It was just before 2:00 a.m. when Adam finally pulled the Audi into the overcrowded parking lot of the Krakatau Casino.
True to its name, the front of the casino was carved into an immense, man-made volcano. A never-ending eruption of golden “lava” spewed out the top, signaling that there was enough wealth to be had by all. Surrounding the volcano was a chromatic river filled with thousands of free-floating underwater lights all swirling chaotically in the shallow depths.
Anywhere else in the world, such a sight would surely have drawn crowds of onlookers. But this was Las Vegas. It barely drew the occasional second glance.
After several minutes of circling, Adam finally found a free space and parked the sedan. He was amazed that even at this time of night the place was at near capacity.
“We’re here,” he said in his best Poltergeist imitation. “I hope one of you worked up a plan while I was driving.”
Lara and Elliot were now fully awake, and though they had rested several hours, Adam thought both looked as tired and sluggish as he felt.
“I suggest we approach this thing straightforwardly,” Elliot said while smoothing back a particularly buoyant Elvis hairdo caused by hours of sleeping against the car window. “We introduce ourselves to Mr. Greene. Tell him about the map. Then if he doesn’t throw us out as loonies, we can try to recruit his help.”
Lara shrugged. “I don’t have anything better than that.”
“Okay,” Adam agreed. “I wish our proof was a bit more irrefutable. If we get tossed out, our trail goes cold, and this long drive was for nothing.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Lara said. “It wouldn’t be cold for long.” Perhaps it was the time of night, but Adam didn’t see what she was getting at. “What makes you say that?”
“Simple,” she answered. “If the map is what I think it is, the assassin is coming to Greene. All we’ll have to do is wait around until the bullets start to fly.”
* * *
The main floor of the casino stretched immeasurably in every direction and was thick with tropical rainforest plants set directly into the floor. Ivory pillars carved with elaborate characters of some lost tribal language separated three different gaming areas. To the left were cards, to the right were slots, and directly ahead were the roulette tables.
At the very center of the casino sat an immense dark blue marble fountain inlaid with carved ivory elephants and angry voodoo gods. A fine, wet mist sprayed high above the fountain, the moisture turning to vapor and dispersing throughout the casino.
A dozen or more straw huts, serving as wet bars, were carefully placed throughout the main room so that patrons never suffered a dry throat or a full wallet. The bartenders wore woven grass skirts, their faces and chests painted with black-and-red streaks like those of village witch doctors.
As with many casinos, where owners would rather guests not worry about the time of day, there were no windows to the outdoors. The cool shadowy nature of the room, along with piped in noises of tropical birds and roaring felines, cast a convincing jungle feel.
After studying the immense room for a few moments, the group moved to one of the straw hut bars along the far wall. A well-muscled man wearing a primitive grass skirt and leather sandals immediately turned his attention to them.
“What can I get for you?” he asked while wiping out a stainless steel mixing shaker.
“I don’t know about these two, but I’ll take a cold beer,” Adam said. “Whatever’s on tap is fine.”
“Make that two,” Lara said.
“Three,” added Elliot, holding out three fingers.
“Coming right up,” the tribal bartender said. He pulled three glasses from a cooler, lined them up in front of a spigot, and began piping the foamy yellow beer into the first glass.
“Having any luck?” he asked the group as a whole.
Unsure of who should answer or what exactly to say, no one spoke for a moment.
Taking the initiative, Adam finally replied, “We’re not really here to gamble. We’re tired and hungry, and looking for—”
“Say no more,” he interrupted. “The prime rib buffet, right?”
“Uh …”
“Don’t sweat it. People come out of the woodwork to catch some grub here. It’s all part of the Vegas charm. Trust me, we’ll get it back from you before you leave.” He offered an all-knowing smile.
“We’re here to see Mr. Greene,” Elliot suddenly blurted.
“How’s that again?” the bartender asked, bringing his eyes to rest on Elliot but never stopping his mechanical filling of the three glasses.
Adam stood aside and let his brother give it a go.
Elliot tried to collect himself. “We have some urgent business to discuss with the owner of this casino. We need to speak with him right away.”
“Uh-huh,” the man said, putting the three beers on the counter. “That’ll be seventeen-fifty.”
Elliot quickly pulled a twenty from his wallet and paid for the drinks. The bartender made change, but then, without speaking, turned his attention away from the group and began washing out several wine glasses.
