Agent Le Bon stood glumly in his boss's office. Behind her, a picture window showed a gloomy London backdrop. He wished if it was going to rain so steadily the least it could do was drown out her voice. Her harping reminded him of the lectures his Sunday school teacher used to deliver. How was he to know the woman wearing the red sarong was the King's grand-niece? Royals were never supposed to be actually beautiful, just something the society pages called them.
"Simon. Your actions in Thailand and Burma–"
"Myanmar."
She refrained from rolling her eyes, though he could hear it in her tone of voice. "In Myanmar, nearly caused the collapse of the entire country." She flopped a dossier down on the desk in front of him and continued, "You're being placed somewhere you can't get into any more trouble. A new assignment."
He flipped the cover open and smirked. She can't be serious. He glanced back up at her, the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth fixing her face into a permanent scowl. She was serious. And yet the place she was sending him to offered some of the best trouble in the entire world. "My next job is in Sin City?"
"You will be in the charge of Agent Matins the entire time."
Oh, Christ. Her. Agent Matins was a dour woman who wore her hair in a tight black bun and had an arctic disposition that would make a porcupine with iron quills seem warm and cuddly. In her spare time, he suspected she coached schoolmarms, prefects and headmasters on how to more effectively terrify small children.
"We'll be having you partake in a high stakes poker game. You're unfortunately our most adept agent when it comes to cards. One would almost think it was the result of significant experience in that realm, hm? And whilst we would like for you to win, what we really need, is for this man to lose."
She flipped a switch and a giant screen rolled down from the ceiling, covering a far wall. A projected image of Yuri Yushenko appeared on the it, reminding him of Big Brother glaring out at the masses in an old film poster.
"Yushky," Le Bon said, his cheek twitching into a sneer. They'd crossed paths before.
"Yuri Yushenko hosts a high stakes no-limit poker tournament every year. He likes to win."
"I know. I watched him clean up in Montenegro last year." They'd been in an elegant lounge fumigated with cigar smoke. Five or six burly men had been sitting around a poker table at the time and some other thugs stood along the sides of the room watching the dealer turn the final card. Yushenko threw his losing hand down on the table in front of him, and signalled his henchmen. Three Russian toughs raised their guns and began spraying bullets. Le Bon had only made it out alive because he could duck faster than anyone else could aim and fire.
His boss clicked to a new slide on the screen: the Golden Dunes, a golden glass hotel casino a little away from the center of the Las Vegas strip. In the dossier, Le Bon found a copy of the resort's glossy brochure.
"This year's tournament is to be held at the Golden Dunes Resort Casino, where Yushenko personally owns a one-third stake," she said, not moving her eyes from the screen.
"Ah, the new place. And the jackpot?"
"One hundred million dollars."
The sheer size of it made him flinch. Had he heard right? "A hundred million," he rasped, gazing down at the brochure, at the possible treasure buried within the Golden Dunes.
"Ten players, ten million buy-in, winner takes all. One million cash up front, the remainder in escrow."
"Hardly play money, even for him."
"He needs it. Desperately."
Le Bon flipped through the brochure. Penthouse lounge with pool. A full gym and weight room. Separate high-rollers area. Michelin Star chef. Then he flipped to a page showing the hotel front desk. A ravishing redhead stood behind the counter, the three top buttons of her creamy blouse left artfully undone. He traced a finger along the cleft of her generous breasts. "Ooh, la la."
His boss continued, "Yushenko was hiding losses in his company by using subsidiaries that were shorting his own company's stock and buying up bad assets."
"Not exactly a solid business plan," he mumbled, while staring at some very good assets. She was a little ripe to be a model, but perfect for the plucking when it came to other endeavours. Une femme d'une certain age, as the French would say.
"His creditors agree. He has to pony up some hard cash soon or all his loans are going to be called at quarter end."
Although his boss spoke to him as though she were revealing some protected state secret, Yushenko's shaky finances were headline news these days. Which made it easier for him to pretend he was paying attention. "So if he loses he could very well be Russia's Enron."
"Indeed." Agent Le Bon's boss changed the screen to show a map of Eurasia. Thin lines in assorted colors crisscrossed between Russia and Germany like a subway map. "If he pulls this off, he'll be able to buy this company, which will give him total control of all these pipelines from East to West." She switched on a laser pointer and aimed it at the heart of Russia. Moscow.
Le Bon smiled wryly. "Russians always were my favourite enemy."
"Without this hundred million, the deal will fall through. If he loses, we could bring down his entire corporate empire, which these days is as shaky as a house of cards."
Agent Le Bon preened in his reflection on the glass desktop, and smiled while he straightened his tie. "Are secret Agents subject to insider trading laws by any chance?"
His boss shot him a dirty look.
"Pity."