Chapter 6
Jasmine nodded toward the man sitting across from them. “Ace, this is Dmytro. Dmytro, this is Ace.”
Twenty-five years her senior, Dmytro personified the word intimidating. The man had a wicked scar across his left cheek that he’d earned during his time in the army. Another scar slashed across his eyebrow, giving it a disjointed, wicked slant. He’d said he’d earned that one as a mercenary.
Dmytro had given up his wild, marauding life when he’d returned to his hometown and fallen in love with a pretty Ukrainian girl. For her, he’d settled into a tame existence as a lineman for the state-owned national electric company.
He”d assimilated into the quiet provincial life. They’d had a baby girl and were happy—until the leader of Russia destroyed his home, his town and many of his friends and family.
He’d taken his wife and daughter and left the war-torn nation, knowing they wouldn’t be safe as long as the war raged on.
As Jasmine stared across at her old friend, she could feel Ace tense beside her. Knowing Dmytro wouldn’t hurt her, she laid a hand on Ace’s knee as she addressed the Ukrainian in his language. “It’s good to see you, old friend.”
Dmytro nodded and responded in heavily accented English. “You look well, Senorita Giordano.”
Jasmine’s lips curled in a smile. Dmytro’s daughter had chosen that name for her Italian passport. “How is Ana?”
He snorted, his heavy eyebrows forming a V over his nose. “She is in Los Angeles.”
Jasmine’s eyes widened. “When did that happen?”
His frown deepened. “When she decided she wanted to become a movie star and bought a one-way plane ticket to California.” He shook his head. “Her mother is not happy. I am not happy.” The older man shrugged. “But what can we do? She is a grown woman with a mind of her own.”
“Like her father?” Jasmine teased.
“Too much like her father,” Dmytro admitted. “Beautiful like her mother, stubborn like me.” He sighed and focused on Jasmine. “We are not here to discuss my daughter. What is important is to get your son back.”
Her joy at seeing her old friend dampened at the mention of Eli. “Is Francesca on track to play poker with Christos?”
Dmytro nodded. “When the casino informed him of a special guest in their exclusive game room, he demanded a seat at the table. He’ll be there along with four other regulars.”
“Good,” Jasmine said. “Should I be concerned about the others?”
“I’ve played with some of them before,” Dmytro said. “Nikolai Thanos is a retired real estate broker. No connection to the Greek crime families, just likes to play poker with people who know how. Angelo Remes made his fortune as an action-adventure movie star. Now in his seventies, he plays poker for the challenge. Klaus Müller, a German game developer, sold a game for enough money to retire comfortably but enjoys poker twice a week. He’s Christos’s friend. The last man, Jon Anders, I’m not as familiar with him. My source says he’s a U.S. ex-pat who inherited his money and likes spending it on fast cars, women and taking risks.”
“Charming group,” Jasmine commented.
“The casino likes to keep it friendly. They’ve had games between underground crime leaders where they check their weapons at the doors. Since you’re a special guest, the casino manager chose the least dangerous players.”
“Nice to know,” Ace said.
“The source says Christos has been known to overextend his bets, relying on markers from the cashiers. Lately, he’s been slow paying back the markers. The cashier and the dealer have been instructed not to extend a marker past the initial one to buy into the game.”
Jasmine nodded. “Which means I have to win enough to exceed his limit by a significant amount.”
Dmytro nodded. “The dealer will allow you to extend your own marker to Christos,” he said. “When he loses, he will ask to pay you back the next day as he has done in the past with other special guests.”
Going along with the storyline, Jasmine said, “I’ll insist he pay me tonight as I leave for Canada early tomorrow morning.”
“He’ll have to tap into his father’s cash to pay you before morning,” Dmytro said. “When he suggests that he go to his family home for the money, you can insist on going with him.”
“With my bodyguard,” Jasmine added. “After all, I don’t know him well enough to trust his word.”
Dmytro leaned across the space between them, extending his hand. “Take this,” he said, handing her a ring with a shiny black sapphire setting.
