FACETS (JAKE SCARNE THRILLERS Book 6)

by Lawrence de Maria

  “Cheap bastard,” the fat woman hissed as she struggled up the stairs

  Bastian was not on the list, and he didn’t offer any money. The man at the podium looked at him and the rope opened.

  “A former policeman,” Bastian explained when they were through.

  There were six oblong, double-pedestaled mahogany tables set up in the room, all numbered, with nine seats and cup holders at each position. The center at one side of each table was indented, where a dealer could stand and monitor play, identify winning hands, and award chips. It was early, so most of the seats were still filled with players. Scarne assumed it was an elimination tournament. Each table had its own game. No one could leave a table until he, or she, (there were many women playing) went broke. Eventually, only one player would be left with all the chips at a table. Finally, there would be six players left, and they would move to one table for the championship. Scarne presumed that the winner at each table would be rewarded with something, perhaps the original stake. That way, a table winner would not go home a loser. But the last player standing at the final table, could take home a small fortune, minus the casino’s cut. Of course, the amount of the winnings depended on the initial stakes, or “buy ins”.

  Scarne grabbed a passing casino employee.

  “What is the buy in?”

  “Each player must put up 2,000 Euros, sir, or the dollar or guilder equivalent.”

  At current exchange rates, Scarne calculated that whoever won the tournament could win almost $100,000. He wondered if the action here, much smaller than the million-dollar tournaments in Vegas or Atlantic City, would attract the pros who liked to feed off sun-baked tourists. Probably. Everyone needs a vacation, and why not combine pleasure with work. He almost immediately spotted a couple of card sharks who were trying too hard not to look the part. But he took some comfort in the fact gifted amateurs often prevailed in Texas Hold ‘Em tournaments, where a premium was placed on bluffing and luck over card sense. Scarne, who loved poker and was good at it, even considered the possibility that a return trip to Sint Maarten’s Casino Royale might be worthwhile at some time in the future.

  Bastian gripped his arm and brought him out of his reverie.

  “There’s your man. At Table 6.”

  Both men walked over and joined the small group of spectators at Table 6. Scarne recognized Brandeford easily. Still clean-shaven and with a nice tan, he was sitting two seats down on the dealer’s right. He was wearing a white suit, black shirt and silver tie and, judging by the size of the pile of plaques and chips in front of him, appeared to be winning. He was flanked by two men, a tall black man and a wiry Asian with bad skin.

  “As you may have surmised, the big fellow is Jobert, with the earring,” Bastian whispered. “They probably left the other bodyguard back at the house. These are careful people.”

  “Where’s the girl? Perhaps you were wrong about her coming.”

  “I am surprised, my friend. It was my understanding that Jobert is always nearby when she goes out. Since he does not like women, for sex anyway, Brandeford probably approves.”

  He had no sooner said it than Alana Dallas appeared, walking languidly up behind Brandeford, smoking a cigarette. Scarne looked at her, as did everyone at the table. She was even more stunning in person than in her photos. She was wearing a shimmering blue satin sheath dress with a slit that went halfway up her right leg. Her long blond hair flowed down well past her shoulders. Her arms were bare and a double string of pearls hung loosely around her neck. She bent down to say something in Brandeford’s ear and the pearls piled on his shoulder. He smiled and she stood back up.

  This Alana looked nothing like a college student. In a room filled with many attractive women, she stood alone. Scarne could not take his eyes off her, and hers soon rose to meet his. She smiled, a woman used to men staring at her. He smiled back. Brandeford must have sensed something, because he, too, looked over at Scarne across the baize. His expression was less friendly. Scarne had an urge to stare Brandeford down, but that might give a man on the run something to worry about. And he didn’t want that. So, he turned to Bastian and said, “Let’s get a drink.” As he walked away, he glanced back. Alana Dallas was still watching him.

  The room had its own bar, from which waiters served players and spectators constantly. Scarne and Bastian had barely started on their drinks when Alana Dallas moved to a spot next to them.

