The Scam (3 page)

“What a f—king joke,”
Trace said.

The obscenity was muted, but it didn't really make a difference. It was obvious what he'd said.

“You won't find an authentic experience here. Not on this street. Not in these places.”

Trace turned the corner, off the Strip, and there was Côte d'Argent, a slim black tower, untouched by gaudiness or pretense. He opened the door and looked straight into the camera.

“Gambling. Partying. No f—king gondolas.”

The obscenity was lost in the bells and coin clatter of a slot machine paying off. He took one last drag on his cigarette, flicked it into the street, and walked into the casino. The commercial ended.

“That's their slogan,” Kate said. “ ‘No freakin' gondolas.' ”

“Catchy,” Nick said.

“He put it on T-shirts, hats, and coffee mugs,” Kate said. “The first two years that Côte d'Argent was in business, Trace made more money off his branded merchandise than he did from his hotel.”

Nick went back to counting stacks of hundred-dollar bills. “If we really want to learn about Evan Trace and the inner workings of his casino, we'll need to take a trip to Vegas. Be a couple of whales.”

Kate could see where this was going. “We are not going to gamble with the government's money.”

“It's not the government's money. It's cash stolen from Stuart Kelso.”

“By the FBI.”

“Illegally,” he said.

“For the greater good,” Kate said, thinking that was kind of lame, but it was the best she could do to justify their actions.

“Fine. We're gambling with this money for the greater good,” Nick said. “And for the free drinks.”

“Will the buffet be free, too?”

“It'll definitely be comped.”

“Let's do it,” Kate said.

N
ick and Kate were on a private jet headed to Las Vegas. It had taken two days to organize, but Nick had needed the extra day to set up their fake identities as Nick Sweet, international entrepreneur, and Kate Porter, his executive assistant. It also gave Jessup time to wipe their real identities from various law enforcement databases and temporarily replace them with their new ones.

Nick wore a gray, impeccably tailored Tom Ford suit with a white shirt and blue silk tie.

Kate wore a skin-tight red Herve Leger bandage dress. It had a plunging neckline, cap sleeves, and a skirt that was so short, there was almost no way Kate could get up from a chair without making everyone her gynecologist. Nick had picked it out for her because she had nothing like it. Kate's closet was mostly full of tank tops and jeans and her FBI windbreaker.

Kate picked an almond from a small bowl of heated nuts. “I don't get it. Nick Sweet and Kate Porter. Why are you a dessert, and I'm a beer?”

Nick looked across the aisle at her. “Would you rather be the dessert?”

Kate ate the almond and thought about it. “No.”

“What then?”

“I'd rather be a morning glory muffin.”

“Hard to fit that on a passport,” Nick said.

Kate nodded. “What exactly is the job of an international entrepreneur?”

“To be charming, mysterious, and extravagantly wealthy,” Nick said. “Your job is to take care of all the little things that might distract me from being charming, mysterious, and extravagantly wealthy.”

“So you get to have all the fun,” she said, “while I do all the busy work.”

“I swindle while you investigate. We both do what we do best. I've booked the presidential suite for us at Côte d'Argent to announce our arrival. They'll know a whale is coming and send a limo to pick us up.”

“How much is this announcement costing us?”

“Thirty-five thousand a night.”

Kate choked on a cashew. “Are you insane?”

“It's only one night, two tops, and it accomplishes some very important things. It establishes that we're among the highest of high rollers and it proves that we're not in law enforcement. No cop could possibly justify this expense to his boss.”

“
I'll
have to.”

He waved off her concern. “Only if the assignment fails. Until then, enjoy yourself.”

Easy for him to say. He wasn't wearing a thong and four-inch heels that were pinching his toes.

“You look great in that dress,” he said. “It has me feeling romantic.”

“Romantic?”

“Okay, maybe that's not exactly the right word.”

“And the right word would be what?”

“Hard to boil it down to one word.”

“Give it to me in a couple words then.”

“I'd like to rip it off you with my teeth.”

“Holy cow.”