“Hey,” Elliot said. “I’m not sure you understand. We need to speak with Mr. Greene. It’s urgent. Can’t you—”
“Look, mister, I serve drinks. I’d have better luck getting you a date with Madonna.”
“Oh … okay then.” Elliot stammered. He turned to Adam and Lara and shrugged.
“Let’s just look around a bit,” Adam said, shaking his head.
With that, they turned away from the bar and slowly moved into the noisy gaming area of the casino.
“How about we mingle a bit … see if we can find anyone of importance,” Elliot said. “I’m sure someone around here can help us.” He quickly added, “If you get lost, just meet back at that bar with the helpful witch doctor.”
Everyone agreed, and the group dispersed into the crowd of late-night gamblers.
Adam didn’t even know the rules to most of the games going on around him. Feeling less intimidated by levered machines than those manned by fulltime swindlers, he moved to several long rows of slot machines.
Each slot machine had a large blue light on top. A few of the lights flashed, indicating a winner of some importance, but most remained dark. He found that single image to be an uncannily accurate representation of Las Vegas as a whole. A few lucky winners found nirvana, but many more just kept reaching deeper into their wallets for the never to be realized dream of having a swirling blue light of their own.
Adam worked his way slowly up the narrow isle of slot machines, looking for anyone who stood out in the crowd. He stopped to study the rather eclectic group surrounding him.
Just ahead was a large contingency of elderly women, complete with flower print dresses and suitcase-sized handbags. They gathered around a single slot machine, graciously offering one another the honor of being the next to pull the magic handle.
To their right were a male prostitute and his client. The young gigolo wore skintight red leather pants and a thin white silk shirt that hung loosely over his smooth shoulders. His older companion was dressed in a traditional navy sport coat and was holding a large tropical drink. His free arm was draped over the youth’s partially exposed shoulder as he whispered something in his ear. Both men seemed to be enjoying their evening.
Just beyond Adam’s reach stood a middle-aged couple in matching Hawaiian shirts. A camera hung from the man’s neck, and the woman was busy explaining her winning strategy to her husband. They both snorted with unabated excitement as they dropped dollar after dollar into the belly of the mechanical beast.
Turning to look behind him, Adam saw a businessman intently studying a slot machine as if unsure how the device operated. He had no coins out but held something in one hand, possibly a wallet or ball-point pen.
Beyond the confused businessman sat a young Japanese couple collecting a large pile of coins. The bright blue light flashed wildly atop their machine, washing an almost hypnotic sky-colored wave over the surrounding gamblers. “Just a few more coins,” the light promised seductively, “and yours will flash too. Just a few more coins …”
Sights and sounds spiraled around Adam, working to drive any and all thought from his mind. He felt a growing numbness to the world around him, as if everything was slowly shifting out of focus. What would normally ring of intensity now began to feel dull and quietly distant.
He hadn’t been to Vegas in several years, and in one crashing moment of understanding, he remembered why. He hated everything about it—the foolish waste of money, the grossly extravagant nature of everything and everyone, and worst of all, the decadence that everyone was so ready to accept.
The entire town was an elaborate illusion as carefully crafted as a stage magician’s act of pulling six doves and a silk handkerchief from a volunteer’s ear. Where else could one get married by a skydiving Elvis or live out his fantasies with a ranch full of beautiful young women willing to do anything for the right price? Spontaneity, excitement, and pleasure had brought with them decadence, gluttony, and immorality.
“Man, I must be tired,” he muttered, shaking his head.
But the words did little to relieve his anxiety. There was something wrong with his being in the casino. Something intangible, yet still threatening. It was as if a faceless shadow was tracking him, waiting for him to look away. Waiting for the opportunity to swallow him in darkness.
Deciding that Elliot and Lara could find their own way in this house of blue lights and witch doctor bartenders, he turned back toward the entrance. After taking only a few steps toward the door, however, he stopped.
The stop was so sudden that his foot remained suspended an inch above the floor as if he was about to step on a coiled rattlesnake. From the corner of his eye, he’d seen something. Something unnatural even for this carnival of sin. He’d caught sight of it only for an instant, but with something so strange, an instant was enough.
It was a syringe.
The businessman he’d seen studying the slot machine stood with his hand hanging loosely by his side, carefully cupping a white, plastic syringe. The man’s hand worked to conceal it, but he was careful to keep the needle pointing safely away.
