two police stations without even a pretense of slowing down. The SUV continued driving very fast through the narrow streets, passing the all-encompassing preparations for the big road race.
Throughout it all, the men in the front seat said nothing.
* * *
THEY FINALLY CAME within sight of the Prince’s Palace. Sitting up on a hill, looking out on it all, this was the seat of the 700-year-old Grimaldi royal family, the nominal rulers of Monaco and, by extension, the principality Monte Carlo itself.
The palace was well named. It was huge, ornate, and lit up even though it was the daytime. It was a typical-looking Old World European castle with some modern additions.
Who the hell do the pirates know in there? Batman wondered.
The SUV sped right past, though, and another magnificent building soon came into view. This place made the Prince’s Palace look like a simple apartment building.
The first indication Batman and Twitch had that this place was like nowhere else, was when they roared past the front entrance and saw a line of Rolls Royces waiting outside. They were taxis. Their drivers were wearing tuxedoes. It was the Grand Maison Casino.
The place was well named, if an architectural contradiction: very modern in materials—gold-lined revolving doors, gold-tinted windows and subtly hidden solar panels—but very much classic in design, with great columns, balconies, turrets and towers. A huge fountain shooting multicolored streams of water high into the air was the centerpiece of its ornate entrance. Many smaller fountains dotted the surrounding gardens. It was as if the building and its grounds had been built in the eighteenth century and whisked into the present day, where everything underwent a modern makeover.
Once past the main entryway, the SUV stopped at a smaller, private entrance in the rear of the fantastic building. This was obviously their destination, though Batman and Twitch had no idea what they were doing here. A tuxedo-suited doorman opened the SUV’s rear door, and at his urging Batman and Twitch got out. The SUV immediately took off.
They were met by a gorgeous young Asian woman in a business suit. An earphone was partially hidden by her hair. She smiled warmly and indicated they should follow her. She guided them through this side door and to a hallway on the edge of the casino’s grand lobby. They could see the lobby walls were adorned by precious art. The ceiling was an enormous fresco. There were marble columns and floors that looked like glass. Everyone seemed to be gliding rather than walking.
It looked more like a cathedral than a casino.
“This place makes the Sistine Chapel look like a dump,” Twitch observed.
Separating them from this lobby, though, was a hallway still under construction. Scaffolding and lots of brushes and cans indicated a painting job was underway. Their guide led them to an elevator close to the entrance. On its door was a sign written in French: PRIVÉ—EN COURS DE RÉPARATION
Private—under repair.
The woman indicated they should ignore the sign. “Keeps the tourists away,” she explained. She, too, had an American accent.
She gave them a four-number pass code that opened the elevator door. Climbing in, they rode the elevator up a handful of floors. It opened directly into a huge, lavishly appointed penthouse. Again, it was like walking back into the past—medieval artwork, oriental rugs, even some stained glass windows—but with a couple big-screen TVs, a Bose music system and other modern conveniences mixed in.
In one corner was a table with enough food for a small army. In another corner was a well-stocked bar. A gigantic picture window right in front of them looked out onto the casino’s grand concourse, which boasted yet another giant fountain and pond, plus an Olympic-sized swimming pool.
And sitting out on the balcony, sunning themselves, was a quartet of bikini-clad young women drinking champagne and eating grapes. They smiled and waved at Batman and Twitch when they walked in.
Batman turned to the stunning Asian woman.
“What is all this?” he asked her.
She smiled. “It’s your living quarters, of course. You needed a place to stay—correct?”
“Yes, we did,” Batman replied.
She opened her arms wide to indicate the huge penthouse.
“Well then, here you are,” she said. “Room for twenty—plenty of room for two.”
She indicated the women on the balcony. “Those are your tour guides,” she went on. “They’ll show you around, and explain where things are. Now, we have lunch at the Queens Kitchen at 1:00 PM, dinner at the Château Freeye at seven and then a night of wagering begins at nine. We’ll get