Dimitar’s cabin was in the first-class section, and it looked like it was worth every penny Sam had paid for it. The four-poster bed with a mattress that was so high it invaded the personal space of the ceiling fan. The bedclothes were a blend of brilliant white and golden silk, and Dimitar dropped backward onto them, feeling his legs and mind finally relax.

Seeing Jeremy Rundle as the cruise ship pulled away from the dock worried Dimitar, who considered sending Sam a message to let him know. In the end, he abandoned the idea, so Serf knew he was on The Ambassador. So what? Serf wanted to take him on, to show Dimitar that he is the better player, even when a life is on the line – and a million dollars. Moving to the future, Dimitar decided he would ignore the threat of Peter Serf. His girlfriend’s captor will only come into play when he buys into the million-dollar ransom stake.

As the giant ship eased away from Southampton, the sun came out to remind Dimitar that he was leaving Britain. From there, they would make a trip around the North Coast of France until they stopped in the capital of Portugal, Lisbon. Dimitar opened the internet page he had loaded before leaving England, the tournament page for The World of Poker ‘Cruise to a Million’ Main Event. Taking place on The Ambassador, it would start tomorrow and run for three days, the same length as the trip to Lisbon. The event was €5,000 to play, and only one re-entry was permitted per player.

Win it, and a six-figure sum would be guaranteed. From there, he could plan an assault on the million dollars he needed. The sun’s warmth hit the bed, and Dimitar, for the first time since making the final day of the golf club tournament, fell asleep.

Two hours later, he jolted awake, a bad dream – he was being chased by Serf in the endless corridors of the ship – shaking him out of his slumber. The sun was lower on the horizon, the dim sunbeam outside his porthole-style window barely lighting his room. He quickly showered, dressed in fresh clothes – purchased by Sam – and a few minutes later left for the bar, his keycard in his pocket along with the buy-in (and single permitted rebuy) for the live poker tournament – €10,000 in total. The rest of his money was in the safe in his room, but with only €20,000 of it left, this tournament had to go his way if he was to get anywhere near the million dollars he needed by the end of the month.

The ship was stunning. Not only did the white walls and gold-framed artwork seem to attract the sunlight, but the accommodation and surroundings were clearly five star. As he made his way to the bar, Dimitar saw the casino adjacent to the bar and headed to the roulette table.

Two other men were at the wheel, one older, wearing a beige lounge suit and loafers, who was already covering three spots with chunky bets. The second was a larger man wearing a Panama hat, light slacks, and a loud neon pink jacket over a dark grey shirt on the older man’s left. A red carnation, carefully positioned in his pocket, he turned to see Dimitar arrive at the wheel.

‘Just in time, young man. I was going to make a single bet before dinner. Care to join me.’ The older man said, welcoming Dimitar to the table.

Dimitar smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Is the man another of Peter Serf’s connections? Dimitar knew he couldn’t trust anyone, suspecting that Serf’s contacts were all over the ship. Jeremy Rundle was watching him on the jetty, so why couldn’t Serf have people on the ship? On the other hand, why would Rundle be watching unless no one else was on board? Maybe Serf was on board himself.

With Elena.

‘Sure – just one bet.’

‘So, what’s your lucky number, son?’

‘I don’t have a lucky number.’

‘Well, I do – thirteen.’

‘Any more bets?’ says the croupier. Dimitar looked up for the first time. The name tag, catching the Bulgarian’s eye, read ‘Simone.’ She had dark brown hair, cut almost savagely at the neck, a feathered fringe hanging just above deep brown eyes that Dimitar could hardly pull away from. If Serf could have designed a person to draw Dimitar in, it would look like Simone.

‘I’ll wait,’ Dimitar declared, watching as the lounge suit leaned over him and the man in the loud jacket, adding two more bets to the numbers thirteen and fourteen.

‘Just in case it misses,’ he winked.

‘I’ll wait for the next round, too,’ the large man in the pink jacket stated as he turned to introduce himself to Dimitar.

‘I’m Donald McCoy. My friends call me ‘Slim.’

