The Scam

  Kate could feel an eye twitch coming on. “The mustache-twirling bad guy was already a cliché when they were doing silent movies.”

  “In other words, it’s a powerful symbol embedded deep in our collective psyche. By twirling my mustache, I’ll provoke primal fear in my adversaries,” Boyd said. “That’s why this mustache is perfect. Nick gave me the idea.”

  Kate turned to Nick. “You didn’t.”

  “I did. I may grow one myself. It would hint at my inner menace,” Nick said.

  “I had a goatee once,” Billy Dee Snipes said, walking up behind Nick and Kate. “But it was like drawing a circle with a Sharpie around my mouth and saying ‘Look at my crooked, yellow teeth.’ So I shaved it off.”

  Billy Dee wore another silk tracksuit similar to the one he’d had on in Las Vegas. The only change he’d made to his wardrobe was the addition of a koofiyad, a Somali skullcap embroidered with an elaborate design of interlocking triangles.

  “Have you seen the bathrooms in here?” Billy Dee asked Nick. “You pee facing a wall of glass that looks out over Kowloon.”

  “It’s a display of aggression, dominance, profanity, freedom, and exhibitionism all rolled into one,” Boyd said. “Urination as performance art and political statement.”

  “I think it’s just a great place to pee. It’s the first time I’ve ever enjoyed having prostate trouble,” Billy Dee said. “I’ve gone twice already and I’m looking forward to going again in ten minutes.”

  The waiter appeared at the table and passed out iPad menus. Kate scrolled through the selections and examined pictures of dishes such as soy-marinated pigeon and French duck liver with caramelized strawberries. What she really craved was an In-N-Out burger or a bucket of KFC. What she ordered instead was a Kobe steak and fries, and a double-chocolate brownie with espresso ice cream and custard sauce for dessert.

  “Your job tomorrow is easy, gentlemen,” Nick said over dessert. “Gamble six million dollars each and have a fabulous time.”

  “I can do that,” Billy Dee said.

  Boyd added cream to his coffee. “That’s easy for you to say. You have the benefit of actually being a Somali pirate, while I must draw on a lifetime of acting experience to deliver a rich and nuanced performance as a Canadian mobster.”

  “It’s okay to win,” Nick continued. “But if you’re losing, pace yourself. Try to walk away with at least five million if you can. You’re here to launder your money, so up to a ten percent loss is acceptable as a washing fee, and I suppose that another five percent loss could be written off to having too much fun.”

  “I’m going to play baccarat like it’s nickel slots,” Billy Dee said.

  “I’ve seen you play the slots,” Kate said. “You never stop hitting the spin button.”

  “Come to think of it,” Nick said, “if we lose it all, it’s only going to make Trace more eager for us to come back, so don’t sweat the money.”

  Kate looked at Nick. “You have a lot to learn about encouraging fiscal restraint.”

  “Because I don’t have any,” he said.

  “I’ve noticed,” she said.

  —

  Nick received a text message just as everyone was finishing dessert.

  “Gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure, as usual,” Nick said. “A small business matter that Kate and I need to attend to has come up. Feel free to continue enjoying yourselves, but remember, we have a big day tomorrow.”

  Kate left the dining room with Nick and paused at the elevator. “What’s up?”

  “There’s someone in Kowloon that I want you to meet,” Nick said. “Sorry about it being so last-minute, but we don’t get to Hong Kong very often and we’re only here for the night.”

  They took the elevator to the lobby, and Kate thought the hotel’s entryway, filled with neoclassical columns, gilded ceilings, and a string quartet, was reminiscent of an elegant bygone era. That feeling passed the moment she stepped outside and saw the scores of tourists posing along the Victoria Harbor waterfront with their smart phones attached to telescoping selfie sticks, trying to get the perfect shot of themselves against the Hong Kong skyline.

  The sidewalks were teeming with people, more than she’d ever seen before on any city street. The roads were clogged with European luxury cars, tour buses, and countless identical red-and-white Toyota taxis.

