Delta Intelligence, as best as I could discern, is a private corporation, yet somehow affiliated with government agencies. Under contract, they gather international intelligence or perform clandestine services. They reportedly have strong communication ties with the CIA.
Jones was most cordial when we met. He promptly queried me for an explanation of why the FBI was so interested in the whereabouts of Lee. I dodged that question, so he went on to explain that he had a former business relationship with Lee on two previous occasions, and thought him to be exceptionally competent in finding solutions to difficult geopolitical problems, once in Caracas, and another time in the Mideast. When I asked point-blank, “Is he working on an assignment for you right now,” his phone rang. After speaking for a few seconds (presumably to his secretary as prearranged), he hung up, said he had to leave on urgent business, and walked out of the room. On the way he added, “Give me a call the next time you’re in the neighborhood.” I’m guessing he will never ask me to come by again. My presumption is that Lee is indeed on an assignment for Delta Intelligence somewhere, most likely overseas.
To: Joshua Jericho, PPS
From: Marcela Hewitt, Branch Chief, Surveillance
I concur with your conclusions. We’re not likely to find him stateside no matter how many resources we commit. He must be overseas. So I’m returning this case over to the CIA people that brought it to our attention. Maybe they can find Lee. For the time being, use your time to address some of the other assignments I’ve given you. If we come to believe he’s back in this country, I’ll alert you to become involved again. In the meantime, I’ll get a warrant to monitor Jones’ overseas phone communications. Keep up the good work, Joshua.
* * *
Lee Suite, Hotel Fairview, Monaco
By noon, Zhu’s hangover had been mortally wounded by the horseradish-amplified Bloody Mary he’d ordered in lieu of breakfast. He could finally move around the suite with minimal brain and back pain. His memory became functional again, and alerted him to review and send his covert photos from Salle Blanche to Chu-lin.
“Hi Chu, Zhu here. Am I coming in clear?”
“Like a bell. How’s it going?”
“Going well. I’m gonna try sending you some photos now. Several are ones I took. And four are professional pictures we paid for. I’m not sure how good they’ll be because I had to use my phone’s camera to copy the glossy prints from the casino photographer.”
“Okay. Then send them. When I load them onto my screen, I’ll call you back.”
Zhu’s burner phone handled the attachment mailing task without difficulty. Twenty minutes later, it rang. Bret listened in. “Zhu, they’re all perfect, exactly as I need for my gossip article placements. But who is that girl biting Bret’s right ear?”
“Uhh, I better put Bret on now.”
“Hi Babe, her name is Celeste, and she’s acting out the role we hired her for. The other girl we hired is named Gabrielle. The two fought over who could bite my ear, and Celeste won.”
“That’s not funny! I’m not sure I like this deal of you being over there without me. Are you sure we can’t work it out so I can come over and bite your ear myself?”
“That’d be great Chu, but we need you to stay there and make me an arms dealer instead. I miss you, and this gambit will be all over in a few more weeks. We’ll send more pictures soon.”
“Okay . . . I guess. Bye.”
That evening, Celeste arrived at the Lee suite at 7:45 p.m., followed soon after by Gabrielle. Because Bret didn’t want to start his second night of gambling until 9:00, he invited the girls to help themselves to a variety of snacks displayed on a large coffee table centered between three of the suite’s large black-and-white zebra-striped couches. Zhu, as bartender, mixed everyone’s drinks of choice. By the time the quartet left for their walk to Monte Carlo Casino, all were enjoying a pleasant buzz from their liquid refreshments. Bret had relaxed into the perfect mood to facilitate his subsequent role- play as a happy noisy drunk.
“Girls, just like in the casino last night, both of you hover around me with lots of attention. Just like I’m your sugar daddy. But join in the fun too, especially if I win. Oh, and Gabrielle, please sometime during the evening, gently bite my left ear. Zhu, get that photo.”
Chapter Sixteen
Salle Europe, Monte Carlo Casino, Monaco
After entering the Salle Europe gambling room, Bret briefly left Zhu and the girls to go visit the casino cashier, where he withdrew €15,000 from his account.
