Day of Reckoning

'What a bloody way to make a living at this time in the morning.'

'You, too,' Blake told him, putting on his best British accent.

The policeman smiled and drove away.

Dillon said, 'Let's do it.'

'Fine. As I told you, I can screw the entire security system, but only for fifteen minutes, so you'll need to be fast.'

'Hell, I've been all over those ground plans you showed me. I know where I'm going.'

'You better had. I'm starting now, so count to ten and get down to that basement door.'

Various lights flickered on the screen, reds and greens, there came a faint sound, and then Dillon was out of there, past Blake and down to the basement, pulling up his hood.

He had a small flashlight, but really didn't need it, for there were subdued security lights everywhere. He had no worries about cameras. As Roper had told him, they were frozen, too.

Remembering the ground plans from the computer screen, he went up the steps fast, passed through the kitchens, and emerged by the entrance to the restaurant. He could see into the glass office by the main door. The security guard was fiddling with the TV, which had gone off.

Dillon slipped through the shadows into the main gambling room and round the right table. There was a tray of dice on the table, all very neat, but he left them alone, and instead dropped to one knee by the right-hand side of the table, where the dealer stood. There was a stack of dice there.

He took six, no more, and put them into his pocket, turned, and went out fast.

The security guard was still arguing with the TV. Dillon slipped through the shadow, went down the steps, and speeded into the basement, closing the door behind him. He stepped past Blake, gave him a thumbs-up, and went into the van. He took the six dice from his pocket and put them on the bench in front of Roper.

'There you go.'

'Thirteen minutes,' Roper said. 'You did well.' He tapped the keys and sat back. 'Everything normal again.' 'Now what?'

'We clear up and get out of here.'

Dillon removed his hood and went out to Blake. 'It worked. I got what he wanted, so let's get moving. I'll help you.' 'Okay,' Blake said.

Dillon collapsed the screens and awning and put them into the truck, while Blake replaced the manhole cover. A few moments later, they drove away, Dillon at the wheel.

At Roper's place in Regency Square, they sat and watched him at the bench examining the dice with an eyeglass.

'Will it be okay?' Blake asked.

'Of course it will, old boy. Being a perfectionist, however, I prefer solitude when engaged in sensitive work, so be good and dear off. You won't be able to use these things until tomorrow night anyway, so I've got all the time in the world.'

Dillon nodded to Blake and they stood up. 'We'll check in tomorrow, then.'

'You do that,' Roper said, ignoring them completely as he picked up a tiny electric drill of the kind used by jewellers.

The following morning at eight, Dillon's phone rang, and Ferguson said, 'As I've had no intimations of disaster, you must have pulled it off last night.'

'Absolutely. We're in Roper's hands now.'

'What are you and Blake up to?'

'We're going to the King's Head for a full English breakfast.'

'I can't wait to join you.'

Which he did half an hour later, accompanied by Hannah Bernstein. They all ordered, and Ferguson said, 'You haven't checked with Roper yet?'

'Give him a chance, sir,' Hannah said, as the waiter arrived with the breakfasts on a large tray.

Dillon said, 'Pass your bacon to me, Hannah. I wouldn't want to put your fine Jewish principles under siege.' 'You're so kind, Dillon.'

And then the door opened with a bang and Roper surged in. 'Smells great.' He turned to the waiter. 'The same for me.'

'I must say, you look astonishingly well,' Ferguson said.

'You mean for a cripple who hasn't been to bed all night?' Roper asked, and took the six dice from his pocket and rolled them on the table. They all came up ones. 'Snake eyes.' He turned to Blake. 'Isn't that what you call them in Vegas?'

'It sure as hell is.'

'Excellent. God help Jack Fox and the Colosseum this evening. I think I'll go and watch.'

'You have to be a member,' Hannah Bernstein said.

'Which, thanks to my computer, I am. In fact, you all are.' The waiter appeared with his breakfast. 'My God, this looks good.' He picked up a knife and fork and got to work. 'I assume it had occurred to you that if Dillon and Blake wanted to create mayhem in the Colosseum tonight, they also needed to be members?'

'Of course it did.' Ferguson smiled. 'And I knew you'd take care of it. It'll be an interesting night ahead of us, I think.' 'You can sure as hell say that,' Blake agreed.

6

'Excellent. God help Jack Fox and the Colosseum this evening. I think I'll go and watch.'

'You have to be a member,' Hannah Bernstein said.

'Which, thanks to my computer, I am. In fact, you all are.' The waiter appeared with his breakfast. 'My God, this looks good.' He picked up a knife and fork and got to work. 'I assume it had occurred to you that if Dillon and Blake wanted to create mayhem in the Colosseum tonight, they also needed to be members?'

'Of course it did.' Ferguson smiled. 'And I knew you'd take care of it. It'll be an interesting night ahead of us, I think.' 'You can sure as hell say that,' Blake agreed.

Roper's expertise produced plastic membership cards for all of them, plus photos of Rossi and Cameci, the restaurant's minders, to add to those of Falcone and Russo, and that evening, at eight o'clock, they were passed through the door at the Colosseum by Henry, Roper in a light collapsible wheelchair pushed by Dillon.

The main room was already busy, waitresses in minuscule skirts moving through the crowd offering champagne. Dillon took a glass and looked up.

'Any good?' Blake asked.

'If you like sparkling wine, but champagne it's not.'

'Ah, well, Fox will be into profit margins,' Ferguson observed.

They stood in a small group by the bar, and Hannah said,

'There are a couple of villains you're interested in, sir. The Jago brothers, Harold and Tony, at the end of the bar.'

The others took a look.

Ferguson said, 'Very unsavoury.'

'Yes, well, we can sort them out later,' Dillon said. 'The thing is, who's going to start the ball rolling?'

'Well, actually, I've had another of my ideas,' Ferguson said. 'We have six dice, so why not two each?'

'Brigadier, I can see why you achieved high command,' Blake told him. 'Agreed, Sean?'

'Why not?' Dillon turned to Roper. 'Here we go. Show-time.'

Roper passed the dice across and Dillon gave the others theirs. 'There you go.'

'Into action, then,' Ferguson said. 'Let's get on with it,' and turned for the dice table. 'Oh, and palm your dice smoothly, gentlemen.'

In the restaurant, Fox enjoyed his scrambled eggs and smoked salmon again and tried a little Krug champagne.

'Great stuff, this,' he said to Falcone. 'But not the vintage. It's the non-vintage that's really special. Different grapes.'

Russo appeared. 'There's a problem, Signore. You remember those two from the Four Seasons in New York, Dillon and Johnson?'

'Yes?'

'They're here now, in the main room.'

'Really?' Fox emptied his glass. 'Well, let's take a look.'

Falcone pulled back the chair, and Fox stood up and walked out into the most active part of the casino.

Russo said, 'Over there, Signore. Next to some woman and another man. In the striped suit, see?'

Fox snorted. 'That "some woman", Russo, is Detective Superintendent Hannah Bernstein of Scotland Yard's Special Branch. And that "another man" is Brigadier General Ferguson, head of a special intelligence unit for the Prime Minister. An absolutely devious old bastard. I guarantee you they're not here for a friendly game of cards.'