  They stepped into the flow of people and let it carry them up Canton Road, which was lined with flagship stores for such luxury brands as Louis Vuitton, Hermès, Prada, Harry Winston, and Gucci. The stores were packed with customers, desperate for their chance to spend top dollar on the priciest Western goods. Outside the high-end store doors, and at every street corner, there were relentless hucksters whispering offers of “cheap Gucci, cheap Rolex,” and handing out cards with directions to back-alley shops that sold bootlegs of everything.

  “Who are we meeting?” Kate asked.

  “My tech wizard, Lucie,” Nick said.

  Kate stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and stared at him. “When you made your deal with the FBI, you said you would never do anything that could potentially expose the people you’ve worked with before.”

  “You’re right, I did. And I won’t share her with the FBI. But you’re more than the FBI to me. If the day should come where a con goes wrong, you might need Lucie’s help to disappear. I would rather see you retire to a beach in Thailand than waste away in some federal prison.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah, it took me by surprise, too,” Nick said.

  “Probably we don’t want to talk about it.”

  “For sure. Absolutely. Still, if you’re really grateful…”

  “I don’t think so.”

  A little old man and a young woman bumped into them and said something in rushed Chinese. Nick bowed, gave his apologies to the man, and tugged Kate forward onto a side street, where the sidewalks weren’t quite as mobbed. Garish neon signs for restaurants, shops, and massage parlors hung out over the road, cluttering the air above her head and clamoring for her attention in blazing yellow, orange, and red Chinese letters. The signs cast enough light for the tourists to easily read their pocket maps and for some locals to look natural wearing sunglasses at night. Music blared out of electronics stores. Frustrated drivers leaned on their car horns. The humid air was thick, almost chewable, with the smell of cooking oil, fish, perfume, and bus exhaust. The atmosphere was electric, chaotic, and overwhelming.

  Nick stopped in front of a glass door set in an elegant, marbled façade that looked out of place amid the garishness of the street. Kate looked up and saw that it was the ground floor entrance to a glass-and-marble-sheathed tower that was about as wide as three parking spaces and rose thirty stories into the night sky. Nick punched a code into the security keypad and the door unlocked.

  They rode an elevator up to the twentieth floor. When the door opened, Kate saw two apartment doors that were about a foot apart from each other, and maybe four feet in front of them.

  “This is the smallest apartment corridor I’ve ever seen,” she said.

  “Real estate is tight in Hong Kong.”

  “Literally,” Kate said.

  Nick knocked on the door on the left. It was immediately opened by a young, very thin Chinese woman in her early twenties. She was dressed in a sharp black business suit and white blouse and smiled when she saw Nick. She said something to him affectionately in Chinese, Nick replied back to her in Chinese, and then the young woman turned to Kate.

  “It’s so nice to finally meet you.” She spoke perfect English with a slight British accent. “I’m Lucie Wan. Please come in.”

  Lucie stepped aside and they walked into a small living area with an amazing view. To their left was a large picture window with a cushioned sill that looked out at the towers along Victoria Harbor. To their right was a single bed, the covers neatly tucked into tight military corners. Directly across from them, not even ten feet away, were two pocket doors, one partially open to reveal a t
wo-burner stove, a mini-refrigerator, and a small sink. Kate assumed that behind the other door was a bathroom, probably about the same size of an airplane lavatory.

  “What do you think of my place?” Lucie asked Nick.

  “It’s terrific,” Nick said and kissed her on the cheek. “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you,” Lucie said, beaming with pride. “When this building opened, over two thousand prospective buyers showed up but I was one of only sixty people who scored a place.”

  “You were lucky,” he said.

  “Screw luck,” she said. “I hacked into the developer’s computer and put myself at the top of the list.”

  Lucie turned to a tiny desk that held her laptop computer and two hard drives.

  “The identity for Shane Blackmore is all set if Trace’s people start snooping. He’s listed in Canadian government databases—birth records, tax rolls, DMV, et cetera,” Lucie said. “I’ve also planted news stories that mention him in the Toronto Star and The Vancouver Sun archives. Lou Ould-Abdallah’s identity was much easier to create, since he really is a Somali pirate.”

  “Excellent work,” Nick said. “As usual.”

