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  ‘Gao’s attended for the last two years running and this year’s no exception. And, as has been his past practice, he’ll be stopping over for a week in Surfers. He might play a bit of poker at the casino but the real attraction, apart from Amber here, are the off-site games organised by Dennis.’

  ‘What’s an off-site game?’ Chance pulled out his tobacco pouch, rolled a cigarette. He was relieved to be finally working again, his mind alive with the mechanics of putting the job together.

  ‘Like the name says, a game that takes place outside the casino,’ said Curry. ‘I provide the venue, the security, make sure any palm that needs greasing is greased.’

  ‘Sounds dodgy,’ said Chance.

  ‘Of course it’s fucking dodgy. That’s what Freddie likes about it. Gao’s not like the American high rollers. Those boys treat gambling as a job, long hours, use math and other skills to find patterns and sequences. Freddie is a gambler in the true meaning of the word. He likes the life, being treated like a rock star, the thrill of playing a pro. Add a dollop of illicit glamour, Freddie’s there. He’ll blow half a million, not even bat an eyelid, fuck off to Melbourne a happy man, ready to lose more money.’

  ‘Gao arrives tomorrow and is scheduled to stay six days,’ said Dormer, grim-faced, like a teacher trying to keep the attention of an unruly class. ‘Only this time there’s going to a slight variation to his itinerary.’

  The old man’s eyes gleamed. ‘We’re going to rob him of every cent he has.’

  ‘Before we go on, I want to know whether he’s in or out.’ Dormer looked at Chance as he spoke.

  ‘Frank, don’t insult our guest.’

  ‘You brought me in to help you organise this, including security. It’s my job—’

  ‘Let’s get one thing clear.’ Chance looked at Dormer as he spoke. ‘I may have been recommended for this job, but it’s my arse on the line if something fucks up. I’ll decide whether I’m in or out, and I don’t make the decision until I’ve heard more about the job.’

  ‘I appreciate what you’re saying, Frank, but I think we can trust Peter.’ Curry turned to Chance. ‘Freddie will have a large amount of cash. He’ll carry a lot of it around with him. The rest he’ll stash in the safe in his suite, which just happens to be in the hotel where Sophia here works nights on reception.

  ‘We let Gao get re-acquainted with Amber, lose a bit of money, wait until he’s relaxed. When the time is right, you and Dormer will go in, get him to open the safe, and the money’s ours.’

  Chance remembered his last job, the safe in the Port Pirie pub, old but still hard to get into. Whatever Curry was talking about was sure to be new and far more difficult to access.

  ‘You just going to ask Gao nicely to open the safe, give us all his money?’

  ‘Leave that to me,’ said Dormer. ‘Trust me. He’ll give us the combo.’

  ‘A place like that has got to have good security.’

  ‘We’re not talking Fort Knox,’ said Curry. ‘But that’s where Sophia comes in. She’ll give us a pass card to Gao’s suite, rig the security cameras so that they experience a little malfunction that night. We’ll also have Amber on the inside, so to speak, and she’ll have you to help her keep an eye on Gao.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘You’ll pose as Gao’s chauffeur. Drive him where he wants to go, take Amber to him, that kind of thing. Your boss has told me good things about you, Peter, that you’re the man to have on the inside. I see what he means. You have a sort of everyman quality. Don’t look too flashy or smart. No offence.’

  Chance shrugged.

  ‘With your considerable charm, you should be part of the furniture in no time. No one will give you a second thought and you can keep an eye on things. Help us decide when to move.’

  ‘Will he have his own security?’

  ‘If it was the Philippines he’d be travelling with a small army,’ Dormer said. ‘But he thinks Australia is safe, usually only travels here with one bodyguard.’

  ‘I’m still not convinced about how we’ll get into the safe.’

  Chance detected a flicker of annoyance cross the old man’s face.

  ‘I’ll wager Freddie’s never seen the business end of a gun before. He should fold like a bad poker hand. Shock and awe, as you ex-Army lads would say.’

  ‘Maximum terror in minimum time with minimum noise,’ added Dormer. ‘You and I get the money, get out, no one gets seriously hurt.’

