Once Is Never Enough Read online

  “Yes. If they thought you were waiting for me in the limo, that’s very possible. Of course, they also could have been freelance assassins hoping to cash in on the bounty. Whoever they were, they will likely strike again.”

  “That’s why I have you here, Mr. Flynn.”

  Harper gritted his teeth and tried not to roll his eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure that my team and Mr. Flynn can handle any possible contingency.”

  “I’m counting on it.” Belenki looked over what was left of the Electro Go Limo. “Severina, can you show our guests to their rooms. I’m sure you’d all like a shower and a change of clothes. After that, perhaps we can arrange a tour of the estate so Mr. Flynn can assess our…” He glanced at Mr. Harper. “Vulnerabilities.”

  “I’ll need a firearm and a shoulder holster,” Flynn said.

  Harper directed his next question to Belenki. “You want me to give him a gun?”

  “Give Mr. Flynn whatever he needs. He is now an integral part of the team.”

  Bettina O’Toole-Applebaum hung upside trapped in a straitjacket for two hours before someone finally found her in the supply closet. Unfortunately, the person who found her was Mary Alice; the same big-boned, freckle-faced, red-haired, rageaholic who insulted her during group therapy for having a hippie name. Mary Alice laughed when she saw Bettina hanging upside down. She had a hoarse, raggedy smokers laugh.

  “Well, aren’t you a picture!” Mary Alice’s laugh devolved into a hacking cough and she choked, hocking up a giant wad of phlegm, spitting it on the floor right under Bettina’s head.

  Being her mouth was taped shut, all Bettina could say was, “Mmm mmm mmm mmm!”

  “What was that dear? You trying to tell me something?”

  “Mmm! Mmmmmm!”

  “Sorry, but I can’t understand a word your saying.”

  Angry tears filled Bettina’s eyes. “Mmmm! Mmmmm!”

  “Now don’t be getting nasty with me.”

  Bettina tried to moderate her tone and pleaded for Mary Alice to get her down. “Mmmm mmmm mmmm.”

  “Yeah, I still don’t understand a word your saying, but no worries. I’m sure you’ll Houdini your way out of that thing. Eventually.”

  Mary Alice took the toilet paper she was looking for and shut the door, plunging Bettina back into total darkness. “Mmm! Mmm! Mmmmmm!”

  Forty-five minutes later, one of the maintenance men opened the door to find Bettina still dangling there. Her face was bright red from all the blood rushing to her head. Tears ran upside down her face as she pleaded for release. “Mmmm! Mmmm!”

  The maintenance man called an orderly. The two of them lowered Bettina down and released her from the straitjacket. She angrily ripped the tape off her mouth. “Ow!”

  “You okay?” asked the maintenance man.

  “No! I’m not okay! I need to see Dr. Nickelson.”

  “He’s not here,” the orderly said.

  “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I need to see the head nurse then.” Dizzy, Bettina staggered back and nearly fainted. The orderly caught her before she hit the floor.

  “I think you need to lay down.”

  “Take me to the head nurse!”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I don’t belong here! I’m a journalist!”

  “A journalist? No kidding?”

  “Yes! I work for Rolling Stone.”

  “Rolling Stone? Wow.” He winked at the maintenance man.

  “Yes. I’m here on an undercover assignment!”

  “Of course, you are.” The Orderly smiled. “Take my arm.”

  She took the orderly’s arm and he led her down a corridor and around a corner and into her room. “I said I want to see the nurse in charge!”

  “To tell her you’re a reporter who works for Rolling Stone?”

  “I’m not crazy!”

  “Of course not, but you do need to get some rest, hon.” The orderly shut and locked the door.

  “What are you doing? Don’t do that! I don’t belong here! I don’t belong here!”

  “Join the club,” the orderly said. His footfalls faded as he headed off down the corridor.

  “Let me out of here! Let me out! Let me out!”

  Flynn’s elegant guest suite at Castle Blinky was spacious and minimalist; decorated, like the rest of the house, in mid-century modern with elements of Japanese and Scandinavian design. The white marble-and-glass bathroom almost matched the size of the bedroom. The massive shower stall featured five massaging showerheads which hit him from every direction.

