#tatheist

GRAND PRIX DE MONACO 

LOCATION: MONTE CARLO, MONACO DATE: MAY 26TH TO MAY 29TH, 2016

At night it glitters like a diamond catching the light, second only, perhaps, to the Casino de Royale-les-Eaux — though the Casino Royale is merely an illusion confined to the pages of Fleming’s novels and the Casino de Monte-Carlo is living, breathing, and solid under the feet of thieves, an endless labyrinth of wealth and power. Somewhere in the centre of the labyrinth, there is a room kept alive by whispers, a reality reserved for the legends told by thieves to their prodigies, a room that appears on no blueprints and all will say does not exist. And in that room, games that end in nothing less than irretrievable loss are played -- the players aren’t quite villains weeping blood over their hands, but they are the world’s most wealthy. Cards with gilded paper edges are lifted by hands bedecked in gold. 

Power is not the room’s currency (it is worth nothing without the riches to back it up) but it is traded across the table with conglomerates and jewels far better than any king has to offer. It’s whispered, among naughty newly-initiated thieves, that Francis Villiers was once invited to play a game there. Even just the idea of the room has an indescribable pull for thieves, young and old, a legend of ultimate desire since the days of the Casino’s advent. To pluck the chips and promises from the table as games of roulette are played would be the greatest heist of all. 

But that is not what they have come here for.

Seeds of rebellion are sowed among the crews. What point is there in coming to Monte-Carlo if not for the greatest prize of all?  But they also know that they are currently being hunted, and this is a quest of distraction; to throw Interpol and their American counterparts off the Society’s trail. They must pull off something big; and this will be nothing if not sensational. And then seeds of a different kind take root. An old aristocratic family, once held hostage, is finally returning to the light in Monte-Carlo, on the eve of the Grand Prix. 

The houses empty out to the streets, to the balconies and docks and restaurants and the roofs of hotels, rooms bare and unprotected as the Monégasque watch automobile-racing champions be crowned after a dizzying race and days of preparation and celebration. The Grand Prix de Monaco is the only Prix in the world still held in the streets of a city, the avenues along the water and leading past the villas forming the curves of the track. It is a weekend for the wealthy, wearing their rings and necklaces and designer labels even at the harbour. Temptation. 

But little thefts like those, the crews decide, will pale against the miserable and vast fortune of the House of Luque Cabal. Aristocrats descended from courtesans who whispered in the ears of kings and dynasties, made rich by the New World and the remnants of a salt empire of Ghana and jewels of Persia, their children grew up with pockets lined in platinum and spending limits to match the modern era they stumbled into. And like so many of the wealthy targets the crews turn their hungry eyes upon, this family’s hubris was their downfall. One by one, the matriarch, her children, and then their children -- fell into the hands of a con artist who robbed them blind and stole their souls in the process. The Luque Cabals, desperate to recover their dignity and find the devil who ruined them, are converging on Monaco for the Prix. And that devil, when they arrive, will undoubtedly carry their prizes with them. The Society’s inside man carries news of a great fortune coming to Monte Carlo on the day of the Grand Prix, meant to change hands between one criminal and the next. 

The Masterminds’ crews are here to steal it all back.

THE GRAND PRIX DE MONACO IS HELD ON 29 APRIL 2016. TAKE YOUR PLACES ON THE ROOFTOPS AND BALCONIES FOR THE VIEW OF A LIFETIME.

PART III B. THE REVELATION 

LOCATION: SHANGHAI, CHINA TIME: JANUARY 20TH, 2016

8:45 PM

They have flown halfway across the world for this hunt, and now they follow the word of a dangerous woman to a fate unknown. Apprehension colours their vision, as Marianne Sommers’ ultimatum rises to the tops of every thief’s mind. January 21st, and all the secrets come spilling out. Notch your arrows, Society - prepare to bare your teeth and taste your ambition. Bitter or sweet? Only the night will tell.

A line of black cars approach a silouette framed against the Shanghai heights, a broken, run-down thing hidden in the shadow of a world superstar. Wearily, drivers and their passengers appraise the wearhouse rising from the desolation of the city’s outskirts - surrounded by snow-dusted knolls and the ruins of similar forgotton buildings, the fatigue of the flight is nearly offset by the tension that mounts with every snow-dusted metre covered. 

