Page 91 of Billion-Dollar Ransom
“Look at me, forgetting the champagne.”
CHAPTER 102
“I’LL GET THE power lifter,” Jeff Penney said and started off toward the dry van hitched to the Peterbilt.
Boo and Virgil had driven that monstrosity from a construction site in West Hollywood all the way up to Palmdale. But the rambling drive was the easy part. Jeff lowered the lifter off the truck, and Virgil jumped down into the hole and handed the case containing six hundred million dollars’ worth of gemstones up to Boo.
“Don’t spend it all in one place,” Virgil said.
“I won’t,” she responded. “I’m going to spend it in alotof places.”
The jewels were her cut. Yes, the largest portion of the billion. But this had been Boo’s idea, and she’d had to suffer throughout her marriage to Randolph Schraeder. The others agreed that she deserved every penny.
She was also getting Jeff Penney’s beloved Porsche 911. Not that she’d have it long; she would take it only as far as a privateairport in nearby Agua Dulce, where a chartered Gulfstream was fueled and waiting for her.
And from there, she’d be off to Europe to visit the black-market jewelry dealers she’d been flirting with online for the past couple of weeks.
“Hey,” Boo called to Jeff, “I’m going to need those keys.”
Jeff, who had just gotten the power lifter out of the truck, frowned. Then he dug into his jeans pocket, pulled out the keys, and tossed them to Boo, who caught them one-handed.
“Thanks,” she said.
“Treat her nice. Don’t go punching the snot out of her.”
“I’ll be gentle,” Boo replied.
And she would. Right up until she turned the Porsche over to a chop shop in Lancaster so that it could disappear forever.
Jeff and Virgil would handle the cash. Each had his own preferred money launderer (Jeff had a connection in Russia; Virgil used a crew working out of Macao). They would drive the four pallets down to San Pedro, where a container ship waited to take them overseas.
Where—like Jeff Penney’s beloved Porsche—they would disappear forever.
CHAPTER 103
Friday, 3:30 a.m.
NICKY INSISTED ON driving, and Mike Hardy was smart enough not to argue with her. Not at this ungodly hour.
“We should have stopped for coffee first,” he said.
“No time for coffee,” Nicky replied. “Because if we’d stopped for coffee, sooner or later you’d want to stop to pee.”
“I could have used my empty coffee cup.”
“Not inmycar. Also—gross.”
Mike rubbed his eyes. “Am I even awake? Or am I just dreaming about work again?”
“Take some deep breaths and clear your head,” Nicky said. “We’re almost in Palmdale.”
For the past twenty minutes they’d been following a GPS tracker one of Nicky’s agents had slipped into Jeff Penney’s Porsche.
Their day had begun at ten past three with an urgent phonecall. One of Nicky’s agents had spotted Jeff leaving his place in an awful hurry, in the Porsche he almost never drove. Nicky had nudged Mike, who was dead to the world. “Penney’s on the move,” she’d said.
Maybe now, after all these weeks, he felt safe enough to recover the ransom money.
Mike had groaned, and Nicky pushed him until he was practically falling out of her bed. Within two minutes, both had pulled on their clothes and strapped on their weapons. Nicky left Kaitlin a note, and they were on the road sixty seconds later, speeding toward the I-5.