  He stood there and let the hot spray pummel his back and neck. His tense muscles slowly relaxed as he considered Belenki’s dilemma. Flynn couldn’t be sure it was the Solntsevskaya Brotherhood who were after him, but it seemed likely as they were the largest and most powerful crime syndicate in Russia, and worked hand in glove with the Kremlin’s state security apparatus.

  The GRU and the FSB used criminal organizations for their expertise in cybercrime, money laundering, human trafficking, and targeted assassinations. If Belenki gave the FBI information on their money laundering activities, they would want to make a high-profile example of him; a warning to every other worldwide social media company. Cooperate with law enforcement and suffer the consequences. Flynn decided it likely wasn’t Goolardo who attacked the limo. Goolardo would want Flynn to know it was him and those black helmeted assassins were anonymous.

  Flynn turned the hot water all the way to cold as he always did when finishing a shower. The frigid water energized and invigorated him. He roughly dried off with a thick towel and dressed. He wore a single-breasted dark tropical worsted suit with a Sea Island cotton shirt and a black knitted silk tie. Almost immediately a knock echoed at the door.

  Flynn answered to find Severina looking elegant and alluring in a black Armani suit with a white silk shirt. She had one less button done up than before and Flynn wondered if she was trying to tell him something, especially since she offered him the hint of a smile. “Ready for your tour?”

  “I am indeed. You’re looking rested and collected. No worse for wear after our little ordeal?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  “Then I admire your composure. I’d compliment you on your outfit, but I wouldn’t want to give you the wrong idea.”

  “What wrong idea would that be?”

  “I think you know, but I’d rather not press my luck.”

  “Are you flirting with me, Mr. Flynn?”

  “I’ve been told that’s not appropriate behavior in this day and age.”

  “What’s appropriate depends entirely on the situation and the context, and in this context you are correct. It is not appropriate.”

  Flynn smiled at the rebuff. “Message received. Lead the way.”

  They caught up with Dr. Nickelson and Sancho, who weren’t dressed nearly as elegantly. Sancho wore a clean pair of jeans and a short-sleeve blue-checked shirt while Nickelson had on chinos and a Tommy Bahama Hawaiian shirt in a festive floral pattern.

  “Sergei’s Saratoga Estate sits on 188 acres of woodlands, vineyards, orchards, and formal gardens,” Severina said as she led them down a dramatic spiral staircase, past floor to ceiling windows with spectacular views of the valley. “The main house is a little over twenty-four thousand square feet.”

  Sancho shook his head with wonder. “How many bedrooms?”

  “Sixteen bedrooms, twenty-two bathrooms.”

  “Why more bathrooms than bedrooms?”

  “Better to have too many than too few,” Severina said.

  “Not if you have to clean them,” Sancho replied.

  She led them through a vast foyer and into a massive living room with multiple seating areas, all furnished in the same mid-century style as Flynn’s bedroom. They passed beneath a domed ceiling painted with clouds and cherubs all illuminated by a giant chandelier. Flynn took in a dining room with stunning views and a long elegant mahogany table that
seated at least fifty. Black and white clad caterers set up stainless steel chafing dishes and a giant crystal punchbowl.

  Wide French doors led to the rear patio and a backyard with a breath-taking infinity pool and a panoramic view of Stevens Canyon. Roadies dressed like bikers put together a raised stage and set up a sound system with ten-foot-tall speakers. Harper’s dark-suited security contractors were everywhere, and Flynn caught sight of Harper himself, glaring at him with antipathy. Flynn smiled back and Harper turned away to chew out one of his subordinates.

  “Holy shit,” Sancho said a little too loudly as he stared in wonder at a small blonde woman sitting in a chaise lounge as she texted on her phone. “Isn’t that—”

  “It is,” Severina said, smiling at Sancho’s reaction.

  “Lady Gaga?”

  “She’s one of the performers tonight.”

  “No way. Seriously?”

  “She’s a huge supporter of the Environmental Defense Fund and that’s who this benefit is benefitting.”

