Rogue Commander, Leo Maloney [classic books for 11 year olds TXT] 📗

Lukacs, as Siebolt, rented a car. Chilly, starting with Alamo, crack all the rental car agencies at LAX and look for a match. If you find it, get us the plate number. Hot Shot, just in case he cabbed it somewhere instead, access the LAX Port Authority cams outside arrivals and run Chilly’s FR software for a match. Got that so far?”

They both nodded furiously.

“All right, whoever pings first with a plate number, set up for a track. Chilly, you’re going to hack the toll systems for all major highways out of L.A. And Hot Shot, while he’s doing that, you’ll script a search algorithm that scans for a plate or that vehicle-type image match. Then, wherever he terminates, pull the top ten hotels or motels in the area and find him. You can do that part by phone. Just call the desks.” Then he stopped and changed his mind. “Scratch that, don’t call. He might have told the desk to alert him if anyone calls. Hack the hotel systems. Clear?”

Chilly raised a finger and grinned. “I got some speeding tickets in L.A. Can I take care of that while I’m at it?”

“You’re a moron,” Hot Shot moaned.

“Do this right, Chilly,” Scott said, “and I’ll let you hack into the lottery system.”

“Awesome!”

“He’s joking, you idiot,” Hot Shot said.

“Get on it,” Scott said. “You’ve got thirty minutes, no more.”

The boys dug into their tasks as if they hadn’t eaten for a week, and what lay before them was an Easter feast.

Scott cocked his head at Lily. “Let’s leave them alone.” She got up, he took her elbow, and they moved forward and sat together again, close, on a black leather divan.

“You’re good.” She looked up at him and marveled. “MI5 would have loved you.”

“They do.” He grinned, and they both laughed, sitting back to listen as Chilly and Hot Shot bickered.

“You can’t do it that way! It’ll take forever. Just nab all the IPs and run the name through the servers.”

“Dude, mind your own business and code! It’s not my first rodeo, ya know.”

With the jet crew forward and the hackers working furiously in the back, Scott took the moment to kiss Lily slowly, as if for the first time. She let it linger and then pulled back.

“Just a few days ago,” she whispered, “I was trying to decide if our relationship would even work.”

“Three days ago,” he answered, “I was wondering if I would ever see you again...and not because our relationship might not work.”

“Hold that thought,” she whispered back and kissed him back, like she had never kissed him, or anyone, before.

Thirty minutes went by fast, but just in time.

“Boss!” Chilly called from his techno perch.

Scott and Lily surprised themselves by snapping out of their romantic torpor instantly. They took a second to realize that their professional side was as sharp as their emotional one, then got up, and hurried to the back.

“We got him,” Hot Shot said through his Tom Cruise grin. “Tell ’em, Chill.”

“You tell him, bro. Hate to admit it, but you did it.”

“Someone tell me,” Scott snapped, “or I’m dropping you off without landing the plane!”

“He’s in Vegas,” Hot Shot quickly explained. “Chilly got the plate from Hertz.”

“Way overpriced, if you ask me,” Chilly said.

“What does he care?” Lily interjected. “The North Koreans are footing the bill.”

“I picked him up on the Ten out of L.A., then all the way up on the Fifteen. Then I did what you said and ran a back-door hotel canvas. He’s at the MGM grand.” Hot Shot’s satisfied smile could have set the leathers on fire. Chilly punched Hot Shot’s shoulder and ruffled his hair.

“My hotel hacker dude!”

Scott shook both of their hands, long and hard. “That bonus is starting to look serious.” Then he spoke to his Bombardier. “Aircraft, cockpit.”

“Here I am,” the chief pilot said.

“Bobby,” Scott said. “Flight plan for Vegas, and step on it.”

“Roger that. A little five-card stud?”

“Blackjack,” Scott said. “And we’re bringing down the house.”

Chapter Thirty-Six

There were twelve desk clerks at the MGM grand: six men, five women, and someone whose gender was up for grabs. The lobby was a vast field of polished marble, with islands of retro scooped chairs, a three-story ceiling, beaded glass chandeliers, and digital posters of Cirque de Soleil and magician David Copperfield.

Lily walked in the front entrance, wearing a quickly assembled “disguise.” At the airport she’d picked up a half-length, brown leather car coat, large framed sunglasses, a plain purse, and a floppy gray fedora, beneath which she’d tucked up her hair. The chances of running right into Lukacs were slim, but Vegas had always been a place of shattered odds.

The six check-in counters to the right spanned the length of two Amtrak cars, each manned by a pair of uniformed employees. Lily scanned them quickly, looking for the one Chilly had picked out after hacking the casino hotel’s employment records. She was a single mom who had seen better days but was doing her best to hold on to whatever looks and youth she had left. Lily took out a handkerchief, rubbed her nose a few times, walked over, and tugged at her arm.

“Ek-skoos me,” she sniffed in a slight German accent. “May I speak viz you for a moment, please?”

The woman, whose name tag read “Dotty Singer” nodded at the distraught tourist, touched her coworker’s arm, and said, “Back in a jiff.” Then she followed Lily to the lobby floor. Lily stifled a sob, plopped into a chair, and fanned herself with the handkerchief. Singer perched on the arm of the chair.

“Are you all right, hon?” she said. “Did you lose at the tables?”

“No, no.” Lily dabbed the corner of one eye. “I mean yes, but it is not money. I have lost my husband.” She clutched at her chest and sobbed. “To another woman.”

“Oh, dear.” Singer touched Lily’s shoulder and squeezed.

“Yes.” Lily nodded. “I think he is here.” She looked up and gripped the clerk’s arm. “I must know! Our children are