by JB Sanders
“Right, let’s make an entrance.” Tyler waited until the stairs leading down into the casino were clear, then Glen and Tyler descended, their security guards around them like the lineup on the 40-yard line at the Superbowl. With guns.
Heads did turn, and whispers flickered around the room. Not everyone looked up — most of the patrons were there for the gambling, after all — but many did. Glen and Tyler, especially Tyler, had been on TV enough lately that pretty much everyone who looked knew who they were.
The people in the room were sharply divided into three groups.
First, there were the glittering guests. They came arrayed in a variety of designer-fit tuxedoes, and in extremely slinky, expensive dresses. Jewels twinkled on hands, at throats, and on ears. Glen didn’t think he’d seen this much bling since the Billionaire’s Club party in Paris, and even they had seemed more subdued than this crowd. It was like a little touch of Vegas.
Second, there were the wait-staff. They wore the red and black livery of the casino. The outfits were tuxedos with tails, for both men and women. Each had red lapels, black jackets, black slacks, and a red diamond patch over their hearts with their first name on it. Though the staff ran the gamut of races, ages, and looks, each was poised, professional, and courteous. Glen and Tyler were twice offered flutes of champagne on their tour of the gambling floor, and after their refusals, each of the staff gave them a quiet, polite “Of course, sir.”
The third group were the bodyguards. It was the smallest of the three groups, but they made their presence felt for anyone paying attention. Typically, the gentlemen or ladies in question were bigger than their older and better-dressed patrons and they spent much more time looking around at the crowd than looking at the craps table or the roulette wheel. They had a patient, caged stillness about them.
Tim caught up with Glen and Tyler as they were watching the roulette wheel. He handed both of them martini glasses with a thin slice of lime perched on them, a line of what looked like salt caked on the rim, and some dark brown liquid inside.
Tyler gave Tim a disbelieving look. “What the hell is this?”
Glen bumped his shoulder into Tyler’s. “Be nice, maybe they don’t make them here.”
Tim shook his head, frowning. “They do. Those really are Dark and Stormies™. They just make ‘em funny.”
Tyler frowned and looked skeptically at the glass. “They appear to have missed some of the nuances of the drink.” He sipped. “Oh, sugar on the rim, not salt. And it does taste right, anyway. Thanks, Tim.”
“Sure.” Tim looked around, still frowning.
“Hey,” Tyler gave Tim’s upper arm a squeeze. “I’m really sorry we couldn’t get Rosa here in a knock-your-socks-off, curve-hugging dress.”
Tim sighed. “Me too.”
“I swear I’ll make it up to you two, seriously.”
Tim shook a little like a dog throwing off water. “No, I know you will. You always do. I’m just moping.”
“Well, stop moping and come watch me kick some ass in a French card game.” Tyler grinned. And sipped his drink again.
Tim nodded, and pointed across the casino floor to where James and Genevieve could just be seen towering over the nearby patrons. “I think that’s where we’re headed. Meet you there with chips?”
“Done.” Tyler sipped again, and Tim hurried off through the crowd.
“Hey, stud, watch the intake, there. You need a clear head on this, right?” Glen sipped his own drink.
“What about you?”
“I’m with my husband for a high-class night on the town.” Glen grinned around the rim of his own glass. “I’m just eye-candy.”
“Bastard.” Tyler stopped before taking another sip, and gave Glen the eye. “And for the record, you are never ‘just’ anything.”
They moved slowly over to where James and Genevieve stood. They were watching the action at the Chemin De Fer table. The croupier was a slightly older gentleman in the casino’s uniform, dignified and French-looking. His hair was silvering, and he wore a goatee. Across from him was a stunning woman in a tight, expensive-looking crimson dress. Her hair was done up away from her head, small ringlets hanging from the arrangement, and each adorned with a small glittering gem. A fur of some kind was draped over her shoulders. She had dark hair, creamy skin, and eyes that made Glen finally understand the term “smoldering” when it was applied to a person. To her right was an older plump man in a tuxedo, balding and raspy-voiced. Glen recognized the man from their earlier briefing as Victor LeMans. To her left was a prim man in a stylish modern suit, his skin wrinkled with laugh lines and his silver hair cut short enough to be considered bald, though his expression was intent on the play.
