Casino Infernale sh-6

by Simon R. Green

  “Have you got a better idea?” I said, putting the gun away. “Because I’m perfectly willing to listen to one. Can’t you at least turn the sprinklers off?”

  “Which part of major null are you having trouble understanding? Do something! The security systems are all putting themselves back online!”

  I took out my cell phone and called the Scarlet Lady.

  “What do you want?” said the car. “I’m busy having a perfectly lovely time shooting down pigeons.”

  “The brown smelly stuff has hit the fan!” I said. “It’s all gone horribly wrong, and we’re trapped inside the penthouse floor. Can you do anything to help?”

  “Oh, sure!” said the car. “I still can’t fly you down . . . but, if you can get out a window, there is something I could try. . . .”

  “Do it!” I said. “Whatever it is, do it. I’m sure it’s a perfectly reasonable plan, and I love it to death. Now get moving!”

  “People are always in such a hurry,” said the car.

  I put the phone away, just as Molly’s head came up sharply.

  “Weapons systems are back online!”

  “Shut them down again!” I said.

  “I’m trying!”

  Energy guns appeared in the ceiling above us, and beams of sharp dazzling light stabbed down, shooting holes through the furniture. Molly and I threw ourselves underneath the desk, figuring Parris wouldn’t let his defence systems shoot up his special desk. The energy beams got as close as they could, blasting holes through the floor and setting fire to the expensive carpeting. The sprinklers went into overdrive, and then shut down one by one as they ran out of water. That was something.

  I reached up around the desk, and attached the lock-breaker to the side of the desk computer. It immediately turned itself on, and the monitor obligingly opened up all its files to me. I cautiously raised my head enough to see what I was doing, found the file responsible for the weapons systems, and shut them down. All the energy beams snapped off. Molly and I emerged cautiously from behind the desk. The air was very still, and smelt strongly of ozone.

  “I was almost there,” said Molly.

  And then we both looked round, as we heard heavy footsteps outside the office door. They stopped abruptly, there was a pause, and then I could just make out agitated voices arguing about how were they supposed to get in when the lowered shutter had closed off the only door. There then followed a certain amount of arguing and raised voices, over who was going to have to go back and get the cancellation codes to raise the shutters.

  I grinned at Molly. “Okay, that buys us some time.”

  “To do what?” said Molly. “All right, stop grinning; you’ve had an idea. Show me.”

  I hurried over to the shutter covering the window we’d come in through, and slapped the lock-breaker against the window frame. The lock-breaker overrode the locking system, and the shutter rolled up. Fresh sunlight spilled into the room. I opened the window, and looked out. And there was the Scarlet Lady, parked in place next to the window.

  “Just enough power left to cling to the wall!” she said cheerfully. “Sort of anti anti-gravity. Don’t ask me to explain, I’m just a car. Get in while it’s still working, whatever it is.”

  Molly and I scrambled out through the window. The car opened her doors, I threw myself into the front, and Molly scrambled into the back seat. The doors slammed shut, and I hauled myself sideways into the driving seat.

  “Go! Go! Go!” I said.

  The Scarlet Lady shot off down the side of the building, as easily as if she was driving down a somewhat bumpy road, accelerating all the way. Floor after floor shot past us, and the ground came flying up towards us.

  “Keep going!” Molly yelled from the back. “I’m out of the null, and pumping out Don’t Look At Us! at full volume!”

  We roared down the side of the building, the passing windows just a gleaming blur.

  “Tell me you’ve got a plan!” I said loudly to the car. “Tell me you’ve got a very specific plan about what to do when we hit the ground! Preferably something that doesn’t involve actually hitting the ground!”

  “Of course!” said the Scarlet Lady. “I am known for my plans! Hang on, you’re going to love this!”

  And at the very last moment, with the ground leaping up to smash the car right in the radiator grille, the Scarlet Lady’s bonnet rose up and leapt away from the building. She revved her engine for all it was worth, and we flew away from the wall and out onto the road. All four wheels hit hard, and we rocked back and forth before straightening out and heading off down the road.