  “A very dry martini, Hendricks gin, two small olives, please.”

  “Yes, miss,” the bartender said.

  She turned to Scarne.

  “Do you have a match?”

  “No, I’m afraid not. But I think I can arrange one. Bartender, let me have a book of matches.”

  When they were provided, Scarne lighted her cigarette. As Alana bent forward, her blue eyes bore into his.

  “Thank you,” she said, as her drink arrived. “I haven’t seen you around. Have you just arrived?”

  “Yes. I’m looking for properties. This is my real estate adviser, Monsieur Poirot.”

  “Charmed,” Bastian said, and kissed her proffered hand. “And if I may be so bold, you are exquisite, mademoiselle.”

  “You are very kind. May I ask where you have been looking?”

  Bastian came through. His knowledge of the island was extensive. He rattled off a list of properties, all with exotic names: Villa Jasmine, Villa Daffodil, Villa Waterloo, Villa Marchant.

  “Those are certainly nice properties,” Alana said. “I did not realize they were for sale.”

  “Some are on the market,” Bastian said smoothly. “Some are not. Yet. Often, it is a question of merely suggesting a price.”

  “Have you thought about renting, Mr. …?”

  “Scarne. Jake Scarne.”

  “You should consider it,” she said. “That’s what we are doing. We did not know how we would like it here. But it looks like we will now buy our villa. It is magnificent. And so is Sint Maarten.”

  “Where is your villa, Miss …?”

  “Brandeford, Alana Brandeford. It is called Villa Amaryllis. On Cole Bay.”

  “A beautiful property,” Bastian commented.

  Scarne looked at his watch.

  “I am afraid I have made Monsieur Poirot very late for his dinner. We’ve been haggling. I’m sorry Poirot, but $4 million is a bit more than I am willing to go. And the last place you showed me does not even have a heliport! You will just have to keep looking. And perhaps the lady is right. Why don’t you scout up a couple of rentals for me.”

  Bastian feigned frustration and then shrugged.

  “As you wish. Please come by the office tomorrow and I may have something else to show you.”

  “Of course.”

  Scarne turned to Alana.

  “Please excuse me for a moment. I want to walk Poirot out. Can I buy you another drink?”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  Scarne signaled the waiter for two more drinks.

  At the rope where they came in, Scarne and Bastian shook hands.

  “I probably won’t be seeing you again, Farron. The rest of your fee will arrive shortly. You do excellent work.”

  “So do you, my friend. But I don’t know what you are up to now. Isn’t this risky?”

  “She doesn’t know who I am. I just want to get a feel for her.”

  “She is quite lovely. Much too good for that man she is with. Good luck.”

  Bastian, being French, obviously misunderstood Scarne’s intentions. He did not correct him. The less he really knew, the better.

  “You really bailed me out with all that real estate stuff. How do you know so much about upscale villas?”

  Bastian laughed.

  “At one time or another, they all were involved in marital disputes, or were properties some of your American schemers bought with their ill-gotten gains. I was hired to find assets or people. I could have listed a dozen more, on both sides of the island. Au revoir. And be careful with these people.”


  Scarne walked back to the bar

  “I’m sorry if I interrupted something,” Alana said.

  “Don’t be. He is a nice fellow, but I’d have to be insane to talk to him rather than you.”

  Alana plucked one of the olives out of her martini and took a nibble. It was the sexiest nibble Scarne had ever seen. He wondered how she did it.

  “You are with that man who is playing at Table 6,” Scarne said.

  “Yes.”

  “At Amaryllis?”

  She smiled.

  “My, aren’t we nosy? But, yes, we are together.”

  “Yet, you came all the way over here to ask me to light your cigarette.”

  “I saw you staring at me.”

  “Me, and everyone else in the room.”

  “Not the way you were. It’s almost like you knew me. And I have to say, it’s almost like I know you. You are not a movie star, are you?

  Scarne had to laugh.

  “Ouch! What a horrible thing to say.”

  Alana Dallas laughed.

