Operation Sea Ghost (29 page)

BATMAN LOST THE next nine hands in a row.

Each time he was but one or two numbers away from beating the dealer, a swarthy Italian with too many earrings and not enough mouthwash; each time he crashed and burned.

Batman questioned everything during the losing streak. Why did he take so little for his beloved pistol—he should have gotten at least a hundred Euros for it. And was this the right casino to start his bizarre quest? Or should he have just gone down to the waterfront and started playing there? And was this place even on the level? How could a dealer win nine close hands in a row?

Had he made a grave mistake, ingesting a bit of the bulb? That was the biggest question of all.

He was down to his last five-Euro chip. He thought a moment, then prayed, hard, for the first time in a long time. Then he threw it in and opened his eyes … and saw someone standing behind the dealer.

That person looked at Batman, then smiled and nodded, as if to say:
Take a hit.

And Batman nodded back, as if to say:
Hello, again old friend
.

*   *   *

ONE HOUR LATER, Batman was tipping the malodorous dealer 1,000 Euros.

He was also signing a register noting him as one of the biggest single winners in the Petite Junque’s history. He was even given a bottle of cheap champagne by the casino’s manager to mark the occasion.

None of this was because the casino liked him. They were just happy to see him go. Because when he stepped out onto Avenue des Beaux-Arts, he had $874,000 in his pocket.

He walked three blocks to the Summer Casino, giving the champagne to some tourists along the way. As planned, Twitch was waiting for him outside the casino’s front door.

Twitch was surprised to see his colleague at exactly 10:00
PM
, the agreed-upon time. Batman was rarely on time for anything. But Twitch was even more surprised to see Batman smiling. Until lately,
that
was a rare sight.

“Are you hungry?” Batman asked him as a greeting.

“Always,” Twitch replied.

They walked into the casino; the
Michelin Guide
called it “a moderately expensive place to visit.” They were seated at the bar, and with Batman’s urging, Twitch ordered a steak and a double scotch. Batman, meanwhile, wanted only a soda water.

Finally, Twitch couldn’t take it anymore. He was still completely in the dark.

“What’s happened?” he asked Batman.

“My plan is working” was all Batman said.

“You mean that bitch Lady Luck is smiling on you?” Twitch asked.

“Something like that,” Batman replied.

He pulled a wad of bills from his pocket. Twitch’s eyes almost fell out of his head.

“Jesus…”
he gasped. “Did you play at that casino or rob it?”

“Little bit of both,” Batman replied cryptically.

Twitch’s steak and drink arrived in record time. “OK, then,” he said, diving into his meal. “What’s the next part of the plan?”

Batman drained his water. Twitch saw him bite down on something between his teeth.

Then Batman said: “The plan is, you stay here, enjoy that steak and drink it up.”

“But where are you going?” Twitch asked him.

“I’ve got to find the
l’arrière-salle
in this place,” Batman told him, meaning: the back room. “I just hope they have one.”

*   *   *

TWITCH WAS FINISHING his third glass of scotch when Batman reappeared.

His smile was even wider now and he looked like he had an aura glowing around him.

“Ready to go?” he asked Twitch.

Twitch was confused. Batman had been away twenty minutes at the most.

“You mean we’re done here?” Twitch asked. “Already?”

As a reply, Batman pulled out the wad of bills again. It had doubled in size.

Twitch couldn’t believe it.

“Damn…” Twitch said. “What
the fuck
are you doing back there?”

Batman paid the bar bill, including a hefty tip. He guided Twitch toward the exit.

“The night awaits” was all Batman said.

*   *   *

THEY VISITED THREE more casinos in the next hour. The Monte-Carlo Bay, the good old Sun Casino and the so-called Café Casino.

The pattern was the same at all three: Twitch drank at the bar while Batman disappeared for about twenty minutes. When he returned, he’d be happier than ever—and carrying a bankroll that grew so large, they finally had to purchase a travel bag to carry it in.