She took the ring and stared down at it, her brow puckering. “A ring?”
“A special ring,” Dmytro said. “You will need time to look for the artifact. That would be hard to do with Christos watching.” The Ukrainian lifted his chin. “The sapphire is attached to a tiny spring. Flip it up on one side.”
Using the tip of her fingernail, Jasmine flicked the edge of the stone.
The black sapphire flipped up, revealing a tiny compartment filled with a fine white powder.
Jasmine shot a glance toward Dmytro.
Dmytro’s lips curled. “Do not worry. It is not poison. It will only make a man sleep. Deeply. He will not wake until morning.”
Jasmine slid the ring onto the ring finger of her left hand.
“My source tells me that anyone entering the Demopoulos’s home must pass through a metal detector.” Dmytro handed a knife and sheath to Jasmine and another to Ace. “These knives are made of ceramic materials and will not set off the metal detector.”
“Thank you, Dmytro,” Jasmine said. “I was considering my high heels as weapons, but this is easier to handle.”
“Athanasios has a gallery containing his collection of art and artifacts. My source suspects the scroll will be on display there. From what he said, the gallery has a security system. If the alarms are set off, the security team is mobilized, and a pair of rottweilers are released automatically from their kennels to patrol the grounds.” Dmytro’s eyes narrowed as they met Jasmine’s. “They are trained to kill.”
Jasmine’s heart skipped several beats. “Do you have some of this sleeping medicine I could throw at the dogs as they leap for my throat?”
Dmytro shook his head. “All I can do is caution you to do your best not to set off the alarms. The other alternative is to leave in a vehicle, not on foot. The fence surrounding the compound is eight feet high and made of concrete blocks topped with concertina wire. Going over the fence will prove difficult.”
Jasmine snorted. “And everything up to that point will be easy?”
The Ukrainian shook his head. “Athanasios had all the security put in place after his predecessor’s assassination in the streets of Athens. Up to now, no one has tried to breach his compound.”
Jasmine laughed shakily. “Let me guess. As much as your source has described, he must have helped install that security system. Did he have any tips or tricks for breaching the gallery without setting off the alarms?”
Dmytro’s lips tipped upward. “He did.” The man paused for effect.
Jasmine waited patiently, knowing the Ukrainian had an occasional flare for the dramatic.
“There is a secret panel hidden behind a replica of the ancient Greek painting of the Birth of Venus,” he said, his lips curling. “You have to enter a code to disengage the alarms in the room. Athanasios wanted to be able to enter the gallery whenever he liked.”
“I don’t suppose your friend gave you the code?” Ace asked.
Dmytro’s hands spread out. “What else are friends for?” He leaned close and whispered, “The code is 1485,” he said. “The year the original Birth of Venus was completed. Though Demopoulos is now the leader of the Greek underground crime organization, he has always been interested in art and archeological treasures.” Dmytro’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Thus, his desire to claim the copper scroll you so conveniently removed from the Jordanian Museum.”
Jasmine sighed. “So, you know.”
“There are no secrets among the Greeks,” he said.
Jasmine crossed her arms over her chest. “If that’s the case, perhaps you know who is holding Eli hostage.” She held her breath, praying her friend could tap into his network to locate one small boy being held hostage.
The Ukrainian ex-pat shook his head, a shadow descending over his face. “He must not be Greek. However, I am working on that information. I will let you know what I learn.”
Jasmine let go of the breath she’d been holding. She hadn’t expected Dmytro to know where Eli was being held. He’d have told her immediately.
“Okay, then.” Jasmine lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. “We will succeed. As they say in the movies...failure is not an option. Eli’s life depends on it.”
Though she put on a strong front, inside, Jasmine was terrified. Not of being caught by the Greek crime boss or mauled by killer dogs. She was afraid they wouldn’t find the scroll. And if they did, she feared they wouldn’t get back out with it to make the exchange. If they died trying, what would happen to Eli?
