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CHAPTER ONE

Jeb looked across the table at the dealer and pulled a long slug of scotch from his
glass. He had been drinking steadily for two hours. His mind was swimming and the dullness
of his brain competed with the pounding of his pulse. Three jacks, two fours, a great hand
for five-card draw. Not unbeatable, but good enough for most. His opponent, a white robed
Arab smelling of dough, sat across from Jeb with one of those inscrutable Middle Eastern
smiles on his face. His wide lips spread in a slight upturn beneath the finely trimmed,
black moustache. The sunglasses sat on his broad nose like a `B` movie cliché.
Twice he had been caught bluffing. Jeb had been the benefactor once, a sweet pot of more
than twenty thousand. The other had been won by the Britisher, himself only showing a pair
of sevens. That pot carried a lot of green, too.

But the pot now loomed mountainous before Jeb, with perhaps one hundred thousand dollars
in it, the accumulation of the losses of four or five jet set players. Jeb had another
fifteen in front of him, the dregs of his bankroll. Maybe there was another couple of
hundred at the hotel, but this was real money here. None left home either, except what he
might be able to raise on the boat and what was left of the business. This was the problem
with making a score--easy come, easy go.

But so far, it wasn`t go. Three jacks, two fours. A lot more had been won with a lot
less. Maybe this was the night.

Carmella, his girlfriend, was, as usual, dancing up a storm in the cabaret down the hall.
She had a way with these Middle Eastern types--knew how far to tease them. Her
twenty-two-year-old body was tight, curvaceous, and lean. Their natural reticence around
Western women, their lack of knowledge of what made them tick, made them putty in her
hands. She was a luscious piece. All curves and jiggles in the right places. And
passionate. A dream. But not for them.

The last two years with Carmella had been fantastic. He had never thought he could need
someone so badly. Since they had met, everything had been falling into place. She was his
good luck charm. And she was here tonight. With a really big score, they could set up shop
somewhere, anywhere. A little play on the market, a few investors--in six months to a year
he could be driving one of those six figure sports cars, wearing his sunglasses indoors at
night. Why should Mustapha here have all the fat of the land, just because his tent
happened to be sitting on a half billion barrels of oil?

Sweat crept down Jeb`s forehead into his left eye. He blinked it away. It wouldn`t do to
let the Arab see him get rattled. It was the Arab`s play.

He spoke to the dealer in a soft, honey dripped voice. The dealer looked over to Jeb.
"Monsieur, the gentleman would like to know if you would care to up the stakes."
They had been playing a five thousand dollar limit, three bet max. Was the Arab trying to
bluff him out of the game?

"Why not?" He`s bluffing, Jeb thought.

A whisper again between the Arab and the dealer, "The gentleman would like to place
a twenty-five thousand dollar bet, monsieur."

Jeb nervously and unconsciously fingered the small stack of chips before him. The Arab
could definitely count. Christ, he could beat this bastard and twenty-five thousand
dollars more would certainly be the icing on the cake. "May I put in my marker?"
he asked the dealer.

A short conversation ensued between the dealer and the floor manager who had been
standing by, murmurings, nods, shrugs of the shoulders. Then, "Monsieur will please
sign the marker."

The dealer slid a short pad over to Jeb. The gamble of his life--that`s what this was
going to be--and with the casino`s money. Why not go for broke? "Perhaps the
gentleman will permit me to see his twenty-five and raise an additional twenty-five?"
Nods were exchanged between the dealer and the floor manager. The dealer then spoke in
short, clipped tones to the `gentleman` as they called him. The `gentleman`s` smiled
broadened, the light glinted off his sunglasses.

"Yes, yes!" he hissed. Jeb`s stomach took a turn. "What if, what if,"
he thought. "What if he`s got me beat. No, no," he answered himself. "Full
house, Jacks over fours, draw poker, its good, a great hand. I`ve got the bastard. One
hundred fifty thousand dollars just rolling down my driveway." Jeb signed the marker,
filled in thirty-five thousand dollars. "Let`s do it," he snarled as he tossed
the pad back to the dealer. The dealer tore the marker off and placed it in the pile. The
`gentleman` pushed over a stack of chips to the pot.

