Read Online The Shadowmen by David Hagberg - Free Book Online Page B

music and games. A sailboat with a dozen tourists came into the cove and dropped anchor.
    Back at Martine’s villa, they washed off the sand, made love, and napped again.
    Marie served them a late dinner at poolside.
    *   *   *
    At the bar, Kurshin sipped his martini. “I’m probably the only Englishman alive who’s never seen a James Bond movie.”
    She laughed. “I have all of them,” she said. “We can spend the day in bed tomorrow watching them. You’ll love him.”
    â€œAre you so sure?”
    â€œAll spies love double oh seven.”
    â€œOne spy to another?”
    â€œMais oui!”
    They finished their drinks and went past the noisy slot machines and video poker games to the hushed atmosphere of the high-stakes baccarat salon. An attendant in a tuxedo opened the rope barrier for them, and they stood behind the players on the opposite side of the table from the croupier. This version of the game, popular mostly in France, was chemin de fer. In ordinary baccarat, the house was the banker against which the players wagered. In chemin, each player had a chance to become the banker, wagering whatever he or she could afford. One of the other players around the table could take on the entire bet, or it could be shared. In any event, the banker and the player with the highest wager were the only ones who got cards—two at first, facedown. Nine automatically won, while the banker or player by convention was supposed to stand pat on an eight. For any other total, either could ask for a third card, faceup. Tens and face cards counted as zeros, aces as ones.
    The banker drew four cards from the shoe facedown. The croupier used his pallet to scoop up the players’ cards and pass them down the table.
    The banker immediately turned his cards over—a five and a three. An eight. The player was next with a pair of fours.
    â€œÃ‰galité , ” the croupier announced, and he deftly scooped up all four cards. No one had won, and the banker’s and player’s bets remained unchanged.
    The current banker and six players sat around the table, twice as many watchers standing behind them.
    From where Kurshin was positioned beside Martine, he could not see the face of every player, although two of them were obviously Arabs—probably Saudis—young, well dressed, and extremely arrogant.
    Martine started to say something when a man halfway around the table leaned forward and looked to the left. He wore dark-framed glasses, but Kurshin recognized him at once, and he felt a little thrill of anticipation. McGarvey had found the plaque, had read the meaning of it, and had shown up. The woman wasn’t with him yet, but Lestov said that she was on her way to Paris. She would be here by tomorrow evening when the real game would begin.
    â€œDo you recognize that man?” Martine asked.
    â€œThe one with the glasses?”
    â€œOui.”
    â€œI thought so, but I’m not so sure.”
    â€œHe doesn’t look like much,” Martine said. “Evidently not bold.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œThe bank is only at twenty thousand. If he were of any substance, he would have covered it.”
    â€œOr the Saudis.”
    â€œThey’re waiting for a real challenge, which won’t come until later tonight, sometime after midnight.”
    The banker, an old man with thick eyebrows and an unpleasantly large mouth, dealt the next set of cards. The croupier passed the player, a woman in her mid- to late twenties, not at all unattractive, her cards.
    Immediately, the banker turned his cards over, this time a six and two.
    â€œHuit,” the croupier announced.
    The woman indicated she would take another card, this one up.
    The banker slid the card out of the shoe, and the croupier passed it down the table, flipping it faceup at the last moment. It was a queen, which counted as zero.
    She turned her cards over, a six and a