  “Let us all praise self-regenerating power coils!” said the Scarlet Lady, cackling loudly. “And just enough power for a last-minute save!”

  I sat slumped in my seat, trying to get my breath back. “I am going to rip off your bumpers and piss in your petrol tank,” I said, eventually.

  “Get in line,” Molly said feebly, from the back seat.

  “Humans don’t know how to have fun,” said the car.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Mind Games, and Others

  The Scarlet Lady drove us back to the hotel. Molly and I sat slumped in our seats, getting our second wind back. A successful mission fills you with pride and adrenalin, and it’s champagne all round and party till dawn. A complete balls-up, on the other hand, takes all the energy out of you, until all you really want to do is go to sleep and forget all about it. Molly and I didn’t have that luxury. The overall mission wasn’t even half over, and we still had the Medium Games ahead of us. Still, even though breaking into Parris’ safe hadn’t provided us with anything useful, I was glad I’d done it. Because it proved I didn’t need Drood armour to act like a field agent. And, that I could still take calculated risks without my armour to protect me. I mentioned this to Molly but she wasn’t in the mood to see the funny side, just yet. She was still glaring at me. I was still pretending not to notice. Of such helpful compromises are successful marriages made. The Scarlet Lady dropped us off outside the main hotel entrance, and we left her to find her own way back to the underground car park.

  “There’s enough of my denial field still clinging to you, that no one will notice your return,” said Molly. “In fact, they shouldn’t even have noticed you’ve been gone.”

  “Like I care,” said the car. “Anyone down there even looks at me wrong, I’ll run them over and park on them.”

  “I wish you were even a little bit joking,” I said. “The whole point of a secret agent, and their car, is not to be noticed.”

  “I do not do the modesty thing,” said the car. “I prefer to intimidate people with my magnificence.”

  “Well, that’s one way of putting it,” said Molly.

  “I heard that!” said the car. “See you later. If you should happen to get into trouble again . . . feel free not to call me. I shall be terribly busy, indulging in some serious me time.”

  And she sped off, revving her engine unnecessarily. Molly and I looked at each other, considered saying many things, and then just gave up and headed for the main entrance. Before we could even venture inside the lobby, Frankie came running out the doors to intercept us. He looked flustered and alarmed and not at all happy. He slammed to a halt before us, paused a moment to get his breath back, and then glared accusingly from me to Molly and then back again.

  “Where have you been?” he said, just a bit hysterically. “What have you been doing?”

  “You don’t even want to know what we’ve just been through,” I said. “I was there, and I don’t want to know.”

  “What are you so upset about, Frankie?” said Molly. “Did one of your bribes run out at an awkward moment?”

  “All hell’s breaking loose in the Casino,” said Frankie. “Alarms going off everywhere, more sirens and flashing lights than the civilised mind can cope with, and a general security clampdown. You need to get back in the lobby before they seal off the hotel completely!”

  “Then what are you doing keepin
g us hanging around here?” I said. “Holding us up with unnecessary explanations? Really, Frankie, you are letting the side down. . . .”

  “Very unprofessional,” said Molly.

  We strode past him, through the doors and into the lobby. Frankie followed close behind, growling under his breath. Inside, the lobby was packed full of all kinds of people, from legitimate players to obvious hangers-on, all of them milling around and chattering loudly, forming into small groups and then breaking up again, as they tried to find someone who knew what the hell was going on. Though with everyone clamouring at the top of their voices, it was a wonder any of them could hear what anyone was saying. There was a definite feeling of unease on the air, and more than a hint of hysteria.

  Someone had misbehaved, that was clear, and punishments were in the offing. There was so much commotion no one even noticed Molly and me returning, along with a seething Frankie. But we’d barely got inside the door when the hotel manager, Jonathon Scott, came striding into the lobby, accompanied by half a dozen large and muscular gentlemen, carrying machine pistols at the ready. Scott looked coldly furious, and his muscle men looked coldly professional. And just like that, everyone in the lobby shut the hell up to watch Scott’s every move with wide, watchful eyes, like frightened children.

