By the look on Lulu’s face, she couldn’t say the same. But before he could inquire, their hostess spoke up again, although her tune was exactly the same.
“Mr. Morgan,” she repeated with just a mite more urgency. “You are expected.”
Dan looked at the woman’s seemingly still plastic face, and just managed to note a vibration deep in her almond eyes. He looked from her to Lulu, who appeared positively ultra-human in comparison. She cocked her head, then put her hand out to communicate “you first.”
The plastic hostess glided down the center of the opulent, lofty space, making sure her American male charge was close behind. After what seemed like an extended hike, they reached the other side of the salon, where there was a small set of thick, heavy, red curtains. Although no guards were stationed there, both Lulu and Dan noted several Chinese robed men who had “the look,” conveniently positioned nearby.
Their hostess moved between the curtains, holding them just wide enough for Dan—and therefore more than wide enough for Lulu—to slip through. They now all stood in a sumptuous study, empty of any people other than themselves. On four sides was a two-story library. In front of them was a gloriously built and accented desk. Behind it was an equally impressive chair. And behind that was a spectacular fireplace large enough for Dan to step into without slouching.
Their hostess went to the other side of the desk and beckoned at Dan to join her. Although it was clear that the hostess didn’t include Lulu in the invitation, he looked at her first. Lulu’s expression was both perplexed and determined, but also seemed to suggest: when in Taiwan…
They both moved over until they were between the chair and the fireplace. The grate was empty and clean. Although there were smoke stains on the stones, it was obvious that no fire had been lit for quite some time.
The reason for that became all too apparent as the seemingly solid stone that served as the fireplace’s back wall opened to reveal an elevator. Dan stepped back, but then the hostess’s cold, perfectly smooth, hand was on his arm.
He looked over at her, and saw even more in her pleading, insisting eyes.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he told her. “I’m expected.”
He turned his head toward Lulu and gestured for her to come along, but then the hostess’s hand gripped his arm. When he looked back, her head was shaking “no.”
Dan returned his gaze to Lulu. She looked angry and frustrated, but also resigned. She was about to signal him that he should follow the rules when she dropped her hands.
“Wait a minute!” she blurted. “Just because she’s a Westworld robot doesn’t mean we have to be.”
“Damn straight,” Dan responded with relief. “Come on, let’s see where I’m expected.”
The hostess gasped, taking a step back while putting one dainty hand in front of her mouth. Both she and Dan were then surprised when it was Lulu who said “no.”
He looked at his Taiwan contact, who had her fists on her hips, and her shaking head down. “No,” she repeated. “We may not be robots, but we are puppets. And we all know who the puppeteer is, don’t we?”
The breath came out of Dan’s nose like fire from a dragon. He wanted to turn to the hostess and demand safety for his companion. He wanted to turn to his companion and spout some nonsense about her making sure to be here when he got back. But as soon as he considered it, he shut his mouth, knowing both were empty wastes of time.
He didn’t even say “I’ll be back,” because everyone would think he was ripping off Schwarzenegger. All he did was nod at Lulu, then step into the elevator.
He didn’t have to press a button. The door closed automatically, and as it did, he thought he heard someone say, “Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves.” He couldn’t tell if it was the hostess, Lulu, or some sort of weird elevator music.
Ultimately, it didn’t make any difference. In a day of surprises, the puppeteer had saved the best for last. The elevator descended for eighteen seconds, then stopped. When the doors opened, Dan Morgan looked out at the most amazing casino he had ever seen.
Chapter 27
Dan Morgan had seen casinos all over the world, but nothing had come close to this towering rock triangle, not even the Macau or Dubai megalopolises, for two reasons. First, gambling was strictly illegal in Taiwan, and second, none of the other ostentatious monuments to chance were built inside a supposedly dormant neo-volcano, as Lulu had casually called it.
So these were true all-or-nothing gamblers in the most daring and therefore exciting place in the world. Just by entering, you were making two ultimate bets. One, that you wouldn’t be arrested, and two, that the volcanic hands of God would not slam together to make you part of the magma.
Dan thought that maybe the people here would react the way the valets upstairs had, or the way wild west saloon patrons did when a gunslinger came through the swinging doors. In other words, everyone would stop, turn their heads, and stare. But he knew better. These were gamblers betting against the house, law enforcement, and mother nature. They wouldn’t care if Buddha himself had shown up.
That was not to say that no one noticed him. On the contrary, several opulently suited servants moved into place on the sides of a central path, while another tall, glorious plastic doll hostess in ancient Chinese robes glided up to the bottom of a short stairway that led to an entire bank of elevators. Apparently there were hidden entrances all over the reception hall, not just in the combination study and library.
Otherwise, it was just a casino, albeit a supremely expensive one, made of track lighting, carpet, furniture, and machines. For all the attention the gamblers paid to the towering, craggy, multi-colored magma above them, it might as well have been made of plaster by amusement park engineers.
The new hostess led Dan past opulent and well-designed sections for poker, blackjack, craps, roulette, bingo, keno, and baccarat. Around the base of the triangular wall were the slot machines, as if those players should go first in the case of an earth upheaval. Given that this was Asia, there were even sections for pachinko pinball, mahjong, and fantan, which could be called Chinese roulette.
