a strange man watching her.
He looked again at his computer screen.
“Do you think Whidby is tracking everything I do? On my computer?” he said.
He could almost hear the notion strike Reznor.
“Yeah,” Reznor said. “He probably is. You’re still using a Bureau computer, right? Bureau email? Bureau databases?”
“Yes, yes and yes,” Mack said.
“Mack, Paul Whidby would never reroute your requests, or deliberately fuck up your investigations. The man never puts his own agenda ahead of everyone else’s.” The sarcasm dripped through the phone line.
“Maybe we should have someone take a quick look into my access logs and Bureau email,” Mack said. He realized he was gripping the phone like he was trying to choke it. He relaxed. He would not let Whidby get to him.
“I know just the right person,” Reznor said.
46.
The Commissioner
“Welcome, friends, and thank you for joining me here at this lovely establishment.” The man on the screen smiled at the people in the room.
“You’re probably wondering why I picked this interesting location. Omaha, Nebraska? Sure, it’s storied in American history, especially in terms of the expansion of the West. You know, cattle and cowboys and Indians, that sort of thing.”
He smiled, almost a boyish grin of sorts.
“But that’s not the reason I chose Nebraska. It’s because Omaha is the closest city to the actual center of the contiguous United States. And I wanted to give everyone the same starting point. No unfair advantages, understand?”
He paused, to let the idea sink in.
“You’re also probably wondering about the rest of the people in the room.”
He swiveled his head, as if he were looking up and down the row of chairs to emphasize his point.
“The fact is, every person in this room, save for our rent-a-cop security guard in the back, is as equally accomplished in our “art” as the next person.”
The man on the screen held up his hands.
“Don’t worry, we won’t get into specifics right now, especially with our friend at the back of the room,” he said. “Let me just assure you that if you’re wondering whether or not I am serious, I am. Each of you is wondering about your secret hobby, and if every other person in the room has a similar hobby. I am here to tell you unequivocally, yes, they all share the same passion and enthusiasm for that particular endeavor.”
He paused and took a deep breath.
“You’re also wondering what this whole deal is. Well, I will tell you a little bit at a time, but you’ve probably guessed by now that it is a competition. Only one of you will win. This is officially the start of Round One.”
He held up a little bell and rang it, then laughed.
“Hey, we’re all here to have fun, right? Because we love what we do?”
He paused again, then took a deep breath.
“Each of you has a packet at the back of the room. In it, you will find your Round One target. You are to do what you do best in regard to this individual. If you are successful, you will be automatically advanced to Round Two. If you fail, you will either be dead or in prison. Either way, you will not advance to Round Two.”
He raised his voice a notch, and this time, his tone lost its joviality.
“You may feel an urge, or at least a thought, of going to the proper authorities with our little game,” he said. “That would be highly ill-advised. You know and I know what kinds of things you have been doing in your own little parts of the world. The authorities would have a great time with that.”
He stood and clapped his hands together.
“Now, gather your packets and go. I will be watching!”
The screen dissolved to black.
Only a logo appeared.
KL.
A RECORD CROWD
47.
Las Vegas
Although the casinos of Las Vegas run their very own, separate tight ships, they do occasionally collaborate. In fact, some of the casino owners are good friends, lending advice, capital, and expertise to each other when needed.
For instance, professional cheaters who are “discovered” have their identities and methods immediately sent to every major casino on the strip.
One other way the casinos work together is by sharing the odds for every major sporting event. The odds are determined by a group of professional oddsmakers based in Las Vegas. They follow specific formulas for determining odds, and then those odds are sent out to professional sports books around the world.
At the exact time the man on the television screen in Omaha, Nebraska told his contestants that the competition