A goon handed him the case, and he marveled at it. He moved to a dining table not far from the living room and set the case atop it. After studying it for a moment, he let it be. "It looks undisturbed. Have you managed to glimpse inside?”
I shook my head. "You got what you want. Let us go."
The dark-haired man grumbled in Spanish, "They do not leave the island!"
The American smiled. "Don't mind Raul. He's a little upset at the moment. But he will be compensated handsomely.”
"It's not about compensation. It is about timelines and deliveries. I have a reputation to protect, clients waiting on product. Product that will not be delivered now. That makes me look bad. I don't like to look bad."
The American continued to smile. "Raul, you should be overjoyed. We have the prototype. I don't think you understand the full magnitude of what we have in our possession."
Raul glared at him, and I got the impression that if Raul had his way, he would put a bullet in all of us right now. He didn't care about the case or what was in it. Not yet, anyway.
The American snapped his fingers, and a goon darted off. He returned a moment later with another small briefcaseand handed it to the American. He unlatched it and pulled out a silicone hand.
"A carbon copy of Nathan Mercer's hand,” the American said. “It's really remarkable technology.” He flipped a switch on the back of the hand. "In a few minutes, it will come up to temperature. 98.6°. It also simulates pulse. I paid a lot of money for this. It should open the case. If it doesn't, I will be one disappointed customer. But I will get into it, don't you worry.”
"You got everything you want. Let us go."
"As soon as I verify the integrity of the prototype, then I have no need for you anymore."
His ominous tone and equivocation let me know exactly where he stood on the matter—we were never leaving the island.
53
“You intend to keep the prototype off the market,” I said.
“Look who catches on quick,” the American said. His name was Jordan Bingham, the head of Novenergy Petroleum.
“This prototype has the power to democratize energy. Everyone will have it, and it will cost next to nothing. That’s bad for profits. But when the time is right, we’ll sell our assets, short the market, and sell this to the world.” The dollar signs glowed in his eyes.
"What does Raul get out of it?"
"You can call it a symbiotic relationship," Jordan said. "We launder his cash, and he greases the wheels of production in San Montego. He ensures our facilities don't run into issues. It is in both of our interests that the status quo continues.”
Jordan placed the synthetic hand on the case and activated the biometrics.
In an instant, the case clicked open.
Jordan lifted the lid with eager eyes, but his face turned sour when he stared at the contents. Anger reddened his cheeks, and his jaw clenched tight. The veins in his forehead bulged. "Where is it!?”
I gave him a dumb look. "I don't know."
He grabbed the case and threw it against the wall, shattering a picture in a fit of rage. Shards of glass rained down. "Where is it!”
"I'm telling you, I don't know. I've never opened the case.”
Jordan marched to one of the goons, snatched a pistol from him, then grabbed Paisley and put the weapon to her head. "Where is it? You have three seconds to tell me, or I'm going to blow her head off. Three… Two…”
Paisley trembled with fear, her eyes tortured.
"If it's not in the case, I don't know where it is," I said. I thought for a moment. "Todd. He must have opened the case and taken the prototype."
Jordan glared at me. "Todd? You’re telling me some random ass-clown got this case open? How? I went to great lengths to get the fingerprints from the stiff at the morgue and have that synthetic hand made. There is no way some jerkoff got into that briefcase before I did.”
"Then where is it?" I said.
Jordan glared at me. "That's what I'm asking you!”