‘Dimitar.’ The two men said, shaking hands. Dimitar wondered just how cruel the friends of ‘Slim’ had to be to give him that nickname when he must weigh upwards of 130 kilos. The older man watched as the little silver ball spun around the wheel, landing with a clank against one of the numbered beds. It bounced six more times before spinning to a stop inside the 16 bed. The croupier nimbly put down the glass marker and, in one swift movement, pulled all of the lounge suit man’s chips towards her with the small casino rake. She then paid out the small amount he’d won by backing the colour red.

‘Wins on red,’ she said with a thin smile. The man had lost ten times the amount by betting incorrectly on individual numbers. He took his chips and wandered off to play three-card poker.

‘Any bets, gentlemen?’ the croupier asked, and Dimitar sat down.

Slim McCoy splashed a $1,000 chip onto the 13 spot. It spun neatly and stopped dead in the centre of the square. Dimitar smiled, removing a $100 bill from his wallet.

‘Can I change this with you… Simone?’

Slim McCoy took the note from him and handed him a chip.

Simone smiled in response as Dimitar put his $100 chip on the six. No one else came to the table as Simone spun the wheel. Dimitar wasn’t watching the wheel at all, he was looking directly at Simone as she moved the silver ball onto the tips of her top two fingers and flicked it around the top of the wheel in one smooth motion.

‘No more bets, gentlemen.’

The silver ball spun around the wheel half a dozen times before clanging off the metal frets and coming to rest on the 13.

‘Never fails.’

‘The gentleman wins on 13.’ Said Simone with a warm smile. ‘Will you take this bet home, sir?’

‘Not tonight, Simone. You know what to do with it,’ replied Slim McCoy.

‘$35,000 and you don’t fancy taking it home?’ Dimitar queried.

‘I don’t. Young man, let’s have a drink.’

The two men left Simone at the roulette wheel as an elderly couple sidled up to the table. The man sat while the woman perched at his shoulder, her arm draped over his shoulders. Dimitar smiled at the croupier, and she smiled in response with the same honest and welcoming warmth.

When they arrived at the bar, Slim ordered a drink for himself and Dimitar. The two men toasted good luck and good health and set the drinks down on cardboard coasters.

‘I can’t believe your number came in right away like that,’ said Dimitar.

‘You saw the 36th spin!’ laughed Slim. ‘Let’s not talk about the first 35.’

‘So are you going to tell me what you did with the money?’

‘Sure. I set a budget when I holiday. I imagine that I lose it all, on roulette, craps or poker.’

‘What do you mean, imagine?’

‘I tell myself that it is all lost, every bet.’

‘But what about when you win?’

‘I donate it all to charity.’

‘All of it?’

‘Every cent,’ said Slim, his laugh now gone, erased by a serious straight line. ‘I tell myself I had the worst luck, that it all ended up in the games pit or the dealer’s pocket. I have it put on my tab here on the ship, then released at the end of the trip in the form of a banker’s draft.’

‘And where does it go?’

‘To a charity where I live in Queens. They help children whose parents are drug dependent. It helps to change those kids’ lives.’

‘That’s some charity box you have going there. Do you mind me asking how you afford it?’

‘Not at all. I was at the forward curve of technology in the 1990s, which allowed for fast and quick digital communication. I’d love to say it was an invention of genius, but it was more a case of the right idea at exactly the right time. I got lucky.’

‘Wow, so, cutting edge stuff?’

‘It was then. Now it’s defunct. Overtaken, like technology always is. Like all of us. It made me a lot of money. I like to play when I take time away. I travel a lot now and I’m old enough to know I don’t want to work anymore. Plus, I want to do some good while I still have time. If I lose, I can cope. I win, I’m happy being able to donate.’

‘The charity must love you.’

‘I donate anonymously,’ smiled Slim. ‘It’s really not about me. It’s about the children in their care.’

‘Do you have children of your own?’

‘I could never have children. My parents – I was an only child myself – didn’t think they could either. They were high-fliers. They took party drugs, working themselves into the ground. Then my Mum had me. The summer of 1977. Within three months of having me, she was back on the trading floor.’

Slim looked across at the young croupier, who was making notes on a pad and ticking off boxes as she handed it to another member of staff.

‘They died over 20 years ago now, even though it seems like yesterday. They were heavy cocaine users; they worked all day and all night sometimes. I knew babysitters by their first and second names. By the time I was a teenager, they were close to sixty. They loved the high life.’

