Choke Point (8 page)

“No, I didn’t mean it like that,” Billie answered. “The shooting had nothing to do with the problems at the Pearl.”

But the answer came too quick, and Simon had a feeling she was holding back. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because I was there, dammit! We were taking a walk and ended up in a maze of backstreets where we shouldn’t have been. Before we could find our way back, some guy popped out of the shadows and demanded Jake’s wallet.” She shook her head, as if to erase the memory. “You know Jake, he didn’t take kindly to that. He pushed me aside and tried to grab the guy.” She glanced toward her unconscious husband. “You can see how that turned out.”

But what he saw and what he heard didn’t make sense. Something about the street-crime scenario didn’t fit. Jake had been hit twice, from two sides, which meant the impact of the first bullet had spun him around before the second found its target, or—a
big
or—there were two shooters. And two shooters did not sound random or botched. “The guy was alone?”

Billie dipped her head, her lips set in a tight seam.

“Where was your security?” he asked, being careful to keep his tone inquisitive, not accusatory.

“Jake had already dismissed them for the night. Taking a walk was a spur-of-the-moment decision. Nobody really knows us here. We had no reason to expect trouble.”

Simon nodded, as if her explanation made perfect sense, but he was now positive she wasn’t being entirely candid. Jake was bold, but he was never careless, especially where Billie was concerned. “It must have been terrible.”

“It was. I don’t like to talk about it.”

Whether her back-off warning was intentional or not, Simon realized there were some answers he would have to obtain on his own. “So what can we do to help?”

“The President is depending on us. You have to stop these accidents. We have to make the deadline.”

You,
not exactly what he wanted to hear—that he was now responsible for holding together a trade alliance he wasn’t aware existed until ten minutes ago. “Where do we start?”

“With a good show.” She hooked a thumb in the general direction of the lobby. “There are representatives from every major casino in Macau out there. Plus the press. It’s a goddamned deathwatch. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have anything against the press, and a lot of them love Jake, but they’re reporters, with their noses in the wind, just waiting for that first whiff of blood. We need to put on a good face. A little
mianzi
of our own. Business as usual.”

“Okay.” If he had to lie to the press, at least it would be for his country. “Then what?”

“Then I get Jake out of town. Away from prying eyes.”

“What’s your timetable.”

“Two days,” she answered. “Maybe three. I need to get the two of you up to speed on the Pearl before leaving.”

Kyra stared incredulously at her mother, as if this were the greatest foolishness she had ever heard. “You don’t really think I’m going to stay here if you’re taking Daddy to Bangkok?”

“What I think is not important,” Billie answered, her voice taking on an edge. “It’s what your father would expect.”

“Don’t play that card, Mother. You don’t know—”

“Yes, Kyra, I do. This is crunch time, your father’s down, and it’s time you stepped into the ring.”

There was a long, uncomfortable moment of silence, then Kyra looked at Simon and smiled ruefully, like someone trapped in a dental chair. “Hell of a choice, a prizefighter or a nun.”

Billie glanced back and forth between them. “A nun?”

“Simon suggested I get on board the Rynerson Express, or retire to a nunnery in the French Alps.”

“Aaah.” Billie nodded approvingly. “Simon’s a very smart man. So, what’s your decision, little girl? You getting into the ring, or should we shave your head and call you Sister?”

Kyra took a deep breath and expelled it: the sound of surrender. “What do you want me to do?”

“Whatever it takes. We’ve only got four weeks to get the Pearl open.”

“But I don’t know anything about the resort business.” She gave Simon a sidelong glance. “Neither of us do.”

“You don’t need to,” Billie answered. “The management team is in place. They’re good people, ready and willing to do the job. Unfortunately—” She glanced again toward her husband. “—the taipan is down, and you have to take his place.”

C
HAPTER
E
IGHT

Hospitalar Centro Conde São Januário de Macau

Friday, 29 June 02:55:16 GMT +0800

The hospital had converted the staff dining room into a private waiting area for the unexpected onslaught of visitors, all of whom glowed a sickly shade of green in the reflected glare of the fluorescent lights and baby-shit-yellow walls. As Billie entered the room, Kyra and Simon a step behind, the weary murmur of conversation dissolved into a hushed silence, everyone expecting to hear the final death knell for Big Jake Rynerson.