Twitch had no idea what was going on. Batman was obviously gambling in some way, but he seemed to be doing nothing but winning huge amounts of money in short periods of time. So when they started off toward the fifth casino, the exclusive Casino at Monte Carlo, Twitch drunkenly begged Batman to let him watch. Batman finally agreed.

They walked in and Batman exchanged most of his cash for a tray of gold chips. Each was worth $100,000. They walked through the most prestigious gaming area they could find, where Batman flagged down a floor manager. Slipping him one of the $100,000 chips, they had a brief conversation, and the floor man bid them to follow him.

He led them through an unmarked door that led into a smaller, windowless, previously unseen gaming area. It was ringed by armed plainclothes guards watching over just ten tables. The room was dark and elegant, and hushed. No one was talking over a whisper.

“Every casino in Monte Carlo has one of these places,” Batman told Twitch quietly. “No limits on betting. Anything goes. You just got to know how to get in.”

Twitch watched as Batman scoped out the various gaming tables. It took him a few moments, but he finally found a blackjack game to his liking. Three other players were on hand.

Batman took his seat and played five hands for 100 Euros each, losing each one. The low figure of his wager caused snarls from the other players. Why was this man here if he was just betting mere hundreds?

Then, when the sixth hand was dealt, Batman suddenly threw in all of the gold chips. Twitch almost passed out. His colleague was betting more than five million dollars—on one hand.

Twitch tried to get Batman’s attention, but his friend’s eyes had glazed over. He seemed to be looking at a spot over the dealer’s shoulder.

The dealer was stunned by the bet, but tried not to show it. He dealt the next card. Batman was showing seventeen, a high number and risky to take another hit.

Yet he did—his card was a four.

And he won.

Just like that.

The other players gasped as the dealer, now pale and unwell-looking, pushed a mountain of gold chips in Batman’s direction. A pit boss appeared and offered to help compute Batman’s winnings, but Batman politely declined.

“I know how much I have,” he said.

And so did Twitch.

By his count, Batman had just won ten million dollars.

The dealer took out a new deck of cards and, his face slightly ashen, asked the players to put up again.

Batman pushed his new mountain of chips forward and smiled madly.

“All in,” he said. “And may the best man win.”

20

Indian Ocean

SNAKE NOLAN COULDN’T believe he was still alive.

He’d been beaten about his face and shoulders. His feet had been hit with bamboo sticks. His torso had bruises from the ribcage on down. His head felt like it had been split open.

But it was his knuckles that told the tale. They were scraped, cut and bloody. He’d fought back. That’s why he’d been pummeled to within an inch of his life.

It was all still hazy, but bits and pieces were coming back to him. He and Emma had climbed down to the fishing boat to get a ride to the nearby Lackshadweep Islands when the toothless man had pulled a gun on them. In that moment between freedom and captivity, Nolan realized what a fool he’d been. The toothless man was a Bom-Kat. The pirates had taken over one of the Omani fishing boats and when the others departed, it had lingered to offer them a ride to the islands. In a hundred years Nolan wouldn’t have thought the Bom-Kats could be that crafty. But then again, he didn’t know how obsessed their top man was with Emma Simms.

He remembered throwing punches around when the Bom-Kats started manhandling Emma, but there were too many pirates on the stolen fishing boat for him to defeat.

While being beaten, he recalled one of the pirates holding a knife to Emma’s throat and threatening to slit it if Nolan continued to resist. And he remembered Emma saying to the guy: “Don’t be afraid. There’s no reason to be afraid,” and he realized at that moment, it had been the perfect thing to say.

Nolan finally stopped struggling when someone hit him over the head with a bottle. He was just now waking from the deep, painful fog that blow had caused.

He was in a dark compartment, with a single weak lightbulb providing the only illumination. Machinery was chugging all around him and the air was stifling and full of oily steam. As he began to get his wits back, he realized he was locked in the fishing boat’s tiny engine room and that they were underway.

Two pirates opened the door and came down the ladder just as Nolan was getting to his feet. They started shouting at him as soon as they realized he was awake.

They were talking in rough pidgin English—but Nolan got the idea. The stolen fishing boat’s engine was acting up, and for some reason the Bom-Kats just assumed that he, being an American, knew how to repair it. As they were telling him this, the engine sputtered to a stop, as if on cue.