The Masterminds ride in seperate cars in the case of a trap, Lillian Beauregard taking precautions, forging into the city to secure backup and the night’s beds while her counterparts feed their curiosity. In the first car, surrounded by Capecchi guards, Iris Lohovary sits, her hands bound before her. There is a calmness to her, last night’s gown still smooth against her slim frame, that perpetual smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. 

The cars stop. They are a flock of black birds, moving in synchronization. Some doors open, and passengers emerge, a few carrying briefcases of tools, others empty-handed -- and some doors remain closed, the soft purr of engines continuing on. It’s been too long, too expensive, this heist. The first rule of the trade is this: never trust anyone. This month, it’s become the first rule of living. 

What a sight, what an impression they make. Only a select number are selected to accompany the Masterminds into the lair of this so-called “brother” of their culprit. The best burglars, conmen; a select few New Kids, a gadgeteer, a pickpocket. But by far, as they’ve learnt by now, the largest bulk of the small group (no pun intended) consists of muscle. 

The camera pans in.

9 PM

They enter the warehouse with caution in their steps and a gun pressed against his sister’s throat. He watches them, one pale hand absentmindedly resting against his mouth, the other clutching the arm of his chair so tight that the blood fades from his fingers.

He studies them as they study his empire. 

The grim surprise that flashes across Alexei Rozanov’s face at the sight of the forged Mona Lisa, Lorenzo Capecchi’s wary steps beyond the Botticellis and Carvagios, their crews, wide-eyed, taking in the boxes upon boxes of treasure; the world’s lost loot gathered in a cold, moonlit room. The piles are endless. One upon the next, beneath velvet drapes and dusty glass panels, piled so haphazardly that they, under any other circumstance, might be mistaken for clutter. 

But one man understands what it truly is. He watches the Thief Lord with the most care; examines and compresses Francis Villier’s stoic reaction into a series of letters and numbers, a flash of red, a showering of comets. This - all of this effort and time and planning - it all was for this moment. 

They do not speak. There is nothing to speak of. He’s stunned them already: but this is merely the beginning. They come closer, like poor beasts being pulled into the predator’s cave: eyes wandering, steps strung with tension. He watches Iris lead them, meandering, through the lair of their dreams, up the winding staircase ---

He takes a breath as the sound of their steps echo. Closer, closer. And the camera goes dark. 

9:05 PM

A chill has come across the party of thieves. It permeates them from head to toe, working from the outside in. The sight that they have just passed still haunts them. All those priceless masterpieces, all those jewels, touched by so many famous people, lost in so many famous stories. They go in circles, once again, as the stairs disappear beneath their feet. The questions too, are circling. Like vultures, they pass through every mind, insistent and full, bursting. Are they ascending to the answer they seek? Or is this merely another addition to the saga that’s been written in blood? 

The sight that greets them is enough. 

9:07 PM

He’s sitting with his back to them. It’s strange, isn’t it? How the human eye picks up the details first, when the grand picture is what matters most. It’s a large, beautifully old chair - they can see it from where they stand - lions roar upon the feet of the mahogany, as if hailing a throne. There’s a worn leather back. They can also see how different this second floor is from the mauseleam below. One was a treasure cove, packed with discoveries and aquisitions, shining with ancient, desirable value; and the other is a study, a place where masterplans have been drafted - terrible, great crimes sketched out. 

A map covers the wall behind them, strings and pinpoints set down across the globe. With striking realization, they recognize their own footsteps. London, Rome, Vegas...Shanghai. On the opposite side, a shade of darkest black against the murky silver of the moonlight, is the figure whom they seek. The windows, cracked (fixed), open the emptiness of this second floor up, turning it into something colossal and enigmatic, a stage greater than the Palais Garnier, the Teatru Manoel. And when that figure finally stands to meet them, something glittering and priceless held up in one hand --- my God. 

As if signaled by his rise, a dozen spotlights switch on. Blinding. And when the spots have faded from their vision and they are able to take in the sea of his eyes, the cupid’s bow of his mouth, the mouth which has orchestrated their near-downfall, they are immediately struck with one thought: Beauty is terror. 