  Sancho didn’t want to stare at Gaga, so he looked at Severina. “Who else is singing tonight?”

  “Tony Bennet and Weird Al Yankovic.”

  “Weird Al! I love Weird Al,” Nickelson exclaimed.

  “So does Sergei,” Severina said, her voice dripping with disdain.

  Sancho looked back at Gaga. She smiled at him and he blushed. “Oh, my God,” Sancho mumbled.

  “Would you like to meet her?” Severina asked.

  “In person? No. I don’t know. I don’t know what I’d say.”

  “Maybe later,” Severina offered.

  “Maybe,” Sancho said, but from his tone of voice it was clear the whole prospect paralyzed him.

  Severina motioned for them to follow her into a formal garden. “The main house has a home theatre that seats fifty, four garages, a game room, a fitness room, a library, a computer room, a workshop, and two full kitchens.”

  Sancho was perplexed by that. “Two kitchens?”

  Severina led them through a rear door into one of the kitchens. It was spectacular; five hundred square feet at least, with hardwood floors and granite countertops, custom cabinetry, Electrolux appliances and a huge center island where Sergei Belenki was busy rolling out dough.

  Belenki looked up at them with a grin, the tip of his nose dusted with flour. “Enjoying your tour?”

  “Very much so. And Severina has been the perfect host,” Flynn said.

  “I apologize for all the commotion, but it’s for a good cause. Do you like snickerdoodles?”

  Sancho raised his hand in the affirmative and Belenki pointed to a plate of snickerdoodles hot out of the oven. “The caterers are using the other kitchen. This is mine. My happy place. Baking relaxes me.”

  “Sergei?” A tall honey-blonde in a tight white crop top and short denim overalls charged into the kitchen. “I need to talk to you like right now!” She wore her long hair in a ponytail and a diamond and gold choker decorated her slender neck. She had butterflies tattooed on both wrists and a flying cherub on her left arm. A stunning beauty. Flynn surmised she wielded that beauty like a weapon to get what she wanted whenever she wanted it.

  “Severina, you know Anika. Darling, this is Mr. Flynn. He’s here to help Mr. Harper.”

  “That’s who I wanted to talk to you about. Harper says my sister can’t bring her new boyfriend tonight.”

  “Probably because he hasn’t been vetted.”

  “He’s my sister’s boyfriend!”

  “Security is tight. You know that. How long has Monica been going out with him?”

  “Since last week.”

  “That’s the issue then. This is a very exclusive event tonight and with those recent threats—”

  “If he can’t come, she won’t come!”

  “Anika, it’s not up to me.”

  “Bullshit!”

  “Can we talk about this later?”

  “I hate this!”

  “Would you like a snickerdoodle?”

  “You know I don’t eat gluten!”

  “Right. Sorry.”

  Anika directed her angry green eyes at Flynn. “You work with Harper?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Talk to him for me. Tell him to stop being such an asshole.”

  “Being an asshole is how Mr. Harper makes his living.”

  Anika smiled at that. It was then that she really took a good look at Flynn, and from the expression on her face it was clear she liked what she saw. “Who are you again?”

  “Flynn. James Flynn.” He offered Anika his hand. She took it and held on.

  “You don’t look like one of Harper’s goons.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You look like you could be in the movies.”

  “So, do you.”

  “That’s probably because she is.” Belenki bit into a snickerdoodle. “Anika’s an actress.”

  “Anika Piscotti,” Sancho said. “Dark Seduction. Journey of Fear. Danger Signal. I love your movies, Miss Piscotti. I’m a big fan.”

  “That’s very nice of you to say,” she said, but she didn’t say it to Sancho, she said it to Flynn and continued to smile at him.

  Severina struggled not to roll her eyes.

  “Anika and I are engaged,” Sergei said.

  Flynn continued to smile at her. “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Flynn. I hope we meet again.”

  “I’m sure we will, Miss Piscotti.”

  Anika looked back at Sergei and her smile faded fast. “I’ll let you get back to your snickerdoodles then.”

  “Thank you, darling.”

  “Nice to see you, Anika,” Severina said.

