But nobody playing for these stakes was exactly sensible. Risk big. Win big.
“Sixty … and raise you sixty.”
Zykov stared at Adam as he shoved the chips to join the crowd already at the table’s center. Both men were now doing the same thing, trying to spot a bluff. Seeing who would crack first.
“Call.”
If Zykov was bluffing, he was doing a better job of concealing it than before. But neither did he seem as openly confident as he had on previous strong hands. The rising stakes had focused his mind, forcing him to suppress his emotions.
Those emotions would explode back out if he lost, Adam was sure. That would make him easier to lure into the trap outside.
But first, he had to be beaten. And even with all Vanwall’s experience, the American still didn’t know if that was going to happen.
Cards. The four of spades joined Adam’s hand. One pair, at least—but it was still lower than Zykov’s two kings. Nevertheless, he faked a small nod of approval. If he could convince Zykov that his hole card was an ace, he might still be able to bluff him into folding.
Three of hearts for the Russian. A small smile appeared on his lips. “One hundred thousand dollars.” Several imposing stacks of chips slid across the table.
Not many spectators remained in the bar area, most having left when the players they were accompanying had been eliminated, but the size of the bet still provoked sounds of surprise and awe. If Adam called the bet, there would be over six hundred thousand dollars on the table. If he folded, he had just lost $220,000 and put both players back on more or less level pegging.
And he still wasn’t sure if Zykov was bluffing. The Russian obviously wanted him to think he had three kings. But even if he didn’t, his two kings would still beat the pair of fours.
Adam regarded Zykov for a long moment. He appeared confident—but since he held the best hand based on the visible cards, that wasn’t surprising. Third king or not, right now he would still win a showdown.
Is he bluffing?
There had to be a giveaway, a tell. The Russian had been unable to conceal his feelings, positive or negative, earlier in the evening. There was no way he could have suddenly locked himself down now, not with so much at stake. He was smiling, but that meant nothing. Look past the smile, see what was behind it. True confidence, or just bravado?
The two men’s eyes were locked. Both trying to judge the other. A mental duel, seeing who would flinch first …
Just for a moment, Zykov’s eyes revealed … concern.
The Russian quickly covered it up by speaking. “Well? Are you going to bet?”
Adam said nothing. He didn’t know what had caused the tiny flicker of worry, but something about it, an almost indefinable shift in the short man’s … aura was the word Vanwall rather surprisingly chose, convinced him that it was involuntary. Genuine.
He was bluffing.
Make him angry. Attack.
Adam leaned forward, a maddening smirk growing. “You know, little comrade?” Zykov frowned at the insult. “I don’t believe you’ve got a third king there.” He pointed at the other man’s hole card. “And I’m so confident of that, I’m willing to bet everything I have on it. All in.” To audible gasps from the bar, he shoved all his remaining chips into the pot.
Without the video feed from Bianca’s camera the other team members had been quiet, but the gamble drew a reaction even blind. “Uh, Adam,” said Holly Jo. “I really, really hope you’ve got a winning hand.”
So do I. He waited for Zykov’s reaction. If the Russian believed his bluff, he would have no choice but to fold and take a hit of $320,000—half his remaining chips. That would make him extremely vulnerable to another round of high betting in the next game …
There was not going to be a next game.
“All in,” said the Russian. He pushed all his precisely stacked chips into the center. They toppled, cascading down across the rest of the pot.
Two million dollars. All hanging on the final cards.
Adam battled to hide his tension. If he was wrong, if Zykov really did have a third king, there was no possible way he could beat it. The best hand he could get was three of a kind, fours—which would not beat three kings. Even if Zykov was bluffing, he would need a four, a queen, or an ace to beat the two kings. The odds of that were now less than one chance in five. And that was without even considering Zykov’s last card, which might be a second three, or match his hole card …
I’m a gambler. So gamble.
He grinned at the dealer, affecting nonchalance. “Okay, then. Deal.”