And he is Adonis, the twin counterpart to Aphrodite, who breaks away from the stunned gunman to stand at her brother’s side. Handsome. Monstrous. He twists the Faberge Egg so that it catches the light, and in a voice all at once cold and warm and ruthless and soft, he says, 

                                                          “Now you see me.” 

PART III A. THE DISCOVERY

LOCATION: LAS VEGAS, NEVADA TIME: JANUARY 20TH, 2016

2:28 AM 

It’s an hour passed in chaos. 

The Masterminds’ plans work wonders, wreathing the Red Lotus Casino in a spiderweb of connecting ploys. Employees run in leather shoes and white frocks, guests stream into the front roundabout in furious bewilderment as a fire alarm is pulled, the fights in the lobby leave VIPs threatening lawsuits: bickering and the slam of gold rings against marble countertops, koi thrashing in their ponds -- what a grand distraction, a fantastic cover-up, for the thieves running this place to the ground. 

Walls are scaled, rooms searched, surveillance cameras swiveled on their axes. Through the video screens of the command centre, Francis Villiers watches his protegees swarm like ants, and despite the entropy of this system, there is something poetic and riveting about the concept of unity, no matter how temporary.

In the midst of it all, a black-haired woman smiles. 

It’s a Mona Lisa smile, all mystery and acknowledgment of a greater illusion. She’s on the rooftop, still in that beautiful golden dress with fur wrapped about her shoulders; and when a Bearegard burglar pulls himself up with a grappling hook after seeing nothing on the West side, his face paling at the sight before him, she downs the rest of her wine in one gulp.

“Bonsoir, cheri.” And rising like Venus from the waves, she plucks the headset and walkie-talkie off his person. He’s barely opened his mouth in terrified astonishment -- when with a flash of silver, the knife in her hand severes the rope latching him to salvation -- and a man plummets to his death, two hundred feet below. His scream is swept away by the wind.

And she laughs, a puerile sound, the laugh of a goddess tasked with immunity. Then, with expert recognition, she clips the headpiece on, sitting back down upon the chaise lounge. Winter swirls about her, but nothing deters her purpose, the task that she has been sent to complete. Clearing her throat, she begins to speak. Her first words? 

“Hello, hello, Society.”

4:04 AM

She’s resilient, and they’re desperate. 

The intogerration lasts for much longer than the Society can afford, something that is positively astounding considering that Charles Villiers is at the head of the inquisition team. Don’t lay hands on the culprit - those are the instructions from the Masterminds...but what fun is there to asking questions if there isn’t a little bit of screaming?

It’s a little past four, after an hour of endless, circular questioning, that she breaks. It isn’t because of the gun that’s been cocked against her forehead, or the imprint of a hand that mars her porcelain face -- but rather, the entrance of a man with power beyond questioning into Suite 432. And honestly, it would be an insult to call her broken -- she is far from it. 

“Hello Francis,” she sings, crimson mouth curving into a wicked smile, the corners of her lips smudged from the impact of a Capecchi soldier’s hand. They are the first direct words that she’s spoken since her capture. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

The Thief Lord stands at the scene with cold disapproval etched into the lines of his face. If he notices the woman’s undeniable allure, he gives no indication of it. A chair is pulled up, coffee brewed. The Villiers Mastermind sits down, impassively observing the figure before him.

“What’s your name?”

A laugh. “Iris, darling. Iris Lohovary.” There isn’t a moment of delay, and it becomes obvious that the last hour was a complete waste, just another game of stalling time and bursting hopes. Charles grits his teeth in the corner. His uncle nods, once. 

“Very well. Then tell me, Iris. Why are you here?” 

Ah. That’s the right question, but more importantly, it’s asked from the right person. And Iris smiles, revealing a bright row of teeth, white, like alabaster pearl. “Oh. That’s easy.” The locket at her neck gleams with valued splendour, and raising her chin boldly, it may as well be on display for all the hungry eyes which graze it.

 “My brother wants to see you.” 

5:00 AM

The first flights to Shanghai depart. Those who are privy to the state of affairs doubiously pack their bags, those who are not, excitedly revel over the aquisition of the Locket, hoping for a final success in the day ahead. The deadline fast approaches, and there’s no more time for distraction. Their honoured VIP? She wears a new string of diamonds at her neck (an exchange, courtesey of Raphael Lee), and dines on stake and caviar in Cabin A with Francis Villiers himself. Watch and learn, my friends. This is how you play your cards.

