Read Online The Cipher by John C. Ford - Free Book Online

passenger’s seat with churro crumbs and scribbling in his notebook counted for anything. The only voice that spoke came from the deadened female vocals of the navigation system.
    That and the one in Smiles’s head:
It’s better left alone. I’m getting on a plane. I’ll have to end this call now
.
    Smiles’s mood didn’t improve until they saw Fox Creek rising out of the flat green landscape. If you put a McMansion on horse steroids and placed it in the middle of a farm, that’s sort of what Fox Creek looked like. Smiles loved it.
    He ignored the self-parking sign and drove straight to the glass-canopied casino entrance.
    â€œDon’t even think about leaving that wrapper in the car,” he said to Ben, and grabbed his duffel bag from the backseat. The valet handed him a ticket, and Smiles led the way through revolving doors to a marbled lobby area. Beyond it, the casino rang to the tune of a thousand slot machines. He dumped his bag on the floor, basking in it all for a second, before spotting the hotel reception to their left.
    â€œThis way,” he said, and got a few steps before realizing Ben wasn’t at his side. He was still standing under the chandelier at the entrance—just frozen there, notebook still in hand (naturally), eyes pointed thoughtfully skyward. What a piece of work. Smiles marched back and waved in Ben’s line of vision.
    â€œStargazing?”
    Ben stared at Smiles like he was coming back from a dream. “Sorry, I just . . . never mind.”
    â€œGive the brain a rest, dude. It’s time to gamble.”
    Ben scurried to Smiles’s side, checking his watch as they approached the reception desk. “I need to hurry, actually,” he said. “The opening session starts soon.”
    The receptionist guy was wearing a sherbet-blue jacket with dangly gold trim at the shoulders, like somebody had asked Walt Disney to design some military uniforms and they’d gotten shipped to a casino in Connecticut by mistake.
    â€œCan I help you gentlemen?”
    â€œI’m here with the CRYPTCON . . . conference,” Ben said.
    â€œOh my,” Sergeant Sherbet said. “Some young code breakers, eh? So exciting. Okay, name on your reservation, please?”
    Ben pulled a sheet of paper from his backpack. “Ben Eltsin,” he said, and rattled off a confirmation number. Sergeant Sherbet sprung to action at his computer, but Smiles got distracted from the rest of the exchange.
    A girl was headed their way. Cutoff jean shorts. Toned legs. Sun-bleached hair. A strand of it cascaded silk-like across a pixie face with honey-colored eyes. Smiles prayed to a merciful God she would stop at the desk to check in. She did. And she gave him a grin, too.
    She had a scar high on her cheek, barely the size of a fingertip, shaped like a starfish. It crinkled when she smiled. Maybe Smiles’s radar was off after three hours in the car with Ben, but he thought there was something happening here. Smiles returned her grin—going for
Yeah, I’m feeling it, too
.
    â€œHey,” he said, because you had to start somewhere.
    â€œHey.” Her voice was like a warm bath.
    â€œI’m Smiles.” He didn’t extend his arm, on the theory that they were beyond handshakes already.
    â€œSmiles?”
    â€œA nickname.” He shrugged, meeting her eyes, thinking,
This is totally working.
    She nodded and pointed a thumb at herself. “Erin.”
    He was getting a better read on her now. Her face was soft—her features cute and rounded—but there was something devilish there. Those honey-colored eyes, they were heat seekers. If there was any justice in the world, Smiles would be getting some action tonight.
    â€œHere for the weekend?” she said.
    â€œYeah, for this conference thing,” Smiles said. “You?”
    Erin gave him a teasing smile, and the starfish scar drew in on itself coyly.