She looked across at her friend. “We will succeed,” she repeated.
Dmytro reached out to take her hand. “Should something happen, and you don’t make it out, I will do everything in my power to find and free Eli. He will be cared for.” He squeezed her hand. “I have complete faith in you and Ace. I am too old to raise a small boy the way his father could, but I would do my best.”
Tears welled in Jasmine’s eyes. Though the Ukrainian dealt in illegal activities, Jasmine trusted him with her son’s life. “Thank you, Dmytro.”
He gave her a single nod. “Be safe, Moya lyubov.” He turned to Ace and held out his hand. “Jasmine is a good woman. Do right by her and the boy.”
Ace shook the man’s hand. “I will.”
Dmytro released Ace’s hand, then pushed open the door, stepped out of the limousine and closed the door.
The vehicle pulled away from the curb and merged into traffic.
Jasmine sat in silence. Inside her head, her thoughts roiled over the information her friend had imparted. Everything that could go wrong threatened to overwhelm her.
It all boiled down to Eli. If they failed, he died.
She drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, deliberately, her spine stiffening and her resolve hardening. Her hand closed around the ceramic knife encased in its sheath. She bent and strapped it to her calf, comforted to know she had a weapon. She’d rather have a submachine gun, hand grenades and an entire platoon of soldiers backing her, but the knife was better than nothing.
Jasmine stared through the side window at the buildings they passed. She hadn’t played poker since she’d spent time with Dmytro and his family.
Though they were a highly competitive threesome, they’d taken the time to show her strategies they used to win. She’d have to make use of those strategies to be sure she won. Yes, the dealer was primed to help, but she had to make it look like she won fairly.
The limousine pulled to a stop in front of the casino.
Jasmine’s pulse quickened. She drew in a deep, steadying breath, using the same techniques she’d employed to calm her racing heart when going into battle as a Sayeret Matkal. She couldn’t show fear, nervousness or any other weakness. As a wealthy heiress, she needed to be collected and slightly disdainful. To her, the game must look like a diversion from boredom.
“It’s showtime,” Ace whispered and slid out of the backseat. Once his feet were firmly on the pavement, he held out a hand to Jasmine.
She laid her palm in his and let him pull her out of the vehicle. Without thanking him, she walked past him, her head held high.
The casino manager emerged from the building and met her before she reached the door. Speaking in halting Italian, he welcomed her to the Olympus Casino. “Everything is as requested by your assistant.”
She held up a hand and addressed him in Greek. “Please stop. You’re butchering my native language. Address me in your own unless you’re equally inept with it.”
He quickly switched to Greek, his cheeks flushing a ruddy red. “My apologies, Miss Giordano. If you’re ready, I’ll take you to the private room set aside for this evening’s game.”
“I’m ready to be out of this heat,” she said. “The room is air conditioned?”
“Absolutely. We can adjust the thermostat to your desire.” He led the way to the building.
As Jasmine passed through the automatic sliding door, she glanced back.
Ace followed a few steps behind, sunglasses in place, hiding his eyes. As tall and broad-shouldered as he was, wearing the black suit, black shirt and tie, he carried just the right amount of intimidation.
Jasmine hid a smile and strode through the casino.
Customers sat at slot machines, pressing buttons, watching the displays spin, hoping to hit a sizable jackpot. The clamor of ringing bells filled the room.
The manager led her past the slots, through the table games of roulette, blackjack and craps and into a hallway. At the end, he turned to the left and continued until he came to a door marked Private. A peephole like those found in hotel rooms was in the middle of the door.
He knocked three times and stood back.
A moment later, the door opened, and a big man dressed in a black and gold casino uniform held it wide.
The casino manager waved his arm toward the door. “After you.”
Jasmine entered, expecting to see the poker table and the dealer inside. Instead, they passed through a sitting room with a bar to one side, complete with an impressive selection of alcohol, a coffeemaker, a refrigerator and a microwave.