‘Did they die from taking drugs?’

‘Only if you consider the long-term effects. They worked in the financial markets. Ironically, they took a day off from the floor for a big meeting. First thing in the morning, looking out over New York, at a fancy restaurant.’

‘Doesn’t sound dangerous.’

‘It was called Windows on the World. It was on the 106th floor of the World Trade Center and they were eating breakfast when the first plane hit the North Tower. Around the time they would have been paying the check.’

Slim paid the barman for another drink for them both. Dimitar accepted it with a nod. Slim drank his down in one gulp.

‘There are kids out there who never had parents. But they still have a chance – and a better chance with my help. You think you’ll have kids one day?’

Dimitar thought of Elena and where she might be right now. Would she want children? Will she ever get the chance?

‘I’m not sure.’

Silence threatened to interrupt the two men for the first time, so Dimitar cut it off at the root.

‘Are you going to play the poker tournament on board the ship?’

‘Of course! Are you?’

‘I have to play,’ said Dimitar. ‘I mean… it’s unmissable value. I can’t miss it.’

The two men talked some more. Slim had played the game for over twenty years, all the while making a fortune in business. Now, his money was used either as a playfund for charitable donations or tied up in start-ups to earn more money. It was his philanthropy that motivated him. Dimitar mostly listened as Slim detailed the money he had given to the home and what it meant to him every time he won.

Slim finished his third drink and promised to see Dimitar at the tournament tables as Simone joined them at the bar.

‘Is one of you Dimitar?’

‘That’s me.’

‘There’s a lady named Sofia on the telephone,’ said Simone, ‘She says it’s urgent.’

Dimitar bid Slim farewell as he felt his throat close, dry as sand.

 

Dead Beat – Chapter 8

The phone call was on hold in the casino office, a gray room that was completely opposite the neon-lit games room of the lower deck. The office was a sharp contrast, with its dull, muted tones and cluttered atmosphere. Dimitar almost tripped over a bulky printer that awkwardly sat on the floor of the outer office, its cord snaking across the carpet. The room felt cramped. Two mismatched chairs and a filing cabinet jostled for space around a single desk that had been awkwardly split into two cramped workstations. Papers and folders teetered precariously on every available surface, threatening to avalanche at the slightest disturbance. In the corner of the room, a small sink, stained and chipped, doubled as a tea and coffee station, with an old kettle balanced close by that was riddled with limescale. The setup looked like it hadn’t been updated in years.

On the desk, between mountains of paperwork that looked like they had been accumulating for decades, sat a cordless phone, the receiver carefully balanced on a stack of papers. Dimitar grabbed it, his hand trembling slightly and put it to his ear.

‘Sofia? What is it?’ he asked, his voice a mix of impatience and dread.

‘Dimitar. It’s about Elena,’ Sofia’s voice came through, tinged with a serious tone that made his heart sink.

His mind immediately started to swim with horrific fantasies, presenting the worst possible scenario in vivid detail. Had they found her body? Had Serf been stringing him along the whole time, leading him on a wild goose chase? The room suddenly felt very hot, the air thick and stifling.

‘Is she OK? Has she been found?’ His voice cracked with desperation.

‘Nothing like that. I’m so sorry, I know how worried you are and I should have started this better. I wanted to let you know that my father hired an investigator. And this guy is good. If he was a poker player, he would have notes on all the players and exact reads for everyone at the table,’ Sofia explained, trying to provide some reassurance.

Dimitar let out an audible sigh of relief. ‘I’m so glad to hear that, but next time, please don’t start the conversation that way,” he stated, a bit more aggressively than needed. “So, what did he find?’ Dimitar pressed, hoping for something, anything, to cling to.

‘He found a ‘digital fingerprint’ – that’s what he called it. Elena’s credit card had been used in Germany. First near the Autobahn, then a couple of times in the city of Cologne. Once in a restaurant, then later in a bar. Over two hundred Euros in one day,’ she said, laying out the facts for Dimitar, hoping it would give him some clue.

‘What? That makes no sense. Why would they go drinking in Germany after fleeing the scene? Serf is evil, but he’s not an idiot. He knew he had to get them away from there. He went to England; I know he did. When is this detective saying that they were in Germany?’ Dimitar’s mind raced, trying to make sense of the new information.