  Chance noted Dormer’s qualifier, chose to ignore it. ‘What happens when Gao goes to the police?’

  ‘And risk the ire of his father?’ Curry looked at Chance askance. ‘Not bloody likely. He’ll be too embarrassed to tell anyone.

  ‘There’s one other reason he won’t make a fuss,’ said Amber.

  ‘What’s that?

  ‘His wife.’

  Curry read the scepticism on Chance’s face, leaned in close to him.

  ‘Believe me, I know these people, spent time in the Philippines in the eighties. Marvellous bloody place, gone to the dogs after Marcos.’ He lost the thread of what he was saying, paused for a moment to find it. ‘I’ve had dinner with old man Gao and his eldest son, Jefferson. That boy is a major player, not like Freddie, but when his father’s around, he won’t say a word. All that deference to the patriarch shit the Chinese go for.’

  ‘So now you’ve heard the plan, Pete, what do you think?’ Amber flicked the fringe away from her face with one of her hands, fixed her blue eyes on him.

  Chance rolled another cigarette, took his time. ‘How much do you think Gao is good for?’

  She didn’t miss a beat. ‘Rough estimate, I’d say we’re looking at least two to three million dollars.’

  ‘I’m in.’

  FIVE

  Chance was awakened by the sound of vacuuming in the corridor outside his room. He lay in bed, turned over the previous night’s conversation in his mind.

  He could think of half a dozen holes in the plan. He always could. Even with supposedly foolproof plans, something could always go wrong. But he liked the relative simplicity of what Curry had proposed, the absence of too many moving parts. With a bit of luck it could work.

  Gao would arrive in Surfers that afternoon. Chance had to pick him up at the airport, take him to his hotel, wherever else he wanted to go. All he had to do until then was get into character, which included dressing for the part.

  As last night’s gathering broke up, Curry had put a meaty arm around Amber, pulled her to him, and whispered in her ear. Whatever he’d said, she’d laughed, whispered back. Chance wasn’t sure how to read the exchange. Curry was old enough to be her grandfather.

  ‘Is the red Toyota Corolla on the nature strip outside my house yours, Peter?’ asked Curry.

  Chance nodded.

  ‘You can’t chauffeur Gao and a lovely woman like Amber around in that piece of junk. Take the Volvo in the garage. One other thing, do you own a suit?’

  When Chance said he didn’t, Curry looked at Sophia, who hadn’t moved on the couch. ‘No worries, Sophia here will help kit you out.’

  The hotel restaurant was crowded with Asian tourists, a smattering of budget travellers taking advantage of the complementary Bain-Marie breakfast. Chance examined the food on offer: dried fried rice, noodles, greasy eggs, and bacon. He opted for toast and coffee, took his food and a copy of the local newspaper to the first available table.

  He skimmed as he ate: three pages about flood damage in northern Queensland, an article about Surfers Paradise being the tattoo capital of Australia, pages of advertisements for tradesmen, live-in caregivers, phone sex, and escort services.

  He turned back to a news story he’d passed over, another Australian Special Air Service soldier killed in Afghanistan. Politicians from all sides lined up to express their condolences and determination not to blink in the face of the enemy. Chance marvelled at the way the media made Afghanistan sound like a big-budget action movie while expressing shock and outrage whenever Austral
ians got killed.

  Chance had done a couple of years at Tarin Kwot, TK as it was colloquially known, Uruzgan Province, central Afghanistan. Most of his time had been spent behind rows of razor wire and sand bags. He’d only emerged behind the wheel of a Bushmaster as part of a heavily armed convoy, on the edge of his seat for the entire drive, scanning the Mars-like landscape for any sign of the Taliban.

  For the most part, the worst enemy was the weather, the extremes of hot and cold, and the grit that got into everything. He’d never seen an SAS soldier his entire time in country and was lucky enough to have contact with the enemy only once. Chance had been driving as part of a convoy en route to a forward base in the Chora Valley. An improvised explosive device had taken out the lead vehicle. First Chance knew about it was a flash, followed by a loud clap that felt like it had gone off in his chest.