But there were no restaurants or shops. This was a place only for betting your money, and possibly your life.
The striking hostess kept her head down, moving past all of these distractions. As Dan studied everything, everyone, and all possible escape routes, he realized that the hostesses were doing what he had thought Lulu might do: playing the demure, humble, chaste Asian girl that gweilos like him might have hoped for.
Dan’s concentration was shaken by the secret casino’s most central and unusual feature. The hostess led him past a huge fountain right in the middle of the space, situated under the apex of the highest point of the natural interior’s spire. He hadn’t noticed it when he had entered because, at that point, it had been a placid pool.
As they passed, as if the hostess had an “on” button in her hand, the lights and waters of the fountain sprang to life, sending dancing jets of liquid into the air.
Good God, Dan thought. I’ve fallen asleep in the Happiness Place. Lulu will be waking me up any second…
But she didn’t. Instead, the hostess led him to a beautiful lacquered door on the far side of the casino. It was one of three such doors positioned there, obviously as excavated spaces within the excavated space. The hostess stopped, turned toward him, and bowed. Her intention was abundantly clear. He was expected. It was up to him now.
Lady or the tiger, Dan thought. Only one way to find out…
Dan opened the door and stepped in. The door closed silently behind him.
It was neither the lady nor the tiger—although it might have soon proven to be multiple tigers. Inside the room was a large round table, around which eight men sat. Dan recognized seven of them.
Sitting in front of where Dan stood, his back to him, was Smith, in a severe black su
it, white shirt, and slim black tie. Seated to Smith’s right was General Deng Tao Kung, a Chinese military and intelligence strategist with whom Zeta had what could be termed a “frenemy” relationship.
To Deng’s right was Alexi Ademenko of the Russian Foreign Intelligence Service. To his right was Hayao Misumi of the Japanese Defense Intelligence Headquarters. To his right, there was Tomas Blanco of the Argentinian National Directorate of Strategic Military Intelligence. To his right, was Fahad Gadai of Pakistan’s Inter-Services Intelligence organization. Next to him sat Vihaan Khatri of India’s Defense Intelligence Agency.
The one next to him—a very thin, sunken-cheeked, white-haired Asian man in a long white robe, black slacks, and Chinese slippers—was the one Dan didn’t recognize.
“Ah,” Smith said without turning his head. “Good timing.”
He gestured to the one Dan didn’t recognize, who was obviously the dealer, since he started mixing up a pile of thirty-two long black dominoes that had white and red dots on them. As Dan watched, the old white-haired man piled the domino tiles into eight face-down stacks of four each. He then leaned back and looked at the other players expectantly.
That was when Dan noted that each of the men had stacks of eight-sided, multi-colored coins in front of them—black, white, red, green, silver, and gold. Gadai had the highest stacks of coins. Smith had the lowest. As Dan watched, each man picked up some coins and placed them into an etched circle in front of them. Only then did the old man slide one of the piles of four dominoes to each of the men, before pulling one pile toward himself.
The men then turned over the four dominoes and started arranging them in front of themselves, placing two in etched squares labeled “low” and “high.” When they were all finished, they compared their tiles to the old man’s. Some smiled, others didn’t, as the old man shifted coins toward the winners and away from the losers. Smith didn’t smile, and Dan watched as the coins he had put in the circles in front of him were taken away.
It went like that for the next few turns, until Smith’s coins were nearly gone. It was an eerie experience, since the gamblers were essentially silent. Dan wondered if they even knew each other’s languages. He noticed that their faces, except for the old man’s, were becoming more greedy and hungry-looking. Each had leaned forward, and were betting more aggressively.
The old man motioned at Smith’s almost depleted stack, and signaled that this could be the last round. He shuffled the domino tiles and made another eight stacks as the others went all in—seemingly uniting to wipe out Smith. But not all the other players had the coins to effectively do so. If Smith lost this round, only Gadai and Blanco looked powerful enough to emerge as victors. It all depended on how the domino tiles fell.
Except, unlike the other rounds Dan had witnessed, the old man didn’t choose which stacks went to each player. Instead, the old man motioned to Smith, who, as the poorest person, got to choose his stack. Smith was just leaning in, his arm outstretched, when Dan stepped forward and gripped Smith’s sleeve.
The people at the table started to complain or rise until the old man put out his own thin arms. Then he looked at each one and said something in each of their languages, which shut them up and sat them down. Then he turned and smiled at Smith, and perhaps also at Dan.
“Pot’s prerogative.” He too, like Lulu, tongued over the “r.”
Dan didn’t question the statement, just looked down at Smith, who looked up at him, his arm unmoving. Dan pulled at Smith’s sleeve until his hand was over another stack of four tiles.
“Do you mind?” Dan said to his boss of bosses.
Smith took that stack without question, and everyone but him started organizing their dominoes. Smith, however, was too busy staring at the tiles Dan had directed him to, and letting his lips stretch into a disbelieving smile.
Moments later, all hell broke loose.
Chapter 28
“Do you have any idea what you did?” Smith asked Dan as the two watched Gadai, the last of the players at the table, march angrily out of the room.