Risk big, win big …
The dealer turned over Adam’s last card.
The queen of diamonds.
Ho-lee shit! Vanwall cried inside him. The gamble had paid off. Two pair, queens and fours. He still had a chance.
If he had been right about Zykov’s bluff.
The final card. Adam held his breath. The dealer turned it over.
Nine of diamonds.
He looked up from the card at Zykov. The Russian was, for once, completely stone-faced. Adam didn’t know if he had won or not.
Showdown.
Technically Zykov should have turned over his hole card first, but at this stage of the game it no longer mattered. Adam flipped his to reveal the queen of spades. “Two pair. Let’s see what you got.”
Even without a third king, Zykov could still win. If he had a three or a nine, his two pair—kings high—would beat Adam’s queens. The Russian reached for his hole card …
Even before he touched it, Adam knew he had won. Zykov’s hand shook. Not with nerves, or dismay at losing. With fury. The volcanic temper he had been fighting to hold inside all evening was about to erupt.
He slapped the card down. The six of spades. Useless. “Mudilo!”
Twist the knife. Make him mad.
Adam began to laugh, slowly and mockingly. “Two. Million. Dollars,” he said, beaming at Zykov. “Thank you very much, little comrade.”
The Russian seethed like a pressure cooker. “If you call me that again …”
“Oh, don’t you be another bad loser like Bianca! Just face it, I beat you.” He let the smugness return. “And you’ll never know how.”
Zykov reacted as if stung. “I will find out,” he said in a low, threatening voice.
“No. You won’t.” Still smirking, Adam turned to the dealer. “Can you swap me those for something bigger?” he asked, gesturing at his winnings. “I don’t want to drop any.”
The dealer raked in the loose chips, in return sliding him two larger plaques worth one million dollars each. “Thank you so much,” said Adam. He clacked the plaques together. “Hey, my friend, do you hear that? That’s the sound of money. Your money—or, whoops, it was. Now it’s aaaall mine.”
“Spend it fast,” said Zykov, standing. “You never know when your luck will run out. It could be very, very soon.”
“Not tonight, comrade. Not tonight.” Adam got up, noticing in his peripheral vision that one of Zykov’s bodyguards was talking on his phone. To the other two goons, most likely—he was summoning the troops.
Time to get moving.
Adam left the VIP room and entered the main casino floor. He spotted Tony and Bianca not far away, but didn’t acknowledge them. Instead, he pretended to get his bearings, glimpsing Zykov and the two bodyguards steaming out of the room behind him, then slipped the plaques into his jacket and headed for the exit.
“There goes Adam,” said Bianca. Holly Jo had already told her he had won. She stood, about to follow him.
“Not yet,” said Tony sharply. He was several feet away, idly feeding coins into a slot machine. “Wait until Zykov’s gone.”
The Russian and his bodyguards emerged from the VIP area. Another two hulks joined them. “There are more of them! What if they catch Adam?”
“They won’t.”
The group started after the American. Zykov, inside the human cordon, was barely visible behind
his much larger companions. His gaze was fixed on the man disappearing with two million dollars …
Then something made him look to one side. His eyes met Bianca’s. He stopped.
“Oh God,” she whispered.
Tony gave her a sidelong glance. “What?”
“Zykov’s seen me! What do I do?”
“Stay calm. Do nothing.”
The Russian briefly spoke to his men, then changed direction. “He’s coming this way!”
Tony pretended to fumble money from a pocket, turning slightly to see Zykov and two of his bodyguards approaching. The others were back on Adam’s tail. “Ignore me, you don’t know me. Just stay in character. Holly Jo, patch Bianca’s earwig through to me so I can hear them.” He walked away.
“Ah, Bianca!” said Zykov as he reached her, now all smiles and pushy charm. “What are you doing here?”
