now understood why Donny had used more explosives while working. He’d been hoarding the Tovex to flood the mine.
It took a second call from Ira Lasko to order Mercer away from the site. He’d wanted to assist in the search. Ira assured him that the infrared detectors placed all around Area 51 would pick up a lone man in the desert on the first pass. Randall would be in a cell inside of eight hours.
Unsatisfied, but with no choice, Mercer agreed to go only after getting Ira’s promise that he could be there when Donny was first questioned. Ira relented and told Mercer he’d be at Area 51 in thirty-six hours and they’d interview Randall the Handle together.
He had sat by himself on the flight from the secret base to Las Vegas, trying to think through why Donny had done what he’d done. There was no way he could have anticipated that Randall was planning on a murder in the mine, so he no longer blamed himself for what happened. For now he focused on his anger. The short trip gave Mercer no time to find answers. Nor did he have much time when they landed because the secure terminal used by Area 51 employees at McCarran Airport was a stone’s throw from the Egyptian-inspired Luxor Hotel.
Mercer’s last visit to Las Vegas had been during the spring break of his first year at the Colorado School of Mines. He’d known the city had grown significantly in the years since, but he wasn’t prepared for the scale of the changes. All the hotels were massive, designed upon various themes to entice gamblers, and more recently, entire families. There were fantasy castles and circus big tops, reproductions of New York City and a hotel designed to evoke Venice, Italy. The Luxor, with over four thousand rooms, was one of the largest hotels in the world, and its pyramid design made it the city’s most distinctive. Atop the three-hundred-fifty-foot black-glass structure was the brightest spotlight ever built, at three hundred thousand watts and forty billion candlepower.
While smaller than Egypt’s Great Pyramid, the design and execution of the building stunned Mercer. He became even more impressed when he entered the lobby and realized the hotel was just a shell for an atrium large enough to hold ten wide-body jets.
The statuary, carvings and faux temples could not distract from the hotel’s real attraction. From the lobby, it was just a few paces to the casino floor, where the staccato chime of coins falling into hoppers and the ringing of slot machine bells lured gamblers by the thousands.
A few of the workers made plans to meet at the craps tables as soon as they’d stowed their meager luggage. Mercer’s first interest was a couple of room service drinks and a thirty-minute shower, preferably enjoying both at the same time.
Mercer reached into the soap dish for his vodka gimlet. It was his second drink and a third waited on the nightstand for when he was dressing. He checked the time on his TAG Heuer, assessed the puckered skin on his fingers, and gave himself another five minutes before shutting off the taps.
He dialed his home phone with a towel wrapped around his waist. He gazed out the window overlooking the azure swimming pools a hundred thirty feet below his room. Two workers were cleaning the area and stacking lounge chairs. Beyond, the city glittered almost to the horizon in a thousand shades of neon. The phone rang four times before his machine picked up. He cut the connection and dialed Tiny’s.
“Forget it,” a voice sneered.
“Nice way to answer the phone,” Mercer said to Paul Gordon.
“Hey, Mercer! Sorry about that. I’ve got caller ID,” Tiny explained. “I recognized the seven-oh-two area code but not the number. I figured you were a Vegas bookie looking to give me odds.” Apart from owning the tavern, Gordon ran a rather lucrative illegal sports book. “What are you doing out there? Harry said you were kidnapped by some government types for a job.”
“I was. Is he there?” Talking with
It took a second call from Ira Lasko to order Mercer away from the site. He’d wanted to assist in the search. Ira assured him that the infrared detectors placed all around Area 51 would pick up a lone man in the desert on the first pass. Randall would be in a cell inside of eight hours.
Unsatisfied, but with no choice, Mercer agreed to go only after getting Ira’s promise that he could be there when Donny was first questioned. Ira relented and told Mercer he’d be at Area 51 in thirty-six hours and they’d interview Randall the Handle together.
He had sat by himself on the flight from the secret base to Las Vegas, trying to think through why Donny had done what he’d done. There was no way he could have anticipated that Randall was planning on a murder in the mine, so he no longer blamed himself for what happened. For now he focused on his anger. The short trip gave Mercer no time to find answers. Nor did he have much time when they landed because the secure terminal used by Area 51 employees at McCarran Airport was a stone’s throw from the Egyptian-inspired Luxor Hotel.
Mercer’s last visit to Las Vegas had been during the spring break of his first year at the Colorado School of Mines. He’d known the city had grown significantly in the years since, but he wasn’t prepared for the scale of the changes. All the hotels were massive, designed upon various themes to entice gamblers, and more recently, entire families. There were fantasy castles and circus big tops, reproductions of New York City and a hotel designed to evoke Venice, Italy. The Luxor, with over four thousand rooms, was one of the largest hotels in the world, and its pyramid design made it the city’s most distinctive. Atop the three-hundred-fifty-foot black-glass structure was the brightest spotlight ever built, at three hundred thousand watts and forty billion candlepower.
While smaller than Egypt’s Great Pyramid, the design and execution of the building stunned Mercer. He became even more impressed when he entered the lobby and realized the hotel was just a shell for an atrium large enough to hold ten wide-body jets.
The statuary, carvings and faux temples could not distract from the hotel’s real attraction. From the lobby, it was just a few paces to the casino floor, where the staccato chime of coins falling into hoppers and the ringing of slot machine bells lured gamblers by the thousands.
A few of the workers made plans to meet at the craps tables as soon as they’d stowed their meager luggage. Mercer’s first interest was a couple of room service drinks and a thirty-minute shower, preferably enjoying both at the same time.
Mercer reached into the soap dish for his vodka gimlet. It was his second drink and a third waited on the nightstand for when he was dressing. He checked the time on his TAG Heuer, assessed the puckered skin on his fingers, and gave himself another five minutes before shutting off the taps.
He dialed his home phone with a towel wrapped around his waist. He gazed out the window overlooking the azure swimming pools a hundred thirty feet below his room. Two workers were cleaning the area and stacking lounge chairs. Beyond, the city glittered almost to the horizon in a thousand shades of neon. The phone rang four times before his machine picked up. He cut the connection and dialed Tiny’s.
“Forget it,” a voice sneered.
“Nice way to answer the phone,” Mercer said to Paul Gordon.
“Hey, Mercer! Sorry about that. I’ve got caller ID,” Tiny explained. “I recognized the seven-oh-two area code but not the number. I figured you were a Vegas bookie looking to give me odds.” Apart from owning the tavern, Gordon ran a rather lucrative illegal sports book. “What are you doing out there? Harry said you were kidnapped by some government types for a job.”
“I was. Is he there?” Talking with
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