Red Queen

by Christopher Pike

  What would happen?

  I’d realize I was the biggest fool on the whole damn Strip.

  “Shouldn’t we meet in your room?” I asked casually.

  He didn’t hesitate. He pulled a room card from his pocket. “First tower. Room four-three-one-four. Be careful, that’s the only key I have on me. I’ll knock four times.”

  I suddenly felt much better. “Great.” I went to leave.

  “Jessie?” he called.

  I paused. “What?”

  “What’s my room number?”

  “Four-three . . . Ahh . . . damn, I’m drunk.”

  “Four-three-one-four. Say it aloud three times.”

  “Four-three-one-four. Four-three-one-four. Four-three-one-four.”

  “Once you’re in the room, call down for coffee and dessert.”

  “What kind of dessert do you want?”

  “I’ll have what you’re having. Now get out of here.”

  The moment I stepped out of the casino and onto the busy Strip, I felt a wave of relief wash over me. The night was still warm but I felt embraced by a delicious joy that cooled my brain. I had just won an impossible sum of money, I realized, but it seemed as if my happiness came from another source. Russ was not an ordinary guy, he was a magic man. I had a strange feeling that if I stayed close to him, really got to know him, I’d discover the source of his magic.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  RUSS’S PLACE WAS PHENOMENAL. ON the top floor of the Mandalay Bay, he had the corner suite facing the Strip. It had a huge bedroom, a dining area, a kitchen, and a posh living room that I believed only the rich could truly be comfortable in. I mean, I hesitated to sit on the sofa. The light brown material was so soft, so luxurious, I could drown in it. To keep from dozing, I ended up sitting in a black leather chair that overlooked the endless hotels.

  Fortunately, I could reach the phone from where I was sitting. The guy down in room service referred to me as Mrs. Devon. I found the name amusing until I realized he might have spoken to a real Mrs. Devon earlier in the day. It was possible. How well did I really know Russ? The truth was, all I knew was that he was a genius at blackjack.

  After placing an order for a pot of coffee and an assortment of cakes and ice cream, I jumped out of the chair and did a hasty search of the suite. As a rule, I hated snoops, but caution told me to learn what I could about the mysterious Russell Devon while he was out of sight.

  There were only male clothes hanging in the closets. He had brought two large suitcases to town; he had three full suits, and plenty of ties and shirts to choose from, not to mention four pairs of shoes, all made of rich leather. Clearly, he planned to be around for a while.

  He had left a laptop running on the table in the dining area, beside a pile of flyers that were stamped with two bright red letters: WW. A closer look revealed that the initials stood for West World.

  I assumed it was a company he worked for. I didn’t study any of the brochures in detail, but read enough to learn the firm dealt with some kind of genome project—in other words, the study of human genes.

  His laptop posed a real temptation. His files were open and available to be read; he had already entered his password. He had obviously left it on with the confidence he would be the first one to return to his room. I could read his private mail if I wanted to. He must have forgotten about the laptop when he had given me the key to his room.

  Nevertheless, I found it odd he had left the computer on. I wasn’t a privacy freak but I never left my laptop in a position where even my mother could read it.

  Two things kept me from checking out his mail: the fact that I would hate it if he did the same to me, and the chance he would later discover I had done so. Russ was obviously smart; he wasn’t someone to miss that kind of detail.

  I returned to the comfort of the leather chair. It was a quarter past midnight. It had been a long day, an eventful day, and with the alcohol in my bloodstream, I began to yawn and closed my eyes. The next thing I knew there was someone knocking at the door; the noise woke me with a start. But the person hadn’t knocked four times. Of course I had just called room service. Carefully, quietly, I crept to the door.

  “Hello?” I called.

  “Room service.”

  “Great.” I opened the door. The guy—he was young, but quick on his feet—wheeled in a tray loaded with enough desserts for a party. What the hell, I thought. Russ couldn’t be worried about the bill. After writing in a big tip for the waiter, I signed the check using Russ’s name. The waiter smiled and left and I poured myself a large cup of coffee, topping it off with cream and sugar. One sip told me I was drinking coffee I had never been able to afford in my life.

  Ten minutes later there were four light knocks on the door. I opened it and smiled when I saw Russ’s grin and the bag of cash he was carrying. I assumed it was cash. He tossed me the leather sack, and it had that “money” feel to it.

  “Did they let you take sixty grand?” I asked.

  “A hundred.” He walked in and saw the tray of desserts. “Jesus, Jessie. You must be someone who doesn’t easily gain weight.”

  It’s funny but it was only then that I took the time to size up his body. I wondered if the inspiration came from the sack of cash I held. Why did money and sex go so well together? Without a blackjack table in his way, I could see just how well-built he was. He must have worked out regularly. With such a great ass, and those blue eyes of his, he was going to be hard to resist.

  However, it wasn’t as if I decided to sleep with him right then. But yes, I began to think about it.

  “You’re wrong,” I said. “I count every calorie I eat.”

  He gestured to the desserts. “How much is here?”

