Foresight (12 page)

'What do you think you're doing?!' snapped Robin, his training on quickly controlling a situation using deceit coming in handy.

'I uh, I was just uh,,,' said the girl, fumbling over her words and throwing the almost full cigarette onto the ground.

'Have you any idea how big today is for this casino, and you're out here stealing time and money from the company?! Who's your line manager? Ya know what, never mind, take me to him, right now!'
 

The girl slouched her shoulders, turning and holding the staff door open for Robin, walking a couple of paces in front of him. The pair remained silent as they paced down the dull grey corridors, passing the kitchens and a staff recreation room, in the direction of huge double-doors that would lead them out of the staff area and into the main lounge.

'So are you like, one of the main bosses around here?', asked the girl, turning to see Robin's response before stopping dead in her tracks, the corridor empty except for her. She glanced around, unaware of when they'd become separated, but figured it was a blessing, and moved quickly to the lounge, hoping to find her boss first.

Chapter 13

'You any idea how this thing fucking works?'
 

The question came from one of the Russian thugs, knelt down next to the chair Clara was tied to, her right hand now tied onto the table to her right, the man fumbling with a set of dirty old thumb-screws, not having much joy in working out how to use them.

'Not mine', replied the second thug in his broad Russian accent, sat in a chair at the other end of the room, smoking. 'Lebedev, he's into this weird shit. Just tell me when you break her fingers, I don't want to hear that shit.'

Clara grimaced, already aware of what they were planning on doing to her, but the sound of someone discussing it so openly still made her stomach turn.

'Look, I already told you I'm not the person who turned over your casino', she said.

'And I already tell you this is bullshit', said the Russian mobster, still transfixed on hooking Clara up to his torture device.
 

'You start talking, you give us names'

'I swear to God if I had names I'd give you them', Clara wailed, a tear falling from her cheek.

'I thought you said you weren't person who rob casino, now you're saying you'd give us names if you had them. Which is it lady? Ah, got it!', he proclaimed, standing up, the metal contraption fastened loosely around Clara's right thumb and index finger.
 

'Your lies make you forgetful'
 

He grinned and tapped on the thumb screws, 'but this make you remember. This make your memory clear as day.'
 

He pulled up a chair, rolling up his sleeves and looking Clara in the eye. They sat quietly for a moment, Clara reading his thoughts. She saw a man un-phased by what he was about to do, almost a sick enjoyment at the prospect of hearing her bones breaking and flesh tearing. He reached across the table, took hold of one of the screws, and turned it an entire turn clockwise. Clara screamed out, bursting into tears.

'Fuck sake lady, it not even touching', he said, using his little finger to point out the space between the dirty, sharp metal screw and her shaking finger and thumb. 'You cry like this now what you going to sound like in few minutes? Now, I ask you again, who do you work for? Give me names'

Clara gritted her teeth, her entire body tensing up, desperately willing for something or someone to save her from the inevitable excruciating pain she was about to experience. Ideas raced through her mind as she tried desperately to think up a plan of escape.

'Boal', she shouted out. 'You want a name, there you go, Joseph Boal'

'OK, we're getting somewhere', replied the thug. 'Who is Joseph Boal?'

'He's the director of the Agency which I work for. It's a Government Agency, highly classified. I'm here on a mission and I,,,'

The thug didn't let her finish her sentence.

'More of the fucking games', he sighed, twisting the screws, this time several turns at once. Clara screamed and cried, begging for him to stop, watching as the screw hovered millimetres above her finger nails, seconds away from inflicting total agony. She turned to the man at the back of the room, who was trying to cover his ears, wincing at the sheer prospect of what was happening. She read his thoughts quickly, saw her opportunity, and shouted out at him.

'I remind you of your sister don't I?'

The man stopped turning the screws, freezing and looking around at his comrade, who sat mouth wide open, taking a moment to digest what he'd just been asked.

'What did you say?'

'Claudette. I remind you of Claudette, that's why you can't bear to hear me scream, to hear me suffer. Because it reminds you of the pain she suffered when she was raped and murdered.'

