A five and two. McGarvey declined a third card.
Kurshin studied his two cards for a long time, finally calling for a third, up. It was a queen.
McGarvey turned his cards up, and Kurshin reluctantly did the same. A two and four. Six, for the loss.
The minor furor took several seconds to fade. The younger gentleman had just bet and lost four million on one draw.
“Would the gentlemen like a break?”
“No,” Kurshin and Mac said almost simultaneously.
The bank was offered and declined around the table until it reached McGarvey.
“Ten million,” he said.
No one made a sound except for Kurshin.
“Banco,” he said, his voice still strong, but his complexion had turned slightly pale.
A man, presumably the casino manager, came in, said something to the croupier, and then left, but only as far as the doorway.
The shoe was passed to McGarvey, who dealt four cards, the croupier passing two of them to Kurshin.
A hush spread throughout the entire casino. Even the clamorous noise from the slot machines stopped.
McGarvey turned up his two cards. A five and four, a natural nine.
Kurshin was shaky. He called for a card, which was a two, and he turned over his down cards, a three and an ace, for a total of six and the loss.
“Vingt million,” McGarvey said, never taking his eyes from Kurshin’s.
After a few moments, the croupier prompted, “Monsieur?”
Kurshin finally shook his head, the movement barely perceptible.
“Messieurs et mesdames,” the croupier called for anyone else to cover the massive wager of twenty million euros, but no one accepted.
Kurshin pushed away from the table and got to his feet, hate in his posture and deep in his eyes.
McGarvey smiled at the Russian. “Champagne for everyone in the casino,” he said. “How about them apples?”
21
On the way back to their hotel on foot, Kurshin was in a deep, almost mind-numbing rage, some of it directed at himself for his gross stupidity. That he’d lost eleven million euros to McGarvey wasn’t the point; he wasn’t going to pay it in any event. The casino would find out within a few hours that the line of credit he’d established was no good. By then, of course, he would be long gone.
What really galled him was McGarvey’s attitude. The man knew who lured him to Arlington and here to Monte-Carlo. It was why McGarvey had sent the woman to talk to Didenko and why he had deliberately lost at épée. All of it was focused on the baccarat table.
And Kurshin had fallen for one of the oldest plays in tradecraft — fill your opponent with a false sense of security and an overinflated sense of superiority, and then hit him hard.
“M. Arouet is a very shrewd man,” Martine said.
Kurshin didn’t answer her. He was done playing the game. It was time to finish it once and for all. Payback time. Revenge for his brother’s death and how and where it had happened.
“He was probably playacting at the fencing competition. Made us all think that he was an old man more filled with bravado than intelligence and strength.”
Something of what she was saying penetrated. “What are you talking about?”
“He has something against you, and he rubbed your nose in it at the table. You must know him from somewhere.”
“Never met the man in my life.”
“Well, he knows you. It might be a good idea if you found out what grudge he’s carrying against you, because I think he could be a very dangerous man.”
“I’ve already lost eleven million to him.”
“I meant physically, mon cher,” Martine said.
Kurshin chuckled. “I doubt it.”
Martine shrugged. “How about a nightcap before we go up? I’m wide awake.”
“I’d like to drive back to your place, if you don’t mind. I’ve had my fill of Monte-Carlo.”
“First thing in the morning.”
“Now. Let’s not wait.”
Martine glanced over her shoulder. “Perhaps you’re right,” she said. “Would you like me to settle the bill?”
Kurshin’s rage spiked, and he almost smashed his fist into her face. But he smiled instead. “Thanks, but it’s not necessary. What’s a few thousand euros against eleven million?”
In the villa’s front entry hall, Martine was just closing and locking the door when Marie, in her nightclothes, came from the rear of the house. She seemed agitated.
“Madame,” she said.
“Poor dear probably didn’t expect us back in the middle of the night,” Martine told Kurshin.
“Is there a beer in the fridge?” he asked.
“Of course. Do you want me to get one for you?”
“Take care of your servant. I’ll get my own beer, and I need to make a phone call.”
Martine went to Marie, and they disappeared down the hall.
Kurshin got a cold Heineken from one of the fridges in the big kitchen and went out to the patio to phone Didenko.
It was very late in Petushki, and it rang a half dozen times before the general picked up. He sounded very tired. “Da.”
“It’s me, and I need your help one last time.”
“What has happened?”
Kurshin told him everything, starting with his first encounter with McGarvey in the hotel and then the fencing demonstration and finally the debacle at the casino.
“I warned you not to take the man for granted. Obviously, he was playing with you on the piste, setting you up to make a fool of yourself.”
“I’m done playing games with him,” Kurshin said, but Didenko interrupted him.
“Tell me about this woman you’re with. What do you know about her?”
“A Frenchwoman who was married to a wealthy man in Paris. The divorce left her well off.”
“You say that you picked her up at the airport in Washington? Or was it the other way around?”
Kurshin turned and looked into the dining room and kitchen beyond through the open french doors. “She was traveling alone, and by chance, we were sitting next to each other, but it was she who introduced herself.”
“You bought her a drink, you flew together, and when you reached Paris, she had invited you to her villa. Convenient, don’t you think?”
It was. “Yes,” Kurshin said.
“You have more contacts in the service than I do. Find out who she is. Who knows? Maybe she’s working for McGarvey. Stranger things have happened.”
He phoned Lestov in Moscow. “Vadim, it’s me, and I’m sorry for the hour, but I need some information right now.”
“You’re becoming a bore, darling,” Lestov said. A man said something in the background.
“Don’t hang up; this is important.”
Lestov hesitated for just a second. “What is it?”
Kurshin gave him Martine’s name and the setup in Villefranche. “I need to know if she works for the CIA.”
“I’ll call back in a few minutes.”
“I may not have a few minutes,” Kurshin said, but Lestov had already hung up.
“A few minutes for what?” Martine asked at the doorway.
Kurshin turned and smiled. “I asked an old friend to check on Arouet for me.”
“That’s good, because I want to know. He and Donna Graves were here this afternoon and terrorized Marie. They locked her in the pantry and apparently searched the house. They were in my bedroom at least.”
“What were they looking for?”
“Obviously something having to do with you. So just who the hell are you?”
Kurshin’s phone buzzed. It was Lestov.
“What have you found?”
“Not much yet, but the French believe she’s MI6.”