  “About sixty thousand.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Is that a hint?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Are you afraid I’m not going to give you your money?”

  I shrugged, trying to act cool. “I had a good time winning it. I don’t care if you keep it.”

  “Bullshit!” He laughed. “You should have seen the look on your face when I asked that question. It was priceless.”

  “Great. Then I just earned my money.”

  “Touché.” He paused. “You can let go of it, you know.”

  “What?”

  “The bag of money. You’re holding on to it for dear life.”

  I wanted to snap at him that I didn’t give a damn about the money, but he had me. I was hugging the bag so tightly to my chest I had to make a conscious effort to set it down. The bag was hard not to stare at. It represented a whole new future for me.

  “How old are you?” I asked.

  “How old do I look?”

  “You’re a tough one,” I admitted. “Your body language puts you past thirty. That’s a compliment, by the way. You have a commanding presence. But if I just saw your picture, I’d say you could be as young as twenty-five.”

  “Interesting.”

  I picked up the bag of cash and threw it at him. “Interesting? Is that all I get? How old are you?”

  “How old are you?”

  “I’m legal.”

  “Legal for what? Not gambling, that’s for sure.” He paused. “You must be between eighteen and twenty.”

  “True. Now you give me an in between for your age. As long as it’s only two years apart.”

  He shook his head. “No can do.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because then I’d have to lie to you. And I don’t want to do that.” He held up the bag of cash. “You know what? You’re a first.”

  “A first at what?”

  “I threw a bag of cash at you and you threw it back. I’ve never seen a woman do that before. Once they have their hands on it, they usually don’t let go.”

  I was flattered. “I trust you. Besides, it’s not really my money, and now I’m being serious. I did nothing to earn it. You’re under no obligation to share it with me.”

  “You truste
d me. That’s enough.” He set the cash down on a nearby table. “By the way, you can keep the whole hundred if you want.”

  I almost fell over. I shook my head firmly. “No, absolutely not. That wouldn’t be fair. After taxes, at most I should get thirty-five grand. You can’t give me three times that amount.”

  “I can give you whatever I want. It’s up to you to accept it. You saw how much I won. The extra money won’t make any difference to me. But it can help you. At the table, you mentioned how you wished you could go to the same school as Alex.” He gestured to the bag. “Well, there’s your ticket.”

  “Like I could walk into UCLA and pay for my tuition with cash.”

  “Believe me, they would take it and not ask a single question. All the campuses in California are hurting for money. They’ll be happy to let a bright young woman like you in, especially if you’re not asking for financial aid.”

  “It’s too late to apply for the fall semester.”

  “Show them the money and see what they say.”

  My head spun. I retreated to my chair and my cup of coffee and swallowed a big gulp of caffeine. The waiter had brought six different dishes of ice cream—all of which rested on ice cubes—and six varieties of cake. The dishes looked divine but my stomach was spinning along with my brain and I didn’t know if could eat. Russ sat on a nearby sofa and poured himself some coffee. He took it black.

  The funny thing was, I knew he was going to take it black.

  “Was the floor manager upset I left?” I asked.

  “If he was he didn’t show it. Remember, the money you won pales compared to what I won. At this point, his job is to treat me nice so I’ll feel at home in his casino and return to play some more.”

  “He figures if you keep playing, you’re bound to lose.”

  “Sure.”

  I studied him. “But it doesn’t matter how long you play, you’d keep on winning, right?”

  Russ met my gaze. “Yes.”

  “How?”

  “No offense, Jessie, but we just met. Isn’t that sort of a big secret to share so soon?”

  “You spent hours flaunting your ability in front of me. I think I deserve some explanation.”

  “All right, in exchange for a hundred thousand, I’ll tell you my secret.”

  He was bluffing; it was a favorite pastime of his. I decided to call him on it. “Fine. I’ll trade the cash for your technique.”

  He leaned over and spoke in a confidential tone. “I cheat.”

  “Be more specific.”

  “I know when to bet high or low because I know what kind of cards I’m going to get next.”

  “How?”

  He smiled. “That’s twice you’ve asked that. No matter what I say, you’re going to keep asking it.”

  “That’s not true. You’re not telling me anything. That’s not fair.”

  “Fair? Is it fair I should have to tell you all my secrets on the first date?”

  “Is that what this is? A date?”

  He drank more of his coffee. “I hope so.”

  He said the line so sweetly, I was touched. And it was true, he had a point, I was being too demanding. I settled down and sipped my coffee, while he began to dig into a piece of German chocolate cake. He took man-size bites.

  “Are you going to play there again?” I asked.

  “I’ve drawn too much attention. At most I can play at one or two other hotels on the Strip before I’ll have to get out of town.”

  “Are you saying your life would be in danger?”

  “You act surprised—don’t be. If I continue to win, the people who own these glittering towers will get annoyed. They’re used to taking people’s money, they don’t like handing it out in suitcases.” He paused and drank some more coffee. “Someone, at some point, would take action.”

