"The attraction of a complex con game with the thrill of revenge -- a winner!"
Reviewed by Morgan Chilson
Posted March 15, 2007
Thriller
Alan and Taylor are devastated when their entire life is
destroyed by unscrupulous conmen. The company that Taylor
spent her life building has to be sold to pay their debts,
and Taylor feels beaten for the first time in her life. But
she's got a strong constitution and when her husband
suggests they go after the man who pulled this con, she's
in. But conmen are prepared for danger, as the two find out
quickly. They chase Edward Brand to Mexico, following a
convoluted trail to try to get back their money. The couple
is going to need to be devious and start thinking like cons
themselves. Fascinating and shocking, SHELL GAME will tax your brain
and quite possibly your heart. Just when you think you've
got it figured out, there are twists and coils and bends
that leave you stunned. A fun book with a smart heroine!
SUMMARY
When NewPro Stock collapses, Taylor and her husband Alan
lose millions, forcing them to sell their home and
business. But they’re not going down without a fight.
They’re determined to track down the elusive Edward Brand,
the mastermind behind the enormous fraud…. Taylor and Alan are about to learn two hard facts: A man
who doesn’t want to be found can be extremely dangerous…and
in the world of high-level scams absolutely nothing is what
it seems. If they’re going to pin Brand down and recover
their money, they’re going to need an ingenious — and very
risky—plan of their own.
ExcerptIn the tunnels below Venice-- Water dripped from between the ancient bricks that formed
the wall, pooling on the stone floor. Lichen and slime
covered some of the rocks and the footing was treacherous.
The solitary lighting was provided by the small electric
torches the two men carried and shadows danced on the walls
as they moved through the labyrinth of tunnels under the
Palazzo Ducale.
"Christ, you weren't kidding about how wet this would
be," one of the men said, adjusting his wire-rim glasses and
sweeping his blond hair back from his eyes. His English was
laced with a thick European accent. "Good idea to wear
rubber-soled shoes."
His name was Hans Adler, a diamond merchant from the
Antwerp office of DeBeers. While his left hand groped at the
damp wall, his right hand tightly clutched a small black
case. Inside were two hundred and thirty-six stones worth in
excess of twenty-three million American dollars. Untraceable
diamonds. Stolen diamonds.
"Venice is fifty feet above us," the second man said.
"What did you expect?"
Alexandro Custain was Moroccan, from Rabat. He was the
instigator, the brains behind the multi-million dollar
theft. At six feet he was considerably taller than Adler,
and had thick dark hair to the top of his ears with
penetrating gray eyes. There was little body fat on his
frame, the results of a good diet and a strict workout
regimen. Adler was Custain's inside man, the key to the
theft who had betrayed his position of trust with the
diamond cartel and absconded with the stones. Reciprocally,
Custain had given Adler everything he needed to steal from
the company -- including an intricate plan that had gone off
without a hitch, the up-front finances and an escape route
and a new identity.
"Quiet," Custain whispered. "Listen."
Both men stopped moving. Noises drifted through the
darkened tunnels behind them. Scratching sounds accompanied
by muffled voices. Someone was following them and closing
the gap quickly. The voices became clearer -- they were
speaking Italian.
"Police?" Adler asked, panic edging into his words.
Custain nodded. "Probably. Let's go. We still have the
advantage. I've mapped out the tunnel system. If we hurry,
we may lose them after a few more turns."
Custain took the lead, moving with certainty through the
narrow passage. Three times they reached forks and each time
the Moroccan moved into one of the new tunnels with no
hesitation. Adler followed close behind, his light barely
illuminating the walls and floor. Beyond the yellow haze was
absolute blackness.
"We're directly below the doge's chambers," Custain said,
slowing for a second and turning so Adler could see his
face. "They elected him for life, you know."
"Who?" Adler asked, confused.
"The doge. Whoever held the position had incredible power
in Renaissance Italy." He stopped completely and held up his
hand. "Can you hear anything?"
Silence descended on the short section of lit tunnel,
then the sound of voices drifted through the darkness.
Terror replaced panic on Adler's face and sweat coursed down
his forehead into his eyes. He wiped it away. He sucked the
cold, humid air into his lungs, struggling to catch his
breath.
"This isn't working," Custain said. "We need to split
up."
The terror intensified in the Belgian's eyes. "No way,"
he said between gasps. "I don't want to be down here alone."
Custain spun and grabbed the man by his shoulders. Their
faces were inches apart. "We're not going to lose them this
way," he said, his voice a hiss in the close quarters.
"There's another fork coming up in about a hundred yards.
