The Hunters (Presidential Agent 3)

“So does Jack,” Fernando said. “Jack’s wife is with her mother in Philly. The planned itinerary is Reagan to Philly. Then, after you see your lady friend, Philly to Charleston, where we drop the colonel off. Then Charleston to San Antone. No problem to drop you off in Biloxi.”

“You’re going to Charleston by way of Philadelphia?” Castillo asked Torine. “You can’t catch a plane from here?”

“The oldest member of this small, valiant band of men,” Torine said, “having just returned from a tour of the world, is in no condition to pass through airport security, especially in possession of an Uzi and a case of untaxed brandy that I don’t want to have to try to explain.”

Castillo chuckled. “Untaxed brandy?”

“Fernando told me you had bought your grandmother a case of Argentine brandy at twelve bucks a bottle. I figured if it was good enough for your grandmother, it would be a suitable expression of my affection for my wife.”

“It’s really good brandy,” Castillo said. “And, best of all, it’s not French.”

“It’s a sad world, Charley, where boycotting the products of those who have screwed you interferes with your drinking habits, but that’s the way it is.”

Castillo chuckled.

“Okay, let’s get this show on the road. While I call D’Allessando, somebody call the doorman and have him get us a couple of cabs.”

“There’s a big Yukon stationed at the National Geographic exit,” Miller said. “And since I’m not going anywhere, you can use that.”

“Great,” Castillo said.

“Sir, what about me?” Corporal Lester Bradley asked. Castillo looked at him a long moment before replying. “You better come with me, Bradley,” he said, finally. “Sir, may I ask what I’m going to be doing?”

“You can ask, but I can’t tell you because I haven’t figured that out yet.”

[THREE]

The Belle Vista Casino and Resort

U.S. Highway 90 (“The Magic Mile”)

Biloxi, Mississippi

0405 2 August 2005

Inside the resort, as C. G. Castillo and Lester Bradley, in civilian clothing, approached the main entrance of the casino, a burly “host” came out from behind a small stand-up desk and not very politely asked Bradley how old he was and then, when told, shook his head and said he couldn’t go in.

“Wait right here, Bradley,” Castillo ordered. “I’ll be right out.”

“Yes, sir.”

Castillo entered the casino and walked past rows of slot machines, at which maybe a quarter of them sat gamblers, most of them middle-aged and elderly women. Beyond the slot machines was an arch with a flashing GAMING sign on it. Castillo walked under it and found himself in a huge area filled with tables for the playing of blackjack, craps, and roulette.

Perhaps a third of them were in use. He saw Vic D’Allessando’s totally bald head at one of the blackjack tables deep in the room. He walked toward the table and stopped six feet from it.

There was a sign on the table indicating the minimum bet was ten dollars. There were five stacks of chips in front of D’Allessando. He tapped them steadily with the fingers of his left hand as he watched the dealer deal.

Even if they were all ten-dollar chips—and they’re obviously not, since each stack is a different color, which means they’re worth even more—Vic is into this game big-time.

He watched a little longer, saw that Vic was playing two cards at a time, and then walked up behind him. D’Allessando sensed his presence and turned to see who was behind him. He gave no sign of recognition.

The dealer busted and passed out chips to both of the cards D’Allessando was playing.

“That’ll do it,” D’Allessando said, then slid a tip of two chips to the dealer and started to gather up the remainder of his chips. The dealer slid a rack to him.

“Thanks,” D’Allessando said and put the chips in the rack.

“Oh, goody,” Castillo said. “I brought you luck.”