The men stared at her, occasionally breaking their gaze to look at each other in disbelief. The man at the back of the room eventually spoke first.

'How the fuck do you know about Claudette?', he asked, an expression of unprecedented anger emblazoning his face. Clara thought quickly.

'I was a friend of her's, I was there the night she died.'

'Bullshit!', he screamed, standing to his feet. 'Fucking liar! How do you know about Claudette?'

'I told you I was there!', she insisted. 'Ask me where they found her', she said, gazing into his eyes, knowing the response she wanted would appear in front of her eyes in a matter of seconds, the unsuspecting thug giving her all of the ammunition she needed.

'It was near Red Rock wasn't it', asked Clara, already aware that she'd got her answer spot-on. 'Dumped, naked and beaten, like a fucking rag doll.' She used her head to signal to the other man in the room. 'I knew I recognised this son of a bitch from somewhere. He did it. He raped your sister and murdered her. He tried to kill me too but I got away, and he shouted to me that he'd find me and kill me. He must have seen my name on the list tonight and figured it was his chance to get his revenge, to quietly kill me with the say-so of his boss. The one witness gone.'

The thug closest to her laughed in disbelief at what he was hearing, his tone clearly assuming that his comrade would realise it was all nonsense.

'You tell a good fucking story girl', he said, bending down and twisting the thumb-screw slowly.
 

'Good fucking story, Jesus Christ, I need to learn to tell story like,,,'

Click-click

The thug stopped what he was doing and turned to see the second mobster, stood with his gun pointed straight at him. Clara read the gunman, bought into her story 100%, ready to unload the contents of his firearm into his colleagues' brain.

'You always had an eye for the women Alexi', he said. 'But Claudette? My sister, my flesh and blood? You were like my brother!', he shouted.

'Nico!', the man pleaded, standing up, trying to reason with him. 'We are brothers, always. You believe this bitch? She's been reading Police reports or something, trying to find out information about us, use it against us, pollute our minds.'

'She knows a lot', replied the gunman, still holding his pose. 'You were so comforting to me when she died. Told me you were there for me. You shed tears with me, all bullshit'

'Bullshit!? This is bullshit!', screamed the first mobster. 'You think I would do that to you? To Claudette?'

The two mobsters stared at one another, a long, awkward silence, the tension in the room as thick as smog. The gunman, still holding his weapon in place, glanced at Clara.

'How long you know Claudette?', he quizzed.

'A long time', she replied.

'So you tell me, who was her first boyfriend? Her first true love? Way back in high school?'

The second mobster grinned, convinced that Clara's lies had caught up with her, no mention on any Police report of the boyfriend Claudette had fallen madly in love with 10 years earlier.

'Genaddy', she replied.

The gunman pulled his trigger, unloading 4 or 5 rounds into the second mobster before he hit the ground, Clara screeching and screwing her face up as the shots rang out. She looked into his eyes, coming face-to-face with the misery and sorrow the man had felt for his sister. She saw her window of opportunity.

'Please help me', she said. 'Untie me, get me out of her and I'll tell you all you need to know about her last moments'
 

The thug whimpered, putting a hand over his mouth to hide his emotion. He dropped his gun, walked over and began to untie Clara's left hand and torso, removing the thumb-screw and helping her to his feet. He pulled her by the arm, leading her toward the door, Clara sliding her left hand along the nearby table and scooping up his firearm as she did so.

'I'm so sorry', she said, looking into the man's eyes as she pointed the weapon down to his left leg and fired. He screamed, falling to the floor and grabbing his bloodied limb. Clara bolted for the door, making her exit.

Chapter 14

The security control room hadn't been desperately difficult to find, once Robin had navigated his way away from the unsuspecting bar worker who lead him quite literally, in through the back door. His instincts had told him to head upwards, and his instincts had proven right, so when the first opportunity to ascend some stairs came along he'd taken it. He'd bumped into one additional member of staff along the way, a well-dressed man who looked at him suspiciously, clearly unable to place the man whom he felt he should know, but by this point Robin had become a pro at catching people off guard and talking them into doing whatever he wanted them to do. He was astonished at how compliant people were when he spoke to them with enough confidence and authority.

