Foresight (11 page)

'Hold on', said Clara, her realisation that they'd gotten the wrong person restoring some confidence in her voice. 'This is the first time I've even stepped foot in your casino, I swear to God. I don't know about any other times, and I've not taken anything today.'

'You are lying, fucking rat. But is ok, my men are very good at making liars tell the truth. You know who I am?'

'No', whimpered Clara, her voice broken and filled with panic, desperate to keep pleading her innocence but deciding it might be safer to let the man speak.

'The Russians in New York. They work for me. All the Russians in this country, they work for me. This is my casino, my casino that you think you can come and steal from. You think is OK and you think you don't tell me who you work with, but we will find out.'
 

He reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a cigarette, lighting it and blowing a drag of smoke into the air. 'So who you work for? Who's your team?'

'I don't have a team. I know you think I'm just saying this to make you let me go but I swear to god this is the first time I've ever been in this casino. I've not been ripping you off I,,,'

Before she was able to finish her sentence, Clara heard a gentle thud on the table in front of her. She lifted her head to see black and white photos, surveillance style, taken from a distance. They were taken outside the casino, around the entrance, and showed Clara in various different clothes, clearly entering and leaving the casino. Clara's eyes widened, her mind racing as she desperately tried to work out what was going on. She knew this was the first time she'd been to this casino, but the photos were crystal clear, 100% 'her'. She scanned the images with her eyes, absorbing as much detail as she could. She noticed a sweater she was wearing in one of the photos, a favourite of hers, one that she'd only been wearing 3 or 4 days before. The images looked so real she was even beginning to question her own memory.

'These are bullshit!', she protested. 'Someone's photoshopped them.'

The old man tapped his finger on the monochrome image of her.
 

'This, you?', he asked.

'Yes. I mean, no. I mean it's me, but it's not me at this casino. Someone's taken a picture of me and made it look like I was here.'
 

Again, the man tapped on the photo.
 

'This is you', he said, this time more a statement than a question. 'Photographic evidence that you have been to my casino many times before, stealing from me many times before.'
 

Clara was frozen in her seat, unable to explain the images she could see before her, but desperately trying to think of a way of convincing him that they were doctored that didn't involve admitting her real reason for being there. She looked up suddenly, a moment of realisation hitting her like a bullet.

'CCTV!', she shouted.

'What are you talking about?'

'CCTV! This is a casino, you record everything right, so check the CCTV for those days, you won't see me entering the building. I swear I don't know why but someone's trying to frame me, get the CCTV and you'll...'

The man laughed, stopping Clara dead in her tracks.

'Fuck you. You think we haven't already looked at CCTV?' He scooped up a pile of papers from the table, a printout of a spreadsheet of some description. He slid it in her direction, tapping his finger on one of the columns. The sheet contained a list of dates, and the column he was referring to was called the 'status' column. On several dates, the column read 'OK', but on several others, the column read 'Deleted'. Clara studied the sheet for a moment, her mouth open, eyes wide, struggling to understand the man's point.

'I don't know what I'm looking at', she admitted.

'This is CCTV log for last 12 months. Every date that matches photographs, CCTV has been deleted. Our computer system hacked into, files gone.'
 

The man pointed his finger at Clara.
 

'Your people, they are trying to cover your tracks for you. They knew that if we caught you, they would need to destroy evidence.'
 

He tapped again on the photographs.
 

'But these photographs that the Scottish man sent us, this is evidence.'

Clara heard those words,
'Scottish man'
, and felt her heart lift up into her mouth.

'Scottish man?'

'Yes, Scottish man', he replied. 'Made anonymous phone call tonight to one of my team. Said he used to be in your team of thieves and that you threw him out.'
 

The man took another drag of his cigarette, leaning back in his seat as he blew the smoke away. 'Guess he had score to settle. Whoever he is, you shouldn't have fucked with him. He has fucked things up for you pretty bad now.'