  “I didn’t mean it that way. You are certainly good-looking but in the way a lot of stars are nowadays. Not classic good looks, you know, but kind of rough around the edges. Like Liam Neesen or Tom Hardy. A bit beat up, you know. Ruggedly handsome.”

  Scarne laughed harder.

  “I’m digging myself a hole, aren’t I,” Alana said. “Well, after all, anyone can tell your nose has been broken.”

  “Yes, it my most endearing trait. I got it trying to pick up some other man’s girl.”

  She looked startled until she realized he was joking.

  “Actually, it’s an old rugby injury. College days.”

  Alana nibbled another olive.

  “Are you trying to pick me up?”

  “I think you might be a bit young for me.”

  “I like older men,” Alana said, her eyes boring into his.

  “Double ouch.”

  “How long will you be in Sint Maarten?” she asked.

  Before Scarne could answer, her eyes widened fractionally and he felt a large presence at his back.

  “Mademoiselle, Monsieur Lucas would like you to return to the table. He is undergoing a period of bad luck. He said the cards started running against him after you left.”

  It was Jobert.

  “Well, duty calls, Mr. Scarne. Thank you for the drink. Perhaps we shall meet again.”

  She offered her hand. It was warm and inviting, and she held his for a beat longer than normal.

  “I am looking forward to it,” Scarne said, drawing a sharp glance from the bodyguard.

  As Alana left, Jobert looked back at Scarne. There was no animus in the look. It was centered at the left side of Scarne’s jacket, where his shoulder holster made an almost imperceptible bulge. Imperceptible to anyone but a professional.

  A slight smile creased Jobert’s lips.

  CHAPTER 24 - INFINITY

  The following evening, Scarne drove out to Princess Juliana International Airport to pick up Anastasia at the Private Aviation Terminal. He parked his rental car next to the hangar and went inside just as the Dallassio private jet taxied in. It was a Dassault Falcon. He smiled at the thought of Anastasia filling out the Dutch customs form and listing his weapons and ammunition. He could just see the old hit man scribbling “filed off” in the spaces reserved for serial numbers.

  The door to Dassault opened and Anastasia started down the stairs.

  Followed by Maura Dallas. Scarne was surprised. When he’d called Anastasia, he assumed that Vincent would not want her involved in what they had to do. It was a needless complication, and that worried Scarne.

  Maura strode purposefully up to him. She looked different. Tense. Older. Distracted. There was something in her eyes he did not like. She did not offer her hand.

  “Where are they?”

  “They have rented an isolated villa on Cole Bay.”

  “Will they be there now?”

  “I can’t be sure, but I know they had a late night at the casino last evening and I understand they rarely go out two nights in a row.”

  “Take me there.”

  Scarne looked at Anastasia. He couldn’t read anything in his face.

  “Listen, Maura. Let’s go to my hotel and discuss this. As I’ve explained to Vincent, the villa is well guarded. There is a gatehouse that is always manned. The fence surrounding the property is alarmed. The beach behind the villa is flanked by high rock promontories that stretch well into the bay. Brandeford has hired three armed bodyguards, at least two of whom are always with him and Alana. All three will be at the villa if they have not gone out. I planned on working out a strategy with Vincent to grab your daughter without having to shoot our way into the compound. That would be too dangerous for her. We can perhaps create a diversion in the front of the property and then land on the beach behind the house and get in that way. We can’t just barge in the front door. Even better would be to grab her when she is out shopping during the day. But it will take time to set up either scenario.”

  “I appreciate your concern, and what you have done so far, but my plan is much simpler. I am going to ring the front bell.”

  A smartly uninformed man wearing a badge that said Sint Maarten Customs Department walked up to them.

  “Ms. Dallas? Your forms appear to be in order. If you will kindly step over to the booth, I will stamp your passports and you can be on your way.”

  She followed the officer. So, the Dallassio fix was already in. Scarne grabbed Anastasia’s arm as he walked past.

  “What the hell is going on, Vincent?”

