The Scam (8 page)

“T
his is where they shot
Cretaceous Zoo,
” Alan Mingus told Nick as they flew over the statues of the two battling T. rexes in the center of the park. “Those are caveman houses. You can remodel the buildings or tear them all down. It makes no difference to us.”

Nick had a director's viewfinder hanging on a lanyard around his neck. He used it to peer out the window at the set below, and glimpsed what he thought was someone hunkered down among the fighting dinosaurs. He couldn't be sure, and even if it was someone, it didn't mean it was Kate or her father.

“I wish you'd tear the sets down,” said Larry Kealoha, the uniformed park ranger who sat across from them. “People love to party up here. Over the years, we've probably had to rescue a dozen drunken fools who've fallen into the raptor pit and broken their legs.”

“I would never use another director's sets,” Nick said. “The vision of this film must be completely my own. I would be morally and artistically bankrupt to do otherwise. It would be like asking the women in my films to shave their underarm hair.”

“Is that a thing in Swedish films?” Kealoha asked.

“It is in mine,” Nick said.

The pilot landed the chopper in the center of a field with enormous cages on one end and bleachers on another.

“What was this?” Nick asked.

“The brontosaurus corral,” Mingus said. “In the movie, the dinosaurs were in those big cages, and their trainers rode them around this field like horses, doing tricks, while the audience watched from the bleachers.”

Nick hopped out, dashed a few yards away from the helicopter, then held the viewfinder up to his eye with one hand and scanned the statues. He could definitely see someone standing with his back against the leg of a T. rex. The man turned to look at Nick. It was Jake, covered in mud and holding a gun. Nick panned the viewfinder up over to the cabins and saw a Hawaiian peek out of a doorway holding an M16. Nick figured Kate was here somewhere, either taking cover herself or moving in for the kill.

Mingus and Kealoha came up beside Nick.

“What do you think of the location?” Mingus asked.

Nick dropped the viewfinder, letting it fall against his chest. “Very nice. Lots of possibilities here. Let's take a closer look.”

He tramped purposefully toward the statues, followed by Mingus and Kealoha.

Kate didn't know who the three men were, but they'd arrived in a government helicopter and she doubted Alika's men would dare open fire in front of state officials. The blowback for Alika from the authorities would be too severe. Kate was willing to stake her life on that assumption.

She slung the shotgun over her shoulder by its strap, stepped out from behind the wall into the open, and strode casually toward her father. Jake saw her coming and peeked out from behind one of the T. rex legs to sneak a look at the caves. The gunmen were hiding in the dark recesses of the caves and cabins, wrestling with the decision of whether or not to shoot.

Kate reached her dad just as the three men from the chopper were crossing under the arch from the brontosaurus paddock. That's when she realized that the blond one with the ridiculous soul patch was Nick.

Mingus and Kealoha were surprised to see the couple who'd walked out of the zoo to meet them. The old man was shirtless, covered in mud, and holding a gun at his side. The younger woman's face was painted in streaks like some sort of jungle savage, and she had a shotgun slung over her shoulder.

“My God,” Mingus said to Kealoha. “Who are those people?”

“Crazy tourists,” Kealoha said. “Maybe a couple of survivalists. We get all kinds out here.”

“Sven!” Nick said. “Gita!”

Mingus looked at Nick in astonishment. “You
know
these people?”

“They are two of my actors. They have lived in the jungle for days, immersing themselves in the roles that they will play,” Nick said, loud enough for Jake and Kate to hear as they approached. “This is the commitment you must have to be in my movies.”

“You didn't mention anything to me about having actors in the jungle,” Mingus said.

“We
became
the jungle,” Kate corrected him in an accent as unrecognizable as Nick's.

“I'm certain that it will add enormous depth to your roles,” Nick said, then turned back to Mingus. “Sven and Gita are huge stars in Sweden, and their total dedication is the reason they are so popular. You could learn something from them. I want you to become the jungle, too.”

The color drained from Mingus's face. “Is that really necessary?”

“It is if you want to achieve greatness as an actor. Think about it, because I love this location. This is where I'll make my movie.”

“Excellent,” Mingus said, his enthusiasm tempered by the terrifying prospect of having to become the jungle himself.

Nick faced Kate and Jake. “You two must come back to Honolulu with me and tell me all about your experiences.”

He put one arm around Jake and another around Kate, and led them back toward the chopper. Mingus and Kealoha lagged behind so they could confer in private.

“Out of curiosity,” Nick whispered. “How many shooters are there?”

“At least four,” Jake said. “With M16s.”

“Poor guys,” Nick said. “They never stood a chance.”

Nick took Kate and Jake back to his two-bedroom suite at the historic Royal Hawaiian Hotel, on Waikiki Beach, so they could shower and change into clean clothes.

Jake was happy to see a white polo shirt, khaki slacks, and a pair of leather loafers, all in his size, laid out on the bed. He was
ecstatic
to find the correct Dr. Scholl's inserts in the shoes, because his feet were killing him.

