Just Watch Me (Riley Wolfe 1)

Bledsoe looked around, nodded. “You are about to ask, ‘If it’s all new, how do we know it works?’” Bledsoe allowed himself a smile. It was not a pleasant sight. “Who wants to try me?”

His audience shuffled their feet, but no one stepped forward. Bledsoe waited, then nodded. “All right. We’ll get a volunteer. Snyder!”

One of the Black Hat guards stepped forward. “Chief!” he said.

“Steal something,” Bledsoe said.

Snyder handed Bledsoe his weapon, looked around at the display cases, and settled on the one holding Empress Farah’s crown. He stepped to the case, hesitated, then reached a hand out to touch the glass—

The silence was shattered by the shriek of a loud siren, and bright red lights flared in a strobe-like rhythm. The stunned onlookers blinked and covered their ears from the painfully loud siren.

Bledsoe did not. He just smiled and waved to Szabo, who hit a button on the panel. Instantly, the siren and lights turned off and the room went back to normal. “That’s just the beginning,” he said. “Let’s pretend that somehow, you bypass the exterior case.” He raised a hand to Szabo. “Snyder, bypass the exterior case.”

Snyder nodded. He carefully lifted the glass case off the crown and set it on the ground. He reached for the crown—and again, the earsplitting siren and red flashing lights.

Szabo mercifully clicked the alarm off quickly. “But wait, there’s more. If you get around those sensors—” Bledsoe said. He nodded to Szabo. “Snyder?”

Snyder reached forward again. This time he actually touched the crown. And once again, the siren and lights went off.

Szabo turned them off. “Redundancy,” Bledsoe said, nodding to Snyder, who put the glass back on the exhibit and reclaimed his weapon. “Every single piece of the system is backed up at least three times. And if you are the greatest thing since Houdini and you somehow manage to bypass one or even two—three or four will get you.” Pause. “And that doesn’t even consider my colleagues from Black Hat, led by a decorated combat-wounded veteran, Lieutenant Szabo.”

Szabo lifted his middle finger to Bledsoe—quickly changing it to a wave as the crowd turned to look at him.

“Oh,” Bledsoe added with a shrug. “And of course, the Arabs,” he said offhandedly, knowing very well that calling Iranians “Arabs” would be taken as an insult.

“Questions?” he said. He let his eyes rove across the faces of the onlookers. He paused when he came to Randall and frowned. But before he could say anything, a gray-suited man in the front row raised his hand—Mr. Wilkins, the representative from the State Department. Bledsoe pointed to him. “Sir?”

“I’m quite sure you have not neglected something rather basic,” he said in a pure Hah-vahd drawl. “But what happens if the power is deliberately cut?”

Bledsoe nodded. “Absolutely right, sir!” he said. “We have not neglected that important point—Con Ed being what it is.” He turned to Szabo and called, “Lieutenant! Cut the power!”

Szabo reached behind him to the control panel and flipped a switch. The room was instantly pitch black. A moment later the emergency lights flicked on, providing a dim glow. Bledsoe let people blink and get used to the faint light, then turned to Snyder and said, “Steal it again, Snyder.”

Snyder reached for the crown once more. And once more, he had no more than barely touched it when the siren and red lights flared.

Szabo clicked it off, and Bledsoe called, “Lieutenant! Lights, please, sir!”

When Szabo restored power, Bledsoe gave his evil grin to the crowd. “Battery-powered backup,” he said. “Will last up to twelve hours.” He looked around once and raised a scarred eyebrow. “Any other questions?” There were none. “In that case . . .” He came to attention and looked to Erik Eberhardt. “Sir! I give you the Tiburon Security Mark IV Security System!”

* * *

—

Bledsoe watched the small crowd disperse, his eyes fixing on Randall. Sonofabitch, he thought. I know I’ve seen that face before. Where? When? His musings were interrupted when Szabo ambled over and shook his hand. “Nice pitch, Chief,” he said. “You got a real future—selling aluminum siding.”

“Fuck you very much, sir,” Bledsoe said.

“You staying for the party?”

“I may have a date,” Bledsoe said. “She says I should stay for it.”

“Jesus,” Szabo said, shaking his head. “She’s got you leash-trained already?”

Bledsoe just smiled and shook his head. “How ’bout you, Lieutenant? You here for the big beer blast?”

“No choice,” Szabo said. “I’m on duty.”

“You better clean up, sir. That stubble on your face will bring discredit to the service.”