver out the door. Robert, sensing something was wrong, called out to him as he got in the car. "Everything go alright, Mr. Booke?"
Booke didn't answer, but his driver pulled out the pistol and shot Robert. Then he jumped in the car and the two of them sped off.
Scene 2, 2019, Downtown Seattle, two days later
Max walked alongside Logan as he wheeled himself through the streets of downtown Seattle. He stopped across the street from a billiards bar. Max got them both sodas and pulled up a chair next to him. They were at an outdoor café.
"So, what are we doing here?" She asked, "You said this was important."
"It is," Logan told her, putting down his drink, "The Vesper Diamond."
Max's eyes lit up, "I've heard it's huge."
"Worth $16 million," Logan told her, "And it seems, much more."
Max tilted her head and looked at him, "Oh?"
"Every time the diamond has changed hands, there's been blood spilled. From when it was discovered in South Africa at the beginning of the seventeenth century till two days ago. I think it was the cause of Ryan Mitchellson's death," he explained, "Two days ago, his store, Mitchellson Jewelers, was trashed, and both Mitchellson and his two security guards were found dead. But no sign of forced entry. Matt showed me the crime scene photos. He thinks there was someone on the inside."
"Ok, so if whoever broke in got the diamond, then it's long gone. Look for insured shipments out of the country."
"Not so fast," Logan said, "The other day, I was looking for a disk. I can't find it; I'm throwing papers all over the place. I'm getting rather annoyed when Bling walks in."
"The killers didn't find it," Max read his mind, "They were interrupted in their search."
"More like it wasn't there," Logan said, "Which is why we're here." He pointed to a dark haired man emerging from the billiards bar across the street. Max carefully scrutinized the man Logan was pointing out. He was in his mid-twenties, and good-looking. "That's Aaron Mitchellson. Ryan's only surviving child and sole heir to the business. If anyone knows where the Vesper is, he does."
"So what, you want me to break into his apartment and see if he left any clues to the Vesper's whereabouts?" Max suggested.
"No, I want you to make friends with him," Logan told her, "But be careful. I pulled down some encrypted messages between him and some South African Apartheiders. These guys are dangerous, and exactly Lydecker's type."
"Lydecker? You think he's involved?"
"Maybe. Word is he's looking for funding to take Manticore to Level 3, but hasn't been given it. He strikes me as the kind of guy who'd do whatever it takes to get what he wants."
"Yeah." Max brushed away a memory, "So Aaron's our inside guy and the South Africans are working for Lydecker?"
"Looks that way," Logan replied.
"So what are we doing here?" Max asked, "Getting Aaron to admit that he helped kill his father and preventing Lydecker from getting his paws on the rock?"
"We're rewriting the history of greed."
Scene 3, 2019, Aaron's Apartment
Aaron unlocked the door and set down his bag from the club. He stopped to feed his fish swimming in the giant tank in the entryway. He proceeded further into his apartment, and came face to face with Adrian Booke and his driver, Peter Shreck. Both men looked upset. Aaron froze and even considered running.
"Hello," he said, trying not to allow the fear he was feeling to creep into his voice.
"Where is the diamond?" Booke asked.
"You don't have it?" Aaron panicked. They thought he'd double-crossed them.
"It wasn't there," Booke said. He picked up Aaron's billiard cue and studied it. He turned to Shreck. "Do you shoot billiards, Mr. Shreck?"
"No," Shreck answered, "People."
Aaron swallowed. "Listen, if it wasn't there, I don't know where it is."
"The deal was that you'd tell me where to find it," Booke reminded him. He grabbed Aaron and pushed him against a wall, "I'm getting impatient."
"Yeah? What about my father? That wasn't part of the deal," Aaron replied.
"Things happen," Booke said, "I want my diamond." He let Aaron go.
"You'll get it, okay?"
"Two days," Booke said, "You have two days to find it, or I let Shreck shoot a few balls with you, got it?"
"Yeah, sure. No problem," Aaron replied.
"Good." Booke put the cue stick down. He motioned to Shreck and the two left Aaron in his apartment, shaking.
Scene 4, 2019, Aaron's Billiards Club, the next day.
Max watched Aaron practice his shots from a table across the room. He was pretty good, she had to admit. Her eyes focused in on his shot, taking in the speed, trajectory, and roll of the balls. She realized he wasn't going to sink that shot. Well, nobody's perfect, not even me, she thought to herself, Hell, I'm just as messed up as the rest of them, if not more so. Let's just get this over with.
She plastered her biggest, fakest smile on her face. She felt like she was grinning like an idiot. She made her way over to Aaron, who was to intent on shooting pool to watch her come over.