There was a small crowd around the table, silent, drinking up the drama. This was the
kind of wide open, wild play that made this country famous. It made it a draw for the high
rolling set--thrills and chills. Jeb saw Carmella`s face peer in from the crowd. Her eyes
were bright with excitement, her face flushed with her exertions on the dance floor.
Seeing Jeb and the Arab facing off over a pile of chips that would`ve done a buffalo
proud, she pushed her way through and stood next to Jeb.

"Baby, you`re my good luck charm. We`re going to be doing it in style in just one
minute," he told her.

Carmella looked anxiously at the pot, the lack of any chips in front of Jeb, the piece of
paper on top of the pile. "You`ve bet everything," she stammered.

"Yes, and in a minute it`s all going to be rolling downhill back to papa," Jeb
returned, circling her waist with his left arm. Such a shapely waist, accentuated by the
tightness of the glittering dress, short, halfway up the thigh, cut low and tight in the
breasts, pushing them together and up and out. No wonder these sons of nomads and
shepherds loved her. Carmella said nothing, just stared at Jeb, then the pile. She
nervously licked her lips.

"Sir, I believe you have been called," the dealer spoke to Jeb. Jeb`s heart
flickered for just a moment. High Noon. He reached for his cards, which had laid face down
before him. He flipped them over with a dramatic flair. The crowd took in its breath, then
burst into applause. Yeah, they knew. Jacks over fours. Fat City. Carmella squeezed Jeb
and squealed with delight.

Jeb looked over at the Arab. And as he did, his heart froze. The Arab was still smiling.
In fact, he was grinning widely now. One by one he began to place his cards face up before
him. The crowd hushed again. First a three. Then a queen, both spades. Another Queen, a
diamond. The fourth card was a second three. He held the last card down before him. The
tension was thick, Jeb felt his muscles constrict, the rush of the scotch and the easy
victory were behind him now. It was one of those moments that rang clear as a bell in your
life, something you could recall with absolute precision for the rest of your days, that
you could and would live over and over. The Arab teased the crowd, glancing up and
smiling, grinning. He turned his gaze on Jeb and the delightful female at his side. He
turned the card over.

A third queen!

A wave of nausea swept through Jeb. He couldn`t believe it. The whole pile and
thirty-five grand he didn`t have. The crowd was going wild, applauding, cheering. A hand
slapped Jeb`s back. "Good show, man, tough luck," he heard a voice say.
Carmella`s grip around him loosened. His stomach was churning. He couldn`t think, couldn`t
really react, as if a giant weight had begun to press down on his skull. The Arab raked in
his pile. The marker, now more like a warrant, fell off of the pile and came to rest
before the dealer. The dealer scooped it up and handed it to the manager. The manager
stepped up to Jeb, "Monsieur, would you please come with me so that we can arrange
the terms for payment of the marker?"

Jeb felt panic rise through his chest like a wave. "Of course, of course," he
managed to mumble. He pushed himself away from the table. He had supped to his full here.

"I`ll be there in a minute. Bathroom," he mumbled to the floor manager as he
stepped away from the table.

The floor manager nodded curtly. "As you say sir," he said, and watched as Jeb
guided Carmella over to the bar.

"Wait here honey, I`ll be right out."

"Jeb, what are you going to do? You`ve gambled away all of our money. How are you
going to pay your marker?" Carmella`s voice cracked with nervousness as she spoke. He
eyes were wide, her face ashen. The color which had flushed her face from the dancing and
excitement of the disco floor had fled.

"Just wait here, that`s all. I`ll take care of it. Don`t worry, it`s my
problem."

"Jeb, it`s my problem too. I thought we were going to have a nice vacation. Now it`s
ruined!"

"Take it easy, will you? If they see us fighting they`ll get nervous. Let`s play
this out. Once we`re out of here, I`ll think of something. Just relax, okay?"