“Why don’t we go back to Salle Blanche?” queried his brother-in-law. “You had such good luck there.”
“Because I’d like to see more of this casino, and want to try my hand at Blackjack and Baccarat. Salle Europe is renowned for its ornate gold décor, and has both games.”
Bret and his entourage cruised the room’s action until he found an empty seat at a Blackjack table. He purchased a stack of €25 chips from the cashier, and bet one. He lost that hand and two more, before winning four in a row. The dealer cleaned up next, with 21, and then repeated the feat, before going bust, and paying the table. Bret raised his voice level, and told a few jokes between hands.
“Hey, I had my credit card stolen the other day, but I didn’t report it . . . because the thief spends less than my wife.” Then he laughed uproariously.
The girls standing right behind him would squeal with delight at his jokes and when he won, and moan when he lost. To the dealer’s dismay, Bret let them take turns deciding and placing the number of chips bet before the first card of each hand.
Meanwhile, Zhu had moved to stand opposite him, an aisle away between multiple tables. He quietly captured some of the Bret-centered activity on his hidden lapel camera, but recorded nothing exciting.
Over the course of an hour, Bret won many times, and lost many more. He was going nowhere, no big gains, no big losses. Of more concern, he and the girls had been able to attract only a small number of onlookers. So he tipped the dealer, moved to a higher-stakes table, and immediately started talking loudly to everyone nearby. Most ignored him, wishing he’d go away, but a small crowd of onlookers who’d seen him gambling at Salle Blanche’s roulette tables started to gather.
“Hey, any big winners or losers here?” Bret questioned noisily, then quickly added, “There soon will be.”
No one responded. The dealer scrunched his shoulders.
“Well, that’s about to change, one way or another. Hey dealer, what denomination chips are those black ones?”
“One hundred euro’s, sir.”
Throwing €2000 on the table, Bret emphatically said, “Here, give me twenty of those.”
The giggling girls crowded close, one on each side.
Bret put a stack of ten chips on the table in front of him as his first bet, and said aloud, “One thousand euros. Come on baby.”
The dealer placed first one, then another card in front of him. He picked them up, looked at them, and laid them down face up, an Ace of Hearts and Jack of Clubs. “Blackjack,” he yelled. A winning Blackjack hand pays 3 to 2, or €1500. He now had €2500 in play.
Each squealing girl gave him a kiss on the nearest cheek. One of the other players at the table left, grumbling to himself in French. A nearby casino security guard moved to a table’s length away. Many “shhhhs” emanated from nearby tables.
After the dealer pointed at the table in front of Bret, advising him to make his next bet, he slurred, “Let it ride,” loudly enough for all to hear three tables away. The crowd grew in number, laughing at his jokes, waiting for the big bets, big wins, and to see if he’d soon be thrown out.
But he won that €2500 bet with three cards totaling 20. And before anyone could quiet him down, he slurred out again, “Let it ride, all €5000.” Some of the onlookers exclaimed delight; others whistled; all crowded closer to watch every card fall.
Two cards dropped into place in front of Bret. He announced aloud, “Now we’re gonna see how Lady Lu
ck treats Steffan Doevendans.”
As he turned the cards over, a 10 and 7 of clubs lay in view. The onlookers held their breaths as the dealer turned over a King of Diamonds, then a 6 of Hearts, and then an 8 of Spades. 24. The dealer had busted.
“She loves me!” Bret shouted. “Thank you Lady Luck. When I’m good, I’m really good.”
His hand paused above the €10,000. The crowd gasped as he said, “Let it ride one more time.”
The dealer reshuffled the cards, and when the first card came to Bret, he smiled. When the second one came, he threw both cards face up on the table: a pair of Aces.
“Split the aces,” he said, as he moved his €10,000 over the first ace, then took €10,000 in bills out of his wallet, and covered the second ace. “Hit me,” said the gambler. The dealer laid a King of Hearts over the Ace of Hearts. A Blackjack. The crowd roared in delight.
“Hit me again,” yelled Bret. “A Queen of Diamonds! Another Blackjack!”