  Anika glowered at Severina.

  Nickelson decided to fill the long, awkward pause. “You have a beautiful home, Mr. Belenki.”

  “Not just beautiful,” Sergei said. “Like Anika, it’s also very, very smart.”

  Anika scoffed, rolled her eyes, and walked out.

  To cover his chagrin, he continued. “Belenki Castle is by far the smartest home in the world. I built it as a prototype. A proof of concept.”

  Flynn nodded and looked around. “What sort of systems do you have in place?”

  “Everything from the major appliances to the lighting to the HVAC system is controlled by an advanced AI that learns and adapts, based on my behavior. It constantly monitors temperature and humidity and can adjust accordingly. The electrochromic glass in my windows allows me to change from light to dark at the push of a button on my smartphone.”

  “What about security? Is that automated too?”

  “The security cameras have facial recognition software. Smoke, carbon monoxide, metal and motion detectors. There are bullet-proof security shutters on every window, keyless entry locks, and an alarm that alerts both the police and the fire department. But the security measures I have in place aren’t just defensive. I have offensive measures as well.” He pointed to a ceiling-mounted device. “That’s a Hellfire Anti-burglary system. There’s one in almost every room. On any indication of a break-in, it releases a powerful blast of atomized pepper spray. I even have a few heavy turrets we’re prototyping.”

  Sancho was nonplussed. “Machine gun turrets?”

  “These shoot paintballs filled with pepper gel. For legal reasons, nothing lethal.”

  “Except for Mr. Harper and his merry men,” Flynn added.

  “Yes, but even if Mr. Harper and all my systems fail to protect me, I have a panic room as well. The biometric lock opens with a retinal scan. My eyes only. The door is thicker than the door of a bank vault. It’s steel-clad with a solid concrete core and impervious to a bazooka blast. I have two years’ worth of food, water, and a tamper-proof ventilation system. I could survive an atomic war or a zombie apocalypse in there.”

  “So, you really don’t need me here at all then, do you?”

  “Not here. No. Here I feel relatively safe. Which is why I decided to go ahead with the charity bene
fit. Outside of here, however, I am much more vulnerable. And that, Mr. Flynn, is where I’ll need your help.”

  “So, when can we meet about that? I’d like to put together an action plan.”

  “Tomorrow. Tonight, I need to concentrate on the benefit.”

  “So perhaps I should stay focused on the immediate threat. Roam freely, keep an eye out, and concentrate on watching out for your rich and famous guests.”

  “That would be ideal. Are you sure you don’t want a snickerdoodle?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Sancho?”

  Sancho smiled and grabbed another one.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Fear squeezed Bettina O’Toole-Applebaum’s heart. The head nurse’s cold gray eyes filled her with dread. They were pitiless, implacable, and full of unspoken rage. Yet somehow her voice always remained icy-calm. Nurse Durkin sat on the folding chair across from Bettina’s bed and stared at her for an unnerving length of time before she began the interrogation.

  “Why did Mr. Flynn truss you up in that straitjacket and hang you upside down?”

  “He believes I’m an assassin.”

  “Is that what he told you?”

  “He thinks I work for Goolardo.”

  “Why do you think he believes that?”

  “Maybe because he’s crazy.”

  Durkin’s stare was so angry and intense, Bettina had to look away. A long, painful and uncomfortable minute went by before Durkin responded. “I don’t like liars.”

  “I’m not an assassin.”

  “I know. I talked to your editor.”

  “So, you know I’m not a mental patient.”

  “If you’re here, under my care, then you are a mental patient. My patient. And with Dr. Nickelson gone, I’m the one who decides whether or not you’re well enough to leave.”

  “Where’s the doctor?”

  “Northern California.” Durkin’s preternaturally calm and cool demeanor colored with a touch of irritation. “He’s attending some sort of charity ball.”

  “Charity ball?”

  “At Sergei Belenki’s estate in Northern California. With Mr. Flynn.”

  “They released him?”

  “Under Dr. Nickelson’s care. Meanwhile, here you are. With me. Under my care.”

  “You can’t keep me here.”