Mack Reynolds - Code Duello

Helen said, “Zorro’ll make his contacts today with agricultural elements. Possibly they’re more politically minded than your double-domes.”

If he can stop thinking about the Dawn worlds long enough. See here, what do you think about Jerry?”

“’What is there to think about Jerry? Lee Chang pulled a blank when she brought that one into her Department of Special Talents.”

“I don’t know. How do you explain the phenomenon of his luck?”

“It’s that damn morale of his. That air of knowing perfectly well that everything is going to work out for him. It simply never occurs that it could be otherwise. Suppose you’re playing poker. You’ve got, say, four queens and the pot’s gigantic. You look over at him, knowing his reputation for luck. He’s got this idiotic confidence on his face. You have inner qualms. Still wearing that complete rejection of the classic poker face, he raises. Now you know he’s got at least four kings and probably a straight flush. Your own morale shattered, you fold. Actually, what he’s probably got is a pair of deuces.” She snorted disgust again.

Horsten looked at her. “Suppose you called him instead of folding?”

“You don’t. That’s what makes you so furious, afterwards. Did you ever play poker with him?”

The big man shuddered. “I wouldn’t bet him it was Tuesday, on Tuesday. As a scientist, I don’t believe in time travel, and I’d hate to be the one to prove myself wrong.”

“Why, Dorn, you old fuddy-duddy. You made a funny.”

He suddenly sat erect. “Poker!” he exclaimed.

“What’s the matter?”

“Where’s Jerry?”

“He was going to wait until the First Signore came back to the suite and go through the pretense of looking into investment opportunities. There’s always the off chance that some of these Engelists are in the highest places, among d’Arrezzo’s own financial advisers. It wouldn’t be the first time a revolt has been sponsored from the top down. Look at Franco, look at Hitler…”

“Poker?” Horsten ejaculated, coming hurriedly to his feet.

“What’s the matter with you?”

He grabbed her by the hand and took off in the direction from which they had come. Her short legs had to blur to keep up with his pace.

“Why do you think our friend Antonio d’Arrezzo was so compliant about letting Jerry—and us—remain in his personal suite?”

“He bet with Jerry, and lost! Slow down, damn it!”

He looked desperately up and down the street, even as he hurried. Passersby now looked at them, startled. Gertrude was being dragged along by one leg; Helen’s hair streamed back.

“Aren’t there any hovercabs in this confounded town!” he complained. “How do you know the First Signore lost that bet?”

She blinked up at him.

“Jerry didn’t look. He never looks. He automatically assumes he’s won. You didn’t see the coin, I didn’t. Nobody saw it but d’Arrezzo. Are you sure Jerry won?”

“What are you driving at? Look out!”

Dom Horsten, in blind hurry to get back to the hotel, had started across a street. A small, two-seat sports hovercar was upon them, its klaxon blurting hysterically.

Horsten straight-armed it with his left, and the hood accordioned in a crash and moan of ruptured metal. Not even bothering to look back, he hustled Helen on.

“Didn’t you get those questions about Jerry’s supposed resources? What form he has his capital in? And you know what we’ve briefed Jerry to say.”

“What’re you talking about!” she wailed. Only her acrobatic training was keeping her on her feet and saving her from being dragged by the agitated scientist. “Large amounts of cash, and Firenze is a planet that’s evidently short of negotiable exchange. Jerry supposedly has an almost infinite amount of variable capital deposited on Geneva, famed for its numbered accounts. Famed for the politicians and treasurers who have taken it on the lam from the planets where they held office.”

“Oh, oh,” Helen said. “He asked Jerry if he knew how to play poker!” She reached up and snagged her companion’s belt, hit her heels against the sidewalk and gracefully bounded to the other’s shoulder. “Get a move on, horsey!”

No cab was forthcoming and they were forced to retrace the whole way back to the Albergo Palazzo on foot. At the main entrance, Dorn Horsten came to a quick halt. The Great Marconi was emerging.

The self-named Engelist beamed at them. “Ah, the celebrated Dr. Horsten. I was just refused entrance to your quarters. But here you are.”

“What did you want?”

Cesare Marconi negligently let his eyes go back and forth, checking their vicinity, before saying, “On considering you and your associates at greater length, it occurred to me that we might exchange further information.”

The big scientist hesitated. “Look. Come along. Perhaps we could use an extra witness—a Florentine witness.”

The other’s eyebrows went up, but he trailed along. He murmured, “Very well, but believe me, my most fervent oath to veracity is as though written on expanding gas, in this town.”

On the way to the private elevator which led to the penthouse suite, Marconi said, “And what is the great emergency?”

Helen, still perched on Horsten’s shoulder, her arms around his neck, said, “My daddy thinks maybe Mr. First Signore is gonna try and gyp my Uncle Jerry.” She added, “He doesn’t know my Uncle Jerry.”

Cesare Marconi looked at her thoughtfully. He murmured, “And I am afraid your Uncle Jerry doesn’t know Cousin Antonio. One does not become a chief executive on any world without certain devious qualities. Certainly, one does not become First Signore without them.”

“My Uncle Jerry is lucky,” Helen announced.

“So is my cousin Antonio. He’s lucky somebody hasn’t shot him already. It’s high time he got out from under.”

They reached the penthouse, to be greeted by a host of the First Signore’s bodyguards. The officer in charge scowled at Cesare Marconi. “Signore, I have already informed you that His Zelenza…”

Dorn Horsten bit out, “Citizen Marconi accompanies me. I am His Zelenza’s guest.”

“But the First Signore has ordered that he not be disturbed!”

The small group was hustling past him to the door of the suite. Horsten said, “Don’t be an ass, my good fellow. I live here.”

Helen made a face at the security man.

Inside, they pulled up abruptly. Exactly what Horsten had dreaded finding wasn’t clear, but not this.

Space had been cleared for a big table in the living room’s center. Two or three of the faceless staff which accompanied the Florentine chief of state were busily at work on it. To one side Jerry Rhodes and’ their host, Antonio d’Arrezzo, glasses in hand. With them stood a newcomer to the Section G group. He was a smallish man, evidently nervous by nature and with added worries currently besieging him.

The First Signore scowled. “Cesare! I thought I…”

Cesare Marconi made his usual sweeping bow. “The good doctor insisted I accompany him.”

Horsten looked about the room, even as he lowered Helen to the floor. “What transpires?”

Jerry said, “The First Signore is being kind enough to introduce me to one of his favorite games.”

“Poker?” Helen blurted inadvertently. She was ignored.

At that moment, four of the goon guards came staggering in from a rear room. Between them they carried a large and weighty wheel-like object. They manhandled it to the table, heaved together and settled it to one end.

“Roulette!” Horsten said.

“Ah,” the First Signore said, turning his attention from his black sheep cousin. “Then you are acquainted with my secret vice, Doctor. I would invite you to participate but I suspect, that as a scientist, you are slightly out of your financial depth. The Signore Rhodes and I, ha ha, have had words. We have challenged each other to play for, ha ha, sizable stakes.”