Tyler watched for several minutes, sipping his drink, his eyes alight with interest. Glen watched, too. He could kind of follow the play, since when Tyler “learned Chemin De Fer” what that meant in reality was that Tyler memorized the rules, and then taught them to Glen so they could both play.
The prim man in the tux nodded at the rest of the table. “Enough for me, thank you.”
He rose and left.
Tyler stepped forward and slipped into the seat. He smiled around at everyone.
“Hi!”
“Good evening, sir. Banque is currently four thousand dollars.” The croupier’s look was neutral, but there was just the hint of doubt that Tyler would be able to afford the stakes.
Tim stepped forward, and put a stack of five-thousand-dollar chips and another stack of thousand-dollar chips in front of Tyler, who pushed one of the thousand-dollar chips into the gold circle inscribed on the felt in front of him.
“Sure thing. I think I’ll just ponte for the moment.” Tyler pronounced the single French word with his usual aplomb.
The croupier nodded. The woman gave Tyler a short considering look. LeMans looked thoughtful, and then pushed forward a single thousand-dollar chip as well.
“Match banque?” When none of the players at the table immediately pushed forward any more chips, the croupier looked beyond them at the hovering crowd. “Bets?”
Tyler tilted his head slightly, a half-smile on his lips. “You know what? I’ll top us off.” Tyler pushed two thousand-dollar chips into the circle in front of him on the felt.
The croupier nodded to the woman, who pulled two cards from the large shoe, and moved them face-down in front of Tyler. She then pulled two more cards, looked at them, and then laid them facedown in front of her. The expression on her face was blank and disinterested.
Tyler looked at the cards in front of him without lifting them off the felt of the table.
“Carte,” Tyler said curtly, in French.
Without a word, the woman pulled a single card from the shoe, and placed it face up in front of Tyler. It was a three of hearts.
LeMans groaned.
The woman almost smiled, then languidly pulled a card from the shoe and turned it face up in front of her. It was a five of clubs.
Tyler turned over his cards. He had a Queen of Hearts and a six of diamonds. Tyler gave the woman an inquisitive look, with just the slight hint of a smile.
She turned her cards over. She had a three of diamonds and a King of Spades. She nodded, a slight frown on her face. The croupier removed the chips from in front of her using a long flat paddle, and split them with Tyler, himself, and LeMans.
Then the croupier looked at Tyler. “Banque, sir?”
Tyler nodded, and took the card shoe when it was passed to him. Tyler began moving chips into the circle in front of him, piling up about ten thousand dollars in chips.
James and Genevieve came over to join Glen, who was behind Tyler, but not close enough to see cards.
Genevieve touched Glen on the arm. “Do you have any idea how this game is played?”
Glen gave her a small smile. “Sure. Want me to explain?”
She nodded. “Please.”
“The point of Chemin De Fer is to have the highest hand. The weird part is how the cards are counted. Num
ber cards have their face value, face cards are worth zero, and the ace is worth one. The hand’s total is worth whatever the last digit of the total is, so if you have a ten and a five, the hand is worth five.”
“Ok, that’s weird, but I get that.” Genevieve pointed at Tyler’s huge pile in his betting circle. “But has Mr. Conrad just lost his mind? He seems to be betting the farm.”
“Ah, that’s one of the other weird parts — the game is only played between the bank and one representative player. One player is designated as the bank, and they wager a large sum. The other players each wager a fraction of the bank’s bet until they total the same amount. Then the banker deals two cards to himself, and then two cards to whomever wagered the largest single bet against the bank.”
Genevieve blinked. “That sounds kind of like Baccarat. I never understood the appeal. It seemed more like a stodgy roulette wheel.”
“Chemin De Fer is actually the original game that Baccarat is based on. The difference is that the player and the bank each decide if they want to go for another card or not. In Baccarat, there’s a formula you have to follow — no one decides anything.” Glen nodded at the current game. “In Chemin De Fer, once you lose as the banker, it passes to the left, unless the player refuses, and then it keeps going around the table until someone takes it.”