‘He’s not saying when. But the card was used in Germany. I just wanted to let you know. Don’t jump to any conclusions about anything as to where Serf and Elena are. If I hear anything more, I’ll call you,’ Sofia advised, her voice firm yet gentle. “And I promise to start the next conversation in a better manner.”

‘Thanks, and sorry for getting angry. I didn’t mean to take anything out on you, I know you’re just trying to help. Maybe she dropped it along the way, possibly as a clue’ Dimitar speculated, though the idea seemed far-fetched.

‘Like a breadcrumb from a fairy tale?’ Sofia suggested.

‘Maybe. Or maybe Serf tossed it out of the car as they drove through Europe,’ he mused, trying to piece together the puzzle.

‘Possibly. How’s the money looking? Are you close to the million you need to find Elena and get her back?’ Sofia shifted the conversation.

‘I’ve got €30,000 so far,’ Dimitar admitted with a hint of frustration in his voice.

‘I thought you were up more. Sam had said…’ Sofia began, confusion creeping in.

‘I was. I took a risk,’ he confessed.

‘Dimitar, you…what?’ she asked, incredulous.

‘Serf sent me a private message and invited to an online game, so I took him on. Unfortunately, he smoked me. But we may have gotten a clue to where Elena is being held. Marseille. I’m heading there now,’ Dimitar explained, his determination unwavering.

‘I know. Sam again,’ Sofia said, her tone softening. “But he didn’t mention the online game.”

‘He’s been very helpful to me… well, at least since this whole thing began. You miss him, don’t you?’ Dimitar probed gently, trying to get his mind off his immediate problems.

‘This isn’t about me, Dimitar. I don’t know what Sam thinks of me. And right now we have to focus on Elena,’ she deflected, keeping her focus on the mission.

‘So are they on board?’ Dimitar asked, steering the conversation back to the main problem.

At the same time that Dimitar was questioning Sofia, Serf and Elena were sitting down to dinner in Paris. It should have been a romantic setting, surrounded by couples interlocking their fingers, staring deeply into their partners’ eyes, and sharing coy smiles as thoughts of the future or happy memories danced in their minds. Had she been there with the right person, it would have been, but Elena was there with Peter Serf. She sat clenching her hands tight to her still-healing stomach as her captor, sitting opposite her, forced a smile.

‘Paris is the city of love,’ said Elena, neatly sipping the perfectly chilled champagne that hailed from the region 90 miles east of the capital city. ‘Look around us. It feels like everyone has something to celebrate.’

She glanced around, noticing the CCTV outside the window where they were sitting. The appetizers had already been consumed as their main courses arrived. Peter Serf was quiet as he sliced into his steak au poivre. His somber mood in the streets of Paris had followed him inside.

‘Love is everywhere, in every city.’ said Serf. ‘Just not anymore. Maybe it never was. But I loved my wife. I didn’t deserve what she did to me.’

‘How did you meet her?’ Elena asked as if to change the subject more than anything.

‘On the shop floor. She worked for me. But not for long. I made it big very quickly, and she stopped to run the house. We’d planned to have children. In fact, the last time we were here together, we were planning a family. A dynasty continuing my name. But we couldn’t. Now I’m all that’s left.’

‘You could fall in love again. Start fresh.’

‘After what I’ve done?’

‘You said it was a moment of passion, that you didn’t mean to kill her. The police will understand it.’

‘I don’t believe you mean those words.’

‘Why not? You think I’m trying to escape? I know now that the only way I get back to Dimitar is if he wins enough money to play you.’

A pianist started playing the upright Steinway in the corner of the restaurant. The music was lost on Elena and Peter Serf.

‘What happens if he loses?’

‘You know what happens.’ Serf said, skewering another piece of rare beef, a single bead of red jus dropping onto the plate.

‘OK, what if he beats you? Is it really going to be over?’

‘I’ll play a fair game, but I doubt he’ll be able to raise a million dollars. He will need to be lucky, and extremely dedicated to do so.’

‘Should I believe you?’

‘You must learn to trust me.’ Serf said. ‘So far, Dimitar has €30,000. He is a long way short with a little over a fortnight to catch up. With the money and with us.’

‘How will we travel?’

