Foresight Page 5

  'So what, you're gonna show us how to bluff? Easy!' said Clara with confidence. 'I mean, Robin's the only other guy in the world who can read right, and he's on my side'

  Boal grinned and shook his head, slowly making his way to the door.

  'The only other reader in the world?', he said. 'Jesus Clara, this training's going to take longer than I thought'

  Chapter 05

  Clara woke earlier than usual, around 4am. The magnitude of her situation clearly catching up with her, her slumber was now being regularly interrupted with thoughts of what was coming next. Clara had been at the house for almost a month now, and the training had been intense every day. Weekends offered minor respite in the form of a slightly earlier finish on a Sunday, but this was more to allow the agents time to recuperate than it was to allow Clara or Robin time to gather their thoughts. Boal was a taskmaster, and whilst he wasn't hands-on in all of their training, he would often 'pop in' unannounced, rapidly assessing the training that was being delivered before almost always insisting that they weren't being pushed hard enough. Clara and Robin had both discussed Boal at length, trying to figure out who he was, what made him tick. Despite the cloak and dagger of their setup, most of the agents they spent time with were willing to open up at least a little bit. One was married with two young children and had taken the job because of the money, it was his way of fast-tracking a military career, creating a nest-egg then retiring young and living out the rest of his life in Florida. Another, their least favourite of all the instructors, would bore them rigid with his bigoted opinions and tales of how the country was going 'down the shitter', before admitting that he had been single for the past 6 years and didn't really have any friends. It wasn't much, but for a team of people who were professionally 'closed off', it was a rare glimpse at their human side.

  Boal was better at hiding his human side than anyone else at the agency. Most of the instructors chose not to enter into conversation about him, never bringing his name up and steering conversation away from him when they needed to. Despite his relatively mediocre size and stature, he'd built up a reputation for being fierce with a fiery temper. He was ex-military back in the UK, Clara knew that much, but beyond that he was as much of a closed book as was possible in Clara's life, keeping his thoughts shielded almost effortlessly from her and Robin around the clock. There was no 'catching him off guard'. His role in the agency wasn't clear, but then you don't exactly contact Human Resources for a copy of your job specification when you work for a highly secret government agency. From what they understood, he was the recruiter and 'talent scout' as he referred to it. He would get tips about people with certain skill sets and then put himself in a position where he could meet and test these people. He'd mentioned in a conversation over dinner one evening that more than 99% of the people he met and tested didn't have the skills that Clara and Robin had, or even close, and that despite the advantages of using computer algorithms to pull these people out of the woodwork, more often than not he wasted his time. This had made Clara even more dubious of his intentions, and she'd often ponder why a man with his level of intelligence and employability would devote his life to the pursuit of literally less than a handful of people, meeting potentially thousands of 'fakes' along the way. She figured that whatever she was going to be doing for him long-term, it was more than just the odd bit of interrogation, and found herself getting panicky and anxious when she considered what might happen if she ever decided she wanted to leave.

  Sleepless nights were unfortunately compounded by this thought, in more ways than one. Not only could she not leave the agency, she couldn't physically leave the premises, and save for the odd trip to a makeshift shooting range or assault course somewhere out in the desert, she'd spent the last 4 weeks in the same house. The garden of the building was stunning, full of lush tropical plants, paths that would lead off through trees and around small water features; there was even a heated outdoor pool. But the entire place was sealed off with enormous walls, the kind you usually saw on the news belonging to drug lords, tanks and armoured personnel carriers smashing through the front door for the television cameras. Surveillance equipment tracked every square inch of the grounds, and the agents would take it in turns to man the exits. Clara knew that Boal had made it clear that if she ever wanted to leave, all she had to do was go, but she was pretty confident that wasn't the case at all. As she sat outside on this particular early morning, staring at the gate that lead out of the grounds, her mind racing back to the days she'd spent on the pier in Brighton Beach, she wondered if she should put her theory to the test. She missed the hustle and bustle of New York, and not knowing when she was going to get out, was starting to get antsy.