Why? Adam asked himself. Could be a doper … but he holds himself too straight, too strong to be a druggy.
Perhaps what disturbed him most was not that the man held a syringe but the way in which he held it. He kept it concealed but still very much at the ready, the needle’s sharp point extending down beyond the tips of his fingers.
He’s going to stick someone. The idea seemed absurd, but it rang true nonetheless.
Adam judged the distance between them to be at least fifteen feet, outside striking range without a serious leap. Looking around as if uncertain what area to explore next, he studied the man with each pass of his eyes.
At just over five feet tall, the man was short, but he looked to weigh about as much as a small Canadian moose. He wore a dark gray pinstripe suit, indistinguishable from dozens of other businessmen who’d stopped by to try their hand with Lady Luck. He blended in. It occurred to Adam that this probably wasn’t by accident. It enabled him to easily disappear into the crowd if he needed to escape.
Having spent more than his fair share of years working the streets, Adam had known many kinds of people who lived in violence. From whores to dealers and gangbangers. Instinct told him that this man was something far worse than any of those. He was a killer.
The only thing Adam didn’t know for sure was whom he was out to kill. His first thought was that the well-dressed stranger might be the assassin Lara suggested was coming to kill Mr. Greene. But that didn’t make sense. If someone was gunning for Greene, a video-monitored casino floor didn’t seem like a very good venue. Besides, a syringe was probably the worst weapon one could pick for the task since it would be very difficult to get close to a man like Mr. Greene. Even in the unlikely event this guy could get close enough to use the syringe, bodyguards and security would nab him two seconds after Greene yelled “ouch.”
So, if it wasn’t Mr. Greene, then who was the target?
Careful not to let the man out of his field of vision, Adam shifted his attention back to the people around him. Neither the grandmothers, the gigolo, the young Japanese lovers, nor the middle-aged Tropicana-garbed couple seemed likely candidates for murder by lethal injection. That left only Adam or someone who had yet to arrive on the scene. The syringe was out and ready to be used. That seemed to narrow it down to just one.
Adam saw only two real choices. One, he could get as far away as possible. Or two, he could confront the man.
Unfortunately, they had left their handguns in the car when Elliot pointed out it was a federal offense to possess a firearm in a casino. None of them felt like taking the unnecessary risk of being arrested, tossed in the slammer, and spanked by a host of angry tattooed inmates just for the comfort of having a piece. Especially since at the time, the only danger the casino posed was losing a bit of Elliot’s money at the roulette wheel.
Stand or run? It should have been a simple decision, but it never was. To Adam, the answer always depended on the circumstances. A wrong decision either way could be fatal. Anyone in his profession who didn’t appreciate that tended to die early in life. This seemed like a case when running would only postpone the inevitable, and the next time Adam might not be as fortunate to spot his attacker. Next time he might feel the disturbing prick of a needle. No, this was one of those occasions when he had to roll up his sleeves and kick some Canadian moose ass.
The would-be killer had yet to turn his attention from the slot machine, but Adam was certain he was watching him from the reflection off the glass. Deciding to keep it simple, he turned and began walking toward the main entrance.
The noise, lights, and ever-present hustle no longer tugged at Adam’s psyche. Everything but his target had become part of the backdrop, vibrant colors changing to shades of gray, ringing bells muffled as if someone had put a damp rag over them. A pink cow could have roller-skated by, singing the “Star Spangled Banner,” and Adam wouldn’t have missed a single twitch of the man’s body.
As Adam passed directly behind the stranger, the man turned. His motion was slow and deliberate, not fast enough to alarm anyone. Adam imagined the syringe hanging point down, the needle glistening with some deadly substance. As he continued to move past the dark-suited stranger, the muscles in Adam’s body tingled nervously, ready to react in one explosive instant.
The killer continued to turn, bringing the needle slowly forward at thigh level.
Adam spun on the ball of his lead foot, stepping forward and across his body. His trailing hand shot out low in a downward parry. It struck the man’s extended wrist, locking around it like a steel shackle.
Before his assailant could react, Adam was already on the move. He stomped in with his right foot, landing it hard atop the stranger’s black penny loafers. His hope was that the sudden pain would bring his opponent’s attention to his foot, which is exactly where it didn’t need to be.
He continued his attack by shooting a fist into the man’s gut. The punch landed hard, but it felt like he was hitting a heavy bag filled with sand.