Serf didn’t answer. They finished their meals in silence and walked back to the hotel. Serf let Elena in first, following her inside the room, which was split into two separate bedrooms with a shared living space and a cooking area. Both of them had their own private rooms in which to sleep. Elena’s room, however, had no access to the outer corridor or the rest of the hotel.

If she wanted to leave, she would have to walk right past Serf’s bed to get to the room’s exterior door.

Elena listened to Serf speak a little more before they agreed it was time for sleep, and the conversation could continue in the morning. Serf was morose. Certainly less celebratory than he had been when discussing Dimitar and how much money he was short. The trip to Paris was supposed to heal him, Elena thought. She wanted him to be calmer, more manageable, easier to survive.

At midnight, she had quietened her breathing sufficiently to be able to hear Serf softly snoring from the adjoining room. She silently opened the door, slipped on a pair of hotel slippers, and eased into his room in her pyjamas, a gift from Serf the day they arrived.

She crept past his bed, just six feet from the hotel door. It was locked from the outside but, like most hotel rooms, would open from the inside without the key.

She trod as softly as she could on the thick carpet. She timed each step with his snores. Deep breath in, left foot down. Guttural breath out, right foot down.

In, left. Out, right.

She needed sixty seconds without him following her, just enough time to reach someone who worked for the hotel.

In, left. Out, right.

Then there was nothing. Silence. Elena froze on the carpet. She could feel her feet sinking into the plush pile of carpet strands. The muscles in her calfs burned.

Then, he suddenly coughed, choking himself awake.

She spun around on the heels of her feet silently but sharply.

‘Elena?’ he snapped. ‘What are you doing?’

‘I…’ she stammered. But she had planned for this outcome. He stood up. She broke down. Tears fell, and she remembered her first time in acting class after school.

Long before she was a dancer, she’d enjoyed acting, mimicking the human emotions others could never replicate. She was a talented actress who could cry on command. She let the tears flow, falling off the bottom of her cheeks onto the thick carpet.

‘I… I just don’t want to be on my own. Can you understand that?’

Serf walked to her and held her head on his chest. She took his hand and led him back to his bed. She slid out of the slippers.

What was it Dimitar used to say about bluffing on the river?

‘If the story doesn’t make any sense, they’ll always know you’re making a move.’

This was part of the story. Part of the long game.

‘Let’s make Paris a city of new memories, Peter.’ She said, smiling her golden smile that had won many hearts over the years.

Serf smiled back as they climbed between the sheets.

The World of Poker ‘Cruise to a Million’ Main Event took place in the ballroom of The Ambassador. After a night of fractured of sleep, Dimitar rose with the sun and ate as much breakfast as he could manage. He was hoping for a long day at the felt on the first day of a three-day tournament, so consuming as much fuel as he could made sense to him.

With his engine suitably stoked, Dimitar bought a long, strong coffee from the café and registered for the tournament at the front desk. He handed over the €5,000 buy-in in cash and accepted a pile of chips and his ticket receipt in return. He then went straight to the front of the ballroom, where a computer screen was auto-scrolling through over a hundred registered players.

When he sat down at Table 7, he noticed that his dealer was a very familiar face – Simone, the croupier he had met the previous day and who had allowed him to use the phone in the back office to speak with Sofia.

‘You again?’ she smiled, fanning the cards before washing them, then repeating the process ahead of the first deal. The cards were a blur in front of her.

‘Fancy meeting you here.’ Dimitar smiled. ‘First a little silver ball, now life and death at the poker table.’

‘Life and death?’ she asked, only half-smiling.

‘Maybe, but now you have to listen to me speak all day.’

‘Only until dealer change,’ she smiled in return. ‘But it’s in my name – Simone means ‘to listen’ Who knew I’d end up in a casino.’

Other players arrived at the table. Soon, five players were in their seats, just a couple of minutes before the tournament started. Play would begin shorthanded, and late arrivals would be placed in the empty seats to fill the tables as they arrived.

A few minutes into play, Dimitar had already accumulated a few chips. Starting off aggressively at the felt, he had managed to add 10% to his starting stack when another familiar face joined him at the table on his immediate left. Slim McCoy maneuvered his way into his seat, turned to his right, and smiled warmly when he saw his neighbor.