The casino manager led her to the door at the opposite end of the sitting area and opened it wide. “The final player is here,” he announced in Greek. “Gentlemen, Miss Giordano.” He swept his hand toward the door.
Jasmine entered the room, narrowing her eyes as she studied the other five players. Before they introduced themselves, she had in her mind who was who. One by one, they approached her, confirming her assessment.
Nikolai Thanos, the retired real estate broker, was a tall man with a full head of silver hair. He wore a casual tailored jacket over a white polo shirt. “Nikolai Thanos,” he introduced himself in flawless Italian. “My friends call me Nik.” His grip was firm as she shook his hand, and his smile was practiced from years of sales experience.
Jasmine replied in Greek. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Thanos.”
The older man’s eyes narrowed for a second before he dipped his head, acknowledging that she didn’t consider him a friend.
A slender young man, wearing a brown leather jacket over a black T-shirt with a scene out of a post-apocalyptic video game emblazoned across his chest, held out his hand and mumbled his name, “Klaus Müller.”
When she shook his hand, he barely gripped hers and let go almost as soon as they touched. She’d had a friend like Klaus growing up in Tel Aviv. Socially awkward, especially with girls, but technically brilliant. She knew how difficult it was for him to extend social niceties. “Sch?n, Sie kennenzulernen,” she replied with a gentle smile.
A man with salt and pepper hair, wearing a charcoal gray blazer, white button-down shirt and a gray and blue ascot draped loosely around his neck, flashed a too-white smile at her. “Angelo Remes. You might recognize me from the silver screen.” He spoke in his native Greek.
She replied, also in Greek, “Sorry. I don’t.”
His smile twisted. “You’re probably too young to remember my movies.” His smile returned. “Nice to have a woman playing with us today.”
“I hope I don’t bore you.”
“You’re too pretty to bore anyone,” he replied, moving aside for the next player.
A tall man with auburn hair and hazel eyes grinned broadly and held out his hand. “Jon Anders. Do you speak English? Sadly, I’m hopeless with other languages. The best I can do is order beer and ask where I can find the toilet.”
As Jasmine shook his hand, she wondered at this man. She couldn’t quite place his American accent. And most Americans said bathroom, not toilet.
“Where are you from in the Americas?” she asked in English.
He grinned. “Kansas City, Missouri. Have you been to the States?”
She nodded. “I’ve been to New York City a number of times, Los Angeles, Miami and Dallas.”
“You like poker,” he said. “Have you played in Vegas?”
She shook her head. “Not yet, but I’m planning on it—thus, this little practice game here in Athens. Do you play here often?”
Jon shook his head. “This will be my first time at this casino. I was asking about poker when I ran into this guy.” He turned toward the man Jasmine was there to manipulate. “He said it was for players with a big bank account. Lord knows I have the money, thanks to dear ol’ Dad. I asked to be included.” He spread his arms wide. “Now, here I am.”
She cocked an eyebrow rather than respond to American’s exuberance.
Jon grimaced. “But don’t let me do all the talking.” He dragged the man beside him forward. “This guy got me in the door.”
Jasmine recognized the man from the photograph Dmytro had sent through text less than twenty minutes before.
Christos was a handsome man dressed in tailored slacks, a white button-down shirt open at the neck and a wine-red velvet jacket. He stepped forward, a smile lifting the corners of his lips. “Miss Giordano, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said in Greek and held out his hand.
Jasmine frowned at the young man and his outstretched arm. “And you are?” she asked with haughty disdain though she knew who he was.
“Christos Demopoulos,” he said.
She raised one eyebrow. “Any relation to Athanasios Demopoulos?”
Christos nodded. “He’s my father.”
“Will he be playing?” she asked.
The younger Demopoulos frowned. “No.”
“A pity,” she said, moving past him without shaking his hand. “I came to play, not talk. Shall we?”
Jasmine took a seat at the center of the poker table opposite the dealer, who was expertly shuffling a deck of cards.
