The Prisoner - Carlos J. Cortes [134]
Stearns nodded his head a fraction.
“Wonderful! I happen to know of a little nest egg, a trifle over three hundred million, nicely tucked away in a sunny island’s private bank that also happens to be a member of SWIFT.” Nikola reached to his other inside pocket and drew out a fresh envelope. “Here are the codes and all the details you could possibly need. Twenty-five percent is yours.”
A little color returned to Stearns’s cheeks.
Nikola smiled. “See? That’s what friends are for. You look better already.” He pushed the envelope across the low table and stood. “Here you’ll find precise instructions for what to do with the rest of the money. You have offices in Antigua?” It was an unnecessary question, because Nikola already knew, but some questions helped to maintain a fluid conversation.
Stearns nodded again, his cheeks definitely rosier, as Nikola stood.
One hand on the door handle, Nikola turned. “It just occurred to me that a cretin might entertain keeping the lot and taking a powder, but you’re not one of those.” He inspected the tips of his loafers as if pondering a thorny issue. “No, you want to live a long and quiet life.” Then he stared for an instant into Stearns’s porcine eyes before his face broke into a wide smile. “You’re too intelligent.”
chapter 45
16:22
“Where do we stand?” Odelle Marino drummed her fingernails on the polished wood of the boardroom table.
“Where? I’ll tell you. In shit up to our eyeballs.”
She glanced at Vinson Duran, Hypnos’s president, and Nikola, at the opposite side of the table. Vinson might be one of the wealthiest men in the world, but no one ever forgot he was raised on the streets. “Go on,” she said.
“The situation at the Washington facility is untenable. The place has been sealed for several days—”
“Three.”
Vinson turned toward Nikola, jaw clenched. Odelle waited for a retort that never materialized and was pleasantly surprised at Vinson’s wisdom. Although they both were men, mature and probably attractive, the similarities stopped there. Vinson’s patrician countenance and Savile Row suit contrasted with Nikola’s comfortable tweed jacket trimmed in leather at the cuffs and elbows—a throwback to British fashion a century old. The real difference between the men ran deeper and had to do with intellect. Regardless of Vinson’s scientific brilliance, he was outclassed before Nikola’s awesome brain. Patrician, yes—the tag brought to mind an image of Vinson in toga addressing a senate—but Nikola was a centurion.
“Three days,” Nikola insisted.
“Fine. You’ve had the place clamped down for three days. Today is the fourth, and the people are edgy. There are too many people involved.”
Odelle skewered Nikola with a silent plea.
“You should have thought of that,” Nikola offered.
“Look, mister …” Vinson’s face darkened.
“Yes?” When Vinson clamped his mouth shut, a vein throbbing merrily on his temple, Nikola continued. “The probability of a system failure is directly proportional to the number of its components. In this instance, yes, there have always been too many people involved. I don’t think it was ever a question of if but when.”
“The facilities were designed with a concept of total security,” Vinson argued. “This was an inside job, the result of one facility’s sloppy design. I warned about the risks of the sewage line.”
A wry smile stretched Nikola’s lips. His gaze wandered over the paneled walls and came to rest on his empty cup of tea. “Total security has always been a myth, used by governments and corporations like yours to demand extortionate rates from their citizens or customers or to ensure the sacrifice of rights and personal freedoms in pursuit of even more illusory security. Absolute security is no more attainable or desirable than is absolute freedom. The point is never to sacrifice the