Chasing the White Lion James Hannibal (essential reading TXT) 📖

in for some fun.” Val scrolled through the data on the hacker’s device. “His name was Gunnar Larson. Panther Seven Five. Bi Fan offered him 60 percent of your winnings if she could take the merchant bay at the Grand Bazaar.” She laughed. “What a deal.”

Talia grabbed Atan’s lapel and hauled him to his feet. “You may not have set us up, but you left us out there to die. You could’ve helped. A third fighter would have made all the difference.”

“And get stabbed in the process? No thank you.” The Albanian flopped back onto his couch, eyes closed. He laid a hand across his forehead. “So stressful. It is like this every year.”

“Then why do you come?” Talia asked, tucking the gun into her waistband.

“Because I make sooo much money.” He raised his head. “Seriously. The top two contenders will make more than forty million in a single day. Look at the board.”

He wasn’t exaggerating. Rudenko had generated forty-one million in pre-bazaar deals. If he made no other profits, he’d be taking home more than thirty million after the White Lion claimed his 25 percent.

“And what about you?” Atan made a face. “The Macciano Sisters. Bah. You used me to get into the syndicate, then ditched me with your little coup at Jafet’s place. They say you’re Don Marco’s girls. Is it true?”

Neither answered.

“So it is true. And you.” He pointed at Val. “What happened to your beautiful New York accent? It was so attractive.”

“Shut up.”

His head fell back again and he thrust his hands toward the ceiling. “Was nothing real?”

Two chimes sounded, drawing Talia’s eyes back to the board. The lines marked Panther Seven Five and Clouded Leopard turned red and dropped the ten-million-dollar minimum. Seven million from Bi Fan moved to Panther Eight Two, and nineteen million from the Scandinavian moved to Panther Eight One. Then the two lines balanced out, giving them totals of thirty-nine million each.

Val let out a mirthless laugh. “Two more voted off the island.”

The White Lion had fifty-two million. Talia shook her head. “We’re closer, but still not within striking distance, and we’re running out of time.”

The clock on the board read 11:15. Less than ten hours remained. Talia tried to get them back on track. “Mr. Atan, how did you know we brought the gold?” She knew the answer, but Val had taught her to use knowns, rather than unknowns, to steer a mark.

“The airport. I saw your sister fighting with the big black bag at the taxi stand. I thought to myself, these women are not stupid enough to pass fake gold at the White Lion’s Frenzy. Ergo, the gold is real. This is how you passed the test at my office. You have the real horde.”

Val gave Talia a subtle nod, an affirmation that the mark was showing trust.

Talia kept pushing. “What if we do have the real thalers? That’s our affair. Our product. We’ll auction them off at the Grand Bazaar.”

“For a few million. At most.” Atan sat up, rolling his neck and stretching his shoulders as if he’d been part of the fight. He locked eyes with Talia. “With my connections, I can bring in local buyers who will pay five times as much. You know this. My Asian contacts are the reason you targeted me in Prague.”

Tyler came up on the comms, coaching. “He’s hooked, but don’t rush it. Make him fight the line. Keep working him for information.”

“Okay. We can be reasonable. Let’s work out a percentage.”

“A percentage?” Atan snorted. “I want the gold. I will give you ten million. You could quit the game right now. Hole up in your room and most likely go home, each with a leopard position.”

“We’re doing well enough on our own.”

“Too well. Keep going and the lion will think you’re attempting a coup, as with Jafet. You won’t be safe.”

“Safe? We haven’t been safe since we entered the maze.” Talia would circle back to that question. She needed to close the deal. “Okay. Ten million US for our Bavarian Thalers. Transferred immediately. Deal?” She offered him a hand.

He didn’t take it. “One moment.” Atan left the couch for the desk and drew an instrument from a small brown case—his XRF scanner. “Fool me once,” he said, leaving them to fill in the rest.

The Albanian pulled as many pouches from each duffel as he could carry and dumped piles of gold on the couch. He scanned each pile, spread the coins around, and scanned them again. Atan gasped, as if hardly able to contain his joy. “They are real.”

Over the comms, Talia heard Finn’s Melbourne accent. “Redemption.”

What the thief had failed to accomplish in Prague, he had managed at the Bangkok airport. While Tyler was plotting and Eddie was buying tech, the burglar had worked his way into the baggage system of Bangkok’s airport and intercepted Atan’s bag. He had swapped Atan’s XRF reader for Eddie’s fake.

Talia hid her smile and touched Atan’s shoulder. “I said, ‘Do we have a deal?’”

“Yes, yes.” He shook her hand, unable to take his eyes off the coins. “We have a deal.”

Val coughed into her hand.

“Oh. Yes. Your payment.” Atan returned to the desk and worked the touchscreen panels. Talia’s slate buzzed. A digital transaction came up, and she hit accept. On the scoreboard, ten million appeared in her account and five filtered into Val’s. They were now at over forty-four million each, tied for the number two ranking.

“There,” Atan said, returning to his gold. “It is done. Now I suggest you go back to your rooms and hide for the remainder of the competition.”

“Why?” Val asked. “We’ve already been attacked. What else should we fear?”

“Do the accent and I will tell you. Please, for old time’s sake.”

She drew her gun.

“Okay. Okay. Listen. The Frenzy is not a competition for rankings in the Jungle syndicate.”

Talia narrowed her eyes. “Isn’t it?”

“This is what the White Lion wants you to think. But in truth, he is culling the pride, like a real lion, taking out