The Player, The Thief and The Broken Heart - Chapter Eighty - Rooftop Escape

With one ace and a nine in his hand and another ace turned up on the table, Le Bon could almost smell victory. Now that the Lachlan boy was out and the various players' hangers on were trickling out through the heavy red curtains, the game was down to him and Yushenko. Only a few remained to watch, mostly members of Herr Burkhard's entourage or the ones who had come with the Emir. Le Bon put on a slight smirk as his mask. Using the reflection of the rocks glass balanced on his thigh, he could see Yushenko's leg twitch. His moment had come.

Nothing would beat his full house made from the cards laid out by the dealer. Le Bon guessed Yushky held two diamonds in his hand. Odds were he was going for a flush. To pry more money out of him, Le Bon up the ante in small increments. Exactly as he hoped, Yushenko lost his patience, pursed his lips, and pushed all of his remaining chips into the pot.

"All in," Yushenko said, his cold grey eyes staring straight at Le Bon.

"All in." Le Bon laid down his cards one at a time and counted the surrounding stacks of chips. By the time he looked up again, the barrel of a revolver was inches from his face.

"Outside."

Le Bon kept his gaze fixed on Yushenko's hands as he got up. He backed away from the table. The man's unsteady hands betrayed his inexperience with firearms. Keeping his palms raised, Le Bon made his way towards the glass door leading to the rooftop balcony. He had been readying himself for this. The stooges in the game had left and only the assorted money-launderers like Mr. Burkhard's cohorts and the various desert princes remained. A dozen or so members of their entourage gawked at him, stepping back the instant any of them met eyes.

A security guard wearing a badge saying "Ray Levkin" held the door open. Le Bon was marched straight across the gravel to the concrete wall on the far side.

"Stop." Yushenko kept close to the door. Two henchmen flanked him, dressed in black suits.

"I didn't think you'd take losing so poorly," Le Bon said.

Yushenko cocked the revolver. "David Benson also known as agent Le Bon of the SIS. You think I had no idea who you were or your mission?"

"I never was one for disguises," he said, glibness and wit currently his only armour.

A third thug appeared, hauling a deer-eyed Agent Matins out through the door. He'd forgotten about her; surely she hadn't been there the entire evening, had she? He hadn't noticed.

"This belong to you, no?" Yushenko said.

The guard shoved her and she stumbled forward, slamming into Le Bon.

Waving his gun between each of them, Yushenko said, "She volunteered much to me. And all it took was big enough account in Channel Island bank."

"Might want to check your office to ensure those bond certificates didn't wander off." Le Bon brought out his phone. He pressed a button and held it up to Yushenko. On the screen he'd saved a shot from the spy camera he'd installed above Yushenko's. Rebecca Marks was in the midst of slipping various papers under her dress.

It was amusing watching the man's cheeks harden to those of a gargoyle. He even looked like one if the carver had made his work of art particularly fat. Yushenko leaned his head closer to one of his henchmen and whispered something in Russian that the wind carried away before a word could reach Le Bon's ears. Herr Burkhard stepped over the threshold accompanied by two more burly men.

"Simon," Matins said between gritted teeth. "I suggest you cooperate."

"Unless HQ has given you clearance for that offshore account, I don't think so."

"This poker game was not what it seemed."

"I know." The appearance of Burkhard was Le Bon's cue. Lifting the bottom flap of his jacket, he pressed a button on his belt and tilted his hips. Yushenko gaped at him as he put his fingers to the thin silvery spike sticking out from his neck.

"You have roughly five minutes to live," Le Bon said, reaching behind for a pack secured against the small of his back.

"Poison dart. How Cold War." Yushenko staggered closer and fired at Le Bon. The bullet flew wide. While another shot whizzed overhead, Le Bon pulled the device out of his pack, secured the wire anchor around the post of the balcony and grabbed Matins in his arms. He let himself fall backwards over the edge of the rooftop like a diver plunging into the deep.

With Matins slung over his shoulder, he rappelled down the side of the building. His feet bounced against steel and glass as me made his descent. He could picture the sight above: Yushenko staggering, clutching his suddenly churning stomach, still holding his gun as his henchmen came to assist. The dart wouldn't kill Yushenko. The poison would simply render him unconscious for a few hours, after which he would eventually recover. A bullet went off; that would be Ray Levkin, he thought, firing at Burkhard's remaining enemies. Meanwhile Matins hung limp.

He landed on the pavement and set Matins down. She leaned against the base of the wall like a mannequin, stiff and expressionless. She had to have been drugged. He whipped a plastic zipper tie from his belt and cuffed her wrists behind her back. He had to check to make sure she was still conscious, but this entire trip he'd had to do that. Tempting as it was to let her fall from that rooftop, HQ would prefer her alive even if that tale of an offshore payment were true. Especially if. His phone beeped, which most likely meant his boss had booked them a new room at the Bellagio. It was a nicer hotel anyway, and he'd have a better view of those lovely fountains.

Before that, however, one task remained.