She leaned over the table, looking at his shot he was lining up, putting herself in his line of sight.
"Nine ball, six ball," She said placing a quarter on the table, "Stretch the quarter?" she asked.
Aaron looked up at her. "You want to play against me?" He took his shot, sending the balls rolling and colliding off each other, sinking two of them.
"What, you think that you can beat me because I'm not a guy?" she purred.
"I didn't say that." He took another shot.
"Ah, but your tone was 'you're a girl'," she replied, "Is it beyond your conception that I could beat you?" She leaned against the table.
"No, not at all. I just don't think it's likely," he smiled, "Why don't we play for money?"
"Oh," she smiled, "When it's for money, I don't call it play," she leaned
over the table, coming face to face with him, "Grudge match rules."
"Alright," Aaron said, taking the cue ball out of the pocket. He walked around her and set up his next shot, "You scratch, I place the cue ball any where I want to."
"Ah," she replied, reaching under the table for the triangle, "I don't scratch," she purred, "When it comes to pool, anyway." She handed him the triangle, "You wanna break?"
He took it from her, and walked back around her to take his last shot. "Go ahead," he said.
"What's the bet?" she asked, "Since we're not playing for money."
"Um," he considered it for a moment, "How about dinner?"
"I pick the place," she told him.
"Why not." He set the balls in the triangle, then took it away.
She broke, and sunk her first shot, an easy one. But with each shot, Aaron's eyes grew wider as the shots became harder, but she continued to sink them with ease.
"Nice shot," he was amazed.
She walked past him for her next shot. "I'm building up an appetite," she whispered in his ear as she passed. She smiled and sunk the final shot, ending the game.
Scene 5, 2019, Mitchellson's Lawyer's Office, later
Aaron sat nervously in a chair across from his father's lawyer. The reading of the will. Aaron knew that with the way things had been between him and his father, he could end up with very little.
"What are we waiting for?" he asked the lawyer.
Just then, a tall man in his fifties walked through the door. "Sorry I'm late, traffic is a bitch." He strode over to the chair next to Aaron. He had short hair, a strong jaw, and glasses. When he spoke it was in a gruff voice. "I'm Donald Michaels, your father's banker," he said, extending his hand to Aaron, "I'm here because of certain stipulations in you father's will."
"Stipulations?" Aaron asked.
"Let's get to it," the lawyer said, "Aaron, your father left you half of the business, the other half goes to your cousin. Should you want to sell, your cousin would get first right of refusal. Your father wanted to keep the business in the family."
"I get half?" Aaron figured he wasn't going to get any of it.
"Yes, and as far as the Vesper," the lawyer began.
"The Vesper? You know where it is?"
"My bank does," Michaels cut in, "Your father wanted to keep it safe, so he gave it to my bank to hold. We came up with a museum."
"A museum?"
"Yes. It can't be sold, and you don't pay any taxes," the banker told him.
"Wow, my father did that for me?" Aaron was stunned. The Vesper was his.
"Yes, Aaron. The Vesper is safely stowed away."
Not for long, the little voice in Aaron's head said.
Disclaimer: The characters belong to James Cameron, not me. I only own my laptop, black like Max's mood.
Rating: PG-13
Scene 1, 2019, Exterior of Mitchellson Jewelers, Seattle
Robert, the exterior security guard checked his watch. They should have been here fifteen seconds ago. Mr. Booke was extremely punctual. A dark car with tinted windows pulled up. The driver got out and opened the back door. Robert's boss's client, Mr. Booke, a tall, wealthy man from South Africa climbed out, holding a briefcase, that upon further examination, was hand cuffed to his wrist. He stood for a moment, examining the old brick building. It had stood there for two centuries now, and had been in the family for longer. Booke smiled to himself.
Booke climbed the step up to the door, where Robert was waiting for him.
"Did you have a nice trip, Mr. Booke?" Robert asked, pronouncing it 'book'.
Booke smiled, "Robert, is it?" The guard nodded and Booke continued, "The spelling usually throws people off."
"Well, sir, Mr. Mitchellson would not like it if his client's names were mispronounced."
"Of course." Booke smiled again and was ushered into the vestibule of the store. There he met the other security guard, Sam. Sam patted him down and then had him walk through a metal detector. Booke unhandcuffed the briefcase from his wrist, placing it and the handcuffs on a table next to the metal detector. He passed through and took the briefcase.
"Was that really necessary?" he asked Sam.
"In these days, sir, you never know." Sam went back to his chair in front of the security cameras. Booke's driver stayed with him.