The killer tried to wrench both his trapped hand and foot free while shoving Adam back. His foot came free of the pin, but Adam’s hand held fast.
Adam reached up and grabbed the thumb on the hand pushing against him. With a powerful twist, he cranked it backward until it gave way with a sickening pop. The stranger screamed, yanking furiously in an attempt to free the hand holding the syringe.
Sensing it was the right moment to yield, Adam relaxed his control of the man’s wrist. The killer detected the sudden weakness and pulled his hand back in a powerful, “let me have it” jerking motion.
Adam shuffled forward, maintaining a light grip on the man’s wrist as he pulled it toward him. Then in a reversal of motion, Adam reached out with his free hand and pulled hard on the man’s opposite ear. The stranger’s head fell forward as the hand holding the syringe finally tore free. The two met, the moist silver needle sliding effortlessly into his beefy neck like the fangs of a pit viper.
The killer’s face immediately turned a pasty white, and his body slumped as if his strength was seeping out like air from a leaky balloon. Adam held him fast, the needle buried to the hilt against his neck. The palm of the man’s hand had inadvertently pressed the plunger about halfway in when it struck. The poison was in him, and there wasn’t a damn thing either of them could do to change that now.
“Who are you?” Adam snarled, not sure how much time he had before the man lost consciousness.
The stranger’s eyes were already glazing over, and he seemed unable to understand the simple words. Just as Adam was about to ask him again, the man spoke. His speech was slurred and muffled as if his tongue had suddenly grown to three times its original size.
“Focking bad lock,” he garbled.
Then his legs buckled, and he collapsed to the floor. He lay there jerking with powerful spasms. In less time than it took to give final rites, he fell as still as a frozen winter’s morning.
Adam felt no remorse for the piece of shit lying at his feet. Anyone who would poison an unsuspecting opponent was a coward. Pure and simple. Killing was one thing. Killing like a pussy was another. Overcome by a mix of disgust and adrenaline, Adam gave him one final kick in the ribs.
It was only then that he became aware of the screams and horrified gasps coming from casino patrons all around him.
* * *
Adam, Lara, and Elliot sat without speaking in a bleach white detention room. The small space was furnished with only a square stainless steel table, two matching metal chairs, and the heavy fold-down bench on which they now sat. The walls, ceiling, and floor were painted in a seamless, glossy white that might fool someone into thinking he was in God’s imperial waiting room. All three stared at the heavy metal door inlaid with a small Plexiglas window, the only way in or out of the holy antechamber.
Following the brief but deadly scuffle on the casino floor, Adam had been quickly apprehended by six security officers who seemingly materialized from thin air. When Lara and Elliot had come to his aid, they too had been detained.
Each had been searched and then sequestered to small chambers where they were individually questioned as to their identities, motives, and actions. Following the initial interrogations, they had been regrouped into a secure room where, as far as they could tell, they’d been left to rot.
Adam looked at his watch. It was six fifteen in the morning. He closed his eyes and leaned against the wall. It had been a long night, and the party didn’t appear to be over just yet.
The lock on the security door clanked loudly as the bolt released from the door jamb. Everyone stood, looking expectantly at the door. Four men wearing dark-blue-and-black casino security uniforms entered. All were armed with automatic handguns, but their weapons remained holstered. They positioned themselves like a protective barrier in front of the open doorway.
A middle-aged man in dark blue cotton trousers and a white Polo shirt entered. He had thin, black hair lined with intermittent traces of gray and a wiry build that suggested a dedication to fitness. He wore glasses with tiny circular lenses.
“You have no right to detain us here,” Elliot immediately started. He’d been cooped up for the past several hours without even a chance to exercise his God-given right to a phone call. The injustice of it all was about to cause him to spontaneously combust.
“Yes, yes, and I’m so sorry about that,” came the soft voice of Mr. Greene as he gently pushed past his security people. “I’m afraid it may well have been a simple misunderstanding.” He slid a chair from the interrogation table and took a seat immediately in front them. “Please, sit down. We have much to talk about.”
Greene’s tone was too consolatory for anyone to do anything but what he requested. All three reluctantly returned their aching bottoms to the metal bench they’d come to loathe.
“As you may already know, I’m Robert Greene. I do sincerely apologize for the long delay.” He reached forward to Elliot, then Adam, and finally Lara, shaking each hand warmly with both of his own.