"Okay, okay. Just hurry." Carmella looked up to the bartender. "Vodka,
please, Absolut on the rocks with a twist." The bartender took in Carmella`s tall,
slender, tanned form, a form clearly visible in the tight, glittering dress. He smiled
slightly "Certainly, madame." he replied.

As the bartender reached for the bottle of Absolut, Jeb headed for the men`s room.
Stepping inside, he made directly for a booth, past the smiling attendant. He shut the
door and sat down on the toilet. Immediately, his head started swimming again. He felt
tired. The combination of the scotch and the stress had played him out. "What am I
going to do, what am I going to do?" he repeated to himself mentally. His thoughts
ran in circles through his head like a whirlwind. He closed his eyes and saw before him
the pile of cash from the pot being raked in by the chortling Arab. He saw his marker slip
from the top, coming to rest before the dealer who, with a nod to the victorious Arab,
picked it up and handed it to the floor manager. That marker was out there waiting for
him. As he sat on the toilet he couldn`t help think of the marker as a huge, looming net,
waiting to be thrown over him as soon as he stepped from the bathroom.

His thoughts also ran to Carmella, sweet Carmella. Yesterday, they had swum together in
the lagoon on the far side of the island. They had driven out in a rented convertible,
laughing, relaxed and carefree, three weeks of vacation ahead of them. They made love
after their swim, long and tenderly, naked, the sand clinging to their bodies. He could
feel the warmth of Carmella`s body, the tightness of her grip on his cock as it plunged
into her, her legs crossed behind his back pulling him in closer, deeper inside. Her mouth
fed on him hungrily, lustfully, while taking his discharge into her loins. Afterwards,
they lay there in the sand and whispered to each other about the future, their hopes,
their plans. Life had never been so good. And now it lay in ashes.

Still sitting, he tried to pull his thoughts together. "I`ve got my passport,
Carmella`s got hers. If we could just get out of here, we could go directly to the
airport." A fifteen minute flight across the water, a whole other country. With a
credit card or two they could be winging their way to the States, or at least Europe
within a couple of hours. Once they got home, well, let them sue him. He might be able to
raise the money in a few months with luck, certainly within a year, the way things had
been going. His seemingly uncanny appreciation of the movements of the market, some
shorts, some puts, some calls, a little luck, that was all he would need. He had done it,
found the key, funded this once in a lifetime vacation. Forty thousand dollars was doable,
but not right now, not sitting here in this rich man`s crapper. He had to get away.

In the meantime, Carmella sat at the bar, tapping her foot nervously in the rung of her
stool. Holding her drink tightly with her left hand, she busily swirled the ice with the
swizzle stick in her right. Downing the rest of the vodka she nodded to the bartender for
another. She couldn`t decide if she were more pissed off or alarmed. Sure, she knew Jeb
was a risk taker, a gambler of sorts. Sure, the money was his. He earned it; she had no
claim on it. But to gamble away all of their plans together, that was a kind of theft. She
had stood by him, had encouraged him, had held him in her arms when he was way out there
on a limb, scared and needful. And he had just dumped everything in a trashcan. Full house
or no full house, he had no right to do it. A small tear formed at the edge of her right
eye. The bartender approached.

"I am sorry mademoiselle, the manager has instructed me that your credit is
temporarily in question. Please understand."

A flash of anger whipped across Carmella`s face. And now, humiliation. She would add this
to the list to be laid at Jeb`s door. From her left a deep male voice spoke out in Arabic.
She looked over and saw a well dressed, dark complexioned man, around fifty, tall, with
short clipped black hair and a neat, trim moustache. A small cluster of jewels sparkled
briefly from a ring on his right pinky as he reached over to the bar to knock the ashes
from his cigarette. He smiled at Carmella. A gentle smile, but mature, manly. "Excuse
me, mademoiselle," he said. "I have taken the liberty of buying your next drink.
I do not mean to offend, but you seemed to be somewhat distressed. I apologize if my small
intrusion into your affairs is unwanted."