Nolan knew enough about engines to change the oil in a car, but that was about it. Still, when one pirate stuck an assault rifle in his ribs—oddly it was an old M-16—Nolan knew he had no choice but to try to fix the damn thing.

He took off what he guessed was the access panel and found himself looking at what was basically an old Chevy eight-cylinder engine. Half of the eight spark plug wires were off, causing the problem. It was an easy fix, but Nolan was smart enough not to repair it very quickly. As they had recently stolen the fishing boat, it stood to reason the Bom-Kats knew little about how its engine worked, especially since it was an American design.

So he told the Bom-Kats he needed a gallon of cold water and a screwdriver and that they should be quick about it.

When they hesitated, he yelled at them: “Do you want to sink or not?”

They finally left and only then was Nolan able to fall to the seat of his pants and catch his breath.

He figured he’d been a captive of the Bom-Kats for about ten hours now. He was sure it was dark out and he could hear the wind picking up outside. Once again, he became furious with himself for falling for the Bom-Kats simple ruse. After he had beat them so successfully during their murderous assaults on the
Taiwan Song,
the pirates had skillfully tricked him when his guard was down. It was a real blow to his ego.

Worst of all, though, he had no idea where Emma was.

The pirates returned with the water and screwdriver. They left just as quickly, but not before spitting at him.

Nolan drank the water greedily, and poured some over his wounds. His head began to clear a little more. He went back to the engine, connected two of the four hanging spark plug wires and then started the engine manually. It coughed to life.

He heard the pirates up top let out a cheer. Someone in the control room hit the throttles and the boat started moving forward again.

Nolan’s instinct told him they were heading east, back toward India, and the Bom-Kats hideout. This was not good. He knew once they reached the pirates’ lair his chance of survival would be nil. As for Emma? Who knew what awaited her—if she was still alive.

He had to find out. He located a sturdy steam pipe and climbed on top of it just under a deck brace. With much effort, he unscrewed the brace and gently let the plank it was holding fall down a bit.

He peeked through the opening and saw … nothing, except the bare feet of pirates on the deck above, lit by torches. Nolan returned that brace, unscrewed another and peeked through that opening, again, to no good end.

He unscrewed and replaced a dozen braces until he finally saw what he wanted to see. Another pair of bare feet on the deck, but definitely not belonging to any of the pirates.

It was Emma. She was bound to a crude wooden stool on the starboard side of the boat, next to the railing. She did not look bruised or cut, but she was very frightened and crying.

Even worse, she was not wearing the combat suit Nolan had last seen her in. Rather, she was clad in a very small woman’s bathing suit. And he could see many pirates were crowded around her, poking at her, laughing at her, but mostly ogling her. These brigands were getting inebriated as well; it was obvious by the way they were stumbling about.

Nolan replaced the brace and tightened it back up.

What would happen to Emma when the pirates
really
got drunk?

He didn’t want to know.

Just about that time he noticed the boat was beginning to rock. It was strange because since they’d left Gottabang in the old
Taiwan Song,
the sea conditions had been nothing but smooth and calm, almost too much so.

But now, with each passing second, he could tell the seas were getting rougher. Then he heard the sound of rain beginning to spatter on the deck above. Then came the sound of thunder, the crackling of lightning, and finally footsteps frantically running in all directions right over his head.

The wind began to screech and soon enough, waves were crashing violently against the side of the fishing boat.

The typhoon hit full force about a minute later.

*   *   *

IT HAD BLOWN up so quickly, Nolan could barely stay on his own two feet. Still, he climbed back up on the steam pipe, unscrewed the specific plank brace and looked up onto the deck. He saw that Emma was still bound to the seat, getting very wet, her hair blowing crazily in the wind. Meanwhile he could see the drunken pirates staggering around the deck not knowing what to do, even as the storm grew worse.

Now was the time for him to act. He went back to the engine, reached into the access panel and unplugged six of the eight spark plug wires, bringing the engine as close to a stall as possible without it actually going dead.