  Not that any of it mattered now. It was a bullshit war that would soon be forgotten. For all their protestations about not giving in, the politicians had taken the majority of Australia’s troops out, part of the West’s withdrawal from Afghanistan. Soon the locals would be left to fend for themselves against a gang of religious extremists on one side and a thieving corrupt government on the other.

  Sophia was waiting at the entrance to the shopping mall. She stood under the awning of a kitchenware shop to avoid the rain, a cigarette in one hand. She dropped the smoke when she saw Chance approaching, ground it with the heel of her shoe.

  ‘Let’s make this quick, I start work in a few hours.’

  The mall was packed, families and young people drifted among shops with no apparent purpose but to escape the poor weather. Sophia cut a path through the sea of people, led him into a menswear store, one of a chain selling expensive but ubiquitous-looking clothes.

  She dismissed an offer of help from the young, male shop assistant with a shake of her head. She looked Chance up and down, selected several white shirts, a dark blue cotton suit with a slight pinstripe.

  ‘You need to blend in, so we need something sober, nothing too flashy.’ She handed him the clothes and pointed toward the dressing room.

  She circled him when he emerged five minutes later, smoothed the shoulders of his jacket. Her perfume had a musky aroma. A small golden crucifix hung from a chain around her neck, no wedding ring.

  He wanted to ask her why she was involved with Curry, instead said, ‘I bet you never thought this little gig would involve you having to select clothes for a strange man?’

  ‘You and Curry remind me of my ex-husband and my good-for-nothing brothers back in Greece. Couldn’t wipe your own arses.’

  She wheeled him around to face the mirror. ‘How do you feel?’

  His suit-clad reflection looked back at him, small mouth, strong jaw, green eyes, short dark hair. He could count on his hand with the missing finger the number of times he’d worn a suit since leaving the army.

  ‘Like a pimp.’

  She flashed him a humourless smile. ‘I’d say we’ve got it about right, then.’

  SIX

  Chance stood with the other drivers at the arrivals gate. He held a piece of paper in front of him, ‘Mister Frederick Gao and entourage’ written on it.

  Apart from being slightly thinner, Gao looked every bit the Asian princeling he’d come across as in his photograph.

  A tall Asian male, cheeks covered in smallpox scars, pushed a trolley full of designer luggage a few steps behind him. The bodyguard.

  It took Chance a moment to realise there was a third member of Gao’s entourage, a rangy Caucasian with close-cropped white hair and a matching goatee.

  Gao noticed the sign, walked toward Chance.

  ‘Welcome to the Gold Coast, Mister Gao. My name is Peter Jacobi. I’ll be your driver during your stay. Did you have a good flight?’

  ‘Yes, thank you, very pleasant,’ he said in a high-pitched American accented voice. Gao gave Chance a weak handshake. Chance noticed the chunky gold watch on his wrist

  ‘My associates.’ He waved at the man pushing the luggage trolley. ‘This is Nelson. And this is Mister Tavener.’

  Both men nodded but said nothing.

  Gao spoke in a language Chance didn’t recognise to the man pushing the luggage. Nelson stepped away from the trolley and Chance realised he was expected to take over.

  ‘If you’ll follow me, gentlemen,’ he said pushing the trolley, ‘the car is this way.’

  Chance made small talk as he ferried the men down the Gold Coast Highway. Gao was polite but disinterested, his responses limited to nods and one-word replies. His two companions said nothing.

  As they neared Surfers Paradise Gao fished a mobile out of his jeans pocket, cooed into the phone. Chance thought he heard a strident sounding female voice on the other end, guessed it was Gao’s wife.

  They stopped at a bank in the heart of Surfer’s Paradise. Chance waited in the car while Gao and his associates conducted their business. When they emerged thirty minutes later, the bodyguard carried an aluminium suitcase.

  Gao’s hotel was six stories of glass and concrete on the Surfers Paradise beachfront, slender, curved, built for views. A half-circle driveway came off the street, led to double-fronted glass doors.

  Chance offered to take their luggage up so he could check out the accommodation, but was beaten to the punch by the hotel staff, who could sniff out a good tipper when they saw one.