  The men with Scott all looked exactly the same. Big black men in quasi-military uniforms. With exactly the same face. I didn’t have to be told who they were; that I was finally getting a clear look at living examples of the legendary Jackson Fifty-five. Their dark scowling faces all showed exactly the same expression of practised intimidation, and they all moved in the same way, with an eerie synchronicity. They spread out across the lobby, covering the crowd with their guns. Some people took one look at the infamous mercenary soldiers and ran, heading for the nearest exits, but still more Jacksons appeared, spilling out of every door and exit with guns at the ready, to herd everyone back again. They didn’t say anything; they didn’t have to. A sense of imminent danger hung heavily on the air—a feeling of blood and death ready to happen at any moment.

  I looked carefully around me. All the ways out of the lobby were very thoroughly blocked off. If Scott should order the Jacksons to open fire, it would be a massacre.

  “They don’t look that tough,” said Molly.

  “But they are,” said Frankie. “Please don’t start anything.”

  “Is there a null operating?” I said quietly to Molly.

  “Oh, like you wouldn’t believe,” she said. “Major null. I couldn’t produce a bunny out of a top hat.”

  “Then let’s not start anything, just yet,” I said.

  “What do we do if they open fire?” said Molly.

  “Hit the floor first, and hide under the bodies,” I said.

  “What if they fire through the bodies, to make sure?” said Frankie.

  “Well, hopefully by then I will have thought of something else,” I said.

  One of the Jacksons noticed we were still talking, and came forward to glare at us. Molly and I moved to stand close together, and regarded the Jackson thoughtfully. He stopped, and looked at us. He’d been a soldier for many years, you could see it in his movements and in the way he held himself, and he knew a real threat when he saw one. I could tell just from looking at him that he’d seen pretty much everything bad the world had to offer, and that he hadn’t got where he was today by taking unnecessary risks. He gave us his best scowl, checked we weren’t obviously armed, and decided he was as close to us as he needed to be.

  “Pay attention!” said Scott, into the silence of the lobby. He didn’t sound like a manager, all calm and patient and dedicated to the comfort of his guests; he sounded like a man who served Casino Infernale. “I regret to say . . . that there has been a major breach in hotel security. Someone has betrayed the trust placed on you, as guests. Someone has broken into Franklyn Parris’ private office.”

  A short anticipatory murmur ran through the crowd at the name of the man in charge of the Games, but it was quickly shut down by threatening looks and movements from the Jacksons. Everyone looked quickly at everyone else, in search of a culprit. But since everyone there looked equally suspicious, and equally guilty, that didn’t really help much. There was also a certain look of admiration on many faces—that anyone had dared take on the man in charge. Of such things are reputations made. Frankie looked at Molly with something very like horror.

  “How close did you come to getting caught?” he said, very quietly.

  “Shut up,” said Molly. And she stamped on his foot, hard.

  “Mr. Parris is extremely annoyed at having his privacy invaded,” said Scott. “He has therefore authorised me to punish someone. Since we cannot know who the guilty party is, and it seems unlikely that they will do the decent thing and own up, I have decided that someone will be punished . . . right here. Right now. Someone chosen entirely at random. To make the point that no one defies the rules at Casino Infernale.”

  Scott produced a gun from inside his jacket. A simple, brutal handgun. Another quick murmur rose and fell, as the crowd realised they were going to see someone die. That Scott was just going to pick one of them, and shoot them dead. Just to make a point. Some of those present looked quite excited at the prospect. Scott moved forward, and everyone fell back before him. The manager swept his gun back and forth, quite unhurriedly, his cold gaze moving almost impartially over the people packed together before him. Here and there, men and women tried to back away, but either the people behind them wouldn’t let them, or there were armed Jacksons in place to prevent them. Scott paused before one man, who made a high-pitched hysterical sound, and then dissolved immediately into a tower of water that splashed to the lobby floor and ran away.