“My security officers felt it best to take no further action until I arrived. Surely you can understand this since there’s a …” he hunted for a delicate way to put it, but didn’t find one. “Well, since there’s a body involved.”
“He died?” Adam asked, not surprised by the confirmation.
“I’m afraid so. We rushed him to a nearby hospital, but he was already gone before we got him on the gurney. Coronary arrest, they said. Was he an acquaintance of yours?” Mr. Greene studied Adam carefully.
“Like I told your Stormtroopers, I’d never met him before tonight,” he answered. “I’m sure your cameras caught the whole thing. He attacked me with a syringe, and I defended myself. That’s it. End of story.”
“Oh, maybe just a bit more, yes?” Mr. Greene prompted as if probing an old friend to tell him more about a particularly juicy Friday night date. “After all, you either had eyes in the back of your head or were anticipating his attack. Not something that seems likely if indeed you’d never met?”
Adam couldn’t help but like Mr. Greene. He came straight ahead without dancing around his questions and yet managed to keep the tone cordial—hell, even friendly. It felt as if any minute he might send for iced tea.
With an uncanny empathy, Robert Greene turned to his security team leader. “Fetch us a pot of some hot coffee, would you? I’m sure our guests are all very tired.”
Adam smiled. Oh, he was good.
Mr. Greene turned back to him waiting for a reply. “I saw the syringe before he tried to stick me,” Adam answered. “But I didn’t know the man.”
“I see. Might I ask why you didn’t simply call security and have him arrested?”
The question seemed quite reasonable, and Adam wasn’t sure he could come up with an answer that wouldn’t make him look like an overzealous fool. After deliberating a moment, he said, “He could have ditched the syringe. Without it, your people wouldn’t have held him, and I’d have never known for sure what he was up to. Besides, if he got away, I’d have to worry about him in the future.”
Mr. Greene rubbed his chin as if giving the answer its due consideration. “Hmm, I suppose what interests me the most is why you don’t seem overly surprised or concerned by what happened.”
Adam had known for some time that he possessed a calm indifference when it came to violence. It was something that had been with him since he was a child, like a favorite toy. He didn’t share this, however, saying only, “I’ve met trouble before.”
“You’re not concerned that someone tried to kill you?”
Adam met Mr. Greene’s inquisitive stare. “Everyone is concerned when someone tries to kill them. Maybe I’ll have a good cry later.”
Mr. Greene smiled, apparently not offended by the sarcasm. “We all cope in different ways, yes?”
Adam nodded. “Yes, we do.”
“I suppose this all leads us to the most important question. The reason you’re here in the first place,” Mr. Greene started. “I understand the three of you were asking about me at the bar earlier. Might I ask why?” He looked from one person to the next as if challenging them to put forward their best spokesperson.
All three turned to one another, unsure of who should lead.
Adam shifted about uneasily, worrying that the washed-out road map and Lara’s unsubstantiated hunch might not be enough to warrant Greene’s consideration. Just wait for the coffee, he thought. He hated the thought of getting abandoned in that room again without something to wet his throat.
Lara shattered his hopes of stalling by blurting out, “Mr. Greene, we think your life may be in danger.”
Robert Greene turned his attention to her, his green eyes alive with curiosity. “Please go on.”
“This all began when my sister disappeared more than a week ago. She’d come across a map that we believe shows the locations of three political assassinations. We further believe that you, sir, are one of the targets.” She spoke calmly and rationally. If her words hadn’t been so absurd, she’d have been as believable as an anchor on the six o’clock news.
Adam felt sure Mr. Greene would get up and leave the room without another word, hence no coffee. Instead, he leaned forward, saying, “And who is behind these assassinations?”
“We’re not sure. However, we do know that the CIA is involved,” Lara replied as if it was a matter of fact.
Oh Lord, Adam thought, if that wasn’t enough to send him running, nothing would. And so close to having refreshments.
“Why do you suspect the CIA?” Mr. Greene asked as if he was hearing nothing more surprising than Sunday’s Bible sermon.
“Look, we’re not sure about the CIA or much of anything for that matter,” Elliot interjected.
Lara cut him down with a look that could castrate. “He’s not sure, but I am. We had several run-ins with them already. Trust me when I tell you that there are agents hired by members of our government out there gunning for you.”
“Any idea why our government would want me dead?” Mr. Greene asked.
“You’d know better than me. You’re rich, powerful, and most importantly running for office. Not so different from General Livingston, and last time I checked he had an extra hole in his head.”