Glen was startled to see Charlie Levin sit down at the table. The man did look exceptional in a tuxedo, no doubt about it. He set down a handful of chips and met the player bet.
Glen gave Tim a look, directed his gaze to Charlie and then back at Tim.
Tim looked over and did a double-take. He moved away from the crowd, talking quietly into his cufflink.
Glen watched the card play and the interaction of the players. There wasn’t much chat but there were a lot of looks. Between Levin, the mysterious woman, and the plump man, Tyler was getting most of the attention. Glen thought that it was like watching lions sizing up a particularly juicy gazelle. No, that wasn’t right at all, Glen realized as he watched their expressions more carefully. Although he got the distinct impression that the three of them were all capable predators, they weren’t eyeing Tyler like he was prey. They were trying to figure out if he was a better predator than they were.
That attitude might have made sense if they were playing poker, but in Chemin De Fer, it was very odd.
Play continued for several minutes largely in silence. Tyler began to lose, and Levin began to win.
Levin’s attention was pretty much entirely on Tyler and they ended up being banque and primary player in most hands.
“Having a bad run, Conrad?” Levin sounded just slightly smug.
Tyler shrugged. “Happens. It’s my first time playing this game for real money. I guess I have better luck with beer pong.”
Levin didn’t know how to take that, but moved on. “Enjoying your stay on the island?”
Tyler gave him a warm smile. “It’s a blast. I wish all my vacations were this much fun.”
Levin didn’t make an immediate reply, and Glen got the distinct impression that Levin was schooling his face not to look angry.
After another hand where Levin won, he retired from the table.
“See you later, Conrad.” The way Levin said it, the statement sounded like a threat.
Tyler waved.
Just then, as Glen looked away from Tyler, he noticed the woman in red exchange a glance with the plump man in the nice suit. She shook her head at him just slightly and he nodded.
***
After the card play got a little old, they retired to the bar. A few minutes later, the plump man from the Chemin De Fer table came over to them, his own bodyguards in tow.
“Mr. Conrad. I hope you don’t mind the interruption but I wanted to say hello. I’m Victor LeMans.” LeMans was an unctuous man. Watching Tyler shake his hand, Glen got the impression Tyler thought so too.
“Certainly. Glad to meet you.” Tyler pulled a card from his pocket. “You know, I’d been meaning to look you up. A mutual friend of ours asked me to stop by and have a little chat with you. But not tonight. Give my people a call and we’ll set something up for this week, ok?”
“Uh, sure. Sounds good.” LeMans looked decidedly less than sure.
He moved away, looking at the business card.
Tyler turned back to Glen. “That’s always fun. He looked like I was about to draw a knife, or maybe signal the cops.”
Glen shook his head. “You have fun with the strangest things, you know that?”
“I do!” Tyler glanced back over his shoulder at the retreating LeMans. He was well out of earshot. “You see him?”
“Yup.” Glen gave Tyler a considering look. “So, what’s next?”
“Next? I think I’m going to have a dinner party.”
Calling Home
Transcript of call [LeMans cell to Cell #1] between unknown woman and LeMans.
LeMans: Tyler Conrad! At my casino. He’s here for us!
Woman: Calm yourself. We can’t be what he’s here for, and even if he is, there’s nothing here in Bermuda. We don’t conduct our business here. That’s why we’re here in the first place.
LeMans: Still, we should do something. Pre-emptive.
Woman: Don’t be — short-sighted. This is Tyler Conrad. If you try to attack him, even obliquely, he’ll crush you like a bug, and barely notice. Have you heard what they say about him in Eastern Europe? Those people are psychopaths and Conrad scares them.
LeMans: [sighing] What should I do?
Woman: Go along with whatever he says for now. If he really is going to be a problem, there are polite alternatives. I’ll handle it. After all, that is part of our new arrangement.
LeMans: Yes, though our arrangement was for you to handle official problems. Conrad isn’t even vaguely official.
Woman: No, he isn’t. And that’s part of what makes him dangerous. Leave the problem with me.
