“My name’s Duncan. I’m here because Mr. Trent has requested I take you to see him.”
Manhattan nodded slowly. Just like Adrian had said… he thought.
“Can I politely decline his invitation?”
“If he was inviting you, you’d have the option, sure,” he replied with a shrug. “But this ain’t an invitation — it’s an order. So get to it, Pops.”
Manhattan allowed a smile at the last comment. “You do realize I’m about the same age as your employer? I think Pops is a little below the belt, don’t you?”
In the blink of an eye, Duncan swung his right hand, catching Tarantina on the side of the face. He staggered backward, completely unprepared for the attack, and overbalanced, crashing into the three bodyguards. Duncan sidestepped to his left, out of the way, while his three men all drew their pistols and opened fire, riddling Manhattan’s men with bullets. Tarantina caught one in his shoulder, but managed to stay standing, moving slowly over to Manhattan’s side.
It was over as quickly as it had begun, and an eerie silence descended on the bar. The smell of gunpowder was strong in the air. The bartender had ducked down behind the counter, and the lone customer sitting near the door had fled the bar when the shooting started.
Duncan stood in front of his three men, arms folded across his chest, facing Manhattan, who had remained seated throughout. He had expected some sort of display of dominance — an extreme message sent early and quickly. He knew how to handle the situation. He’d played the game many times before.
He stood, slowly, placing his empty glass on the table.
“You’ve made your point,” he said, somewhat nonchalantly. “Let’s go and see Mr. Trent, shall we?”
“Word of advice,” said Duncan. “Drop your gentleman act. You ain’t made that much of a name for yourself yet. You should be very afraid right now.”
Manhattan smiled. “Not at all,” he replied. “Mr. Trent and I are very similar — we’re both businessmen at the end of the day, and I’m sure he’ll understand it’s in his best interest to do what’s good for business. I have no issue with him, and there’s no reason he should have an issue with me.”
“That’s for you and Trent to talk about. I’m just the delivery man. Now move your ass.” He grabbed Manhattan by the arm and ushered him to the front of the little posse as they made their way out of the bar. He looked over his left shoulder to one of his men, nodding toward Tarantina. “Bring that piece of shit too,” he said.
A few minutes later, and they were both bundled into the back of two separate black four-by-fours with dark tinted windows. Duncan in the back with Manhattan in one of them, and two of the men took Tarantina in the other.
As they set off on the journey back to Pittsburgh, Manhattan relaxed against the black leather seat and smiled to himself.
So far, so predictable, he thought.
“What’re you smilin’ at?” asked Duncan.
Manhattan didn’t reply. He just stared through the window at the passing traffic, playing the chess game over and over in his head, planning his next few moves.
29
We’re all in my motel room. Josh is sitting at the table by the window and working away on his laptop, planning his digital bank robbery. Frank’s sitting on the bed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. I’m pacing back and forth, impatiently. I’m so close to this all being over, I hate all the waiting around. But I know we need to do this right.
“What time will the game kick off tonight?” I ask.
“About eight,” Frank replies, without looking up.
“Okay,” I nod. “We’ll need to make sure we’re in place about seven.”
“You’ve got a plan?” Josh asks, his head still buried in his laptop. “That’s not like you…”
“Desperate times, desperate measures,” I say with a half-smile.
I know we’ve only got one real chance of the plan working. Trent will be expecting us to make a move sooner rather than later, so he’ll have increased security without a doubt. Josh needs time to make sure the online heist goes off as planned, so I have to rely on Frank’s help to get ready for the game later this evening.
“Where are we up to?” I ask Josh. “Are you good to go?”
“Now I know where all Trent’s money is, I have to program my virus to infiltrate all the different accounts simultaneously, then transfer the money into the single account I’ve set up in the name of a dummy corporation. What I’m then gonna do is use a different algorithm to re-transfer the money in small amounts, no more than a dollar, to random bank accounts across the country. The algorithm will continue to run, moving each individual small amount every half hour into a new account, making it practically impossible to trace the money once it’s left Trent’s accounts.”
Frank finally looks up. “Jesus Christ, you can do that?” he asks, taken aback by how extravagant the plan sounds.
Josh nods. “It’s not easy, but I can,” he says. “I’ve been putting together the code since we arrived on the East Coast. Only thing missing was Trent’s financials. Now we have them, the final piece is in place.”
“Can the origin of the code be traced?” he asks.
I raise my eyebrows, surprised that Frank seems to understand at least half of what Josh is saying. I’m completely lost, and I’m happy to sit thinking about how it’ll all play out once we get to the Steelers game.
“I’m using every encryption I have to bounce and mask my signal. It’s not unbreakable, but it’ll take a lot of people a long time, and that’s all that matters. Once Trent’s dealt with, the algorithm can stop, and we can simply put the money where we want it and ride off into the sunset very rich men.”
“How much money does he have, exactly?” I ask.
“Close to quarter of a billion dollars, all in all.”
“Christ…” mutters Frank.
I let out a low whistle. That’s some serious change… I’m not doing this for the money — I’ve got plenty of my own. But someone like Trent shouldn’t be allowed that amount of money or the level of power it grants.
“Nothing can replace what I’ve… we’ve lost,” I say, looking at Frank. “But you have to admit, that’s a helluva compensation payout.”
He nods absently, lost in his own thoughts.
“You want anything to drink?” I ask them both. “I’m just gonna go to the vending machine in reception and get a bottle of water.”
“Pepsi, please,” says Josh.
“I’m good, thanks,” Frank replies.
I open the door and step outside. The sky’s gray, filled with low cloud. It’s stayed dry for most of the day. It’s starting to darken, and the temperature’s dropped a little as the light starts to fade.
I look around quickly. The parking lot’s empty, apart from Frank’s sedan, which is in the middle, directly facing the row of three rooms we’ve rented.
I shut the door behind me, but immediately stop, alert.
What was that?
I just heard a low, hollow whooshing noise. It sounds far away and is worryingly familiar. It’s the same noise I heard over a week ago, in San Francisco. It’s the unmistakable sound of someone firing a rocket launcher… I quickly look around for the source. A small, bright light appears from directly opposite the motel complex, seemingly from the rooftop of a nearby building. Everything slows down as I see it rushing toward me, far too late to be able to do anything. I stand watching with dumbfounded horror.
“Guys! Hit the deck!” I shout as loud as I can, hoping they hear me from outside.