Mr. Greene nodded. “And your sister? Is she still missing?”
A pained expression came over Lara’s face. “Yes.”
Mr. Greene reached out and gently placed a hand on her shoulder.
“I’m sorry. I know this must be especially difficult for you.”
Adam was unsure if Mr. Greene was buying into her story or just pandering to a pretty girl. Either way, it didn’t matter; the man with the coffee was finally coming through the door.
After the coffee had been handed out to everyone except Greene, who politely refused, the conversation continued.
“My sister came into possession of the map and tried to sell it to Mr. Reece here,” she said, gesturing with a flick of her hand toward Elliot.
“I see. And you think she’s involved in this CIA conspiracy?”
“Not directly,” she answered. “She’s in over her head. If I’m certain of anything, it’s that she’s a victim in all this.” Lara choked out the last painful words.
“I see. So, you’re here to warn me of a threat on my life, and even more importantly to find your missing sister, yes?”
“That’s it exactly,” she answered triumphantly. She looked at Adam and Elliot as if to say, “See, that wasn’t so hard.”
“What about you?” Mr. Greene said, turning to Elliot. “You don’t seem to buy into the whole CIA assertion. Surely a man of your stature wouldn’t be running around the country on a wild goose chase. You have a successful law firm, and your time is valuable. Why come here at all?”
Adam smiled again. Mr. Greene had done his homework and knew exactly how to work each person. He found himself admiring Greene’s careful handling of the different personalities.
When Elliot heard Mr. Greene’s words, he sat up and straightened his clothes in an attempt to recover what little dignity remained after an all-night car ride. All eyes were now on him, and that was exactly the way he liked it.
“Despite what Lara believes, the truth is that we don’t know what is going on. We did find a map, but it wasn’t readable. We were shot at by someone, but we don’t know by whom. Adam did take a CIA identification badge from a man searching her sister’s mail, but we’re not sure if the search was illegal. And now, my brother has indeed been attacked by a syringe-wielding psychopath, but this could also prove to be nothing but a violent coincidence.
“But to answer your question, I’m here for much the same reason as Lara. I’m searching for Maria, and as far-fetched as it sounds, this was the most credible lead we had.”
“Yes, yes, I see. Well, I should tell you the man in the casino had no identification at all. Nothing to indicate he was part of any government agency,” Mr. Greene said.
“The fact he had no identification is by itself an indication,” Lara corrected.
Mr. Greene nodded thoughtfully. “I guess that brings me back to you, Adam. You don’t mind me calling you Adam, I hope.”
“You brought coffee,” Adam said, holding up the cup. “Call me whatever you like.”
Mr. Greene gave him a warm smile. “What exactly is your role in all this?”
“Me? Hmm. I guess I’m just trying to keep everyone alive.”
Mr. Greene nodded at his words. “You are apparently good at this, yes? My men have paid you many compliments on your reactions and speedy dispatch of your adversary. You have had extensive training, yes?”
“I wrestle alligators on the weekend,” Adam said, grinning.
Mr. Greene smiled. “I see. Tell me, Adam, do you buy into the conspiracy that Lara speaks of so confidently?”
Adam was once again impressed with Mr. Greene’s ability to manipulate people. He had evidently sensed something between Lara and Adam, or perhaps had reviewed video footage that might have shown an intimate look shared between the two of them. Now, with but a single question, he’d managed to put Adam in a most defensive position. He wasn’t sure Mr. Greene was necessarily even interested in the answer. It felt more like he was simply attempting to assert subtle control over a man who prided himself on being in control.
Adam felt Lara’s cool blue eyes turn to him expectantly. It was once again a time to choose his words carefully.
“I’m a private investigator by profession, so I’ve seen my share of bizarre happenings. It wasn’t that long ago that I discovered a child sitting alone in a motel room eating boiled peanuts while laughing at Darkwing Duck, all after being kidnapped by a harmless vagabond who resembled Santa Claus. Is it possible that we’re caught up in a CIA plot to kill presidential candidates? I don’t see why not. Besides, the guy in the casino tipped the scale in favor of believability just a bit.” Adam saw a bright, and God love her, heart-warming smile beaming from Lara.
“Why do you say that?” Mr. Greene asked, seemingly more interested in the answer this time.