Carmella was used to men wanting to buy her drinks. Just tonight, if she had accepted
half of the offers from the dainty, young Arab boys in the cabaret she would be lying
there passed out with her dress up around her neck. Liquor is quicker, so they say, and
these little rich boys seemed to believe all they had to do was show her their bankroll
and squirt a little booze into her and she would be on her knees doing a lip tango on
their tools. Her mind was a little fuzzy even so. This thing with Jeb, the Absolut she had
pretty much shot back, the dancing, the heat of the desert outside and now this handsome,
sugar daddy type. Well, why not? She definitely needed the drink, and if Jeb didn`t care
enough about their relationship to risk losing everything, well, what was holding her
back?

"Thank you, Mr..." Carmella hesitated.

"Please call me Harry."

"Yes, Harry, thank you, I think I will take that drink." The bartender had
already poured it and was standing there before her, smiling, grinning, really. "Do
all the people here smile all the time?" she asked herself.

"Actually my name is Harim Baroof, but Harim seems somewhat rustic and archaic,
no?"

"No, not to me," Carmella replied, "but just the same, thank you for the
drink."

"I cannot resist a damsel in distress. And such a beautiful one no less."

Here it comes, thought Carmella, the pickup lines, the hand on her knee, the greasy palm
on her bare back, a vulgar whisper in her ear. But then, she sensed Harry was somehow
different. He carried himself so regally, standing about six feet tall, broad shoulders,
his face smooth, but with a short scar just below the right eye. If this were New York,
she thought, well, who knows what could happen? But here, six or seven thousand miles away
from home, dead broke, and her boyfriend--fiancé really--just about to enter stage
left. Well, nothing could happen here. She wouldn`t let it, couldn`t even think about it.

"Well, not distress really, my fiancé has our cash and he`s in the men`s
room. But thank you anyway."

"My pleasure mademoiselle, perhaps some day I can offer you a more extended
hospitality. But for now, adieu." He nodded slightly and stepped away.

Carmella watched as Harry stepped back into the casino portion of the club. As he did so,
Jeb returned, passing Harry without looking up. She felt slightly ashamed of her wandering
thoughts as she saw the disheveled, obviously worried Jeb step up to the bar. She downed a
big gulp of her drink as Jeb slid onto the stool next to her. He pulled a small roll of
cash from his pocket and threw two one hundred dollar bills on the bar. To the bartender
he called for a Glennfiddich, a double, straight up, and his tab. He looked over at
Carmella.

"Listen, I`m going to give these people the slip. This doesn`t involve you. While I
go downstairs to speak to the manager, I want you to leave here and go straight to the
airport." Jeb was whispering, but with a note of panic in his voice. She had never
seen him like this.

"Jeb," she started, but held back as the bartender delivered the four fingers
of scotch. The bartender scooped up the cash and walked away. "What about our stuff,
our clothes? How can we just leave? What about the bill at the hotel?"

"Listen to me, Carmella, and listen good. I`m in deep shit." Jeb`s voice was
tense, pre-explosive. "I don`t know what laws there are in this place, but I`ll bet
they don`t take well to foreigners dropping bad paper on their gaming tables. I don`t
intend to spend day one in any local jail wondering when my ambassador is going to arrive.
I imagine they`ll want to detain you as a witness of some sort. Do you want that? I mean
for Christ`s sakes, Carmella, this is real trouble."

Carmella held back her retort while the bartender delivered the change. Another of those
insipid smiles. What hatred and ill feeling did they hide? "Do they detest us all so
much?" Carmella wondered. After the bartender left, she let loose.

"Listen Jeb, I can`t believe you`ve done this. You`ve ruined everything. Did our
relationship mean so little to you, that you could just throw it away on a gambling table?
Now you want me to leave all my things--jewelry, clothes, all the mementos of our
trip--and flee the country like some kind of criminal? I just can`t believe this is
happening."

