Ian Hamilton - The disciple of Las Vegas

“And you’re comfortable with our continuing to work for him?”

“Ava, since when did our clients have to be nice people?”

“True enough.”

“As long as they honour their agreement, we should honour ours.”

“Yes, Uncle.”

“I know you do not like Ordonez, but men like him do not care whether we like them or not, and any emotion spent in that regard is wasted.”

“I understand, Uncle,” Ava said. “I forgot to mention — Ordonez called me today as well.”

“Chang did not mention anything about that.”

“He may not know. The call was at three o’clock in the morning, Manila time. He wanted me to call him with updates.”

“What did you say?”

“I said no.”

“How did he take it?”

“Not well.”

“I will talk to Chang.”

“Uncle, if Chang can’t get him to back off, I may need you to speak to him. I can’t work like this. I’m going to Victoria in the morning to meet with Chief Francis, and I want to have a clear head. I don’t want to be worried about answering my phone.”

“I understand,” he said.

Ava knew he did. What she didn’t know was whether Tommy Ordonez would listen.

Ava caught the first flight out, at 7 a.m., and by eight she was walking up the front steps of the Fairmont Empress Hotel. Behind her Victoria’s inner harbour glittered in the morning sun.

The hotel was designed to look like a monstrous French chateau; its golden brickwork was shrouded in ivy and topped with a blue slate roof. It was more than a hundred years old, and to Ava’s critical eye it wasn’t showing many signs of its age. She walked into the lobby and admired the seamless marriage of marble and wood and the huge overhanging chandeliers. She could understand why the hotel was still on the Conde Nast Gold List.

She walked over to the reception desk and checked her luggage with the concierge. Ava then went to the house phone, called the hotel operator, and asked to be connected to Chief Francis’s room. The phone rang five times and then went to voicemail.

“Good morning, Chief Francis. My name is Ava Lee, and I represent a Hong Kong investment firm. You were recommended to us by a colleague who met you several years ago when you were considering building a casino. We have other, more diverse interests, and I’d appreciate the opportunity to sit and talk with you. I was in Vancouver yesterday and called your home last night to make an appointment. Your wife graciously told me you were in Victoria, so I flew over this morning, hoping we could connect. I’m at the hotel, and I’ll leave you with my cellphone number.”

Ava retreated to the lobby and settled into a leather chair. There was nothing to do but wait. She gave herself until one o’clock. If she didn’t hear from him by then, she would go looking for him and engage him as best as she could.

She picked up the Vancouver Sun and was scanning the front page when her cellphone rang. An eastern Ontario area code lit up the screen, and for a second she thought it was Marian calling, until she noticed that the number was unfamiliar. “Ava Lee.”

“This is Chief Ronald Francis.”

“Thank you for returning my call.”

“Do I know you?”

“No, sir, you don’t,” she said and paused. She didn’t want to lie to him, nor did she want to raise the Philip Chew problem over the phone. So she said nothing.

“And you want to meet?”

“If that’s possible. I’d really appreciate even ten minutes of your time.”

She could hear him mumbling to someone. “We have a small boardroom on the mezzanine level,” he said. “I have an opening in half an hour.”

“I’ll be there,” she said.

Ava stood up and walked to the business centre. She printed out the data Maynard and Hunter had sent her and went through it with a black marker, obliterating any mention of their real names and their player names.

At five to nine she was at the boardroom door. She pulled at the cuffs of her crisp white Brooks Brothers shirt and then absentmindedly fiddled with her gold crucifix pendant. A thin young man wearing a Western shirt and jeans opened the door. “Could you wait a minute?” he asked.

She stood outside for fifteen minutes, listening as an active discussion went on inside the room. She thought she heard the word river, and then the door opened. The same young man poked his head out. “You can come in now.”

She walked in and saw two men sitting at a round table. The man she recognized as Chief Francis was leaning back in his chair, his feet up on the table, displaying his cowboy boots. The other man was big and broad and had arms as thick as Ava’s thighs. The two men stood and looked at her with disinterest.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Francis said, extending his right hand as his left reached back to adjust his braid. “This is a busy time for us. I’m Chief Ronald Francis. This is Martin,” he said, pointing at the young man who had let her in. “And Harold,” he went on, motioning to the large man.

“Thank you for seeing me,” Ava said as Martin’s warm brown eyes caught hers. She waited to be asked to sit. When no one spoke, she sat down, opened her Chanel purse, and took out her Moleskine notebook, along with the envelope that contained Maynard’s and Hunter’s data.

“I wasn’t expecting a presentation,” Francis said. He resumed his seat, put his feet back on the table, and motioned for Martin and Harold to sit down.

“My name is Ava Lee and I’m an accountant,” she said. “I’m here on behalf of perhaps the largest multinational company in the Philippines, and one of the largest in Asia.”

“I thought you said you were Hong Kong-based.”

“I work for a Hong Kong firm that’s been hired by the Filipino company. I was brought on to look into a rather substantial fraud case that may indirectly involve your band,” she said.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“The River.”

Francis’s look of disinterest evaporated, and she found herself the subject of a prolonged and menacing stare. “This is crap,” he said. He looked at Harold as he said to Ava, “This meeting is over.”

Ava didn’t move. “Chief Francis, if you can give me about ten minutes of your time, I think we can work together at resolving what is basically a business issue that my people would like handled as discreetly as possible.”

“This meeting is over,” he repeated and nodded at Harold, who stood up and reached for Ava. He grabbed her by the left bicep, and when she didn’t immediately respond to his touch, he increased the pressure and yanked her to her feet.

Francis was turning away when Ava’s right hand shot out and connected with the elbow of Harold’s extended arm. He spun around when the man screamed and staggered backwards, his arm dangling uselessly by his side.

“I’m sorry, I can’t stand being mauled,” Ava said. “All I want is a ten-minute discussion. If you want me to leave after we’ve had it, I will do so without any fuss.”

Harold collapsed into a chair, his face contorted and blooming with pain. “What did you do to him?” Francis asked.

“He has a particularly sensitive nerve in his elbow. He’ll be okay in about thirty minutes.”

He stared at her again. She didn’t flinch. “Who are you?” he said.

“Someone you need to talk to.”

Francis took his feet off the table and motioned to Martin. “Martin, despite his age, is one of my senior financial people. He’s also the most computer literate of us.”

“So we can talk?”

“I’m listening, but I’m not sure for how long. We’ve been briefed already.”

“You’ve already been told about the problem?”