LOCATION: LAS VEGAS, NEVADA DATE OF ARRIVAL: JANUARY 19TH, 2016 GOAL: RETRIEVE THE LOCKET

Last time we left off, the quest in the Catacombs of Rome ended in a bittersweet victory. Though the Goblet was found, the Society was simultaneously sold out to Lorenzo Capecchi’s rival - Arturo Fiori, boss to the Roman mafia, who appeared in a shower of blood and cold murder. Stricken by grief and shock, the thieves returned to the Onyx Cavalieri Hotel to news of casualties, injuries, and luckily - another lead. 

Now, following a call from Talia Agnelli, the Society travels to the Red Lotus Casino of Las Vegas, to support the hopeful capture of a culprit and the Locket which she is assumed to protect. The Capecchis first encountered the mystery woman in Manhattan, when they spent copious amounts of money winning an auction for a locket that was found post-event to be false. In the street, she fled, and in the remaining days was tracked by remaining Capecchi crew members to Sin City. The Red Lotus Casino is an establishment of critical acclaim, known for its extreme luxury, high-stakes poker, and the Oriental-style koi ponds and bridges which create an atmosphere of deceiving relaxation. The carpets are red, the lights are dim, and somewhere among the rooms and blooming lotuses, a thief and suspect lurks. 

What must be done is to integrate themselves into the workings of the Red Lotus, dressing, acting, and gambling like true poker kings, undercover moguls, security guards, cleaning staff, and escorts. The roles vary, but the goal is the same: find out who their target is, corner her, and wrest the secrets of the Locket and this godforsaken heist from her lips. It won’t be easy - there’s no time to lose on pleasure...but then again, these are criminals we’re talking about. 

After all, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. 

LOCATION: ROME, ITALY TIME: JANUARY 18TH, 2016

Dawn

Blood stains Rome red, and as the first rays of light stream across the body-littered outskirts of the great city, a mafia king beams. Arturo Fiori, claiming his victory, strips the fallen Capecchi soldiers of their weapons and valuables, his men quickly moving to remove their own comrades from the scene of battle. In the distance, police sirens blare; finally aware of what carnage has taken place upon holy grounds. It’s a shame that they’re far too late to salvage anything of worth.

It’s a bitter morning. Ciro Capecchi undergoes operation, Estela Alvarez and Dominik Woo receiving similar treatment for their own wounds - and there are the dead who float among those who survived. A Villiers New Kid, a Beauregard burglar, several Capecchi muscles, a Rozanov conman. Preparations are made to send them home, condolences drafted, compensations gathered. The Masterminds haggardly trod on, laying down plan after plan; doubting their old assumptions, cautiously making new ones. 

Though the Goblet rests in their hands, there is no sense of accomplishment. Not tonight. The price of success was far too high. What money can buy back lost lives?

9:00 AM

A meeting is called. Those who have remained awake, plotting besides the Masterminds, down their fifth cup of coffee. Those who fought and saw their loves ones die, appear like wraiths. Baggy eyes, shaking hands, and expressions made for the funeral pyre...what has this heist come to? Where are the exhilarated smiles, the peals of laughter, the reaping of rewards? The question answers itself when Lorenzo Capecchi returns with blood on his shirt, a reminder of all that they have sacrificed; of the true nature of their line of work. 

Good news is much needed. 

And perhaps they are lucky, or karma has decided to ease its punishment of them, because only 12 minutes into a tension-filled, teary-eyed debriefing, a call comes in, Lorenzo’s battered cell phone once again the harbinger of news. 

It’s Talia Agnelli, who remained in Manhattan to continue pursuing the Locket’s lead with a team of Capecchi-loyal thieves. L'abbiamo trovata, signore. Si prega di venire rapidamente. We found it, Sir. Please come quickly.

Capecchi crew members flock about Las Vegas’ Red Lotus Casino, where the dark-haired woman spotted in Manhattan was trailed to. Undercover, they guard the doors, patrol the halls, pretend to gamble, one eye on their poker chips and one eye on their target. Escape? Unlikely. They know what they’re up against now...god forbid there be another defeat. So they wait. They wait for their Mastermind and the society who is linked irrevocably to this four-edged blade of a case. 