  At about 5.40 Clara headed inside, glancing at her watch and realising that were it not for the surveillance cameras tracking her every movement, the fact that she wasn't in bed for her 5.30 wake up call might have ruffled a few feathers, or at the very least raised a few eyebrows. She was almost disappointed as she strolled nonchalantly into the kitchen to find everyone getting about their day as normal, not at all worried about her whereabouts. She walked over to the coffee machine, pulled out the carafe and poured herself a cup, before perching on a stool at the breakfast bar. Robin arrived a few moments later, just out of the shower, his eyes puffy and half-closed, his body still not used to the early morning starts.

  'Good morning', she chirped, her uncharacteristically dapper outburst causing one of the agents in the room to glance at her, unconvinced.

  'Sure', mumbled Robin, 'yeah, good morning'.

  He poured himself a bowl of cereal and sat opposite Clara, his lack of eye contact for once due to his tiredness as opposed to his shyness, something that with Clara at least, was wearing off. The pair ate breakfast and as Robin began to feel more awake, they talked about the events of the last few days. They were desperate to talk about what their next piece of training was, but this was never announced until they were actually doing it. There was no itinerary to follow, no plan, or at least not one that they were privy to, and so conversation over breakfast would often start out well but ultimately fizzle out, just as it had this morning. The silence was broken by an agent walking into the room.

  'Briefing room in 10 minutes, Boal wants to speak with you both.'

  The pair glanced at each other; it wasn't unheard of for them to both be required for some form of training together, but a meeting with Boal, especially this early in the morning was rare. They finished their meal and headed downstairs.

  The pair walked into the briefing room to find Boal in what Clara had referred to as his 'trademark pose', which meant he was leaning against whatever piece of furniture he could find, his head facing down to his hand, totally engrossed in the Blackberry Smartphone he was holding. The thing was never away from his side, but Clara had spotted enough of it to see that this was more than the average government smartphone, security specced to the max. The thing required a pin each time Boal picked it up, but Clara was convinced that this was all for show. She could see from the various sensors, the way he looked at it and spoke to it that voice recognition, face recognition and fingerprint recognition were all in constant operation on the device, and the device would be as good as useless in the wrong hands. Whatever was on there was for his eyes only. Boal glanced up, clicked a button to switch off his smartphone screen and placed it by his side before addressing the pair.

  'I'll keep this short and to the point', he said. 'You've both been here now for what, a month or so now. You've both made good progress but we still don't know if you've actually learnt anything.'

  'Charming', sneered Clara under breath, rolling here eyes for added effect.

  'I want to see how well you can both perform in the field. Now I want to stress that at no point will I be putting you in harms way throughout this exercise, but up until now you've only been practicing on people who already know your backstory and with no consequences. I want to see how you guys can handle a real life situation.'
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  He paused for a moment, as if waiting for some kind of acknowledgement or objection. Receiving none, he continued, picking up his phone and pushing a button, the plasma screen behind him suddenly showing a photograph of a casino.

  'This is Hocus Pocus, a trendy nightclub and Hotel just off the strip in Vegas.'

  'Team road-trip!', cheered Clara, her joke making Robin chuckle but not even registering on Boal's radar.

  'They're also one of the fastest growing casinos in all of Las Vegas. Their casino has doubled in size in the last two years, and they're taking away some serious business from some of the big names. It's trendy enough that the celebrities and super-rich like to be seen pissing away their money there, and is as we speak pushing for the contract to host the World Poker Tournament there this year. As part of that bid, they're hosting a pay-to-play tournament with Tony Jepsom.'

  Boal paused, glancing away from the projector screen to look at the two.

  'Yeah I'd never heard of him either, but apparently he's the number two ranked player in the world.'

  'Let me guess', muttered Clara, 'you've bought us a seat?'

  'Wrong', replied Boal. 'I've bought YOU a seat.'