Billie eased in behind a small lectern at the front of the room, adjusted the microphone, then looked up and scanned the somewhat bizarre gathering: the captains of Macau gaming, all middle-aged men, most of them dressed in expensive, lightweight summer suits; and the media, a mixture of electronic and print, male and female, young and old, most of them dressed in T-shirts and shorts. “Ladies and gentlemen, I do wanna thank y’all for being here.” Her words vibrated with the twang of a West Texas cowhand. “Your concern for my husband is so very much appreciated.” She paused and smiled. “And I know you’ll be happy to hear that Jake’s condition has improved dramatically in the last six hours.”

There was an audible release of breath: universal relief, interspersed with a few soft murmurs from the press:
Headline lost.

“He’s off ventilation,” Billie went on, “and breathing on his own.” She paused again, letting the news sink in. “Though he has not yet regained consciousness.” She flashed another smile, as if this were nothing more than an annoyance, something to be expected. “His vital signs are strong and it should be only a matter of hours before he’s barkin’ orders and charmin’ all the nurses.”

This prompted an abbreviated rumble of laughter, the tone somewhat awkward and strained.

“Now before y’all leave.” She made it sound like this was not only appropriate, but expected. “I’d like y’all to say howdy to my daughter, Dr. Kyra Rynerson.” Kyra tipped her head and smiled confidently, playing the game. “And our good friend, Simon Leonidovich. They’ll be standing in for Jake until he’s back on his feet.”

She spoke with such conviction and confidence, Simon could almost believe it, could almost see Big Jake striding through the door, taking command, making everyone look small but feel big just to be in the same room with the celebrated Vegas cowboy.

“So,” Billie continued, “on your way out, if you’ll leave a business card, they’ll be sure you’re notified of any change in Jake’s condition.”

Instantly, three reporters were on their feet, firing questions:

“Mrs. Rynerson, what can you tell us about the shooting?”

“What were you doing in that neighborhood alone at night?

“When can we talk to the doctors?”

Billie waved them off with another charming smile. “I’m very sorry, but I want to be there when my husband wakes up. I’m sure y’all understand.” Without waiting for a response, she turned and disappeared through a door marked
STAFF ONLY
.

It was, Simon thought, a masterful performance and a perfect escape—no one daring to keep her from the side of her ailing husband. And somehow, despite her overly optimistic presentation, she had managed to do it without actually lying.

There was an immediate frenzy of movement as the press people gathered their equipment and hurried toward an exit at the back of the room, anxious to file their stories. In no apparent hurry, the captains of gaming stood and straightened and began moving toward the front of the room, where Simon and Kyra had taken up flanking positions on each side of the wide double doors.

One by one the men filed past, expressing their concern and offering their support. It was clear they not only considered Big Jake a friend and a colleague—“one of us”—but that the shooting, which had received worldwide attention, was “bad for business.” Simon nodded and smiled and shook hands, accepted their business cards, and promised to keep each man informed.

The president and general manager of Wynn Macau leaned in close, his voice low. “Mr. Wynn is very concerned. I wrote his private number on the back of my card. Please call him direct if anything changes.”

“Thank you, I will.”

“And you need any help getting the Pearl open, you call me. I’ll do what I can.”

Though Simon had a feeling they would need all the help they could get to make the deadline, he felt compelled to maintain Billie’s all-is-good facade. “Thank you, that’s very generous, but I understand everything is on schedule.”

“Oh…that’s good to hear.” It was clear from the man’s reaction—the momentary hesitation and involuntary contraction of muscles around the eyes—he had heard otherwise.

Ten minutes later everyone was gone, except for one man Simon had noticed lingering at the back of the crowd, and who was now talking to Kyra. Tall and handsome, with straw-colored hair and pale amber eyes, he couldn’t have been more enthralled if Cleopatra herself had suddenly emerged from the hereafter.

“Simon.” Kyra motioned him over. “This is the gentleman mother was telling us about. James Atherton. Mr. Atherton, say hello to Simon Leonidovich.”

