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to argue against it.
    Alex drew closer. The six of them had been playing a version of poker—Texas Hold ’Em—in which five cards turned faceup are used by everyone at the table. And the stakes couldn’t have been higher.
    Alex saw this at once from the number of different-colored chips spilling over the table—each one marked $50, $100, even $500. Each chip had been bought at its face value. The casino was using real money. Alex could feel the tension in the air. A scattering of cards, a few minutes’ playing time, and thousands of dollars could be changing hands. At the moment, McCain was clearly in the lead.

    There was a whole mountain of chips stacked up in front of him, and only one of the players—a man with a shock of silver hair and a thick, fleshy face—came anywhere close.
    McCain looked up and noticed Alex. At once the smile was there, drawing him in, making him feel that the two of them had known each other for years.
    “ Good evening,” he boomed. “Welcome to the Kilmore Casino. You’re frankly a little young to be gambling, I’d have said. What’s your name?”
    “ Alex. Alex Rider.”
    “ And I’m Desmond McCain. We’re just about to play the last hand. Why don’t you join us? It’s all for a good cause, so I think we can turn a blind eye to the age limit.” He gestured at the seat that had just been vacated. Alex could already hear that his broken jaw made it difficult for him to speak. Words beginning with f or r came out slightly blurred. “The cards have been quite interesting this evening.
    Let’s see if they have anything more to say before midnight.”
    Alex knew he was making a mistake. He was meant to be looking for Edward Pleasure. He had agreed with Sabina. They were going to leave. But it was almost as if McCain had challenged him. If he walked away now, he would look like some little kid who was out of his depth. McCain had won the last hand and was neatly stacking up all the chips, including those of the man who had just left. Alex took his chair and sat down.
    “ Good!” McCain beamed at him. “Do you know the rules of Texas Hold ’Em?”
    Alex nodded.

    “ We’re taking this very seriously. It costs five hundred dollars to join the table—that money goes straight to First Aid—and minimum bets are fifty dollars. Have you brought your pocket money with you?”
    A couple of the other players laughed. Alex ignored them. “I didn’t bring any money at all,” he said.
    “ Then we’ll waive the entrance fee and I’ll stake you. This is the last hand of the evening, so one thousand dollars ought to be enough.” He slid the chips over. “It makes it more fun with more people.
    And you never know. You could win enough to buy yourself a new PlayStation!”
    With Alex making up the numbers, there would be six players at the table: three men, two women, and him. McCain was at one end with a dark-haired woman—Alex vaguely recognized her as a television reporter—at his side. Then came an elderly man who could have been a retired soldier, sitting rigidly with a straight back and a face fixed in concentration. The silver-haired man came next. He reminded Alex of an accountant or a banker. The circle was completed by a Scottish woman with ginger hair, sipping champagne even though it was clear she’d already had more than enough.
    The croupier shuffled the deck and each player was dealt two cards, facedown. These were known as the “hole cards.” Alex had learned the basics of the game, playing with Ian Rider and Jack Starbright at an age when other children were probably reading Dick and Jane. Texas Hold ’Em is largely a game of bluff. You try to make pairs, three of a kind, a full house, and so on. But everything depends on your hidden cards. They may be great. They may be terrible. The secret is to make sure no one guesses either way.

    Alex watched as McCain raised the corners of his cards with a thumb and smiled, not even attempting to conceal his pleasure.