  He pulled out a chair and sat down, clicking a button on his phone as the plasma screen projected an image of a white guy in his mid-twenties, unshaven and scruffy and sporting a designer baseball cap. 'You're going to get into the casino, join the game, convince people that you're an amateur player, and then beat the second best player in the world.'

  'That's a pretty severe case of 'beginners luck' wouldn't you say?', asked Clara, the sarcasm in her tone clear.

  'It's up to you to manage that', replied Boal. 'This isn't just about beating some guy at poker, this is about reading a room. Your objective is to walk out of that casino the winner, but without anyone smelling a rat. You're often going to have to convince people that what you know, what you're able to do, is nothing more than coincidence. And beating the number two ranked poker player in the world at his own game is a pretty good test of that. I'm serious, we don't want anyone thinking something's up'

  'And by anyone, I assume you mean security?', asked Clara.

  'Sure, security are going to be looking at you to see if they spot any cheating. But they don't know how to look for the kind of cheating that you're going to do. They're trained to look for wires, electronic devices, hand signals and facial ticks. You don't need any of that, so I'm sure you'll be fine.'

  'And if we're not?', quizzed Robin, his first word since breakfast.

  'Like I said, we're not going to let you get into trouble', replied Boal. 'We obviously can't give Clara a wire, but we can give you one', said Boal, his eyes focused on Robin. 'You're not going to play this particular mission. Your job is to make sure Clara does what she needs to do without any interference. If you think things are going wrong, you've got a direct line to us. We storm in, wave our badges and pull her out. Seriously, you've nothing to worry about.'

  He paused for a moment, letting the pair digest the last few sentences, before looking back at Clara.

  'Unless you think this is too much, in which case we can swap the roles?'

  'Fuck you', snapped Clara.

  'Excellent. You know how to play poker?', Boal asked.

  Clara chose not to answer, staring directly into Boals' eyes, fully aware that she wasn't going to see anything, instead focusing her energy on willing him to drop dead.

  'I'll take that as a yes', said Boal. Your car leaves in 2 hours.'

  Chapter 06

  Hocus Pocus was located off the main strip in Las Vegas, it's relatively young age and comparable lack of funding meaning it had to settle for being an 'up and coming' as opposed to one of the Vegas mainstays. Compared with the Bellagio or the Mandalay Bay it was small-fry, but by real world standards it was a sight to behold. A modern building, the premises began it's life as a high-class nightclub for the rich and famous, the kind of place that the latest Atlanta rapper or British movie star could be photographed hobbling into a taxi at 3 in the morning. The proprietors later realised that most rich and famous people don't want to go home after a big night out, and so they added a hotel which was then followed by a restaurant. The casino was the newest addition to the business venture having just celebrated it's third year in business, but the gothic styling and ultramodern vibe meant that it was so far proving as successful as the rest of the place.

  Clara and Robin arrived at the front door with their cover story in place. They were a young couple, married last year, and this was the vacation they'd been promising each other since the honeymoon but never got around to doing it. He was a big shot in New York, she was a stay-at-home socialite who rarely stayed at home, and the Agency ensured that their clothes and car both looked the part, albeit completely fictitiously. The top-spec Aston Martin that Robin had been tasked with driving to the door was on a short-term lease from a local company whose clientele usually consisted of middle-league sports stars and celebrities, the type that couldn't quite afford to buy the $400,000 car but wanted to show up to an after-party in one anyway. It was without a doubt the most expensive vehicle that either of them had ever spent any time in, and acting as though this was 'the norm' proved difficult, Robin especially having to try extra hard to keep the grin off of his face when they pulled up to the front. The pair stepped out of the car, Robin in an Armani Navy suit, Clara in the kind of evening dress that wouldn't look out of place on a Paris catwalk. The pair felt and looked awkward, something that wasn't helped by Robin's failure to leave his keys for the valet and having to be prompted by one of the Casino's doormen, rushing back outside when he realised his error, a queue of cars building behind his luxury vehicle. But, new money or old money, in Vegas it really didn't matter, and with Robin using the wad of notes the agency had given him to tip everyone from the valet to the cloakroom attendant, they were soon getting the VIP treatment, drinks in hand as they entered the main casino room.