The casino manager waved at the other players. “Gentlemen, if you’ll take your seats, we can begin.” He walked around the table to where Jasmine sat, tapping her fingernail against the green felt. The casino manager leaned over Jasmine’s shoulder. “Your assistant wired your buy-in to our cashier. We’re all set to begin. Would you like a drink?”
She continued tapping her finger, assuming the expression of an extremely bored and impatient rich woman. “Dirty martini.”
He nodded, pivoted on his heels and headed for the exit.
“Make it very dirty,” Jasmine added.
“Yes, ma’am,” the manager said, hurrying out of the inner sanctum into the kitchenette without asking what the other players might like.
Christos sat to the left of the dealer. The other players took seats around Jasmine, Jon on her right, between her and Christos, Klaus on her left, Angelo beside him and then Nikolai.
The dealer pushed stacks of chips toward each player.
Jasmine had expected to front the money for her buy-in when she’d arrived. Apparently, Dmytro had done it for her. She fought the urge to gulp when she realized the stack of chips was a combination of one hundred, two hundred and five hundred euro denominations. There had to be around five thousand euros in her stack alone. Each player had an equal stack, totaling thirty thousand euros.
Her pulse kicked up. She glanced across the room to where Ace stood with his back against a wall, far enough away he couldn’t read cards but close enough he could step in if someone threatened her. Just his being there helped calm her. Their gazes met for a moment. Then she focused on the game and the people, willing the dealer to deal and set this plan in motion.
For the next hour, the dealer dealt, and the players played. Jasmine lost the first three hands, noting the barely concealed smile on Christos’s face. The dealer had given her good cards, as Dmytro had promised, setting her up to win.
But she couldn’t make it look that easy.
She won the next hand with a flush, beating Christos’s three-of-a-kind and Klaus’s two pair, taking back some of the chips she’d lost.
Klaus won the next hand, depleting her stack of chips to a mere one thousand euros.
Jasmine glanced down at her watch. While they’d played, the afternoon had waned into evening. Darkness was always good cover to escape a bad situation. The later, the better, preferably after people retired for the night. In the next hour, she needed to wrap up the poker game, claim her victory and demand that Christos pay up, even if it meant taking her to his family’s estate to get the cash.
Was she being ridiculous thinking they could push this young, entitled boy into taking her to his father’s stronghold and raiding his father’s stash of very liquid assets to repay her marker?
For a moment, Jasmine doubted their plan, doubted the ability to maneuver their way into Athanasios Demopoulos’s compound and his room full of artwork and ancient artifacts.
What other choice did she have? What alternative?
She had to retrieve the copper scroll. Eli’s life depended on it. She couldn’t stop until her son was safe and out of the hands of his kidnappers. Her arms...no... her heart ached to hold her small son. To tell him everything would be all right. To read him a story as his eyes drifted lower and he slept in her arms, knowing he was safe and loved.
Her heart pinched hard in her chest, and her gut knotted. Eli had never been away from his home in Tel Aviv. He’d never spent time with strangers. He’d had Maria, the housekeeper, and his mother to hold him and tell him all would be well.
Until now. For the past few nights, he hadn’t had his mother or Maria to reassure him. To let him know he was loved, and someone would always be there for him.
How was he? Did he fall asleep crying every night? Had they hurt him?
Her gut clenched at the thought of anyone hurting a three-year-old.
Jasmine’s jaw clenched, and her resolve hardened. Damn it. She’d get through this challenge, find her son and make a new life for them. She’d take Eli away from people who would use a boy to get his mother to commit a crime. She’d take him somewhere he could be content to run and play with no worries about being snatched, abused and separated from the people who love him.
As the dealer dealt the next round, Jasmine focused on winning. It was time she took control of the situation and Christos Demopoulos. The sooner she got that scroll, the sooner she could negotiate a trade to get her son back.
The dealer dealt the hand.
Jasmine collected her cards, hope souring as she stared down at the hand dealt to her.