Free Home by Harlan Coben Page A

Confident. Rule 14 of ransom drops: Never let the bad guys see you worried. The door opened. The Camouflage Pants Guys emptiedMyron’s pockets. The wand found the listening device on his chest.
    They were about to take the device off him when Fat Gandhi opened the door to the back room, stuck his head out, and said, “No weapons?”
    “None.”
    “It’s fine, then; let him keep the rest.”
    Myron didn’t know if that was a good thing or not.
    He entered that same room with all the computers and flat-screens. The skinny black kid was already back at his station. “He broke my bleeding laptop!” he cried out, pointing at Myron. “Just threw out it out the window like it was last week’s rubbish.”
    Fat Gandhi was resplendent in what looked to be a yellow zoot suit. “The cash is in that bag?”
    “It isn’t in my underwear,” Myron said.
    Fat Gandhi frowned at the joke, which was fair.
    “There is someone listening on the other end of your phone,” Fat Gandhi said.
    Myron didn’t bother denying or agreeing.
    “There is only one entrance into this lair,” Fat Gandhi said. “Do you understand?”
    “Did you just call this a lair?”
    “We have cameras everywhere. Derek and Jimmy, raise your hands.”
    Two guys staring at their monitors raised their hands.
    “Derek and Jimmy are watching the surveillance cameras. If someone tries to get in, we will see them. The two doors you entered to arrive here are steel reinforced, but you probably know that already. In short, there is no way anyone could get into this room in time to save you, even if they were fast and heavily armed.”
    No fear. Show no fear. “Yeah, okay, cool. Can we move this along now? You said something about cybercurrency.”
    “No.”
    “No, you didn’t say—”
    “It makes no sense, Mr. Bolitar. You’d have to get the Bitcoin or more fashionable assorted cybercurrency in the first place. Then I would have to give you a long public key address, which is basically the equivalent of a unique bank account. You would then transfer the money via a network, and, poof, gone. That was how I originally planned to make the exchange.”
    “But not anymore?”
    “No, not anymore. See, it works fine for small amounts, but something this big, well, it would be tracked. Cybercurrency is too public nowadays. You want to know the truth?” He leaned in as though to whisper something conspiratorial. “I think cybercurrency has turned into a giant sting operation so law enforcement can gather intel on the black market. So I started thinking. Why do Somali pirates always demand cash?”
    He looked at Myron as though he expected an answer. Myron figured that if he didn’t reply, maybe the guy would stop talking.
    “Because cash is easiest, simplest, and best.”
    Fat Gandhi reached out for the bag.
    “Hold up,” Myron said, “we had a deal.”
    “You don’t trust my word?”
    “This is how it will go,” Myron said, trying to take some semblance of control. “The two boys leave here. They go outside. Once they are outside, I give you the money.”
    “Go where outside?”
    “You said you knew someone was listening to us.”
    “Go on.”
    “He knows where I am. So he’ll pull up in a car. The boys go in the car, I give you the money, then I leave.”
    Fat Gandhi made a tsk-tsk noise. “That won’t work.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because I told you something of an untruth.”
    Myron said nothing.
    “Your friend is not listening to you. All devices, including our own cell phones, are jammed right now. That is how this room is designed. Just to be completely safe. Our advanced Wi-Fi is working, but it’s password protected. You’re not on it, I’m afraid. So whatever devices you may have hidden in whatever crevices are completely useless.”
    The fingers typing on the keyboards seemed to slow down a bit.
    “Doesn’t matter,” Myron said.
    “Say again?”
    “I smashed your friend’s laptop.”
    Thin Guy: “Cost me a fortune! The