A luncheon buffet of fresh fruit, kalua pork, and an assortment of desserts that included lilikoi cheesecake and haupia cream pie was laid out on the dining table. The doors to the lanai were open, letting in a gentle breeze and offering a spectacular panoramic view of Diamond Head, Waikiki Beach, and the shimmering Pacific.

“Feeling better?” Nick asked Jake.

“I was feeling great before.” Jake took a plate and nodded in approval. “But this isn't bad.”

“We'll have lunch, relax on the lanai for a bit, and then you and I will head back to Los Angeles by private jet. Kate will settle up with the local authorities and take a commercial flight home.”

“I'm not going anywhere until I take down Lono Alika,” Jake said. “He destroyed Harlan's food truck and shot up his house. I can't let him get away with that.”

“I met a local cop who I think is a good man,” Kate said. “I'll have a talk with him and the agents in the FBI field office. They'll make sure Alika knows that it would be a big mistake to give Harlan any trouble.”

Jake shook his head. “That's not good enough.”

“I think it's possible that we can take down Alika and Evan Trace at the same time,” Nick said. “Since we left Vegas, I've been noodling with an idea for a con to destroy Trace's money laundering operation, but it wasn't coming together. It was missing the key piece, the fulcrum, you might say.”

“Fulcrum,” Jake said. “Like a seesaw?”

“Like a tipping point,” Nick said. “We're going to insinuate ourselves into the money laundering operation at Trace's casino in Macau by becoming junket operators.”

“I have no idea what that means,” Kate said.

“Most of the major money laundering in Macau is done through junket operators. They are middlemen who bring high rollers to the casinos to gamble in private VIP rooms. The gamblers book their travel, rent their hotel rooms, and buy their chips through the junket operators, who are actually the ones on the hook with the casino for everything.”

“So, technically, the players aren't actually gambling in Macau with their own money,” Kate said. “They are playing with the junket's money.”

“That's how the money gets laundered,” Nick said. “The cash the players use to buy their ‘vacations' in Macau is dirty. But the money they get when they cash in their chips is clean.”

“How do the junkets make money on the deal?” Jake asked.

“By imposing a surcharge on all of their services and by requiring the gamblers to wager a certain amount of money over the course of their VIP play. The junket takes forty percent of whatever the house brings in at the tables. The casino takes the other sixty percent.”

“That's crazy,” Jake said. “Why doesn't the casino get rid of the middleman and deal directly with the high rollers themselves?”

“Risk avoidance. A lot of these high rollers come from countries like China, where it's virtually impossible for the casinos to collect on gambling debts. But the casinos
can
collect from the junket operator, who assumes all of the financial and legal risks,” Nick said. “It's the junket operator, not the casino, who has the relationship with the players. If anybody ever asks, the casino can say they don't have any idea who the gamblers are in those VIP rooms or how much money they're winning or losing.”

“So how do we take down Trace by running a junket?” Kate asked.

“We're going to bring a Canadian mobster and a Somali warlord to Trace's casino in Macau to launder their dirty cash,” Nick said. “Only the two bad guys will be our friends playing parts, and the money they'll be washing will be ours. We go in, we gamble, we leave.”

“Which will establish our credibility as junket operators if anybody asks Côte d'Argent about us,” Kate said.

Jake smiled. “Someone like Lono Alika.”

“Now you're catching on,” Nick said. “We're going to invite Alika on a gambling junket to launder his money with us. We'll go back to Macau with him and our two fake bad guys, wash his cash and ours, and everybody leaves happy.”

“You seem to be missing the part where we put the criminals in jail,” Kate said. “So far we're just washing our money and making the bad guys richer.”

“We're going to have to bait the trap for Alika first,” Nick said. “He isn't going to go all in on the laundering scheme the first time around. He'll gamble only a little of what he has and see how it goes. Once he discovers how well the washing machine works, he'll come rushing back to us to launder all of the cash that he's been hoarding. Only this time, I'm going to run away with his money, leaving him broke and Trace holding the bag.”

“That's a dangerous play,” Jake said. “I like that you're ruining Alika, but he and his Yakuza backers will be in a bloody rage. They'll go after you and Trace.”

“I'm counting on it,” Nick said. “That's what makes Alika the key element of this con. We need to scare the crap out of Trace. We want him to absolutely believe that his life is in serious danger.”

“It
will
be,” Jake said. “The Yakuza take revenge to extremes.”

“It won't come to that,” Nick said. “Before there is any real threat, Kate is going to reveal herself to Trace as an undercover FBI agent.”

“What will my story be?” Kate asked.

“That you've spent two long years infiltrating Nick Sweet's criminal operation to bring him down, but now that he's in the wind, you're screwed and looking for a way to turn a disaster into a win,” Nick said. “So you'll offer Trace protection from the Yakuza, the Canadian mob, and the Somali warlords if he agrees to rat out all of the terrorists, despots, and crooks that he's ever helped. Or you could keep him in business as an FBI front and gather invaluable intelligence. Either way, Trace will jump at the offer.”

Kate smiled at her dad. “He's good.”

“Not as good as you,” Jake said. “Because you caught him.”

“Hey,” Nick said. “Whose side are you on?”

“Kate's,” Jake said. “Always.”

Nick nodded. “As it should be.”