2:00 PM

The first flight departs. 

Las Vegas, Nevada. Sin City, and apparent host of the Locket which they seek. Hasta la Vista, baby. Rome holds nothing today but suffering --- may their target across the sea bring better tidings. 

LOCATION: ROME, ITALY TIME: JANUARY 18TH, 2016 (2-3 AM)

[EARLIER] 1:34 AM, Fiori Residence, Via Sacra

Arturo: Ciao? Caller: [a man’s voice, cold] Ciao, Signor Fiori.  Arturo: Chi è questo? Caller: Sono contento che sei ancora sveglio. Arturo: Che cazzo?! Chi è questo?!     Caller: Mi chiamano l'avvocato del diavolo. Sono qui con un'offerta che non si può rifiutare. Arturo: Iniziare a parlare o ti riagganciare, cazzo. Caller: Il tuo più grande nemico è a Roma stasera. Le catacombe di Marcellino e Pietro. Arturo: [a pause, a sneer]...Capecchi? Caller: Sì. La tua mossa.

2:36 AM

Headlights pop, the sound of metal denting metal as Lorenzo gives the order for his men to shoot. Bam, bam - and the Fiori vehicles shake. Bam, bam - and men crumple, knees on the ground, red on their foreheads. Panic is in the very air which the society breathes - young pickpockets scream in terror and younger New Kids scrabble for jackets to hold onto, forgetting their training in the complete and utter chaos. Bam - and bullets fly, metal casings falling to the ground of the catacomb entrance. Bam - as Arturo Fiori brings his hand down like an executioner’s axe. Ready, aim, fire.  

And so the battle begins. 

2:45 AM

They can afford no casualties. Kill, or be killed. So Capecchi soldiers shoot, and shoot, and with their feet planted in the frozen ground and prayers on their lips, they shoot for vengeance. They shoot to cover the non-Italians who desperately scramble for cover. No guts, no glory. And when their handguns run out of ammunition and their comrades cry out in pain, they too fall back to help the wounded and fleeing. In the crossfire, a caporegime shields his lover with his own life, a dazed young girl falls with her mama’s name still on her lips - and there! Besides Lorenzo himself, Dominik Woo is shot in a spray of red. 

Rome approaches, and even Sicily wavers. But who knew? Who knew that a treasure hunt would turn into an impromptu war? 

2:53 AM

Cars and thieves begin arriving at the Onyx Cavalieri, as two Capecchi guards take their positions on either end of the wide street, scanning the lamplit cobblestone for any sign of another ambush. The Lee staff have been alerted of the occurrences, and flock out to help their valued guests inside. Room keys are distributed, a bribe is prepared for police if questions come, and the conference rooms are opened up; strong coffee brewed. The Masterminds who have arrived enter to plan the morning’s escape - or if it comes to it, an emergency pull-out.

3:00 AM

Bodies litter the hills, the outskirts of Rome stained crimson; snow dirtied by old grudges and new revenge. The small Capecchi force is dwindling, and the Fioris are fast approaching. In the darkness, Estela Alvarez cuts her leg upon a jagged stone. As Arturo signals for his men to barge into the catacombs, Ciro Capecchi is knifed in his quest to protect Violetta from the onslaught of men --

In the dismal, terrible dark, criminal hearts suddenly believe in a God. They appeal to the heavens for salvation, forgiveness, delivery. 

May they live to see the day. Amen.

LOCATION: ROME, ITALY TIME: JANUARY 18TH, 2016 (2 AM)

2:14 AM

The Society has spent two hours toiling in the grime of centuries past, sorting through faux goblets with an increasingly frantic vigor. Stars come and go, the night chill sweeps across the snowy Italian capitol, and -- at exactly 2:14 AM, a cry of joy goes up, scattering the hushed aura of diligence. Camille Delacroix and Juliet Blake, after confirming with the Masterminds, triumphantly hold up the Goblet: yes, the legendary golden artifact which they’ve sought -- found! 

Thieves rise from their knees at the announcement that rings through their headpieces, breaking out into tired, relieved chatter. Some even swarm about the victorious pair, doling out sleepy congratulations, half-jealous of the success, half-soothed by the prospect of a warm bed waiting at the Onyx Cavalieri. It’s a good night, and it’s a wrap. 

Or is it? 

