John Miller - Smoke and Mirrors

“How did you know he’d be here?” Alexa asked.

“I keep close tabs on him.”

“You don’t know everything.”

“What don’t I know?” Styer asked.

“You’ll see,” she said.

“Tell me,” Styer said, taking a knife out of the pocket of his cardigan, and opening it so she could see the short serrated blade. “I’d like to know what the great FBI agent Alexa Keen could possibly know that I don’t.”

Styer stopped smiling and stood, casually holding the knife down by his leg.

“Oh, there’s one thing I should tell you,” Alexa said, taking a deep breath.

Her scream was the loudest, most powerful sound she had ever made, and completely took Styer by surprise.

He lunged at her.

Kurt Klein tried to relax, but every few minutes he checked the computer for Styer’s reply, softly cursing the empty screen. He was accustomed to business-borne intrigue and suspense, but so much was hanging on this deal that he was screaming inside.

Kurt winced when the phone rang. Finch answered it and spoke softly into the receiver before placing his hand over the instrument and walking over. “Sir, a Senator Raffleman wishes to speak to you.”

Kurt took the phone and waited until Finch had left the room. “Klein here.”

A woman said, “Just a second, please.”

After a click, Bert Raffleman’s voice came on. “Kurt, how are you?”

“I am fine, Senator.”

“And Freida?”

“She’s in Paris spending money. And how is Cindy?”

“Doing the same here in Washington, of course. Any word on when you’re going to hold that press conference on your resort?”

“Absolutely. I will be scheduling it tomorrow, and the invitations will be going out Monday. Can’t do it unless you’ll be here to take credit, since you have been so instrumental in paving the way for it.” Not to mention the nine hundred thousand dollars I paid you and your crooked, blood-sucking pals, you slow-talking, two-faced ass.

“Well, it’s not every day we get an investment like yours down there. Going to be a big boost to the economy. I can’t wait to get on one of those golf courses you’ll be building. And Cindy is excited about the spa. Not that she needs any help in the beauty department. Just let me know when and I’ll be there. You know I wouldn’t let you down. That’s what friends are for,” Raffleman drawled.

After he hung up, Kurt glanced at the computer screen and saw that Styer had answered his e-mail. Sitting forward on the edge of the couch to see better, he put on his glasses and read the response.

Uncle, Message understood. Good news on land. Girl will be home by ten tonight. Will be away from computer from here out. Wire money if satisfied. I have personal business to attend to before leaving.

Kurt closed the connection and sat back, thinking. Styer knew he had been called off the Gardner family. The part that was of concern was the “personal business” reference.

He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Massey’s name had been vaguely familiar to him even before Mulvane mentioned it. Kurt had learned from his source in D.C. that Winter James Massey, while he was a deputy U.S. marshal, had crossed swords with a rogue group of shadows, killing several of them in a series of firefights. He knew that when Yuri Chenchenko had betrayed Styer, he had sent him to kill an ex-federal marshal. That contract had been a ruse, designed to put Styer in a position to be killed by the CIA-sponsored shadow men. Since Massey knew Styer by name, and knew he was in Tunica, the only explanation was that Massey was Styer’s target, and that had to be the personal business Styer mentioned.

It all made sense. Styer had pushed Klein for the assignment in Tunica after Klein had asked Styer to recommend a lesser talent for the job. Styer, claiming he needed an easy assignment to stay sharp, had asked Kurt to let him solve the Gardner problem. For the past eight months Styer had lived here among the natives, doing research and crafting a plan that would make the land deal happen by the drop-dead date Kurt had given him. That date was at hand, and, however it had happened, the land was as good as Kurt’s.

Styer could not kill Massey. Not here or now. He stared out the window unseeingly as something came to him. The only people who could possibly take Styer out were the shadows-the cutouts who’d been Styer’s main adversaries before the Berlin Wall fell. They had wanted Styer dead for years, and had made a very expensive deal with Yuri to get their hands on him. If the two unidentified men Massey had told him were dead were cutouts, they would have been expecting to find Styer, and now that he had killed two of them, they would be looking even harder for him.

Kurt had an idea and a new direction for his thoughts.

Pierce Mulvane had been relieved when Kurt Klein had summoned him with the news that the Gardner land transaction would be done that evening by nine. On Monday the crews would come in from their hotel rooms in Memphis, and in two weeks the ground would be raised several feet, and a trench would be dug to the base of the levee. Soon, a temporary hole would be cut in the levee to connect to the river so the actual casino could be floated there in sections from the fabrication yards. Using the Mississippi River as a highway, they would put the casino together section by section in the concrete pond. The levee would be put back as it had been by the corps, the trench filled in by private contractors, and the casino’s foundation would forever float in a few inches of water.

Klein had invited him to have a celebratory dinner in his suite after the papers were signed. Mulvane picked up his receiver and pressed the intercom button. “Send Tug in.”

Tug Murphy came through the door seconds later, closed it behind him, and stood in front of the desk, hands behind his back. “Yes, sir?”

“Sit,” Pierce said, smiling. “Take a load off.”

Tug took a seat and sat with his back straight, folding his hands on his knee.

“I’ve been asked to have a celebratory dinner with Herr Klein tonight,” Pierce said, suppressing the glee he felt. “The Gardner land deal is in place, and I believe he wants to make my position with River Royale official. The Germans are big on formality.”

Tug nodded once.

“As a reward, he asked me to give you and Albert the night off,” Pierce said.

Tug’s expression became worried.

“You should be honored that he’s so thoughtful. Not that you don’t deserve that and a nice bonus-which will be forthcoming-but that he has thought enough of your efforts to make the gesture.”

“A few minutes ago his man, Finch, said he wanted to go get some local color,” Tug said. “He said we-him and Albert and me-ought to go to a restaurant that had good local food, and hit the blues bar. He said Mr. Klein wanted to treat us to a big night out. He said maybe there’d be some female company later on. It felt kind of…I don’t know…weird to take us out on the spur of the moment. He’s usually such a planner. I told him I had some things I had to see to, and he sort of insisted. He said the two men who worked with him might want to come with us, if that was all right.”

“I see,” Pierce said, thinking through what Tug had said from several angles.

“What seems weirdest is that Klein would have all three of his bodyguards out as well, leaving him unprotected,” Tug said. “Even stranger is that he would send Albert and me along too.”

Pierce thought it was possible that Klein felt secure enough now that the land deal was done that he didn’t feel he needed protection. But Tug’s troubled expression concerned him.