The Pakistani, like the rest of them, had looked ready to denounce the validity of the game, but they had clamped their teeth and jaws after one seemingly serene glare from the old man. Then they had stalked out in their particular nationalistic ways. In other words, only Misumi was polite about it.
When Dan did not reply, Smith continued. “You hit a Heaven and Earth combination. The odds of it are thirty-five thousand nine hundred and sixty to one.”
“And,” he heard the old man’s voice, “only possible in this particular game of my own design—Pai Gow Ultimate.”
Dan turned to face the old man, who was looking into his eyes.
Smith made the introduction. “May I present Feng San Wu,” he said deferentially. “The owner of this establishment.”
If Smith deferred to the man, the least—and smartest—thing Dan could do was the same.
“An honor,” he said. He didn’t think a handshake would do, so he bowed slightly.
The old man seemed to like that. “The man who moves a mountain,” he said, “begins by carrying away small stones.”
Smith’s smile widened. “Shifu Feng likes to quote Confucius. He even named this establishment after him. ‘Confucian Games.’”
“Ah,” Dan repeated, realizing then it was probably the old man’s recording he’d heard when the elevator doors had closed. “Where the elite meet to get beat?”
The old man seemed to like that too. He laughed and put a hand on Dan’s shoulder as he led their way out of the room.
“‘The superior man is modest in his speech, but exceeds in his actions,’” the old man murmured, making a feeble gesture at all the activity in the dangerous, illegal compound. “‘By nature, men are nearly alike,’” he continued. “‘By practice, they get to be wide apart.’” He ambled toward the fountain between the two Zeta men, and Dan saw conflicting things in his watery but alert eyes.
“You know,” he mused, “my people were so desperate to gamble that they created a betting ring to wager on the life expectancy of terminally ill patients. Police reports surmised that the patients’ families went along in order to pay for the funerals. I realized then I should create this place.” He raised one arm toward the spire. “Up there, the beauty of nature.” He lowered his arm. “Down here, the baseness of nurture. They are not so different, Mr. Morgan.” He held his palm up. “They turn and flow into each other, like day into night.” He turned his hand to show his knuckles.
“Like yin and yang, right?” Dan offered.
The old man beamed. “Exactly.” He gazed across the sea of gamblers, and suddenly looked tired. “Like the brain and the body. Humans cannot exist without both. And I dedicate my life and my wealth to serving both.” He finished his musing with another Confucius quote. “‘I slept and dreamt life is beauty. I woke and found life is duty.’”
At first Dan thought the man had said “doody” but realized that he’d said “duty.” Dan thought that the quote would work very well with either word.
“If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen,” Feng said, and he was quickly flanked by three beautiful hostesses who, while they didn’t touch him, stayed close by as he moved back toward the private rooms.
Dan watched him go, hearing Smith speak beside him. “A remarkable man. He sees to every special game of chance personally, and no one doubts his word.” He then leaned closer to Dan’s ear. “So tell me, Cobra. How did you hit the Heaven and Earth jackpot?”
Dan turned back to Smith with an expression that was as hard as the magma around them. “Because I didn’t give a damn about anything but my wife’s murderer.”
The words hit Smith like a glass of ice water. His diffident expression became serious. Then he motioned for Dan to follow him, and turned to step into the fountain.
Dan straightened in surprise, making him hesitate
just long enough so that Smith moved out of grabbing range. Then he rolled his eyes in exasperation, and followed his superior into the water. He wasn’t surprised when the liquid was warm. They were surrounded, after all, by a volcano and hot water springs.
As he neared Smith, he watched and waited to see who would react first—security or the gamblers. But neither did. Security just looked blankly through them, and the gamblers didn’t look at all. Apparently security had orders to let the gweilos do whatever they wanted, and the gamblers had bigger fish to fry, or lose.
In just a few seconds Dan and Smith were up to their knees, with the closest fountain jet no more than five feet away. At that point, it was like standing next to a fire truck with all their hoses on full. But, even so, when Smith spoke, Dan somehow heard him.
“I don’t care how good anybody’s surveillance devices are,” Smith said. “No one can hear us in here when the water’s running. Not even the R-comm, I bet.”
Dan didn’t let the self-aware comment faze him. “Look,” he seethed. “I don’t care about your stupid games. I only tracked you down to find out who attacked us and destroyed my home.”
“And I was only forced to run and arrange this stupid game for the same reason,” Smith assured him. “Zeta Tech had completed the Threat Assessment Software, and, as you may remember, it revealed the existence of a widespread organization that had the exact opposite goals from ours. You called it Anti-Zeta. I, naturally, call it Alpha.”
“And you didn’t tell us about it?” Dan asked incredulously.
“Too late,” Smith said. “Happened too fast. Oh, I had perceived a developing situation for some time: disgruntled, power-mongering Zeta contributors who didn’t fully appreciate our peaceful intentions, but that’s par for the course. Every government and religion works fine until you put more than one person in it.”
Dan waved Smith’s disclaimer away. “But other than wanting to destroy us all, what does that have to do with this?”
War of Shadows Page 19
