Those paying attention might have recognized this one as an exception-a top of-the-line Fleutz-Royale, which to the trained eye revealed subtle security modifications worthy of a planetary chief executive's state limo. Despite its arrogantly plain exterior, this was a vehicle many billionaires might consider a bit pricey. Its performance and safety more than justified the price, but even so, few of them would have been willing to pay it. As soon as the hoverlimo was unloaded, a compactly.

built woman and a well-muscled man emerged from the Logan, escorting a lean, energetic, middle-aged man into the passenger seat. Racing fans might have recognized the woman as Maria Della Fanatico, a Formula-Ultra race driver who had mysteriously. retired about five years ago, after an impressive string of victories. The man was Eddie Grossman, whose face was familiar to veterans of the elite Red Eagles army unit if not to the general public.

As the unit's small-arms instructor, he had built an almost uncanny reputation for never missing a shot he had called. There weren't any immediate alarm bells at the Fat Chance Casino's communications center a few moments later, when the passenger appeared on their screens, calling from the comm unit in his vehicle. He asked (in a tone that made it clear he was issuing an order, not making a request) to be connected with Willard Phule.

"One moment, sir, I'll have him paged," said the junior clerk who took the call. It says a certain amount for the clerk's training that he not only recognized Captain Jester's civilian name, but knew that anyone asking for the casino's majority stockholder under that name ought to be put through without delay. "Whom should I say is calling, sir?"

"Victor Phule," said the caller. And that, at last, set off the alarms.

"Y-yes, s-ss-sir," said the junior clerk, and it was something of a miracle that he managed to put the caller on hold without disconnecting him. This was not one of the contingencies that the clerk's training had anticipated.