He wanted to respond but didn’t have time. Bigger fish to fry. Cyndi provided plenty of distraction already. He wanted to get this over soon and get back to her.
On reaching the corner, he texted, “Sorry. I have to take care of something. Will meet u later.”
He wanted to open up to her further. Maybe tell her about his family. Up the steps and past Serendipity 3 café a minute later his cell pinged. Holding it up to the reflected light, he read, “Wondered what happened. Be safe. Hope to see u soon.”
“Yes” he texted as he ran across the looping driveway blocked by fire trucks, their lights washing red and white across the façade. Stepping over the yellow police tape, he entered the lobby, now harshly lit with bright emergency lights. A fireman with a megaphone was telling restless, uneasy patrons to stand back and clear the rotunda.
“What the hell’s going on?” someone asked.
A woman to his right commented, “Who ever heard of a power outage in Las Vegas?”
Entering the check-in area, he saw a way around the huge crowd clogging the central atrium with its marble fountain and statues of half-naked nymphs. For once, the casino was quiet. No jangling slots, no clinking of chips. Soon, he figured, an emergency generator would be started up somewhere and the machines would be active again.
He found Walker’s office, which was lit by a battery-powered torch. Jeri stood in its penumbra, the harsh light transforming her face into a Halloween mask, speaking quickly into a cell phone. “I don’t care how the fuck they get here. I want all agents in the area contacted and told to report. Now!”
She sighed, took a sip of something out of a paper cup, and announced to the half-dozen people standing in the room, “NPC says the transponders at Henry Allen station overloaded. They’re trying to patch in other sources now.”
“Jeri-” Crocker started.
“Walker? Where’s Walker?”
“Jer-”
He was cut off by a man standing in front of him. “What kind of time frame are they talking about?”
“I don’t know. Has anyone seen Walker? Why are all you people standing around?”
Jeri spotted Crocker, crossed over to him, and grabbed his shoulder. “Crocker, oh god…”
“I got here as soon as I could.”
“Good. Good.” He could feel the anxiety coming off her body as she leaned into him and whispered, “Those slick fucks set their suite on fire and escaped.”
“The guys from before? The diplomats?”
“Yeah.” Remembering something, she called out, “Where the fuck is Walker? Somebody find him, now!”
Jeri took Crocker by the elbow, led him toward the door, and whispered, “Your colleague’s on his way to Parking C,” she said urgently. “He’s trying to stop those two assholes before they get away.”
“Mancini, good. I’ll find him.”
He turned toward the door and simultaneously reached for his cell.
Jeri shouted at his back, “Nelson here will show you the way.”
She pushed a heavyset, balding man through the door toward him.
“Nelson, Crocker.”
“Follow me.”
Jeri shouted, “Wait!” She ran to him, pushed a walkie-talkie into his hand, and said, “Talk to me, Crocker. Channel C.”
“Lead the way.”
They pushed past crowds of gawkers clogging passageways to the back of the casino. Nelson knew a shortcut down a hallway, out an emergency exit, down a long concrete corridor, and up a flight of stairs.
“This way.”
He held a flashlight to illuminate the floor in front of them as they ran. Crocker found his cell phone and hit Manny’s number on speed dial.
“Boss, where are you?” Mancini answered.
“Headed for the garage. You?”
“Reserved parking, level two.”
“Jeri told us C.”
“There is no C. It’s level two.”
“Two. Copy.”
“How far away are you?”
“I think we’re close. Hang on.”
He stopped and turned back. Nelson, who had been lagging with the flashlight, stood ten feet behind him clutching the back of his leg.
“What’s the matter?” Crocker asked.
“I think I pulled a hamstring. You better continue without me. There’s an elevator at the end to the right. The security code is 9114.”
Crocker nodded. “I’ll radio Jeri and tell her to send someone.”
“Don’t bother. I’ll be okay.”
“I’m calling her now.”
He held down the button as he ran. “Jeri? It’s Crocker.”
“This is a fucking disaster. What the hell is happening?”
“I’m about to find out. Nelson pulled a muscle. I left him in the security hallway to the right of the casino. He’s near the ground-floor elevator.”
“I’ll tell Walker to send someone if I can fucking find him.”
Emerging from the elevator Crocker realized he was unarmed and wearing his best shirt, pants, and new John Varvatos shoes. Not that it mattered. He heard the echoes of men shouting, the squeal of rubber against concrete, a car horn blaring.
“Manny, position?”
“Cars are exiting onto Frank Sinatra Drive, black Escalades, Arizona plates.”
“How many?”
“Two.”
“What’s your position?”
At the emergency stairway, he turned left toward the sound of shrieking tires. Saw a black Cadillac Escalade forty feet away whip around the corner and down the exit ramp. Mancini ran out from behind a pickup to its right and lunged toward the partially opened rear window of the SUV. Seeing him, the driver turned sharply right, smacking him with the right rear bumper and tossing him against the grille of a parked Mercedes. He bounced off and hit the pavement.
Crocker found him bleeding from the nose and disoriented. “Don’t move,” he instructed.
“Fuck that.” Mancini pushed himself up onto all fours, rolled to his right, and stood in a crouch. “Which way did they go?”
“I only saw one.”
“One individual?”
“No, one Escalade.”
Crocker punched in the side window of a Ford pickup with his elbow, got in, and loosened the ring around the ignition switch with his pocketknife. Once he got the ring off, he pulled the switch out of the dash and unplugged it as Mancini slid into the passenger’s seat.
“You okay?” Crocker asked.
“A little woozy. Don’t worry about me.”
“Anyone following them?”
“Don’t think so. CP security is totally overwhelmed.”
“What about the Treasury guys?”
Mancini shrugged and rubbed his ribs.
“Take the push-pull. Tell Jeri what’s happening. Tell her to send a team with wheels.”
He found the red wire with the green stripe around it and the black one, and stuck them both in the hole at the back of the plug, touching the red one to the one that started to crank the motor. Then he held the black one to the other wire until the engine started. He pressed down on the gas and unplugged the red one.
Mancini, who had been talking on the radio, lowered it into his lap. “Ixnay on the follow team, says Jeri.”
“Why?”
“All focused on hotel security.”
“You armed?” Crocker asked as he backed the truck out of the spot and Mancini wiped a stream of blood from his nose with the back of his sleeve.
“No. You?”
“Negative. Which way we going?”
“Turn right toward the back exit. There!” Mancini grimaced and pointed.
As Crocker turned onto Frank Sinatra Drive, he swerved to avoid some guy with a camera, who shot him the bird.
“Fuck you, too. You see ’em?”
“Right. Bear right,” Mancini said. “Stay on this road and give me your iPhone.”
“Why? You calling takeout?”
“So I can find the fuckers.”
“How the hell you gonna do that?” Crocker asked.