  “You’re talking about the Mob, right? I’ve heard it still controls Las Vegas from behind the scenes. That people just don’t realize it.”

  He surprised me when he shook his head. “The Mob has no power here.”

  “Then who, exactly, would take action against you?”

  “That’s a story for another night. The main thing is you have enough money to go to school.”

  “If I accept the hundred grand.”

  “You’ll take it. You may be a nice kid but you’re not stupid.”

  “I’m not a kid.”

  He bowed his head. “My apologies.”

  I nodded toward the dining area. “You left your laptop on. You should be thankful I’m not a spy. I could have gone through your mail.”

  He was unconcerned. “I just use it to access the Internet and keep up with a few friends.”

  “I noticed the brochures beside the computer. You work for West World?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I glanced at the brochure. They’re a genetics company?”

  “They’ve developed a technology whereby they can take a three-dimensional picture of your entire genome in a matter of seconds.”

  “A real picture? One that shows where you might have a defect?”

  “An extremely detailed picture. When our product hits the market, it will explode. It will allow any doctor to take a picture of you the instant you’re born and predict—with a high degree of accuracy—what diseases you’re likely to catch during your life.”

  “The insurance companies will love that.”

  “You’re quick. A few years from now the insurance companies will probably demand to see such a photograph before they agree to insure you.”

  “That’s terrible. Just because someone has a predisposition to catch a disease, they shouldn’t be denied insurance.”

  Russ wasn’t offended. “You won’t get an argument from me. The potential for abuse with this device—we call it the scanner—is frightening. WW is having a convention in town this weekend to address these precise issues. Tons of insurance company CEOs, deans of medical schools, presidents of hospitals—just about everyone who’s a major player in the medical field is in Las Vegas to hear about our technology. There are politicians here as well. Next to defense, the health industry is the largest industry in the world. Everyone who knows about the scanner wants some say in how it’s to be used.”

  “It shows how clueless I am. I didn’t even know this convention was taking place.”

  “Don’t be embarrassed. The convention is large but West World has gone out of its way to keep the media away. There hasn’t been a single article in the papers about our meetings.”

  “I’m amazed you can keep anything a secret nowadays.”

  “It’s not a problem if you have enough money. West World is heavily capitalized, to the tune of twenty billion, and it’s not even a public company. They know how controversial their project is. They want the scanner in widespread use before it gets major publicity.”

  “Wait. You said ‘how controversial their project is.’ Did you mean ‘product’?”

  Russ put down his coffee and stared at me. “You don’t miss much, do you? West World didn’t just develop the scanner so it can pass them out to whoever can afford one. They’re in the middle of a project where they’re trying to scan the genetic code of every person on earth.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “I wish I were.”

  “How many people has your company scanned so far?”

  “That information is proprietary.”

  “Private?”

  “Yes.”

  I fidgeted uneasily. “Have I been scanned?”

  I assumed he would say no, that I would know if I had been. But he stood and headed for his bedroom. He spoke louder as he disappeared from view.

  “I don’t know—I’ll have to scan you and compare you to everyone we have in our database,” he said, as I heard him going through his drawers.

  “You’re going to do this now?”

  “It only takes a few seconds. It doesn’t hurt.”

  “All right.” It was hard to say no to a
guy who wanted to give me a hundred grand.

  Russ reappeared a minute later with what appeared to be a narrow flashlight. Six inches long, it had a black metal exterior and a red tinted lens at one end. But the lens looked more like crystal than glass, and the thing hummed when he sat beside me and flipped on a side switch.

  “We are now being recorded,” he said.

  “Really?”

  “This is an official reading.” He paused and continued in a businesslike tone. “Jessica Ralle, do I have your permission to scan your genetic code into the data banks of West World?”

  I hesitated. “I guess so.”

  “You need to say yes or no.”

  “Yes.”

  “Hold out your arm, please, and roll up your sleeve.” I did as I was told. He continued, “Rest your elbow on the arm of the chair. It will make it easier to keep still.”

  “Okay.” I discovered I was shaking a bit.

  He flipped another switch and a red beam emanated from the top of the scanner. The beam was narrow. There was no question in my mind it was a laser beam. I felt its warmth as it struck my arm. The sensation was pleasant but short-lived. The laser was on a total of three seconds. The device beeped faintly, the humming stopped, and the laser vanished.

  “Got it,” Russ said, as he stood and walked toward his laptop. I rubbed the spot he had zapped. It felt warm.

  “How does this device work?” I asked.

  “It uses a laser to create a holographic image of your genes. Once your information is downloaded into the company’s database, it’s used to create a picture of your DNA.”

  I stood and walked over to where he was using a cable to connect the scanner and laptop. The screen flashed a wave of binary code, at incredible speed, before it settled on a picture of what I knew from basic biology to be an image of a double helix.

  It was so rich in color and detail, it literally took my breath away.

  “God,” I whispered.

  “Not quite. It’s you.”

  “Me?”

  “Your essence. Because the image is recorded in holographic form, I can rotate it in any direction I wish, focus on any gene I want to.”