Nick smiled. “Like I said, you look great in that dress.”

Kate squeezed her knees together and crossed her arms over her chest.

Twenty minutes later they landed at Henderson Executive Airport, a few miles southeast of central Las Vegas. A black Bentley Flying Spur from Côte d'Argent was waiting for them on the tarmac along with a chauffeur in a black suit and dark sunglasses.

The chauffeur opened the back door of the Bentley for Nick and Kate, and put the four titanium suitcases full of cash and the two Louis Vuitton bags containing their clothes in the trunk. He headed north on Interstate 15 toward the Strip. They hit the Strip and traveled from Mandalay Bay to the Bellagio, exiting at Flamingo Road, turning west over the freeway. Rising above a sea of budget motels, convenience stores, and fast-food restaurants was a forty-five-story black granite tower shaped like a box cutter blade. “Côte d'Argent” was written in lights along the cutting edge.

The driver pulled up to a private entrance behind the building. It was shielded from public view by an eight-foot-high wall of black marble, lined with a thin layer of water cascading down the surface. A doorman who looked more like a Secret Service agent, down to the sunglasses, earpiece, and probably the gun, opened the back of the Bentley for Nick and Kate, and supervised the unloading of the trunk.

Nick and Kate walked into the VIP lobby. The air conditioner was cranked up high against the desert heat, keeping the elaborate ice sculptures of lions taking down gazelles from melting too quickly.

A slim, beautiful hostess approached them. She was dressed in a black frock jacket, a lace peplum blouse, pencil slacks, and ultra-high heels.

“Welcome to Côte d'Argent,” the hostess said, guiding them to the registration desk.

The red-haired woman behind the desk wore the same outfit as the other hostesses. She smiled at them as if she'd been eagerly awaiting Nick and Kate's arrival for months.

“I'm so glad to see you, Mr. Sweet,” she said.

“Thank you,” Nick said. “This is my associate, Ms. Porter. Please extend to her any courtesies that are offered to me by the hotel.”

“It will be my pleasure,” the clerk said. “My name is Tara. I will be your personal assistant during your stay.”

“I've brought a deposit with me.” Nick tipped his head to the door, where the bellman was bringing in the luggage. “It's in those four silver cases. I'd appreciate it if you'd exchange the cash for chips and have them on hand for tonight's game.”

“Of course. Would you or Ms. Porter like to be present while the cash is counted?”

“Not necessary. It's five million,” he said. “I trust you.”

“In that case, I'll call for your personal butler, Mr. Covington, to see you to your suite.”

“That won't be necessary, either,” Nick said. “We like to find our own way around.”

“Very well. Mr. Covington will be on call twenty-four hours a day for you, as well as a maid, a bartender, a personal chef, a doctor, a masseuse, a concert pianist, and anyone else that you might need.”

“All the comforts of home,” Nick said.

“I hope you enjoy your stay. Let me show you to your private express elevator.” Tara stepped out from behind the podium and led them to the elevator. She slid a transparent key card into a slot on the wall and then handed it to Nick.

“Please let me know if there is anything I can do to make your stay more pleasurable. I am entirely at your service.” She handed another transparent key to Kate and smiled. “Individually or together.”

“Good to know,” Nick said.

Nick and Kate stepped into the elevator. The door closed and the elevator rose smoothly, but swiftly, up the forty-five floors to the penthouse.

“When she said ‘individually or together'…did she mean, you know what?” Kate asked.

Nick grinned. “She implied we could have the ultimate group activity.”

“Would it show up on our bill?” Kate asked him.

“Would it matter?”

“Jessup would throw a blood clot.”

“I'm sure I could have it removed from the bill,” Nick said. “Is this a possibility?”

“No!” Kate said. “Good grief.” She grimaced at him. “You would do it, wouldn't you?”

“Only one way to find out.”

“Ick.”

The elevator opened into a circular marble foyer with a massive crystal chandelier. They crossed the foyer into an expansive living room that opened onto a wraparound terrace with an unobstructed view of the Las Vegas Strip. There was an infinity pool along the edge of the terrace, creating the illusion that the water flowed onto the street forty-five floors below.