“Simple. He was waiting for us. If the pecker heads after the map were just lone guns, they wouldn’t have had the resources to find us in Vegas so easily. The only thing that could have led them to think we were headed to Vegas is the map. In my mind, it’s not too big a stretch to conclude that the map indeed indicates something is going to happen here.”
“What about the possibility that you were followed. Or that one of you accidentally let slip your destination?” Mr. Greene asked.
“We’ve been together since we discovered the map, and no one here would make that mistake.” Even as he said the words, Adam recalled Elliot’s unreported phone call. Was it possible that the phone call had set in motion a chain of events that led the killers to find them?
“Do you feel certain the man in the casino had selected you as his specific target? You don’t think that you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time?”
“I’m sure that wasn’t the case.”
“Again, might I ask how you know that?”
“The man who attacked me wasn’t a nut job looking for his next victim,” he said. “When I passed him, his eyes never left the slot machine. He wasn’t looking for a target. He’d already found one. And, let’s face it, there were easier targets within reach. Why pick a big strapping guy like me?”
Lara nudged him playfully and he grinned.
“Yes, yes, I see,” Mr. Greene said.
“Will we be questioned by the police?” Elliot asked.
“I would think not,” Mr. Greene answered. “The hospital doctors concluded that the man died of a massive coronary. My people let that diagnosis stand without any embellishment.”
“There were a lot of witnesses,” Lara interjected.
“True, but as far as the patrons are concerned, it was a simple scuffle. Two men arguing over money—or at least that’s the rumor being disseminated. A reasonable story along with a handful of chips for their inconvenience, and the conflict is easily contained.”
“Then I guess we owe you some thanks,” Adam said.
“Perhaps, but it was you who came to warn me.” Mr. Greene turned to the group as a whole once more. “Who has the map now?”
All eyes turned to Adam. “I do,” he said.
“Would you mind too much if I had a look?”
Adam withdrew the map from the inside pocket of his jacket and moved to the table where he unfolded it for all to see. Even the four security personnel looked on with interest.
Mr. Greene examined the map slowly, moving his finger across the smudged words just above each of the three locations. “Not very readable is it?” he remarked.
“No, but if you look carefully, you will see the three locations are numbered. You are number two,” Lara said.
“Yes, those could be numbers all right,” he agreed. Turning to Adam, he said, “Too bad the rest is so washed out. It looks like there was some writing beside each location that might have shed light on the meaning of the map. Would you mind if I had my people take a look at it?”
Adam hesitated, unsure how to respond. He glanced at Lara who flashed back a look of serious reservation. He didn’t want to give up the map he’d worked so hard to retrieve either. On the other hand, closer examination might give additional information. Perhaps some high-tech optical tricks could recover the lost writing. In the end, however, it was really Lara’s decision, and he suspected she wouldn’t have any trouble refusing.
Before he could answer, Mr. Greene said, “That was unfair of me. We have yet to fully establish our trust. You hang onto it for now. Then, as we become better acquainted, perhaps you will feel comfortable releasing it into my charge.”
Looking away from the map, he turned back to the group. “I’ll be frank with you. I really have no way of knowing if what you are suggesting has any merit. It’s impossible to doubt Lara’s conviction, but I can’t be certain that the conviction is well-founded. On the other hand, someone wanting me dead is not something I find outside the realm of possibility. Besides, one can never be too careful with one’s life, yes?”
Adam and Lara nodded. Elliot yawned.
“Here’s what we’ll do. You three came here at least in part to warn me, and for that, I am grateful. To return the favor, I would like you to be my guests for a few days. At least until we get a better feel for this whole matter. Would that be acceptable to each of you?”
“Fine by me. I just need a shower and a nap,” replied Adam.
“Sounds good,” said Lara.
“As long as we’re free to come and go as we wish,” Elliot added. “You’ll be free to go anywhere you wish,” Mr. Greene answered. “You are my guests, not my prisoners.”
“What about your party tonight?” Lara asked. “Are you going to cancel it?”
Mr. Greene thought for a moment before answering. “I see. You think the assassin may make his presence felt at the party. That would of course be the most logical opportunity.”
He took a long pause before continuing. “No, I don’t believe that canceling the party would be the right thing to do. Just as Adam didn’t think calling security would put his fears to rest, I too want to know if someone wants me dead. We will, of course, take special precautions.”
“Would you mind if we came?” she asked. “We could help keep a look out.”
Without hesitation Mr. Greene answered, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”