‘Well this should be fun,’ he said. The next deal saw Dimitar in the big blind.

‘’Straddle.’ Slim said, grinning from ear to ear.

Two hours into play, Dimitar had stalled slightly. He was still aggressively raising when he could in an effort to build a stack early in the tournament, but Slim was taking no prisoners and, sitting to Dimitar’s direct left, he had a significant strategic advantage.

‘Well, gentleman, that’s the break.’ Simone said as a muted bell rang out in the ballroom. The first break was upon the players, and they all stood up to leave.

‘Young man, a drink?’ asked Slim.

‘I’d love one. Can I meet you at the bar? I need to speak to our mutual friend.’

Slim watched as Dimitar’s eyes tracked Simone walking slowly away from the poker table.

‘Who am I to interrupt the path of true love. I shall buy you a drink when you arrive.’ Slim smiled, heading to the bar in the corner of the room.

Dimitar caught up with Simone as she pushed through a soft set of double doors leading to the exit for the floors above and the upper deck.

‘I have a question.’ Dimitar said as he met her on the first stair.

‘Most men do.’

‘Not that one. Honestly. I need your help and I don’t know if there’s anyone on board this boat I can trust.’

‘So why do you trust me?’

‘Because you remind me of myself. You’re an only child, too, right?’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Instinct I guess. Look, my friend is in a lot of trouble.’

‘The girl you spoke to on the phone yesterday?’

‘No, she’s my friend. She knows that my… Elena, my other friend, was taken.’

‘Taken away? She was in trouble?’

‘No. She was taken hostage. We witnessed a man kill his wife. Now he has Elena. And he won’t give her back unless he has me, at a poker table, with a million dollars of my own to bet against his.’

‘You’re crazy. You must call the police.’

‘I know he’s watching me, even on this ship. I can feel it. He has people everywhere, or it feels like it. One of his friends watched me get onto this ship. I just need the passenger manifest or a photo of it. That’s all I’m asking. Then another friend can find out if he’s onboard.’

Simone wrestled with the problem but agreed to help Dimitar. She told him she’d meet him at the end of the day. That was presuming plenty, thought Dimitar, including surviving Day 1. He headed to the bar, outside the ballroom to meet his new acquaintance and opponent, Slim. Dimitar joined Slim at the bar as the bartender was pouring a measure of whiskey for him.

‘You’re playing too tight. Scared money doesn’t win a cent. You’re letting me walk all over you, for a start.’

‘So don’t?’

‘What, and let you win? Impossible. It’s something I would never do. No matter what. It goes against every principal I’ve ever held. I can see you need to win this money more than I do – even though I donate every penny to charity. But I won’t let you win – you’ve got to earn it. And you’re playing scared.’

After the break, Dimitar went on the attack. For an hour, it worked. He saw his stack grow, almost in step with the one in front of Slim. Half the day had passed, and late registration was approaching when the two of them got it all into the middle. Dimitar had been the aggressor and had Slim well ranged from middle position when the Bulgarian moved all-in with pocket jacks. Dimitar believed he would be ahead almost 80% of the time, good enough odds to shove.

Slim called, and Dimitar asked, ‘Tens?’

‘Sorry, son. But you were right. I do the same with tens.’ Slim turned over pocket queens.

For the first time, Dimitar realized that the outcome of the hand was less important to him than the lesson – but just for a second.

The dealer, now a sandy-haired gentleman emitting the faint odor of menthol cigarettes and smooth aftershave, threw a jack up on flop, but a queen arrived on the river, and suddenly Slim had all of Dimitar’s chips.

‘This was unlucky. You must rebuy.’ Slim said, politely waiting until Dimitar left the table to rebuy.

With only a few minutes before re-entry closed, Dimitar joined the small queue back at the registration desk. He felt the cold sting of the unfortunate run-out drip down his spine. Physically shaking it off, he rebought. Walking back through to the ballroom, he passed a few stands, where some of the ship’s crew – or sellers who had made the trip to hustle their livings – were selling accessories to the action. Everyone was offering something from phone chargers to seat pillows, portable neck massagers to loyalty cards that promised free drinks at the bar or $10 for the slot machines. Dimitar stopped at the stall selling phone accessories and bought a cheap pair of in-ear headphones.