  “Do you create all of Nick’s false identities, forged passports, and phony credit cards?” Kate asked.

  “I create the identities and accounts in the necessary databases, but I don’t do the physical forgeries,” Lucie said. “I subcontract that out.”

  “There’s no better place than Hong Kong to get a high-quality knockoff,” Nick said, “whether it’s a bootleg Hermès bag or a false passport.”

  “He’s right,” Lucie said. “This dress is fake Prada. Nick doesn’t pay me enough to get the real thing.”

  “I’ve paid you enough to get this apartment,” he said.

  “But now I’m broke,” she said. “I may have to go back to picking pockets.”

  “That’s how Lucie and I met,” Nick said. “She picked my pocket on the street in Lan Kwai Fong, cloned my identity, and emptied out my bank account within the hour. She was only fifteen.”

  “It also only took Nick an hour to find me,” Lucie said. “I was living in a homemade shelter under an overpass in the Central District and tapping into phone lines with a stolen laptop. Instead of having me thrown in jail, he sent me to boarding school.”

  “She obviously had a natural gift for larceny and technology,” Nick said. “All she was missing to succeed was a real education. Now she works in computer services for an international bank.”

  “That’s my menial day job,” Lucie said. “The legitimate front for my real profession, which is keeping Nicolas Fox out of jail. Of course, that’s been a lot easier since you stopped chasing him.”

  Kate felt her throat go dry. “You know who I am?”

  “Of course I do, FBI Special Agent Kate O’Hare. It would be hard to create all of those false identities for you if I didn’t know your real one.”

  —

  It was late when Kate and Nick left Lucie and returned to their hotel. Kate staggered into her eighteenth-floor suite, not noticing the amazing view or the lacquered tea blossoms etched on the wall, or the high-tech tablet that controlled everything in the room, or the low-tech nail dryer built into the dresser. She was exhausted and all she saw was the bed. She stripped down to a T-shirt and panties, slipped between the perfectly ironed sheets, and thought about what a different world China was from her own, and how much she missed the comfort of having a loaded Glock under her pillow.

  —

  The next morning, before taking the elevator up to the Peninsula helipad, Nick handed out tiny flesh-colored earbud radio transmitters/receivers to Kate, Boyd, and Billy Dee.

  “We’ll wear these at all times so we can be in constant, simultaneous contact. They’re practically invisible.”

  Nick was wearing a trim-fit gray Armani silk and wool sport coat, white Hermès slim dress shirt, and Dsquared2 jeans. Kate was in a sleeveless Givenchy black satin top with a very deep V-neck that pretty much guaranteed every man she faced would be distracted by her cleavage. That was the intention. Anything that might distract a possible adversary, even for a split second, was an advantage that she might need. Her knee-length skirt with a ruffled tiered overlay was loose enough to allow her plenty of flexibility for a spin kick, which is what she looked for in a dress. Her silver-studded Yves Saint Laurent calfskin ballerina flats were equally practical, being fancy shoes with pointed toes, while still maintaining the capability to haul ass, if the need should arise.

  The team slipped the earbuds into their ears and took the elevator up to the China Clipper lounge. They passed quickly through and outside to the helipad, where a white-suited, white-gloved valet stowed their luggage and ushered them into the waiting helicopter for their fifteen-minute ride to Macau.

  Billy Dee looked back wistfully at the hotel as the helicopter rose and carried them out over the harbor.

  “I’m going to miss that bathroom,” he said.

  The helicopter soared westward across the Pearl River Delta. Kate’s first glimpse of Macau was the Grand Lisboa hotel and casino, a fifty-three-story tower of gold-tinted glass shaped like the feathered headdress of a showgirl.

  Macau encompassed a three-mile peninsula as well as the former islands of Taipa and Coloane, which were now joined together by the Cotai Strip. Three two-mile-long bridges linked the city to Taipa, one of which was arched to resemble the back of a sleeping dragon, its tail on the island and its head resting in front of the Grand Lisboa.

