Interlude: #02-05
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Four hours ago, as James was taking his long hike towards Phil's villa...
A garishly decorated white van drove up and parked just under James' apartment building. Strewn liberally across the van were advertisements for a plumbing service. "King Plumbers - No Mess Too Big, All Messes Handled." Just under the slogan, a phone number in large script and gaudy colors could be found along with bold words urging prospective customers to "Call us now!"
From the van emerged two older looking men dressed in crumpled, slightly stained coveralls. Each man carried a proper looking metal toolbox, and were dressed in similar, but not identical black safety boots. These men walked slowly but purposefully towards the stairwell, before climbing the steps and turning out of sight.
If you were to ask any casual onlooker, they would have filed the moment back in the far reaches of their mind as completely routine. That was the whole point. Only amateurs would come in an unmarked white van, dressed in suits and sunglasses, wearing visible earpieces. These were professionals. There was no mess too big, and they handled all messes.
If you weren't connected in the right way, and you tried calling the number on the van, you would be redirected to a booking service that was unfortunately all full up for the next two months. However, there were honest competitors they could recommend that could possibly fit you in, and would you like a recommendation?
Professionals.
The two professionals walked up to the second floor and turned right at the landing. They stopped under the sign that advertised a door leading to apartment #02-05. They knocked and waited for a couple of breaths.
Then, with a sudden clatter and bang, one of the toolboxes opened itself and hung loosely at the handle. Wrenches, pliers, even a roll of plumbers tape fell out and scattered all over the floor. The offending professional knelt down and started picking up his tools, apologizing loudly to the surrounding air for the disturbance.
Meanwhile, the other professional had surreptitiously taken advantage of the misdirection to key in a short 4 digit code on the electronic lock adorning the door. As the door clicked open, he could be heard making polite greetings and apologizing for his partner's fuss.
Of course, there was no one on the other side of the door. This was the safe room that James' father had used, and James had moved into. Everything before was part of an act in case there were any unseen observers.
The two professionals slipped into the studio apartment and gently closed the door. Standing shock-still, they then slowly scanned their vision around them.
A couch, a desk, a couple of monitors attached to a computer, and a computer chair. On the desk lay a book with a bright yellow cover and white letters announcing its title "Texas Hold'em for Dummies".
One of the two professionals took the book and flipped through it quickly. Seeing nothing hidden in the book, he then started inspecting the furniture, walls, and floors. The other took out a phone and made a quick call.
"We're in. Book acquired. No card. Sanitized except for a computer."
The first professional lifted up the keyboard and found the short note that James had read. He brought it over to the man on the phone, who then duly reported it.
"Found a note. It reads: Dad. I don't know when I will next see you. I hope it is soon, and that this will all blow over. Regardless, I will dominate the game this weekend and follow your path to the end. I promise to you that I will make you proud."
The man on the phone paused and listened to the response.
"Ok. We will extract the computer." A short grunt of affirmation before putting the phone away.
The two professionals then went back down to the truck, before emerging with a large taped up box purporting to contain a brand new multi-functional washing machine. They struggled up the stairs with the box, pausing to take a breather at the landing, before continuing to manfully wrestle the box back into the safe room.
The box was empty of course, but these were two very practiced professionals.
In due course, the computer and all of its accessories was unplugged and hidden away inside the now open box.
One more scan of the room confirmed there was nothing left behind other than furniture that had been thoroughly turned over and then restored to its prior state.
The two professionals casually carried the now open box out of the house and down to their van before getting in and driving away.
Just another house call, installation, and removal of the packing material. Nothing to see here.
---
Back at the abandoned warehouse unit, Mr Jones was looking worriedly at his wife.
It had been about half an hour since his interrogator had left, and his wife had turned pale and was now breathing only shallowly. The crimson stains had spread across the legs of the pants and a small pool of blood had gathered on the floor. Mercifully, it looked like the bullets had missed any major arteries. Otherwise, his wife would be probably have been dead by now.
"Stay with me dear, stay with me. Keep your eyes open. Breathe. It'll be okay. I promise. It'll be fine."
Other than the occasional muffled groan, James' mother was unresponsive.
The sound of harsh footsteps entering the warehouse unit interrupted Mr Jones' attempts to keep his wife conscious.
"Thank you for your honesty, Mr Jones. It looks like your son has already utilized the card. It appears he wishes to follow your footsteps. My superiors will speak with you directly."
"What about my wife? Help my wife. Please." James' father begged.
"Don't worry. We frown upon the needless consumption of potentially useful resources. My associates will come by shortly and handle the situation. I suggest you do not resist."
The interrogator walked outside the unit and took out his phone once more.
"Investigate the kid's associates and contacts for a game either today or tomorrow. If he shows up again, tail him. Passive surveillance only. No contact with the kid until we hear back from the boss."
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One minute ago, in an undisclosed location, as the players were starting their break...
The interrogator's phone buzzed.
"Yes?"
He listened to the report from the other side of the line.
"Got it. Good work."
After disconnecting the call, he made a series of taps on the screen before placing the phone to his ear once more.
"It's me. Tell Phil to come to the line."
He waited in silence until Phil's voice could be heard.
"James Jones. Is he there?"
"Yes sir." Phil said.
"Good. How is he playing?"
"Surprisingly well sir. He started tight, showed down some good hands, and then either kept being really lucky with premium hands or started to take a few stabs using his table image." Phil answered succinctly.
"OK. Find a way to control him and keep him by your side. Gain his trust."
"I don't understand sir. I was going to bankrupt him." Phil said instinctively before his brain could tell his mouth to desist.
"You don't have to understand. This is the will of the boss."
"Yes sir. Sorry sir." Phil apologized quickly, knowing the consequences if he continued to give offense.
"Until you hear back, make sure he keeps playing and getting better. In fact, befriend him. This is now a long game."
"Yes sir."
The interrogator hung up.
---
The interrogator looked up at the ceiling and sighed. He had been so close to accomplishing one of the organization's largest goals.
After generations of research, they knew that once the card had been used, it was going to be at least five years until the card showed up again. After numerous attempts, they had also determined that it was impossible to force the card out by torturing or murdering the host.
---
Back at Villa No. 2...
Phil looked at the phone in his hands thoughtfully. This was an unexpected and highly unusual interruption. He wondered how James had gotten the attention of the boss.
It looked like he would have to adapt his plans a little. A lot of what he already had set in place could still be used though.
The butler walked over and collected the phone from Phil's hands.
"Will you require anything else, Young Master?" The butler inquired.
"Actually yes. Please discreetly inform Ms Chung that we are to begin immediately." Phil responded.
"Of course Young Master."
The butler walked off at his usual staid pace. He was careful to go outside the building and around the back, instead of walking through the rec room. This way, none of his actions could be noticed by the players around the poker table.
Most importantly, none of his actions would be noticed by one player around the poker table.
James Jones was a marked man.