In the main room of the shop, Booke found himself surrounded by displays containing nothing but diamonds. He again smiled to himself.
"Hello, Mr. Booke," Mitchellson said, coming out of the back. He was in his sixties, white haired, and starting to bend from osteoporosis, "I have the diamonds if you have the money to pay."
Booke put his briefcase down on a display case and opened it. Inside were several layers of twenty-dollar bill stacks. Booke pointed to it. "Is this enough?"
Mitchellson laughed, "Plenty, my boy, but in today's society, not many people have that. Well," he turned toward the east wall of the room, which had been transformed into a giant wall safe of a hundred and fifty locked safety-deposit boxes. "I have pinks, whites, nothing less than 75 points, whatever you want, you have the money for." He opened one box and took out a tray of pink-tinted diamonds. He turned towards his worktable, preparing to show the diamonds off. But Booke stepped behind him and quickly pulled a garroting wire around the man's neck.
In the vestibule, Sam saw what was happening on the security monitors. He got up, but Booke's driver shot him with a pistol, silencer attached, so as not to make any noise to alert Robert outside.
Booke threw Mitchellson's body aside and grabbed his keys. He opened drawer upon drawer, throwing their contents to the floor, becoming very aggravated.
His driver stepped into the room. "We should go, now."
"Its not here," Booke was extremely annoyed.
"Then he doesn't have it. Lets go."
Booke reattached the briefcase to his wrist and followed his driver out the door. Robert, sensing something was wrong, called out to him as he got in the car. "Everything go alright, Mr. Booke?"
Booke didn't answer, but his driver pulled out the pistol and shot Robert. Then he jumped in the car and the two of them sped off.
Scene 2, 2019, Downtown Seattle, two days later
Max walked alongside Logan as he wheeled himself through the streets of downtown Seattle. He stopped across the street from a billiards bar. Max got them both sodas and pulled up a chair next to him. They were at an outdoor café.
"So, what are we doing here?" She asked, "You said this was important."
"It is," Logan told her, putting down his drink, "The Vesper Diamond."
Max's eyes lit up, "I've heard it's huge."
"Worth $16 million," Logan told her, "And it seems, much more."
Max tilted her head and looked at him, "Oh?"
"Every time the diamond has changed hands, there's been blood spilled. From when it was discovered in South Africa at the beginning of the seventeenth century till two days ago. I think it was the cause of Ryan Mitchellson's death," he explained, "Two days ago, his store, Mitchellson Jewelers, was trashed, and both Mitchellson and his two security guards were found dead. But no sign of forced entry. Matt showed me the crime scene photos. He thinks there was someone on the inside."
"Ok, so if whoever broke in got the diamond, then it's long gone. Look for insured shipments out of the country."
"Not so fast," Logan said, "The other day, I was looking for a disk. I can't find it; I'm throwing papers all over the place. I'm getting rather annoyed when Bling walks in."
"The killers didn't find it," Max read his mind, "They were interrupted in their search."
"More like it wasn't there," Logan said, "Which is why we're here." He pointed to a dark haired man emerging from the billiards bar across the street. Max carefully scrutinized the man Logan was pointing out. He was in his mid-twenties, and good-looking. "That's Aaron Mitchellson. Ryan's only surviving child and sole heir to the business. If anyone knows where the Vesper is, he does."
"So what, you want me to break into his apartment and see if he left any clues to the Vesper's whereabouts?" Max suggested.
"No, I want you to make friends with him," Logan told her, "But be careful. I pulled down some encrypted messages between him and some South African Apartheiders. These guys are dangerous, and exactly Lydecker's type."
"Lydecker? You think he's involved?"
"Maybe. Word is he's looking for funding to take Manticore to Level 3, but hasn't been given it. He strikes me as the kind of guy who'd do whatever it takes to get what he wants."
"Yeah." Max brushed away a memory, "So Aaron's our inside guy and the South Africans are working for Lydecker?"
"Looks that way," Logan replied.
"So what are we doing here?" Max asked, "Getting Aaron to admit that he helped kill his father and preventing Lydecker from getting his paws on the rock?"
"We're rewriting the history of greed."
Scene 3, 2019, Aaron's Apartment
Aaron unlocked the door and set down his bag from the club. He stopped to feed his fish swimming in the giant tank in the entryway. He proceeded further into his apartment, and came face to face with Adrian Booke and his driver, Peter Shreck. Both men looked upset. Aaron froze and even considered running.
"Hello," he said, trying not to allow the fear he was feeling to creep into his voice.
"Where is the diamond?" Booke asked.