This time, he was seated on the other side of the ballroom, Slim and his former table were not visible through the throng of people. There must have been hundreds of people playing on the cruise. Dimitar sat down, and an unfamiliar dealer welcomed him, exchanging his re-entry ticket for a new stack of chips. From being two cards away from 120 big blinds, Dimitar was now €10,000 down for the day, had a stack worth less than 25 bigs, and there were still six hours to go before the day was over.

Dimitar knew nobody at his table. He put on some background music that would keep him calm but engaged. No lyrics to distract him, only the persistent thrum of guitars and drums. Every pot, he seemed to focus more on the cards. The first hand, he lost with a straight draw that didn’t come in, but he managed to lose the minimum, and he focused only on his play. He concentrated on the action. He watched every player at showdown, both the cards and their expressions – especially if they didn’t reveal their cards. The registration period ended without Dimitar noticing, and then, what felt like just moments later, the bell sounded for the dinner break before he knew it. He’d met with Slim, discussed hands a little, but mostly listened to the older man, trying to learn as much as he could about tells, both his own and those revealed by other people.

The evening session left three hours to the finish of the night, but when the announcement rang around the room of ‘three more hands,’ Dimitar didn’t congratulate himself on still being in his seat. He thought, ‘those are three more hands I can win’. And he did. A flush over flush earned him a big knockout. A dominating ace took out a short stack who had chosen the wrong time to go big or go home. For the final hand of the night, Dimitar four-bet pre-flop with eight-four offsuit because his opponent looked ready to leave. He was rewarded with a fold and tossed his cards face-down into the muck with a neat flick of the wrist.

‘Good aim,’ said Simone, who had rejoined Dimitar’s table only a few minutes before the end of play.

Six hours after losing all of his chips, Dimitar had the second largest stack in the room. The bar was busy, with players either congratulating each other on being one of the 113 survivors to day 2 or commiserating with those who hadn’t. That or drowning their own sorrows.

‘Well done, young man. You ended the day with more chips than me. You’ll be in the write-up.’

‘Write-up?..’

‘The report. The overnight report will say your name. Second in chips?’

‘Third, I think,’ said Dimitar, knowing that if Serf knew where he was, he’d be reading that report. ‘A good Russian player was at my table, and I passed his stack on the way to the bar. He looked like he had more than me.’

‘Still, third of just over a hundred. I’m not even in the top 10.’

‘Will you two stop? Said Simone. ‘Isn’t 12 hours of poker enough for you?’

Then, lowering her voice, she said, ‘Do you want this manifest or not?’

Dimitar looked at Simone’s screen as she held it up to face him.

‘Can you send it to me?’ he asked. She took his number and sent the images across. There were a lot of names.’

‘I’ll need to look through these names.

‘And I think it’s time I slept,’ said Slim.

They both bade ‘Slim’ McCoy a farewell as he strutted off towards the lift and the accommodation deck.

Simone invited Dimitar back to her room, and the two of them pored through the names for almost an hour, opening Simone’s tablet and using two notepads from the office to write notes about the passengers of The Ambassador. They spread dozens of pages across the bed.

Simone’s recall of meeting people on the ship was phenomenal. No one was on the ship with the name Elena other than a five-year-old girl holidaying with her parents. No one was named Serf either, and the only Peter on the ship was an 87-year-old man who was on his third cruise of the year with his wife. Passengers could register with false names, but after an hour of consideration, it was Simone who spoke.

‘They’re not on board.’

‘How can you be sure?’

‘I don’t know. It’s just a feeling but you can trust me. I’ve seen so many people walking up and down this ship. They must be going to Marseille another way.’

‘Then all I have to focus on is the money,’ said Dimitar, rising from the bed.

Simone looked up at him and rose alongside him, slipping next to his body.

‘Tomorrow,’ she said. ‘You don’t need to think about anything tonight.’

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About the Author: Paul Seaton has written about poker for over 10 years, interviewing some of the best players ever to play the game such as Daniel Negreanu, Johnny Chan and Phil Hellmuth. Over the years, Paul has reported live from tournaments such as the World Series of Poker in Las Vegas and the European Poker Tour. He has also written for other poker brands where he was Head of Media, as well as BLUFF magazine, where he was Editor.

This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.

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Edited by Maury Orton and Shawn A.