“How long has it been in the planning stage?”
“She contacted me over a year ago with the concept. You don’t put something of this scope together quickly.”
“That’s a lot of time for someone who wanted to mess up one or both of you to lay things out.” And Winifred Case had died in Paris eight months before. The smugglers in Cornwall, two months after that.
“Then your publishing house is putting out discs. What else is there? Security. Who are you closest to on the security team for the hotel and auction? Think it through, I want names. Your publicity wheel, too, and . . . Jesus, what goes into this sort of thing?”
“I’ll run it down by department and function.”
“On her end, we have her son, her business manager, and his wife. She’d have others.”
“I have those as well.”
“We’ll start there, do what can be done to protect those individuals.” She stopped, turned back. “But the pattern is the targets work for you, so they get priority.”
He was nodding, and already calling up his files on the auction.
“Roarke, what happens, to you personally, if this auction is a failure or some sort of scandal rises out of it?”
“Depends on what the failure or scandal might be. If it’s a financial disaster, I lose some money.”
“How much money?”
“Mmm. Conservative projections estimate the take at over five hundred million. Add sentiment and rabid fans of Magda’s, the media attention, and you may easily double that. Over and above the fee for the hotel and security, I get ten percent of the gross. But I’m donating that back to her foundation, so in actuality, the money isn’t an issue.”
“Not to you,” she murmured.
He shrugged that off. “I’ll transfer these names to your unit. I intend to arrange for my own security for my people. And for Magda’s.”
“I’ve got no problem with that.” Her eyes were narrowed, but she wasn’t seeing the data that whizzed by on the wall screen.
“Roarke, you’ve got potentially a billion dollars of merchandise displayed in a public hotel. Just how much would that merchandise go for, fenced?”
He was ahead of her there. His mind had already shifted modes, and taken him back to his past. It would be a fine, exciting heist. The take of a lifetime. “A bit less than half that.”
“Five hundred million is a hell of a paycheck.”
“Could be more if you hooked to particular collectors. Still, the security’s solid. You’ve seen it yourself.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen it myself. How would you do it?”
He ordered the data transferred to Eve’s unit, went back to his own to begin the run on Olympus property. “At least one inside man in each area, preferably two. Best to have a plant on my team, and another on Magda’s. You’d need all data, security codes, failsafes, timing. I wouldn’t do it with less than six people. Ten would be better. I’d have a couple in the hotel, as staff or guests.”
He turned to check his incoming on the three names Eve had given him earlier.
“You’d need an on-ground transfer vehicle. I’d use a hotel delivery lorry, sorry, truck. I wouldn’t be greedy as I’d want the entire operation over in under thirty minutes. Twenty would be best. So I’d have earmarked the most valuable pieces
. Those I had researched and already had buyers for.”
He moved away, poured a brandy. “I’d have a distraction, but not in the hotel. Anything out of the ordinary in the hotel would automatically tighten security. I’d have something in one of the neighboring buildings, or in the park. A small explosion, an interesting vehicular accident, something that would draw people out, even pull in some cops. With cops outside the building going about their business, people feel safe and secure. Aye, I’d want cops about.”
Jesus, she thought. Listen to him.
“When would you hit it?”
“Oh, the night before the auction, absolutely. All’s gone well, hasn’t it? What an exciting day tomorrow will be. Everything’s all buffed and polished, and already celebrities and VIPs are in the hotel. The staff’s busy seeing to them, asking for autographs, discussing who’s who and the like. It’s prime time for it.”
“Could you pull it off?”