"Carmella," Jeb`s voice was at the edge of hysteria. "I can`t believe you
don`t understand what`s going on here. This isn`t America. This isn`t even a place where
they have an elected government. We don`t have any rights here. They chop off people`s
hands for stealing, even worse. Don`t you think that if I can`t pay, these people will
send me to prison, if I`m lucky? Do you want that on your head just because you were
worried about your trinkets and souvenirs?" Jeb paused to look Carmella in the eyes.
"I know I`ve fucked up. I`m sorry. If I could take it back I would. But I can`t. I`ll
make it up to you somehow, I promise. And I`ll pay the debt when I get the money, but
right now I have no way to get it, not without calling in a lot of old favors. And I
certainly wouldn`t be able to do that from a jail cell or hanging from my thumbs in some
dungeon."

Carmella watched Jeb`s face as he talked. She could see the tears welling up in his eyes.
She loved him, and she knew deep down, he loved her. The last two years with Jeb she had
been on a ride on a cloud. Her soul and flesh craved him. He was ten years older than she,
turning the cusp from a boy to a man. Sometimes the boy still came out, like tonight. But
she loved him. She would do whatever he wanted. To save him. To save their love.

"Okay, Jeb, I`ll do what you want." Her hand lay on his arm. Their joined flesh
tingled with electricity. "Just be careful, okay?"

Jeb let out a broad sigh of relief. "Carmella, I love you so much. I`m so sorry.
Believe me, I`ll make it up to you, I really will."

Carmella looked tenderly at Jeb and gently caressed his face. She did love him. She
reassured him, "It`s okay, Jeb, it`ll work out somehow."

Jeb took a long pull at his drink, and grimaced as the fiery scotch shot down his throat.
"Here`s what you do. I`m going to go into the office and lay down a line of bullshit.
I don`t now what else to do. I`ll tell them that I need to call New York and have money
wired over from the States. I want you to go directly to the airport. Use your credit card
and buy a ticket for yourself to Cyprus leaving first thing in the morning. Buy another
one from a different airline in your name again to Athens. Leave the Cyprus ticket in an
envelope for me at the American Express office. You fly to Athens and book into the
Alexandria Hotel. I`ll be there as soon as I can get a transfer from Cyprus."

"Jeb, how will you get out?"

"Don`t worry, I have a little cash. All I need is to slip the casino security people
and lay a little grease on one of the local monkeys and I`ll be on my way." He
finished the Glenfiddich and stood. "Honey, I`m sorry for all this, I`ll make it up
to you as soon as we get back to the States." Carmella reached out and put her arms
around Jeb. They kissed, a long, deep, passionate kiss, a kiss of parting lovers. Jeb felt
her warm, lithe body press firmly against his. Memories of their lovemaking flashed
through his mind. Carmella felt this too, but also the love and caring she needed from
Jeb, the commitment to her, to them, to a future together.

Reluctantly, they drew their lips apart. Carmella, with tears in her eyes now too,
grabbed her purse from the bar and walked briskly toward the lobby of the casino. Her
steps echoed loudly as her heels struck the marble floor. She could feel Jeb`s eyes
burning into her back. The hour was late. Two elegant and tipsy patrons were waiting at
the door for a taxi as Carmella stepped down the front stairs. The desert air was blasting
hot, compared with the coolness of the casino. The heat made Carmella`s mood more
oppressive as she waited her turn. The laughter of the man and woman who waited with her
was annoying, disconcerting. Sure, they could laugh, they weren`t about to leave their
possessions behind and high tail it out of the country. They hadn`t just seen their
vacation go down the tubes, sucked down by a trey of queens.

Finally, a cab arrived and the drunken couple was sped away into the night. Carmella dug
into her purse for some cash while the doorman signaled to a car pulling up to the taxi
stand. Carmella stepped into the cab as the doorman opened the door. She always felt
self-conscious stepping into a car while wearing her shorter skirts, especially here,
where the average male had probably not seen a good pair of legs outside of a magazine.
She could feel the doorman`s eyes molest her thighs as she leaned over to enter the car.
She could not prevent her skirt from rising slightly as she did so, then even further as
she stepped up to get in. As she did, she felt just the slightest nudge on her thigh,
behind her knee. Was it the doorman`s hand, or was it her imagination? She turned and
looked as the car began to move and could see him watching the cab speed away, the
sickening, slavish grin, which so many of these men wore, on his face. Or was he smirking
at her?