"You don't have it?" Aaron panicked. They thought he'd double-crossed them.
"It wasn't there," Booke said. He picked up Aaron's billiard cue and studied it. He turned to Shreck. "Do you shoot billiards, Mr. Shreck?"
"No," Shreck answered, "People."
Aaron swallowed. "Listen, if it wasn't there, I don't know where it is."
"The deal was that you'd tell me where to find it," Booke reminded him. He grabbed Aaron and pushed him against a wall, "I'm getting impatient."
"Yeah? What about my father? That wasn't part of the deal," Aaron replied.
"Things happen," Booke said, "I want my diamond." He let Aaron go.
"You'll get it, okay?"
"Two days," Booke said, "You have two days to find it, or I let Shreck shoot a few balls with you, got it?"
"Yeah, sure. No problem," Aaron replied.
"Good." Booke put the cue stick down. He motioned to Shreck and the two left Aaron in his apartment, shaking.
Scene 4, 2019, Aaron's Billiards Club, the next day.
Max watched Aaron practice his shots from a table across the room. He was pretty good, she had to admit. Her eyes focused in on his shot, taking in the speed, trajectory, and roll of the balls. She realized he wasn't going to sink that shot. Well, nobody's perfect, not even me, she thought to herself, Hell, I'm just as messed up as the rest of them, if not more so. Let's just get this over with.
She plastered her biggest, fakest smile on her face. She felt like she was grinning like an idiot. She made her way over to Aaron, who was to intent on shooting pool to watch her come over.
She leaned over the table, looking at his shot he was lining up, putting herself in his line of sight.
"Nine ball, six ball," She said placing a quarter on the table, "Stretch the quarter?" she asked.
Aaron looked up at her. "You want to play against me?" He took his shot, sending the balls rolling and colliding off each other, sinking two of them.
"What, you think that you can beat me because I'm not a guy?" she purred.
"I didn't say that." He took another shot.
"Ah, but your tone was 'you're a girl'," she replied, "Is it beyond your conception that I could beat you?" She leaned against the table.
"No, not at all. I just don't think it's likely," he smiled, "Why don't we play for money?"
"Oh," she smiled, "When it's for money, I don't call it play," she leaned
over the table, coming face to face with him, "Grudge match rules."
"Alright," Aaron said, taking the cue ball out of the pocket. He walked around her and set up his next shot, "You scratch, I place the cue ball any where I want to."
"Ah," she replied, reaching under the table for the triangle, "I don't scratch," she purred, "When it comes to pool, anyway." She handed him the triangle, "You wanna break?"
He took it from her, and walked back around her to take his last shot. "Go ahead," he said.
"What's the bet?" she asked, "Since we're not playing for money."
"Um," he considered it for a moment, "How about dinner?"
"I pick the place," she told him.
"Why not." He set the balls in the triangle, then took it away.
She broke, and sunk her first shot, an easy one. But with each shot, Aaron's eyes grew wider as the shots became harder, but she continued to sink them with ease.
"Nice shot," he was amazed.
She walked past him for her next shot. "I'm building up an appetite," she whispered in his ear as she passed. She smiled and sunk the final shot, ending the game.
Scene 5, 2019, Mitchellson's Lawyer's Office, later
Aaron sat nervously in a chair across from his father's lawyer. The reading of the will. Aaron knew that with the way things had been between him and his father, he could end up with very little.
"What are we waiting for?" he asked the lawyer.
Just then, a tall man in his fifties walked through the door. "Sorry I'm late, traffic is a bitch." He strode over to the chair next to Aaron. He had short hair, a strong jaw, and glasses. When he spoke it was in a gruff voice. "I'm Donald Michaels, your father's banker," he said, extending his hand to Aaron, "I'm here because of certain stipulations in you father's will."
"Stipulations?" Aaron asked.
"Let's get to it," the lawyer said, "Aaron, your father left you half of the business, the other half goes to your cousin. Should you want to sell, your cousin would get first right of refusal. Your father wanted to keep the business in the family."
"I get half?" Aaron figured he wasn't going to get any of it.
"Yes, and as far as the Vesper," the lawyer began.
"The Vesper? You know where it is?"
"My bank does," Michaels cut in, "Your father wanted to keep it safe, so he gave it to my bank to hold. We came up with a museum."
"A museum?"
"Yes. It can't be sold, and you don't pay any taxes," the banker told him.
"Wow, my father did that for me?" Aaron was stunned. The Vesper was his.
"Yes, Aaron. The Vesper is safely stowed away."
Not for long, the little voice in Aaron's head said.