I'll take the left passage, which continues underground for
almost a mile before surfacing. I'll leave some marks on the
stones so whoever's following us takes that tunnel. The one
you'll take runs into an old stone staircase in about three
hundred and fifty yards. It leads to the surface."
"Who takes the diamonds?" Adler asked, suspicion creeping
into his voice.
"You do. Whoever's behind us is going to follow me. If
I'm caught and I have the diamonds, we lose them."
"I'm not sure," Adler said hesitantly. "It's very dark --
very dangerous down here."
"Come. Let's get to the fork in the path. I'll show you
the maps I made of the tunnels. You can make your decision
then."
"Yes, of course."
They moved at a quick pace for a couple of minutes, then
Custain slowed. "There's a natural well ahead in the center
of the path. You must be very careful when you cross it."
The Belgian didn't answer, but Custain could hear his
labored breathing. They reached the hole in the floor, which
stretched from one side of the tunnel to the other with a
tiny lip on one edge. Custain handed Adler his light, then
straddled the well by leaning his body at forty-five degrees
with his hands against the rock wall on one side of the
tunnel and inching his feet along the razor-thin edge on the
other side. It took him the better part of thirty seconds to
sidle across. He dropped to his knees and took a couple of
deep breaths.
"This is the worst of it, Hans," he said. "You have to do
exactly as I did in order to cross."
"You said this was not difficult," Adler whispered, the
voices again closing the distance on them from behind.
"It's not," Custain said, holding out his arms. "You just
have to concentrate. Now throw me the lights -- mine first,
then yours. Then the diamonds. Be very careful. We cannot
afford to break one of the lights."
Adler inched toward the edge of the black hole and held
the light down to its gaping mouth. Nothing. He could see no
water, no rocks, just darkness. It could easily be
bottomless. It may as well be bottomless. If he slipped over
the edge, he was finished. He steadied his hand, then tossed
the first light across to his partner. Custain caught it and
set it on the ground beside him. Adler repeated the action
and Custain caught the second light.
"I'm going to back up a bit," Custain said, leaving the
lamps on the ground next to the hole. "That way if you're a
little short with your toss, we won't lose the diamonds."
Adler nodded, his lips parched and his throat dry. He
gripped the black satchel tightly, then arced it across the
chasm. Custain caught it and set it next to the wall. He
shuffled ahead on his knees and picked up the lights.
"Okay, come on across," he said. "Like I did. Hands on
one wall, your feet on the other edge."
Adler leaned across and placed his hands on the far wall.
Then he positioned his left foot on the sliver of rock and
slid it forward. A pebble slipped over the edge and fell
into the hole. "Oh, my God," he said. "I can't do this."
"Yes, Hans," Custain said. "You can. You must." His eyes
implored the man to keep moving forward. "You rerouted a
fortune in diamonds from Antwerp to a fictional buyer in
Venice. Then you stole the diamonds from under the noses of
the cartel's best security personnel. You're almost there,
Hans. Rich and free. All you need to do is get across this
hole."
The Belgian slid his foot forward another few inches,
then repositioned his hands on the wall. He was hovering
over empty space. Inch by inch, he shuffled his feet along
the outcrop of rock. His hand slipped slightly on a patch of
slime and he grabbed at the rock with his other hand. The
stone he gripped was dry and he caught his balance. He took
two deep breaths, then continued. A few seconds later he was
safely across.
Custain slapped him on the shoulder. "That wasn't so bad,
was it?"
Adler managed a titter of a laugh. "No. Not so bad.
Everything is fine."
Custain handed the Belgian his light and the diamonds.
"Let's keep moving. The fork in the tunnel is not far
ahead."
It took less than a minute to reach the point where the
tunnel split into two. Custain set his light on the stone
floor and pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. His
unfolded it and smoothed it against the wall. A series of
meandering lines were drawn in ink on the brown paper.
Custain pointed at a spot on the map.
"Here is the well we just crossed," he said. He shifted
his finger ahead slightly. "And this is the fork we're at.
This line is the passage to the right. Here is the base of
the stairs. They're quite a steep climb, but nothing even
close to as dangerous as what you just crossed. Try to count
your steps as you go. By three-fifty to four hundred you
should be at the stairs."
"Are there any forks in the tunnel?"
"Tiny passages, but it's obvious which one to follow."
Custain glanced down at the small black case dangling from
Adler's grasp. "For God's sake, don't lose that."
Adler opened the clasp with shaking hands. The light
reflected back off the piles of diamonds neatly tucked into
square compartments built into the base of the satchel. He
closed the lid and carefully locked it.