  'Boal said he wanted us to spend a few minutes taking a walk around, familiarise ourselves with the exits', said Robin.

  'I know', replied Clara under her breath, focusing her attention on looking the part. 'We were in the same briefing.'

  'Sorry. I talk too much when I get nervous.' Robin gripped the bow tie that was around his neck, twisting and loosening it a little before taking a neck of his drink.

  'Easy tiger', said Clara, 'it would suck to draw too much attention before I've even played a hand.'

  The interior of the Hocus Pocus casino was much like they'd expected any casino to be, although a little bit less gaudy than some of the places Vegas was known for. In the bar and restaurant, the voodoo, witchcraft and vampire themes that the place was clearly based on were allowed to run wild, with a section of the bar known as the 'Blood Bank' where luminous cocktails would be served, and a VIP area called the 'Twilight Lounge'. But in the casino, the designers had kept things much more in-keeping with the standard, unwritten Vegas casino rules. The fact is, you can theme things up as much as you like, but when people go to a casino it's because they want to gamble their money, even in Vegas. And when people want to gamble, they like to be able to see what they're doing, so the atmospheric moody lighting was out, the enormous chandeliers and spotlights were in. The floor was carpeted with huge, industrial style patterned carpet, hardly in-keeping with the rest of the decor and almost as though it was an afterthought, like the Project Manager had left it off of the list and had to plump for the cheap option at the last minute. The owners clearly took security very seriously; everywhere you looked along the ceiling, the ominous round black orbs representing 360 degree surveillance cameras, all linking back to a main control room known as the 'eye in the sky', a room that was situated toward the back of the casino. To most gamblers, you couldn't even tell it was there, but as Robin paced the floor he noticed a spot around from the slot machines and near the restrooms where you could still look reasonably inconspicuous but also get a look at the room. He couldn't see anyth
ing of what was going on in there, but he could at least make out how many people were in there; he figured that if he spotted a sudden burst in activity, they may be in for trouble. The place had even opted for lower tables and chairs, large comfy ones that wouldn't look out of place in an up-scale hotel lobby. The theory was that by removing the stools, where people could quite naturally drop their arms down behind their backs and signal to one another, you removed an entire method for people to cheat. After all, you'd have to work really hard to be able to reach your arms behind the back of an armchair.

  The pair took a walk around, stopping occasionally to watch someone else's game, the odd trip to the lounge to refresh their drinks. They had both received clear instructions that they were to act the part, to behave like the young and in-love couple that they were, which they both felt totally awkward with. Robin decided to make the first move, opening the door for her whenever he had the chance, pulling her seat out before she would sit down at any of the tables, and occasionally stroking her back as they walked along. With 30 minutes to kill before her poker game, the pair decided to take a seat in the lounge, a slightly raised area on one side, Robin deliberately choosing them a table with a great panoramic view of the entire casino.

  'You're not bad at this', said Clara.

  'Bad at what?'

  'The whole, 'being a gentleman' thing. You bring a lot of skill to our bullshit relationship', joked Clara, raising her glass to him and flashing a wry smile.

  'You too Miss Phelps', said Robin, clinking his glass against Clara's.

  'It's 'Mrs Burr' in case you'd forgotten, and no, I'm not good at this at all.'

  'What makes you say that?', quizzed Robin.

  'I dunno. Lack of practice I guess.' Clara paused, waiting to see if Robin had flinched at what she just said. An advantage to their weeks spent with the agency was that the pair were now both better than ever at hiding their thoughts from hypothetical 'other' readers, although neither of them were perfect. They'd spent time confiding in one another to a certain degree, but both had agreed to make a concerted effort not to read the other unless they absolutely had to. Privacy of thoughts had never been top of their agenda until they realised they weren't the only ones who could read minds. Clara stared at Robin for a moment, wrestling with a thought.