Clara wriggled uncomfortably in her seat, her shoulders slouched and her face showing her signs of desperation. She knew Boal was behind this but didn't know why, and knew that explaining her way out of her current predicament wasn't going to be easy. Figuring she had no other options, she gave it a try.

'I know you're not going to believe this', she said, 'but this isn't what you think. Those photos have been doctored, and if that CCTV footage was still on your network you'd see I wasn't there.'
 

She paused, as if she knew that the next sentence she was about to utter would sound so ridiculous, that somehow pausing would make it more feasible.
 

'I'm a psychic. I got approached by this government agency about a month ago, and they've trained me to be good at what I do. This was my first mission, to beat the other people at poker and show that I'm ready for bigger missions. They told me that this was just a test, I thought the money would go back to you or something, I wasn't trying to rip you off I swear.'
 

Clara stopped talking and looked at the man, making eye contact for a brief moment, confirmation of his disbelief. He said nothing, didn't laugh, didn't make a sound. After a moment, he stubbed out his cigarette and stood up.

'Fucking hell', he said, 'you really are desperate aren't you? Like rat in trap, knowing what's coming but somehow trying to gnaw it's way out.'
 

He turned around, opened the door and began to walk out.
 

'I'll be back soon', he said, closing the door as he left, leaving Clara alone, frightened and in disbelief.

Chapter 11

Outside the casino, stood in a far-flung corner of the expansive parking lot, Robin's fingers weren't working quickly and accurately enough for his linking, as his thumbs scrambled across the screen of his smartphone, desperately scrolling through the list of names and numbers, looking for the entry; 'Boal, Joseph'.
 

'For fuck sake, why aren't they here already?', Robin questioned out loud, in the vein hope that the SWAT team he'd been promised might be hiding around the corner, hear his displeasure and come charging to their rescue. The air was warm and still, too hot for comfort, and Robin was fast losing patience for the sticky Nevada afternoon and the apparent lack of interest by the Agency. He finally found Boal on his phone and hit dial, holding the phone to his ear and pacing angrily.

'Robin', Boal said calmly.

'Where the fuck are you? What's going on?!? Clara's been taken!'
 

A pause…

Then…

'We know', replied Boal. 'We're monitoring the situation.'

'You're monitoring the situation?! If you're monitoring the situation, then why the fuck isn't a Navy Seals team here getting her out of there?!'

'Robin, you need to calm down. You need to trust that we've got this all under control.'

'Under control?!', shouted Robin angrily. 'Have you any idea what they might be doing to her in there? Did you see the size of those thugs?'

'Robin, I really need you to calm down', replied Boal.

'How the fuck can you keep telling me to calm down? You lied to us you piece of shit, you told us that you wouldn't let us get in to trouble!'

'I didn't lie to you Robin'

'Oh really?! Then why is Clara having to deal with some bullshit casino security staff, doing God knows what to her? And you're not going to help? Fuck you, I need to get back in there.'
 

Robin pulled the phone away from his ear, ready to charge back through the front door, only to hear Boal shouting loud from the other end of the phone.

'Robin! Robin I need you to speak to me!' Robin picked the phone back up to his ear.

'This had better be good Boal', he replied.

'Look, I wasn't supposed to let you in on this, but we really don't need you storming back in there and messing things up for her.'

'Messing things up for her? What are you talking about?'

Boal paused, an awkward silence wedging itself firmly between the pair. Robin rolled his eyes angrily, waiting impatiently for Boal's response.

'Clara was always meant to be taken', replied Boal eventually.

'I,,, What? I don't understand'

'Clara was always meant to be taken. This was part of the plan right from the get-go. This is part of her test. You've been with us a bit longer Robin, and you've proven yourself to be solid throughout training. But we still have doubts about Clara. She still has a lot to prove, to me and to my superiors'

'Your superiors?!', snapped Robin.