  “Not now,” he hissed. “She won’t listen to me. We’ll have to play it by ear. Just make sure you have a round in the chamber. I have a bad feeling about this.”

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  ***

  Scarne drove up to the gatehouse at Villa Amaryllis. The guard, a skinny white man with a scraggly handlebar mustache, came out of the booth and held up his hand. He was wearing a generic guard uniform of the type that can be purchased at any military surplus store. There were dark splotches of sweat on the rim of his baseball-type hat and under his armpits. He was wearing a holster with what looked to be a Sig Sauer automatic on his right hip.

  “You folks lost? This is private property.”

  His tone was neutral.

  “We’re here to see Brandeford,” Scarne said.

  “He’s not expecting any visitors.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I’d a been told, mack.”

  A little more bite to the response.

  “Well, we just thought we’d drop in. I think he’ll see us.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Just call the house and tell him that Maura Dallas is here to see her daughter, Alana.”

  “Her daughter?”

  Now he was confused.

  “Make the call.”

  The guard went back into his booth and picked up the phone. A few minutes later, he came out, looking worried.

  “When I open the gate, drive up slowly and stay in the car. You unnerstand?”

  Scarne did as he was instructed. Jobert and the Asian guard were waiting for them in the circular driveway by the front door. They had guns out. Jobert motioned for them to get out of the car. When they did, Scarne noted that the gate guard now brought up the rear. He also had his gun out.

  “Search them,” Jobert said.

  The other two guards quickly removed Scarne and Anastasia’s guns and did a quick pat down. They weren’t pros. Scarne had only brought his Hechler-Koch, which was now in Jobert’s pocket along with Anastasia’s Glock. He felt naked without it and could only hope the Dallassio assassin had a second piece somewhere on his body. Whatever Maura’s plan was, they were now outgunned.

  The white guard made a move to search Maura.

  “Touch her and I’ll kill you,” Anastasia said.

  “Sure you will, tough guy,” the man sneered.
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br />   “I’ll do it,” Jobert said. He looked at Anastasia. “I will be proper.”

  Scarne braced himself for what might happen.

  “It’s all right, Emile, it is my mother.”

  It was Alana, who had come out to the driveway and walked up to Maura and Anastasia. They did not embrace, but Alana took her mother’s arm and started leading them both into the house. She stared at Scarne and smiled.

  “Bring him back to the pool, too. But be careful with him. He is obviously not what he seems.”

  ***

  Villa Amaryllis was indeed magnificent. They walked through a large entry hall into a spacious two-story great room featuring massive wooden beams and hand-troweled stucco walls. Sliding doors led to an enormous patio, with an outside bar, cabana and zero-entry pool. On the lanai was a large covered area with wicker furniture, a gas fire pit, a dining table and chaise lounges. Scarne was slow walking through the open sliding doors and the gate guard jabbed him in the back with his gun, for about the fifth time. Scarne had enough. He pirouetted and got behind the man, put his foot on his back and pushed him onto the patio where he sprawled on all fours. The gun clattered across the marble floor. The man craw-walked after his weapon. Just before he reached it, Jobert put his foot on it.

  “He pokes me with that gun again and I’m going to make him eat it,” Scarne said.

  The man came up snarling.

  “Hold it!” Jobert snapped.

  “We are not armed,” Maura Dallas said. “I don’t know why you are pointing guns at us.”

  “My mother is right,” Alana said. “Put them away.”

  The guard got up off the floor and Jobert handed him his gun with a look of disgust on his face.

  “Put it away.” He looked at the Asian guard and nodded. “You, too, Shing.” Then he holstered his own weapon. The man Scarne had kicked kept his hand on his holster and stared malevolently at him.

  “Well, well, look who is here.” It was Brandeford, who was sitting in a chaise lounge by the side of the infinity pool. “Hello, Maura. It’s been a while. To what do I owe the plesasure.”

  Brandeford was trying to act nonchalantly, but Scarne could tell it was an act.

  “I came to take my daughter home.”