“I was … sulking,” Bianca improvised. He didn’t seem to fully understand, so she elaborated: “I was in a bad mood about losing, so I wanted to cool off before I did something stupid. And then,” she added truthfully, “I realized my feet hurt, so I had to sit down.” She waggled a high heel.
“Louboutins,” said Zykov approvingly. “Very nice, but I can see they would hurt after a time!”
“So is the game over?”
He frowned. “Yes, the game is over.”
“Ah. I take it you ended up in the same boat as me.”
“I did, yes.” He fired an angry look after Adam. “He did the same to me that he did to you.”
“He cheated?”
“Somehow, yes. I am sure of it.”
“I knew it! But you still don’t know how he did it?”
“No. But I will. He picked the wrong man to cheat. But enough about him!” His face brightened again. “Would you join me for a drink? We can both drown our sorrows, as you say.”
She was about to give him a polite refusal when Tony’s voice sounded in her ear, making her flinch in surprise. She covered it by scratching her neck. “Go with him,” said the American. “If he’s not following Adam, we need a new plan. Keep him occupied for as long as you can.”
“Well, I was rather thinking of calling it a night,” she told Zykov. “Losing a quarter of a million dollars to a cheat does rather dampen one’s enthusiasm! But … I think I could be persuaded to have one drink.”
He grinned. “Good! Although I should warn you—as a Russian, I never stop at just one.”
“I could go as far as two, I suppose … All right, why not? Where shall we go? The bar?”
His chest swelled with braggadocio. “My penthouse suite, of course!”
Bianca pretended to be impressed, despite becoming more nervous by the moment. “You have a penthouse? Somebody told me this place has fifty floors—you must have a terrific view.”
“It is very nice, yes.” He was looking directly at her chest. “I have champagne, caviar, everything we need for a good time. Come, this way.”
It was all but a command. Behind Zykov and his men she glimpsed Tony, a phone to his head. “Go with him,” he said through the earwig. “We’ll watch out for you, and get Adam up there as soon as we can.”
“Okay,” she said, replying to both men. She smiled at Zykov, hiding her worry. “Lead on.”
Adam emerged from the casino into the humid Macao night. Taxis and minibuses were collecting and disgorging tourists and gamblers. “What’s the situation?”
“Not great,” said Holly Jo. “Bianca’s going with Zykov and two of his guys. The other two—”
“They’re following you,” Tony cut in. “I’m behind them. Pick me up in the van.”
Adam headed along the sidewalk, away from the scrum outside the casino’s entrance. “Where’s the cab?”
“Coming your way,” said Kyle. “The UAV’s airborne—I see you. The cab’ll be with you in thirty seconds.”
Adam didn’t make any attempt to look for the drone; in the dark, it would be invisible. Instead he glanced back, seeing the two bodyguards. Tony came through a revolving door behind them. With so many people and surveillance cameras nearby, it was unlikely that Zykov’s goons would take any action against him here. Instead, they would follow him to somewhere more suited for a mugging. That had been the plan all along, but now the details would have to change.
“Is the rigged cab still in play?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Holly Jo. “It’s coming in behind the first one.”
“Good. Have it ready to pick up my tails.”
“You still want to knock them out?”
“Only if we have to. I’ll try to lose them another way.”
He saw two taxis approaching. While they had the same black bodywork and cream roof as many of the other cabs around the casino, the lead one had two bright blue LEDs shining from its radiator grille. The customization was minor enough not to draw attention, but it told him at a glance that he had the right car.
“The guys behind you are getting closer,” Kyle warned.
Adam raised his arm to flag down the taxi. It pulled over. He opened the door and quickly got inside. “Go,” he ordered. The driver set off before the door was fully closed. The two bodyguards broke into a run to catch up, but were too late. Adam pretended not to have noticed them. He moved across the rear seat and glanced in the mirror, seeing one of the men step out into the road to stop the next cab.
The rigged taxi. It would only take one command for the pair to be knocked out … but without Zykov there was no point. In fact, it would only make the arms dealer suspicious.
