Beautiful Beast - Page 44

“The target pushed a hidden control of some kind, just before Allard executed him, and that sealed both of them inside the panic room.”

“You can’t get to Allard from the outside?”

“Negative. The door is reinforced steel, and we don’t have anything to break through it. There’s no other way in. We tried overriding the system from the main control board inside the house, but the panic room is an isolated network. Its circuits are not integrated with the primary house security.”

On the screen, two windows pop open side by side. The first shows a guy dressed in tactical gear, complete with several weapons strapped to his chest, lounging in an antique-looking chair with a tumbler of amber liquid in his hand. I’m guessing he’s the one stuck inside the panic room. The other video feed shows Mitch, Rafael’s head IT guy whom I finally met in person at the Delta Security headquarters while doing a firmware update on the main server yesterday. He’s sitting up in bed, wearing a familiar-looking bright-green T-shirt. I’m pretty sure it’s Guido’s.

“What about overriding it from the inside? Allard?”

“Not possible.” The guy with the drink says. “The locking mechanism requires a thirteen-digit code to open the door. Only a single try is allowed, otherwise, an alarm is sent directly to their guard force.”

Rafael squeezes the bridge of his nose. “Mitch?”

“I’m inside the security company’s system, trying to find the access code for the door, but all their client data is encrypted. The decryption tools I’ve tried so far have failed.”

“Keep trying. How much time do we have?”

Mitch takes a look at his wristwatch. “A little over an hour. We need to get Allard out before the staff arrive at seven. Punctuality is like a goddamn religion in Japan.”

The pressure from the arm around my waist heightens. Rafael tilts his head, pinning me with his gaze. “How long would it take you to break a thirteen-digit code?”

“About four hours,” I say.

“Fuck.”

“It’s been an honor working for you, boss.” The man—Allard—takes a sip of his beverage and then sets it on the nearby table. “Tell the guys to retreat,” he says and cocks his gun.

“Allard!” Rafael snarls and hits the top of the desk with his fist so hard that I jump on his lap. “Holster your fucking gun!”

“We all know how Yakuzas handle those who kill one of their own. They take torture to another level. We can’t risk them finding me alive.”

I bite my lower lip, my gaze bouncing between Rafael and the trapped man on the video screen. No run-of-the-mill employee would be ready to kill himself to protect his employer. No matter what Rafael has told me, his men obviously care about him. And he for them.

“Is there a computer anywhere in the house?” I ask.

Three pairs of eyes snap to me immediately through the screens. I didn’t realize that the camera on our end of the conversation had been broadcasting, as well.

“Why?” Rafael’s voice rumbles next to my ear.

I turn to face him and bump his nose with mine. “Everything nowadays requires login credentials. Food delivery apps. Streaming services. Even the goddamned app to run a robot vac. No one can keep all that crap in their head.”

“I’m fairly certain the kumicho of the Yakuza organization doesn’t bother with vacuum cleaners, vespetta.”

“Sooooo not the point here.” I’d roll my eyes but the situation sounds precarious. “What I mean is, everyone has a secret file on their PC where they keep a list of their passwords and codes. Don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“There you go.” I look directly at the camera and direct my question to the guy wearing the balaclava. “Did you see a laptop or a desktop computer anywhere?”

“One. In the study,” he responds in heavily accented English. He sounds German. I assumed that the men working for Rafael would all be Italian, but based on the fact this conversation is happening in English, and the array of accents on the line, it appears that The Sicilian’s crew has been gathered from across the globe.

“Good. I’ll access it from here. Go there and get me the IP address.”

“What if it’s locked?”

“People are lazy,” I say. “Personal computer passwords are typically less than eight characters long. Connect your phone to the laptop and run the program. I’ll have Rafael send you the link. It should take no longer than ten minutes to break in.”

The balaclava guy nods and, in the next breath, he’s sprinting through the house.