The control room was situated at the top of a set of stairs, nowhere else to go than in through the large metal door leading into the room itself. It was a kind of half crows-nest, a huge glass semi-circle looking out over a huge area of the casino, the other side full of banks of monitors covering every inch of every game in vivid, high definition detail. The door was closed with no windows to see through, only a fingerprint scanner attached to the wall to Robin's left, and as he didn't think he was physically suited to beating someone half to death and using their finger to get in, he decided to think up a more suitable plan.

Robin leant back on one leg, turning slightly to begin scouting the long stairwell for some kind of inspiration, when the huge security door clicked. Robin froze, not enough time to run without being seen and nowhere to hide. He knew that whatever came out of the door, he'd have to face it. A security guard, maybe 6ft tall stood in the doorway, more interested in the website he was looking at on his smartphone than anything else, and almost knocked Robin off of his feet as he moved onto the stairs.

'Whoa!', the guy shouted, 'who the fuck are you?'

Robin froze, reading the man's thoughts.
 

'This guy's broke in, I need to tell Mr West'.

'West sent me', replied Robin.

'What?'

'West sent me to get you, there's a guy going crazy down by the blackjack table.'

The man paused.

'Why didn't he just radio me', he quizzed, picking his radio up to his ear, moments away from pressing the button.

'He's got a fucking gun down there, would you go and help!?'

'Jesus, erm, wait here, don't move!' shouted the young security guard, dashing down the stairs, waving his arm behind him, signalling Robin to stay where he was. Robin waited a moment, then turned to see the door to the security office open. He peered his head inside, astounded at the huge array of monitors and controllers, cameras covering every card being dealt, every spin of the roulette wheel, every facial tick on some unfortunate who's decided to risk cheating the house. He moved cautiously into the room, looking around for any sign of movement, walking carefully toward the enormous glass overlooking the casino floor below, the gullible security guard he just fooled now about halfway toward who he assumed was 'Mr West', who was of course standing quite unassumingly at the other end of the casino. Robin knew he didn't have long before they realised he was back in. He walked behind a huge control desk, looking at a bank of 12 monitors covering different areas of the casino floor. In front of his hands was a controller, not dissimilar to the kind you'd get on a video-games machine, and a bank of electronic buttons with digital displays reading things like 'Roulette01' and 'Poker03'. He pressed a few, noticing as the views on the monitors changed each time. He glanced up to the top of the dial, a separate button reading 'Page Left' and 'Page Right'; he pressed Page Right, realising that he was now looking at a bank of buttons for the dining area. He pressed the button again, now looking at the back office area, an image of himself, looking at an image of himself appearing on the screen.

'Fucking lunatics even have cameras in here', he said, smiling and looking up at where he'd now established there was a security camera. He started punching buttons.
 

'Staff Entrance', nothing there.
 

'Break Room', nothing there.
 

'Kitchen'.
 

And just like that, there she was. Robin watched as a bloodied and bruised Clara, overpowered by 3 Russian thugs as startled kitchen staff looked on, was scooped up, screaming and kicking her legs, and dragged out through a side kitchen door. Robin frantically pushed more buttons, desperately trying to work out where they were taking her, trying to follow their path. He pushed the button for 'Internal Parking', and saw the group once more, a black van being reversed to the doors, a bag being placed over Clara's head as she was hurled into the back of the van. By the time the van doors had been shut, Robin had already left the control room.

Chapter 15

Robin ran down the mess of dull, grey corridors, trying desperately to remember the way that he came in, reversing the route in his head as he moved. He knew that the main casino floor was absolutely out of action, and figured that so long as he only ran into non-security personnel along the maze of hallways leading to the staff entrance, he'd probably be alright. He wasn't sure what his plan was, like the dog that chases cars all day and wouldn't know what to do with one if it did ever catch it, but he knew that he couldn't stay and do nothing. Perhaps if he could catch a license plate, maybe even sneak his way on to the van, at least he'd be able to track them down. God knows what they were planning on doing to her.