Atherton extended his hand, his smile open and friendly. “My pleasure. Kyra tells me you’re the man who saved her bacon in Ecuador.” Though he was casually dressed in lightweight designer jeans and a linen sport coat over a crisp blue oxford shirt, open at the collar, everything fit like a fine leather glove.

“Not really,” Simon answered. “I was only part of the team.” He gave Kyra an admonishing glance—she knew how he hated that hero crap—and tried to change the subject. “So you’re our go-to guy with this trade-agreement thing.”

Atherton glanced around, as if he expected a reporter to suddenly burst out from beneath one of the tables, microphone in hand. “From now on, it might be better if we referred to it as—” He lowered his voice. “—the grand opening.” His tone was polite and without disapproval. “Just to be on the safe side.”

“Good idea,” Kyra said, apparently charmed by the man’s gracious manner. “We can’t be too careful.”

Simon nodded, trying to suppress a sudden and surprising twinge of jealousy. “But isn’t your being here a risk? If I know reporters, they were checking out everyone in the room, asking about their connection to Jake.”

“Excellent point. And you’re right, that’s exactly what they did. It’s a relief to know I’ll be working with someone who understands these things.”

The man was a true politician, Simon thought, handing out compliments and avoiding answers. “So, how
did
you explain your presence here?”

“I told them the truth. That I was hired by Jake to help with any bureaucratic hurdles that may arise. It’s a job I’ve performed for many foreign corporations wishing to do business here in the SAR. That’s one of the reasons the SD retained my services.” He looked at Kyra and smiled, a thousand-watt beamer. “It’s not only the truth, it’s an excellent cover that gives me an excuse to stay on top of things.”

The way he looked at Kyra, Simon could only imagine what
things
Atherton wanted to get on top of. “I didn’t realize that’s what you did.”

Atherton nodded. “That’s it exactly. Most of my clients are international companies expanding into the East. I help open doors.”

Kyra stared up at the man, her eyes full of interest. “I’m sure you’re very good at it.”

Atherton smiled, the impish grin of a college jock who had just made points with the hottest cheerleader on campus. “I try.”

Trying,
Simon thought, to impress the heiress to an empire. An effort that appeared to be working. “So, about this…this grand opening. Anything we need to know? Any problems?”

“No problems at all,” Atherton answered without hesitation, the confident look of a man who knew how to get things done. “As long you get the place open.”

Right, no problems at all.
So why did everything feel wrong? Why were people dying at the Pearl? Why was Big Jake lying in a coma? And what was Billie holding back?

C
HAPTER
N
INE

Hospitalar Centro Conde São Januário de Macau

Friday, 29 June 03:14:47 GMT +0800

The moment Robbie snatched up his night-vision scope, Mawl was awake, fully alert. It was something he had trained himself to do, to survive on catnaps, part of his brain going into hibernation, the other part alert and ready, attuned to any unusual sound or movement. “What’s happening, kid?”

“It’s that Rynerson bird. The daughter.”

Mawl flipped on the wipers, letting them go one stroke, then centered his camera over the hospital entrance, zooming in on the two figures standing just inside the glass doors. “That’s not the bloke she came with.”

“Nope,” Robbie answered. “Must be one of the security boys.”

Mawl knew better. The guy was too well groomed, his attire too perfectly casual. “With those shoes?”

Robbie angled his scope slightly downward. “What’s wrong with his shoes?”

“Security people don’t wear five-hundred-dollar Italian loafers with wafer-thin soles.”

Robbie nodded slowly, the wheels turning as he considered this new bit of tradecraft. “Aye. So who is he?”

“Not a clue,” Mawl answered. “That’s why I want you on that detail. I need to know everything that’s happening in the House of Rynerson.”

Kyra stared straight ahead, as if she found the rain fascinating, though she couldn’t take her eyes off the image of James Atherton reflecting back off the glass doors.
Ridiculous,
at her age, to be nervous around a man, but he was gorgeous and smart and obviously interested. Not that there hadn’t been
some
interest in the two years since Tony’s death, but the motivation was always difficult to judge: Was it her, or was it the Rynerson fortune? But Atherton seemed different. He obviously had money, and beyond his initial expression of concern, hadn’t uttered the name
Big Jake
a single time, something few people could manage. “I feel guilty about leaving Simon.”