“Change of plan, Fa,” he told the driver. “I need you to take the guys following me on a long tour of the islands. But I’ve got to get back to the casino.”
Fa checked his mirror. The second cab had set off after them. “We’re not far enough ahead for you to get out without being seen.”
“I won’t need you to stop.” Adam looked at the street ahead. With Cotai being newly developed, it was laid out in large blocks to accommodate the giant casinos and hotels. Finding somewhere to exit the cab unseen might be easier said than done. And the longer it took him to shake off his pursuers, the more danger Bianca was in. Zykov had undoubtedly invited her to his penthouse with more in mind than sharing a commiserative drink. “Holly Jo?”
“Yes?”
“Tell the other driver to fall back. I need room to maneuver.”
“Okay. And Adam, Bianca’s just gone into Zykov’s suite. You need to get back to the casino.”
Vanwall’s sarcasm permeated his voice. “There’s no place I’d rather be.”
There were any number of places Bianca would rather have been than the penthouse of an explosively tempered arms dealer with a history of violence. But she kept that to herself, instead deciding to appear impressed as Zykov led her past the concierge at a desk facing the private elevator and into the suite itself.
As it turned out, she didn’t need to fake it. The lounge was expansive and opulent; a bit overdone and showy for her tastes, though far more restrained than the VIP room in the casino. But it was the view that caught her attention. One entire wall was glass, opening onto a balcony that overlooked the former colony. The islands were ablaze with light, shining against the backdrop of the dark sea.
“That’s an amazing view,” she said, genuinely awed by the sight.
Zykov spoke in Russian to one of his bodyguards, who nodded and headed for another room, then opened the door to the balcony. “Take a better look.”
A brief pang of fear struck her—what if Zykov had realized she was working with Adam, and intended to throw her off the balcony? But there was no overt menace in his attitude, and whatever services the concierge provided for penthouse clientele, she doubted that they stretched to covering up murders.
Still, she followed him outside with apprehension. “What do you think of it now?” Zykov asked, sweeping an arm across the vista as if it belonged to him.
Without the reflections on the glass, it was even more
stunning, a pulsating jewel box of neon. “I can see why you paid extra for a balcony,” she said. A moment of vertigo caught her as she looked over the edge. “Ooh. That’s a long way down.”
“I am good with heights,” said Zykov, unconcerned. “I was a paratrooper.”
“Really? How … fascinating.”
“I have many stories. I will tell you some—the ones suitable for a woman to hear, anyway!” He laughed. “But first, a drink.” The bodyguard came onto the balcony, bearing two glasses and a silver ice bucket containing a bottle of champagne. The other man, Bianca noticed, had left the lounge—but she doubted he had gone far, ready to respond to the whims of his boss.
Zykov took the glasses as the bodyguard uncorked the bottle. The pop! made Bianca flinch; the anticipation of sudden noises put her on edge at the best of times, and this sounded uncomfortably like a gunshot. The Russian filled the glasses, then handed one to her. “Here.”
“Thank you,” she said. “Although I’m not sure if being cheated out of a quarter of a million dollars is really something we should be celebrating.”
“Then we shall celebrate something else. The future, perhaps?”
“That sounds good to me.” They clinked their glasses. “To the future.”
“The future!” Zykov echoed, draining his champagne in a single swig. He eyed her. “I think it will be good. For both of us.”
“I’m sure it will be,” she replied, concealing her growing nervousness.
Adam looked over his shoulder. The second cab was about a hundred yards behind. It had fallen farther back for a while, but the bodyguards had obviously demanded that their driver pick up the pace.
Fa’s taxi approached an intersection. On the right, a half-built casino rose skeletally into the night sky, tall barriers cutting the construction site off from the sidewalk. There were very few people about; the area was still under development. “Go right here,” Adam ordered, sliding over to that side. “Keep going once you’re ’round the corner—don’t slow down. Get them to follow you for as long as you can.”
The Shadow Protocol Page 18