The onlookers went beserk. Women screamed. One fainted. Celeste and Gabrielle hugged him and covered his cheeks with kisses. Three security men joined hands to push the gathering onlookers back. Zhu clicked away silently to catch it all. Bret smiled.
The hand paid €15000 for each ace, €30,000 total, plus the €20,000 he had bet. Bret casually picked up the €50,000, tipped the dealer €2000, and got up from the table, saying, “A good gambler knows when it’s time to fold ‘em. Besides, I’ll need the €50,000 as my stake for Baccara, where I’m heading now. Y’all are welcome to follow me.”
Zhu and the girls caught up with him, asking where he was headed. “I’m just staggering towards those tables over there,” he answered, pointing to the opposite end of the room.
“Well, I looked at those tables earlier,” said Zhu, “and I was told they’re for playing Punto Banco.”
As they walked toward the Baccara area, Bret explained, “Punto Banco is a variant of Baccara. It’s not as impressive as the private roped-off-table versions that you see in James Bond movies, but according to the book I’ve read, it’s straight forward and fast. A player can win or lose a fortune in short order. Million dollar bets are not rare.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” cautioned Zhu.
“Back home, I practiced online until I clearly understood my betting option for each card dealt. Relax Zhu. My bets will be modest, at least to start. I truly believe I’m ready to play on a live Punto Banco table.”
Bret found a vacant seat, discerned the table rules and stakes, got his chips and started playing. Zhu positioned himself where he could be both bodyguard and secret photographer. The girls excused themselves and went to the ladies room. Beefed-up security kept the crowds away from Bret as much as possible.
An hour and fifteen minutes later, Bret cashed in his Punto Banco chips, adding the winnings to his account, and left Salle Europe. After sending Zhu and the girls back to the Fairview, he visited the casino cashier, made sure his night’s winnings had been added to his account, and then arranged a transfer of the rounded total, €250,000, to his KB account, placing the surplus €15,245 into his wallet.
To his astonished delight, as soon as he reached the public area, a reporter approached him and asked, “Are you Steffan Doevendans?”
“Yes.”
A photographer took his picture.
“I understand you won over a quarter-million euros gambling. Is that true?”
“Yes.”
“Wow, I’m with the Monaco-Matin, our local daily newspaper, and we always try to interview the big winners. Very few agree. Would you be willing to take a few minutes of time to tell us about yourself and how you did it?”
“Sure thing.” And Bret did just that, and when finished, turned to leave.
But a woman was waiting to speak to him. “My name is Sherrie and I’m with Coastal News TV. We’d also like to interview you on our morning news show, Mr. Doevendans. It’ll only take a few minutes tomorrow in our studio, just two blocks away, if you can make it?”
“Sure. Why not.”
“Here’s my card. The studio address is right at the bottom. How about 10:00 a.m.?”
“See ya then.”
Happy with his success, Bret headed back to the Fairview, and joined the others in their suite. Zhu and the girls each had a well-deserved drink in hand, considering the night of abstinence in the Salle Europe. Bret addressed the girls: “Celeste and Gabrielle. You were both terrific. You certainly did everything we asked you to do. I hope you had a good time too. Thank you.”
He opened his wallet and gave each girl their €2000 fee, plus a €1000 bonus. They smiled and nodded their delight. Bret then turned and started pouring himself a drink. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the two girls and Zhu tip-toeing out the door, arm-in-arm.
“Hold it Zhu,” he shouted. “I need you here tonight.”
“Oh, come on Bro, the night’s still young,” Zhu pleaded.
“Please tell the ladies ‘Good Night,’ and stay put here in this room with me. We have work that has to be done tonight.”
Chapter Seventeen
Lee Suite, Hotel Fairview, Monaco
Once they were alone, Bret explained, “Now that we’ve made the decision to head next to Macao, we need to ask Chu to make necessary flight and hotel reservations. I also want to fill her in on our gambling luck and news interviews. You need to get today’s photos off to her.”
Having grudgingly accepted the reality that the girls had left without him, Zhu agreed and said, “Okay. But first I’ll give her an eye-witness account of tonight’s wild action, and last night’s too. I’ll tell her all about the crazy crowds you drew. She’ll get a kick writing it.”