  Gao paused at the entrance to the hotel. ‘Bring Amber to the hotel at eight. You’re free until then.’

  Without waiting for Chance’s response he disappeared inside.

  Amber said nothing on the drive from Curry’s house to the hotel.

  Mal had answered the door, chaperoned her to the back seat of the Volvo. He gave her a peck on the cheek before she got in, stood on the driveway and watched the car back onto the street, like a protective parent sending their child off on a first date.

  Gao and Nelson were waiting out front of the hotel when Chance pulled up. There was no sign of the other man, Tavener. Amber played her part well. She greeted the Filipino warmly as he climbed in, even managed a smile as his hand caressed the inside of her thigh. Gao told Chance to take them to the main marina, fell into an easy banter with Amber, mainly cars and the weather in Manila. Gao’s bodyguard sat stony faced next to Chance in the front.

  Chance waited by the car as the three of them had dinner in an expensive seafood restaurant. A cold breeze came in off the ocean. He smoked, watched the collection of million-dollar yachts bob up and down on the dark water.

  The off-site game was located in a block of identical brown stucco apartments called Villa Costa Brava, just off the Gold Coast Highway, in the suburb of Miami. A sunken driveway provided low-key protection from prying eyes. The street on either side was lined with units, the occasional California bungalow and weatherboard dwelling. Bathers and towels hung from balconies, inflatable rubber toys littered the nature strip.

  Chance leaned against the Volvo and wondered whose idea it had been to use names like Miami and Costa Brava. They might have lent Surfers a certain exotic touch back in the sixties when it was first getting started, but now they sounded mismatched and old-fashioned.

  Gao emerged with Amber and the bodyguard just before midnight, directed Chance to drive them back to the hotel. Chance snuck a glance at the two of them in the back seat, saw Amber lean into Gao and nibble his ear.

  He watched Amber and Gao walk hand in hand through the double-fronted glass doors of the hotel’s brightly lit reception area, his gaze lingering on the taper of her back as it met her buttocks in the flimsy cocktail dress.

  He parked the car across the street, got out and rolled another cigarette. The tobacco tasted bitter. The smoke mixed with the tangy remnants of a breeze that managed to thread its way from the beach a block away. The only noise was the swish of traffic in the distance and the hum of electricity in the cables above him.

  The trill of the phone woke Chance. He grabbed it from the passenger’s seat, stare
d at the screen, bleary eyed. A text from a number he didn’t recognise: “Front entrance, five minutes.”

  The windscreen was beaded with moisture from a light rain. Chance looked at his watch. Half past five. Outside dawn was breaking, a grubby blue.

  He stood stiffly by the car, still playing his part, held the passenger’s door open. Amber avoided eye contact as she slid into the back seat.

  Chance snuck quick glances at her in the rearview mirror as he drove. Amber sat very still, gazed through the passenger’s window.

  Halfway to Curry’s house, she caught Chance looking at her, locked eyes with him.

  ‘What the fuck are you staring at?’ she said, her voice a mixture of tiredness and belligerence.

  ‘I could ask you the same thing.’

  ‘Whatever it is, wipe that fucking look off your face.’

  ‘What look?’ Chance diverted his eyes to the road, felt his face flush with embarrassment. Had he been that obvious?

  ‘The look that says you feel sorry for me because I let Gao fuck me.’

  Chance thought about possible comebacks, decided he didn’t want to fight, just wanted to go back to his hotel room, grab what sleep he could.

  ‘It’s just a job, Jacobi. Believe me, Gao’s not nearly as bad as some of the johns I’ve had and at least the hotel sheets are clean. Understand?’

  ‘Loud and clear.’

  Her large blue eyes, rimmed with exhaustion, held his stare for a moment before she looked away.

  SEVEN

  The reception area of Gao’s hotel was cool and clean, grey slate-coloured tile work, hardwood finishing. A restaurant on one side, half occupied with the late breakfast crowd; on the other, a sleek reception counter, images of a waterfall beamed on the wall between them.

  Chance asked the well-groomed twentysomething male at reception to be put through to Gao’s suite.

  ‘Mister Gao has left instructions that neither he nor the members of his entourage are to be disturbed.’