'Yeah that's right, my superiors. That swanky lifestyle you kids have become accustomed to the last month doesn't come for free ya know! This is work, this is where you pay it back, and right now Clara isn't mission-ready. This is her chance to prove us wrong.'

'I still don't understand', replied Robin. 'How does Clara's situation help her prove herself?'

'The guys in there are actors', replied Boal. 'Hollywood, stuntmen types. Just actors, paid to, ya know, shit her up a bit. Give her a scare. We need to see that she can cope under extreme pressure, we need her to really believe that she's in trouble, to see if she can talk her way out of the situation when things go wrong.'

'By roughing her up?!'

'No! Absolutely not, these guys are not permitted to hurt her, just scare her. They won't touch her Robin, you have my word. But you mustn't go back in, you'll mess it all up and then Clara fails. And my superiors don't like people failing these tests.'

Robin stood quietly for a moment, not taking the phone away from his ear, neither one of them saying a word. He pondered what he'd heard, mulling it over in his head, as if he was scanning a recording of Boal's words, looking for some kind of sign to tell him whether or not to believe him. He eventually reached his conclusion.

'Boal', said Robin.

'Yes'

'Fuck you'
 

Robin clicked the hangup button on his phone, slipped it into his pocket, and stormed back across the parking lot and toward the casino.

Chapter 12

Robin's spur of the moment dash for the casino's front entrance had been cut short, admittedly by him, when he realised that getting in without a fight wasn't going to be easy. He'd been able to slip out relatively undetected when all of the attention was on removing Clara from the main floor, but he knew that security staff would be wise to him by now. Best case scenario, Clara hadn't mentioned him, worst case scenario they'd beaten a name out of her, but he figured that either way his face was going to be on every security smartphone and CCTV screen by now, and he knew he had to find another way into the building.

The casino was a sprawling complex of metal and concrete, the majority of the 'theming' being focused on the front entrance, the sides and rear of the building away from the eyes of the majority of the public, housing the parking lot and not much else. Security cameras ran along every wall, and Robin had taken care to not wonder too conspicuously around the parked cars for fear of alerting a particularly keen-eyed security guard, sticking to the perimeters instead. He'd surveyed a delivery entrance, a guardhouse with an electronic gate opening to let the odd food truck or garbage disposal vehicle in, but knew he needed a good plan to make that work. Even if he could spot a delivery truck making it's way into the compound, he'd either have to somehow sneak into the vehicle, or convince the driver to let him in, and even with his powers of reasoning, he wasn't sure he was up to the task. Hitching a ride without being spotted wasn't happening either, Robin being only too aware that diving under a truck and hoisting yourself up onto the chassis without so much as a scratch was the preserve of Hollywood fiction, not real life.

Robin walked around to the side of the building furthest from the main entrance, and spotted an additional parking lot with the words
'Staff Parking'
emblazoned on a sign at the front. As he walked towards it, he scanned the wall, noticing that the volume of security cameras was considerably less here, and figured this would be as good a place as any to try and find a way in. He walked along the side of the building, heading toward a large, unmarked metal door with a small electronic keypad on the side of it. Robin ran his fingers across the keypad, moving his face close to the buttons in a vein attempt to see if any of the keys looked more worn than others, wondering if he could somehow string together a combination, or try and work out if the owners had put some predictable 4-digit code in. Then a loud 'click' from the opposite side of the door, which swung open, catching Robin totally off guard, and bringing him face-to-face with a young woman, maybe early twenties, wearing a bartender's uniform, a lit cigarette hanging from her mouth.

She froze, the cigarette dangling precariously, ash spilling down onto her uniform. The pair locked eyes, Robin even more terrified than she was, convinced that the game was up and wondering how far he would be able to run before security picked him up.
 

'Oh shit'
, she thought,
'Who the fuck is this guy? He must be a manager. I hope he doesn't tell my boss he caught me smoking'
 

Robin read the thought in a flash and acted on it almost as quickly.