  “Now that’s what I call nerves,” said Molly. “He wet himself.”

  There was a sudden burst of nervous laughter, but it didn’t last long, in the face of so much tension and a very real threat. Scott was still pressing forward, moving his gun back and forth, taking his time, savouring the moment. The Jacksons were still standing solidly in place, making sure no one got away. Men and women flinched and clutched at each other as the gun targeted them. Some cried out, involuntarily. A few begged and pleaded shamelessly until the gun moved on, and then they cried bitter tears of relief and self-disgust. Some tried to hide behind other people, who fought them savagely off. Scott looked at me. I stepped forward, to put myself between him and Molly. I didn’t think about it; just did it automatically. Molly quickly shouldered past me, to stand between me and the gun, shooting me an angry glance to remind me that I didn’t have my armour’s protection any more. That honestly hadn’t occurred to me. I glared at Scott. I didn’t know what I’d do if he settled on Molly, but I knew I’d do something. Frankie hid behind both of us. And Scott and the gun moved on, leaving us behind.

  Someone was about to die, because of something Molly and I had done, but I didn’t even consider confessing. Partly because I still had a war to stop, and partly because just by being here, at Casino Infernale, all of these people were guilty of something. I’m not normally that cold, or at least I like to think not, but these people deserved everything that happened to them.

  And then Scott suddenly raised his gun and shot a man in the head. Quite neatly and proficiently, straight between the eyes. The man’s head jerked back, as blood and brains spattered the faces of the people behind him. They cried out in shock, but they didn’t say anything. The man crumpled bonelessly to the floor, his face blank and empty. He hadn’t even had enough time to look surprised before he was dead. Silence lay heavily across the lobby. Some people looked angrily at Scott, some looked relieved, but nobody looked shocked. This was Casino Infernale, after all. You had to expect things like this. Sudden death. Unfair death. It was part of why people came. Scott nodded briefly, satisfied, and put his gun away. He gathered up the Jacksons with his eyes, and led them out of the lobby.

  * * *

  Everyone else relaxed, and started talking again
. Chattering loudly and excitedly, laughing nervously, speculating wildly on what might have been behind what just happened. If anyone there knew the dead man, no one was admitting to it. They all stayed well back, giving the body plenty of room. Quiet uniformed staff came forward, bearing a stretcher, and removed the body with casual ease. They had clearly had to do it before.

  “Who was that?” said Molly, to Frankie. “Who was it who just died?”

  “No one important,” he said, coming out from behind us now the danger was over.

  “How can you be sure?” I said.

  “Because if it had been someone important,” Frankie said patiently, “I would have known them. Mr. Scott chose his target very carefully, and not at all at random. He couldn’t afford to kill a Major Player, or even a potential Major Player, because of all the money and prestige such people bring to the Games. And, because you can’t kill a Major Player that easily with just a gun, even inside a major null. They always have some hidden protections. No, Scott had to kill someone, for the pride of the hotel, and Franklyn Parris, so he chose a nobody. Someone whose death wouldn’t matter. He was just making a point, after all.”

  “I really don’t like this place,” said Molly. “Such small evils, such petty malice. I’d expected something more . . . romantic, from a big operation like Casino Infernale. Tragic betrayals, major reverses, souls lost and won on the flip of a coin . . .”

  “Please,” said Frankie, “it’s just a business.” He paused to look at us both accusingly. “Did you really . . . ?”

  “Yes!” said Molly. “Of course we did! We told you we were going to!”

  “I didn’t think you’d really do it!” said Frankie. “And I certainly didn’t believe you’d actually be able to get into his office!”

  “Bit of a failure, there,” I said. “We cracked his safe, but there wasn’t anything useful in it. Parris knew we were coming. Just like before . . .”

  “What?” said Frankie.