LeMans: I will.
***
After lunch, Glen and Tyler got on the horn with Tyler’s Nanna.
They were setup at the smaller table in the lounge, Glen’s arm around Tyler. They were sharing the cozy bench seat which was tucked into one corner. Despite the large size of the sailing ship, everything was tucked somewhere.
They used a secure voice-only conference-call thingamabob, instead of their usual video because the satellite they needed for secure video wouldn’t be in range until after Nanna’s bedtime.
“How are you doing, Nanna?” Tyler smiled.
“Shitty! How do you think I’m doing? One of my grandsons is in water hot enough to boil a trap full of lobsters, and the other one has run off to Bermuda with a floozy.”
Tyler winced. “I’m fine, Nanna, and uh, I don’t think a guy is called a floozy.”
“Fine, then a gigolo. Either way, it’s a situation more cocked up than the Bay of Pigs.”
“Bay of pigs?” Tyler made a confused face at Glen.
“Children.” Nanna said despairingly.
Glen cleared his throat. “On the Jeremy front, I have good news.”
“Oh, yes? The trouble he’s gotten himself into is less a cesspool and more like something he’s stepped in?” Nanna’s tone was acidic.
Tyler winced, and frantically motioned Glen to go on.
“I approached Jeremy’s boyfriend — tried to seduce him, in fact— and he not only rebuffed me, he threatened my life if I came anywhere near Jeremy.”
Nanna snorted. “Well, that’s a good sign. At least the man loves Jeremy.”
“Yeah, although it isn’t all good news. He’s an operative.” Tyler pre-winced.
Nanna spat. “Motherfucker! Do you need me to come down there? I can sort out this little shit myself.”
“Nanna, you’re in a wheelchair.” Tyler looked, and sounded, worried.
Nanna’s voice had a sharp edge. “Do you think for one moment that my being in a wheelchair makes me any less dangerous, young man?”
“No, ma’am.”
There was a pause. “Good. Tell me what you’re doing about all this.”
“Round the clock surveillance on Jeremy and his new guy. Glen has Excalibur delving into his background, pulling as much detail about his covert work as we can lay our hands on, and quietly having a word with everyone we can about him.”
“Hmm, not bad. Copy me on the reports, and I’ll let you know what I think about his field technique. If he has any.”
“Thank you, Nanna.” Tyler drew in a breath. “Meanwhile, I’m working on a little job for the President.”
“A little job? Official or unofficial?” She snapped at Tyler.
“Totally off the books and under the table.”
There was a short silence. “Well, alright then. As long as there’s no bloody paper trail leading back to you. The last thing we need is for you to publicly work for anyone. You can’t maintain your dark reputation with the right people if you’re seen playing lapdog for that DC idiot crew.”
“It’s a weird one, too. I mean, the rescue thing will be simple enough, once we locate him, but the situation down here is odd.”
“Odd how?”
“Ships, and whole crews, are vanishing. So far we just know about a couple of Russian mafia smuggling ships, but I’m sure there’s more to it.”
Glen could here the thoughtful tap of Nanna’s lacquered nails on the armrest of her wheelchair. “Ships vanishing. Probably at night, and no debris, right?”
“Don’t know about the night thing, not yet, but definitely no debris. It was one of the things that freaked out the Russians.”
“Let me make a few calls. This reminds me of something from my more active days. I’ll talk to you when I know more.” She audibly released the brake on her wheelchair. “Now get out there and deal with Jeremy.”
“Yes, Nanna.” Glen and Tyler said at the same time.
“Love you, Nanna.” Tyler added.
“Good night, boys.” Nanna disconnected.
Treasure, It's Never Where You Think It Is
Glen, with Tim’s help, had arranged to get Dr. Harding and Happy Fields exactly the ship they needed to do their search. The Iliad was a behemoth, with every nautical science feature known to the modern day. It had two giant hulls and the bulk of the ship stretched between them. The twin hulls made it a very stable platform even in high seas. It had a crane to raise and lower submersibles, a decompression chamber, several kinds of labs, a towable sonar array, and space enough for a science crew of twenty-eight.