"Where shall we meet?"
Custain thought for a moment, then said, "Campo Dei Mori.
It's a small square in Cannaregio. Do you know where it is?"
Adler nodded with vigor. "Yes. It's close to the church
of the Madonna dell'Orto."
"Tomorrow. At noon."
"Noon," Adler said, sucking in a deep breath of humid
air.
"You'll be fine," Custain said. "Finding your way to the
surface is easy along this tunnel. Just make sure you don't
disappear with the diamonds."
"Of course not," Adler said indignantly. "You can trust
me."
"I know," Custain said.
They shook hands and Hans Adler turned and moved into the
narrow passageway leading to the right. The light from his
electric torch diminished as he rounded a corner, then was
gone. Custain ignored the tunnel that split off to the left
and retreated back down the passage they had just traveled.
After a minute of easy walking he reached the edge of the
gaping hole in the path. Custain cocked his head slightly,
listening as the sound of voices grew increasingly closer.
He turned off his light, plunging the tunnel into total
darkness. Water dripped from a crack between two stones and
he moved a few feet to a drier spot. His footing was unsure
on the rocks and he almost fell. He grabbed wildly at the
wall and his fingers caught an outcrop of rock a split
second from losing his balance.
The voices were close now and his eyes, adjusting to the
absence of light, picked up the first rays of a lamp. His
right hand gripped the pistol in his shoulder holster. A
man's form rounded the corner and Custain could see the gun
in his hand. The figure slowed as he approached the well.
Custain flipped on his light with his left hand, his right
still resting on the pistol. The man coming toward him
jerked sharply at the sudden illumination. His gun arced up,
then stopped.
"Jesus Christ," he said. "You scared the shit out of me."
"You can turn that off now, Eric," Custain said,
motioning to the iPod connected to a single Bose speaker
clipped to the man's belt. He released his grip on the gun.
The man touched the stop button and the voices speaking
Italian died instantly. He tucked his gun into his
waistband. "Where is Adler?"
Custain laughed. "Exactly where he should be. Heading
into the most convoluted and treacherous part of the tunnel
system." He glanced at his watch. "There should be about ten
minutes of battery left in his light."
"With the diamonds?" Eric asked.
Custain smiled. There was no warmth to the action and his
eyes were ice. "Sure. With the diamonds." He reached down
within a foot of where he had set the bag containing the
diamonds and pulled an identical black bag from a crack in
the rocks. He opened it and a thousand tiny beams of
multi-colored light reflected back from the diamonds in the
case. "Unfortunately for him, I think the ones he has are
high-quality fakes."
"He never suspected you switched the bags?" Eric asked.
Custain shrugged, carefully working his way back across
the open well. "Maybe. He looked in the bag. I don't know if
he was suspicious. I talked about the palace and gave him a
quick history lesson on the doge. That seemed to distract
him. Then when we came to the last fork, I gave him the easy
tunnel and let him keep the diamonds. In the end, I think he
trusted me."
"Bit of a mistake, that was."
"Huge," Custain said. He started back down the tunnel to
where they had entered from the dungeons under the Palazzo
Ducale two hours earlier. "What do you think he'll die of?
Starvation? Hypothermia? Falling in one of the pits?"
"He won't last long enough to starve. Maybe hypothermia,
if he stays in one place after his light fails. But I'd
guess that he ends up falling into one of those nasty holes.
That whole section of tunnels is filled with natural wells
and once his light fails he won't be able to see two inches
in front of his face. He won't last five hours."
Custain nodded. "I think you're right." They walked for a
minute, then Custain said, "I'm tired of being Moroccan. The
next job I'm either English or American. Alexandro Custain
is officially dead."
"You're too good at this stuff," Eric said, falling in
behind the mastermind of the con. "If conning people was a
legit business, you could be a brand name."
"Brand. I like that. What's a good first name?" He
scratched his head thoughtfully. "Edward. Edward Brand.
That's the name I'll use for our next job. It actually fits
in quite nicely with what we'll be doing."
"Where is the next one?"
Brand smiled. "San Francisco, Eric. San Francisco. And
it's a good one."
"Better than twenty-three million in DeBeers diamonds?"
There was a sparkle in Brand's eyes. It was a sparkle
that was more dangerous than mischievous. "Much better."
* * *
Find out how much better--
--pick up a copy of Shell
Game, by Jeff Buick. It starts with Edward Brand in San Francisco. And the
story goes from there. But no matter what you think -- no matter how sure you
are of what's happening-- --there's always one move you don't see.
Shell Game
Available April 3, 2007 jeff-buick.com
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