Mike rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hands. He'd been at this all night—looking at every piece of information he could find on the three dead men. On the surface, there didn't seem to be anything tying their deaths together, but the men themselves did share quite a few similarities. They were all former military men—one a Green Beret, one a Marine and another in the Royal Air Force—and none of them had any family. They'd all worked in their jobs for less than three months, but their security background and resumes were outstanding.
Despite their similarities in life, their suicides had been very different. Trevor Reese had emailed his suicide note to a coworker and then driven his car off a cliff. His body had been burned beyond recognition, but DNA evidence had confirmed his identity. Paul Boone had decided to go out with a bang. A munitions expert during his time in the Marines—he'd crafted an explosive device, walked out into the woods and blown himself up. The message he'd left in his car, scrawled on a plain sheet of paper, had outlined his woes and his intentions. The last man, Roger Sampson, had put a gun to his head. Since all of the men had left suicide notes, and there were no family or friends to protest, there had been little investigation and only cursory autopsies performed. On a hunch, Mike decided to contact the medical examiner in Atlantic City. After almost half an hour of receiving the runaround, he finally got the guy on the phone.
"Roger Sampson? Yeah, I remember that one. About four months ago, right? Everything should be in the report."
"Yeah. Was there anything unusual about it that maybe didn't make it into the report?"
The man hesitated a moment before continuing, "Look, the guy left a note. It was a pretty open and shut case."
"What aren't you telling me?"
Mike's question was greeted by a deep sigh and finally the man spoke again, "He had what looked like defensive wounds on his arms, but it wasn't enough to overrule the suicide determination."
Mike was silent and the man on the other end of the line obviously took offense. "Do you know how many dead bodies I see in a week? Just because this guy had a few scratches on his arms doesn't have to mean anything. He left a note—case closed," and with that he hung up.
Mike looked at all the information again. After speaking with the coroner Mike was even more convinced that these men didn't die at their own hands. What he still couldn't understand was why these decorated veterans would choose to join forces with an international crime ring. He'd have to run all this by Ed and see if the former CIA operative had any theories. Speaking of Ed—it was at that moment Mike's cell phone chimed a familiar tune.
"Good morning, Mr. D."
"What do you got for me, Mike?"
"The coroner in Atlantic City said the guy there had defensive wounds, but he disregarded them because of the suicide note."
"Damn."
"I'm convinced these guys were the inside men, but I just can't figure out why. None of them had any family to threaten. I can't figure out how the group might convince these seemingly upstanding patriots to switch to a life of crime."
"All these guys were in the military, right?"
"Yeah."
"Why did they leave?"
"Uh…," Mike scanned through the files again trying to find an answer to Ed's question. "The records I have don't really say…just that they were discharged."
"Get with Frank and see if you can access their service records."
"You thinkin' these guys didn't leave on their own?"
"You give your whole life to a cause and then one little thing happens and they toss you out on your ass. The military's the only thing you've ever known and when you get out you have skills, but no idea how to utilize them in the civilian world. Somebody comes along and offers what you think is a great opportunity and by the time you figure out what's going on it's too late."
Mike picked up on the faraway tone in Ed's voice and he couldn't help but comment. "Sounds like you're speaking from experience, boss."
"Yeah, well…," Ed trailed off and for a moment Mike thought the older man was actually going to open up. "Mind your own business, Cannon."
He was wrong.
"And get to work—I'm not paying you to sit around in your pajamas all day."
Yep, definitely wrong about that one.
---
Two hours later, Ed walked briskly through the bowels of the casino, nodding politely to everyone he passed before entering the security room. He noticed Mike and Danny in the office above and hurried up the steps to join them. They'd scheduled a secure conference call with Frank later that day to compare notes, but Ed had one other matter of business he needed to take care of first.
"Hey, Mike, do me a favor, would ya? Put this in the vault for Mr. Burns?" Ed handed Mike a large metal briefcase. "He's a little nervous about keeping all that money in his suite." Ed looked pointedly at Danny, hoping to make the younger man understand exactly what the money was for. Danny's nervous glance at the case and then slight nod to his boss indicated that he understood.
"Sure thing, Mr. D." Mike headed out of Danny's office, leaving the other two men alone.
"Listen, Ed. Do you think it would be alright if Mike stayed with Delinda tonight?"
"Why? You got something going on?" This talking in code was getting old, but with the whole place bugged, it was the only way they could communicate.
"Just a couple of old friends in town for the night." That was the signal. The kidnappers must have contacted Danny and told him when everything was going to happen.
"You boys headed out for a night of drunken debauchery?" The older man tried to sound casual in order to keep up the charade.
"Something like that…," Danny trailed off. Ed knew he was sick with worry, but if he could just keep it together for one more day—hopefully it would be the last day the kid would have to spend without Mary.
"I'll set everything up with, Mike. Try to stay out of trouble, okay?"
---
Danny sat at his desk mindlessly scanning the monitors. The International Shoe Convention the Montecito was hosting had just let out for lunch so it was solid people from one end of the casino to the other.
He'd been in his office before dawn when the call had come in. They had told him to expect another call at midnight and that he should be ready to move. Thankfully he had been able to convey that message to Ed so that he and Mike could be there to back him up. Ed…Danny still couldn't believe the man had been able to secure $5,000,000 in cash in less than a day, but Ed's resources never ceased to amaze him. At any other time in his life he probably would have refused such an offer, but at this point Danny would sell his soul to the devil if it meant bringing Mary home safe.
"Mr. McCoy? This was just delivered for you." His thoughts were interrupted by the young man standing at the door to his office.
Danny took the large package and set it on the desk--opening it to reveal a black duffel bag with a small white envelope peeking above the rim of the outside pocket. His hands trembled as he pulled the card out and read the carefully scripted words.
WE WILL TAKE CARE OF THE CAMERAS – YOU TAKE CARE OF THE MONEY
DO NOT MAKE ANY CALLS – DO NOT SPEAK TO ANYONE
USE THIS BAG -- $5 MILLION -- PAYPHONE AT SLIM'S ON 93 SOUTH
20 MINUTES OR SHE DIES
They were early. Any help he might have received was out of the question now and he'd have to do this all on his own. Danny grabbed the bag and sprinted down the stairs, not stopping until he reached the vault. He noticed immediately that the red lights on the cameras lining the hallway were off indicating that they had been deactivated. He wasn't sure how much time he had to spare so he placed his hand on the keypad and let the device scan his prints. The door clicked open and Danny moved inside. Unlatching the briefcase Mike had placed there earlier, Danny didn't hesitate as he dumped the bundled bills into the duffel and re-secured the vault door.
Luckily, no one stopped him as he pushed his way through the crowds and out the lobby doors. "I NEED MY CAR," he screamed to the valet on duty, but his face fell as he looked at the sea of cars lining the drive. He could almost hear the ticking of the seconds in his mind. There was no time. It only took him a moment to notice the familiar dark blue Aston Martin parked towards the front of the drive and Danny hurled himself towards it, all but tackling the poor kid who had just pulled it around. He had no idea how far it was to the meeting point, but he wasn't taking any chances. Danny grabbed the keys and jumped in—tossing the money in the back seat.
Tires squealed as he sped out onto the Strip, ignoring the sounds of horns and crumpling metal he was leaving in his wake. "Hang on, baby. It's almost over."