You see, nothing is ever as it seems; and even this moment is shrouded in illusion. There is never safety when it comes to this line of work, and all those thieves smiling with their hands stuffed deep in their pockets would do well to remember that. 

2:22 AM

Mere minutes have passed when Capecchi guards rush into the chamber, their footsteps heavy in their haste. A new ripple displaces the old one as an armed mafiosi soldier pushes through the crowds to find Lorenzo Capecchi: la polizia sta arrivando, he says to his boss; but it may as well be a shout, with the way the news travels. 

Panic erupts. To be fair, it’s mostly the New Kids who make the fuss, gazes darting about, legs already carrying them to the sides of their superiors, where they anxiously lobby for a game plan. The old timers? Well, this isn’t their first rodeo. Or, to be more specific, their first twilight police chase. 

The Masterminds immediately convene, speaking in rapid-fire English before breaking apart, gathering their respective crews to them. The Capecchis will be the distraction - they will lead the police away, and if that fails, the guns will have to come out to play. The Villiers will organize the cover-up at the Onyx Cavalieri, artfully improvising ways to conspicuously and effectively filter the dozens of thieves into the hotel at such an hour, if at all. The Beauregards, Rozanovs, and Lees? Well, they’ll be making the getaway while those Italian rascals cover their backs. Society-owned vehicles scatter the vicinity, but feet are here for a reason: every man for himself if the plan falls through. Hats are pulled low over heads, false IDs patted, fake mustaches and brows quickly adhered to experienced faces. The rule is this: New Kids, minors, and Masterminds to safety first. All the rest - help with the effort, and when the opportunity presents itself, run. 

2:30 AM

Not much time now. Some are already scattering. The Capecchi team prepares itself, weapons strapped to holsters and dark cloaks pulled tight. Conmen blend into the darkness and fleet-footed burglars hide in the shadows as drivers rev up their cars and zoom silently away from the crime scene. The Goblet, of course, is kept in once such car, already set sail across Rome. But there are too many people and too few avenues for departure. Too many are left behind to face the colossal risk. 

No time left.

A legion of breaks. A slam of doors. And those remaining square themselves, because with a single glance it is clear that this is no normal police force. Cars as sleek and black as the pistols and automatic shotguns strapped by the dozens to their chests; a single figure leads the taskforce’s descent down the hill. In the darkness, Lorenzo nearly doesn’t recognize him. But old nemeses never truly forget one another, do they? 

This isn’t a round-up. It’s an execution. And as Arturo Fiori, boss to the infamously ruthless Roman mafiosi exhales a cool, white ring of smoke, even the best of them cannot help but tremble. Mio dio. 

Mio dio indeed.

LOCATION: ROME, ITALY TIME: JANUARY 18TH, 2016 (PAST MIDNIGHT)

It is late. The cold winter sweeps over the Roman streets -- but colder still are the avenues of the dead that run beneath the city. Thieves crawl, flashlights swing, and pupils expand in the dark. Tonight, they must become graverobbers, night burglars, and the stuff of legends and nightmares. Tiredly, the Society traipses through over 40 different catacombs, some bravely alone, some with partners, some only monitoring their subordinates’ progress from the comfort of the Onyx Cavalieri Hotel. It’s a mission unlikely to succeed, isn’t it? What can come of this pursuit but snakebites and broken ankles? 

Ciro Capecchi and Gin Bishop are wandering the Catacombs of Marcellinus and Peter when they see something strange...the hint shows itself as if expecting them. Flashing red and laserlike in the gloomy subterranean, a small light (little more than a dot) blinks ahead, guiding them to the treasure cove --- a cave with not one goblet, or ten - but hundreds, perhaps thousands. Piled in the stone chamber like the final offerings of a thousand martyrs, goblets of every shape and size gleam beneath the beam of Ciro’s flashlight...and then the two discoverers understand. This is what they have been searching for. Somewhere, beneath the hundreds, there may be the golden goblet that they chase. Somewhere, the culprit is laughing. The sight conjures itself: extraordinary conmen and prodigious burglars kneeling in the dust of millenniums past, squinting in the dim light at minute details, scraping their hands on rusted blades and the teeth of vipers. Another joke? Another ploy?

Still, what to do but send out a radio signal and pray to the Saints and all their bones for the best?