  They landed on the helipad atop the Macau Ferry Terminal, breezed through the VIP customs checkpoint, and were met outside by a Rolls-Royce Phantom sent by Côte d’Argent. Nick got up front with the chauffeur and Kate sat in the back, sandwiched between Boyd and Billy Dee for the ten-minute drive to the casino along Avenida da Amizade.

  “Macau is over five centuries old,” Nick said, playing tour guide to his junket guests and their eavesdropping driver. “It was built to resemble Lisbon by homesick Portuguese traders. The Vegas casino moguls came much later, and they also wanted to feel at home.”

  A twenty-story replica of Evan Trace’s Côte d’Argent tower appeared to their right. Directly across the street was Steve Wynn’s small-scale copy of his namesake Las Vegas resort. Both properties faced the harbor and Taipa, where the medieval castle-like spires of the Galaxy Macau on the Cotai Strip peeked out beyond the top of Small Taipa Hill.

  “That’s real interesting, Nick. Is there a Tim Hortons around?” Boyd asked, referring to the ubiquitous Canadian coffee chain. He spoke with a slight lilt in his voice, his attempt at a Canadian accent now that he was in character as Shane Blackmore.

  “I don’t think so,” Nick said.

  “Then it isn’t going to feel like home to me,” Boyd said. “If Canadians had settled this place, there’d be a Tim Hortons on every corner, a loon on every dollar, and the Grand Lisboa would be shaped like a golden maple leaf instead of Daffy Duck’s ass.”

  “Is that what it’s supposed to be?” Billy Dee said, craning his neck to look up at it.

  “You know Daffy Duck in Somalia?” Boyd asked as they arrived at Côte d’Argent.

  “No,” Billy Dee shifted his gaze to Boyd and his eyes turned cold, “but I know an ass when I see one.”

  Boyd smiled broadly and wagged a finger at Billy Dee. “That was good, Sheik,” he said. “I think I’m gonna like you.”

  The driver pulled up to the Côte d’Argent VIP entrance, and the four of them stepped out of the Rolls-Royce and into the lobby. It was identical to the one in Las Vegas, right down to the ice sculptures and chilly temperature. The slender, long-legged Macanese hostess who approached them wore high heels and a body-hugging black silk qipao, a sleeveless one-piece dress with a severe Mandarin collar and a subtle pattern of Chinese symbols.

  “I’m Natasha Ling, vice president of guest relations, and I’d like to welcome you to Côte d’Argent,” she said, taking a slight bow in front of them. “I will be seeing to
your needs throughout your stay.”

  “That’s great news,” Boyd said. “What are those drawings on your dress?”

  “Chinese lucky charms,” she said.

  “Do I rub you to get good luck?” Boyd asked.

  “You’ll find these same charms incorporated into the décor throughout the property,” Natasha said. “So good luck surrounds you in Côte d’Argent. Rubbing the staff isn’t necessary.”

  “But it couldn’t hurt,” Boyd said, twirling his mustache. “Especially the pretty ones.”

  Kate caught Nick’s eye and pretended to gag.

  Natasha smiled politely and passed out transparent plastic key cards in paper sleeves with room numbers on them. “These are the keys to your harbor-view suites and the express elevators. They also allow you into your private gaming suite on the eighth floor.”

  “I thought we’d be higher up,” Boyd said. “The penthouse, maybe.”

  “It’s a privilege to be on the eighth floor,” Nick said. “Eight is a lucky number that has great power in Chinese culture. It equals prosperity.”

  “I hope that means for us,” Boyd said. “And not the casino.”

  “We won’t find out standing here,” Billy Dee said impatiently. “Let’s get to the table and play some cards.”

  “This way, please.” Natasha led them through a set of double doors and out into the casino.

  The casino floor was filled with hundreds of baccarat tables. Mobs of Chinese men and women crowded around them, cheering and yelling. The gamblers who couldn’t find seats were standing, reaching across over the heads of the seated players to place bets. Kate slowed her pace beside one of the tables to peek at a game.

  The player who’d been dealt two cards lifted them up very slowly, peeling them up by the edges, as if they were stickers glued to the table. The technique mangled the cards in the process, but the dealer didn’t seem to mind, sweeping them into a trash slot at the end of the hand.