“Good. After you finish, I’ll suggest she brief Julien about our progress to date. Why don’t you initiate the call and handle the photo transfer first? I’ll take over again when you’re done.”
Then, while Zhu called and talked with Chu, Bret mixed himself another rum tonic, pondering, Hmm, I wonder if Macao was really the right choice for tomorrow. Maybe South Africa would’ve been a better decision. We should’ve brought Chu in on the decision-making.
Later, shrugging his shoulders, Zhu handed the phone to Bret, saying, “She says she has something important to tell you about Jordan.”
“Jordan? They’ve got gambling casinos in Jordan?”
“Hi Babe, what’s this about Jordan?”
“I just learned today that starting the day after tomorrow there’s gonna be a big four-day international arms show at an airbase in Amman, Jordan. It’s called SOFEX, which stands for Special Operations Forces Exhibition and Conference. It’s touted as ‘The Place to Network with the Global Special Operations and Homeland Security Community.’”
“Oh wow!”
“From what I’ve read online, every major weapons manufacturer in the world brings their equipment there to show off to the military generals from most significant nations. You name it, and it’ll be there . . . tanks, helicopters, airplanes, artillery, small arms, and even knives are on display. Oh, and every guided missile manufacturer will be there as well.”
“I never heard of SOFEX before.”
“It seems to me, Steffan, that as CEO of Dove International Security, and a secret arms dealer, you ought to be there as an interested observer. It would be a great place to hand out some of those Dove business cards you’ve been carrying around. You never know who you might meet.”
“Zowie, Chu, you are so right. What a great idea and opportunity. You should have been made CEO of Dove so you could make all the big decisions.”
“I make them already.”
“I love you too. Can you get us into that show, and find plane and hotel reservations at this late date?”
“Let me work on it.”
“Wonderful. Now I have some news for you. I was a big winner at European Roulette last night, and again at Blackjack and Punto Banco tonight.”
“How big?”
“Total f
or both nights, about 265,000 euros. That’s over 300,000 US dollars. ”
“Oh my god. That’s crazy. Watch out, hon, that nobody robs you.”
“Don’t worry, most of that money’s already safely in the KB Bank. For now, anyway. I’m gonna gamble with it in Macao or Portugal or South Africa. I may lose some or all of it . . . remember, Steffan’s a wildly big spender. That takes real money.”
“Please be careful. All that money! Everybody’s gonna be after it. They’re going to be watching your every step.”
“That’s what we wanted, right? And to help move Steffan along in that direction, he’ll be in the local newspaper tomorrow. Zhu will send you a clipping. Also, tomorrow morning at 10:00 a.m., Steffan has a live interview on a local TV channel. We’ll try to get them to put it on YouTube. Those two interviews ought to provide good fodder for all that gossip you’ll be writing.”
“One other thing, Babe, would you please call Julien and fill him in on everything we’re doing. And tell him to relax. His twenty thousand dollars will definitely be coming home, possibly with some friends.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll say goodnight, then. It’s bedtime here.”
“Not so fast there, buddy.”
“Huh?”
“You’ve been a bad dude, let me tell you.”
“Bad? What d’ya mean, bad? Please explain.”
“Thanks to the first set of photos Zhu sent me, I was able to spin a few yarns about you and your exploits with those two young ladies.”
“Oh, I get it. I’d like to read them sometime. Those girls sure were attractive.”
“Watch your step, Bret Lee.”
“Always. I promise.”
“I know. Anyway, at the end of those articles, I raised a few questions about the source of all of that money you’ve been throwing around. How could a small one-man security business enable Steffan to lead such an extravagant lifestyle? Something just doesn’t add up.”
“Perfecto.”
“As soon as I get a chance to review the photos and interview stuff that Zhu just sent me, I’ll write another round of articles, including some quotes from both newspaper and TV interviews. I’ll basically just repeat all the same points, include new photos and screen grabs from the video, if it was put on YouTube.”
Ghost of Africa Page 7