The living room walls were paneled in walnut and decorated with abstract art, swirls of paint drippings on canvas in the style of Jackson Pollock. Kate squinted at one of the paintings and saw Pollock's signature.

“Is this the real thing or a forgery?” she asked.

“You'll know if it's in my luggage when we leave.”

There were plenty of inviting leather-wrapped couches and easy chairs, a wet bar, a sixty-five-inch flat-screen TV, a stacked-stone fireplace, and a Steinway grand piano.

“Well, this explains the on-call concert pianist,” Kate said.

“I was wondering about that myself,” Nick said. “There are his and hers bedrooms and boardrooms on either end of the penthouse.”

“Boardrooms?”

“You never know when you might want to hold a meeting with your personal staff.”

Kate checked out a bedroom. It was the size of her entire apartment. There was a couch, two easy chairs, a fireplace, a flat-screen TV, and a massive king-size bed covered with fluffy pillows and a thick comforter. The marble-tiled bathroom had a steam shower built for two, a whirlpool tub, and a massage table.

“Decadent,” Kate said.

“Yeah,” Nick said. “I especially like the furry pillows. I'm guessing Mongolian lamb. Or maybe a rabbit on steroids.”

Kate peeked into the private boardroom. There was a long conference table for eight, another flat-screen TV, and another bar.

“I feel a sudden desire to have a meeting,” Kate said.

“Yeah, I've got some sudden desires, too,” Nick said. “They have to do with the dress you're wearing and how fast I could get you out of it.”

Kate looked down at herself. “It's not that easy. I'm stuffed into this like a bratwurst.”

“I like a challenge,” Nick said.

“Not this one. It would come with pain. Possibly a broken bone.”

“I'm not really into pain,” Nick said. “Especially if it's mine.”

“You need to focus,” Kate said. “This is all about the mission.”

“There's all kinds of missions,” Nick said.

But first it was all about the buffet. Kate loved buffets. And the one at Côte d'Argent was spectacular. She brought two plates with mountains of food on them back to her booth, where Nick sat with an iced tea and a small Caesar salad.

“I don't know what we're doing here,” Nick said. “We have a private chef.”

“It's not the same as a buffet,” she said, digging meat from a crab leg with a tiny fork. “This is all-you-can-eat. And you can make last-minute choices. And there's all this
stuff.
”

“Quantity and quality are not the same things.”

“I grew up on Army bases, eating in canteens where food was basic. And now that I'm on my own I mostly eat out of a fast-food container. Getting access to a buffet, even a bad one, is like someone handing me a free pass to heaven.”

Nick smiled wide. “You're equating a buffet to heaven?”

“Okay, so maybe not heaven. Maybe to Disneyland.”

Nick watched her clean off both plates. “Where do you put it all?”

“I have a very fast metabolism,” she said, dabbing her lips with a napkin. “Did I spill anything on myself?”

He looked her over. “Not a drop or a crumb.”

“Then we'd better get to the casino before my good luck fades.”

They left the buffet and crossed the casino toward the high-limit room. It was separated from the rest of the casino by partially drawn red curtains.

“Tonight we're playing blackjack,” Nick said. “We'll take a table for ourselves. There are five seats. I'll play three hands at once and you'll play two.”

“I'm not sure that's such a good idea. I could lose twice as much twice as fast.”

“Win or lose, it doesn't matter. What we're trying to do is attract attention as whales with money to burn.”

The walls of the salon were covered with hand-stitched leather and framed with dark wood. There were eight gaming tables and only seven men gambling. Four of them were at the same table, playing pai gow poker, the other three were playing baccarat. A few women sat drinking at the bar, where backlit multicolored bottles of liquor were arranged by hue on glass shelves.

Nick and Kate were greeted by a round-bodied, round-faced man wearing a three-piece suit. The way he waddled up to them reminded Kate of the Penguin, from
Batman.