The Persona Protocol - By Andy McDermott Page 0,65

truck ready. Adam, step things up – it’s time to get Zykov mad.’

Adam let his ever-present smile widen, looking directly at Zykov as the dealer shuffled the pack. ‘You know, little buddy, I think this next round’s going to be a good one. It’s almost like I can see your cards.’

Zykov stiffened, then quietly spoke to the dealer. The current set of cards was removed from the table, replaced by a fresh pack – which on the Russian’s suspicious glower was swapped for still another cellophane-wrapped deck. Adam smirked again. The seed planted by Bianca, that the American was somehow cheating, had just been given fresh water.

The game resumed. This time, it was clear from as early as the third street that Zykov had three of a kind, despite his best efforts to cloak his confidence. Bianca folded rather than risk losing any more money to him, while Adam stayed in until the showdown. He had been right, Zykov’s three tens easily crushing his meagre pair of eights. ‘You did not see my cards that time, did you?’ the Russian gloated.

‘I’m still ahead,’ Adam replied. ‘But if you’re so confident, how about we make this next one more interesting? Double the ante, maybe?’

Zykov shrugged. Bianca was less happy. ‘But that’s ten thousand dollars to open,’ she protested.

Now it was Adam’s turn to shrug. ‘Funny, what was it you called that much money the last time we played? “Chicken feed”, wasn’t it? Mind you, that was before I took it all from you.’

‘All right,’ she said, pouting, ‘ten thousand it is.’

New cards were dealt. Thirty thousand dollars went straight into the pot on the ante, which Bianca raised by another ten thousand on her bet. ‘Her hole card is the ten of clubs,’ reported Holly Jo after Bianca had checked her hand. Her first face-up card was the jack of diamonds. There was potential for a straight, then, but it was more likely that the best she could hope for was two pair or three of a kind.

Adam’s own hand was nothing notable; a king and a six, different suits. Nevertheless, he called Bianca’s bet. So did Zykov, his visible card a nine. Still plenty to play for.

With fewer players, and therefore fewer face-up cards, Levon’s program had far less data to work with. The game now became as much about reading the players as the table. Adam watched Zykov closely as the next cards were dealt. Good hand, or bad? It was hard to judge. The Russian now had a nine and an eight visible, but didn’t seem either pleased or angered by his hand. If his hole card were a ten or a seven, he had an outside chance at getting a straight.

Adam received another king. That beat Bianca’s hand so far, but he gave nothing away on his face. Bianca had been dealt a second jack. She had the highest visible hand, so controlled the bet. ‘All right,’ she said, smiling. ‘I bet . . . twenty-five.’ She assembled a large stack of chips and thrust it into the pot.

She wanted the others to think she had three jacks. Adam pretended to mull over his next move, then: ‘Raise ten.’ He added his own bet. Zykov called, leaving Bianca with no choice but to do the same to stay in play. ‘I don’t think you’ve got anything there. Just a feeling.’ He put a smug emphasis on that last.

Bianca frowned at him. ‘We’ll see.’

Fourth street. Bianca was dealt the two of spades; Adam the eight of clubs; Zykov the three of diamonds. Bianca still had the best visible hand and bet another twenty-five. Adam again raised by ten. Zykov, with veiled reluctance, called. He probably only had one pair at best. Bianca hesitated, then: ‘I raise twenty.’

‘Well now, things are warming up, aren’t they?’ Adam drawled. He tapped a chip on the top of one of his ragged stacks, then looked across the table at her reserves. Her remaining chips had dwindled to a meagre handful. ‘Okay, I’ll call . . . and raise fifty.’

Zykov raised his eyebrows, but called the bet, apparently keen to see how things would play out. Bianca, meanwhile, visibly blanched. Playing to lose didn’t make the actual act of losing any easier to swallow. ‘All right,’ she said after a moment. ‘All right. I go . . . all in.’ She shoved all her chips to the centre of the table.

She was still playing her bluff of three jacks. Under normal circumstances, Vanwall