Chapter 67: The Algorithm of Luck

 

Casablanca. The Underground. "Le Mirage" Casino. 11:00 PM.

Dr. Braun had given them two things:

A loan of 500 euros (at 50% interest).

A vintage tuxedo that smelled of mothballs (for Sebastian) and a red silk dress he claimed was left by a "forgetful duchess" (for Harper).

They stood at the entrance of Le Mirage. It wasn't the Bellagio. It was a smoky, windowless basement filled with the smell of cheap cigars and desperation. Men with scars played poker. Women with too much makeup laughed too loudly. And in the shadows, guards with Uzis watched everything.

"Are you sure about this?" Harper adjusted the strap of the red dress. She felt naked without her gun.

"Blackjack is not gambling, Harper," Sebastian leaned heavily on his cane, adjusting his bowtie. His face was pale, but his eyes were razor-sharp. "It is a statistical probability distribution. And right now, the probability of us starving is 100%." "So let's change the odds."

He offered her his arm. "You are the player. I am the... eccentric uncle." "Listen to my voice. Do exactly what I say."

---

[The Table]

They sat at a high-stakes Blackjack table. The dealer was a man with a gold tooth and dead eyes. "Minimum bet is fifty," he grunted.

Harper placed a chip. Sebastian sat behind her, his eyes scanning the shoe (the box holding the cards). He didn't look at the cards on the table. He looked at the discard tray. King. Five. Two. Queen. Ace. In his head, numbers clicked like a high-speed processor. Running Count: +2.

"Hit," Sebastian whispered, barely moving his lips.

"Hit me," Harper said, smiling at the dealer.

A Four. Harper had 19. The dealer had 18. "Winner," the dealer pushed chips toward her.

For the next hour, they were invisible. They won small. They lost small. They waited for the deck to get "hot."

Then, it happened. The count in Sebastian’s head hit +15. The remaining cards in the shoe were mostly Tens and Aces. The advantage had shifted to the player.

"Now," Sebastian’s hand tightened on the back of Harper’s chair. "All in."

Harper didn't hesitate. She pushed their entire stack—now worth 5,000 euros—into the circle. The table went quiet. The pit boss, a man with a scar running down his cheek, walked over.

The dealer dealt. Harper: Ace. King. Blackjack.

"Payout is 3 to 2," Sebastian said calmly.

The dealer looked at the pit boss. The pit boss nodded slowly. They pushed 7,500 euros toward Harper.

"Again," Sebastian whispered. "Let it ride."

"Are you crazy?" Harper hissed. "We have enough for the ring!"

"Not yet," Sebastian’s eyes were locked on the shoe. "The count is still high. We punish them."

Harper swallowed hard. She left the mountain of chips on the table. The dealer dealt. Harper: Two Tens. (20). Dealer: Showed a Six. He flipped... a Queen. 16. He had to hit. He drew... a King. 26. Bust.

The table erupted. In ten minutes, they had turned 500 euros into 50,000.

"Cash out," Sebastian said instantly. "Now."

---

[The Backroom]

"Not so fast." A heavy hand landed on Sebastian’s shoulder. It was the Pit Boss. Two guards stood behind him.

"You are very lucky tonight, Monsieur," the Pit Boss smiled without warmth. "The Manager would like to buy you a drink."

"We don't drink," Harper stood up, clutching her purse (filled with chips).

"It wasn't a request."

They were escorted—dragged—into a back office. Sitting behind a desk was a man eating a plate of oysters. He was sleek, oily, and wore a ring with a familiar crest. The Viper. A local crime lord.

"You count cards," The Viper said, sucking an oyster. "I saw the tapes. You look at the discard tray like it's a lover."

"Counting is not illegal," Sebastian sat down, resting his cane. "It's just... intelligent."

"In my house, intelligence is expensive," The Viper wiped his mouth. "You took 50,000 of my money. I want it back. And maybe... I take the girl as interest."

He looked at Harper lasciviously. Harper’s hand moved to the fruit knife on the table.

Sebastian didn't flinch. He laughed. A cold, arrogant laugh that filled the small room.

"You think I'm here for your pocket change?" Sebastian sneered. He leaned forward, his eyes burning with golden fire. "Do you know who I am?"

The Viper paused. "A cripple in a borrowed suit."

"I am the man who designed the security algorithm for the Central Bank of Morocco," Sebastian lied. The lie was so audacious, so specific, it sounded like truth. "I came here to test your system. And frankly? It's pathetic."

He pulled out a napkin. He scribbled a complex mathematical formula on it. "Your dealer at Table 3 is skimming. He signals the player in the blue jacket every time a Face Card is coming. I just exploited his tell."

Sebastian threw the napkin at The Viper. "I didn't steal your money. I saved you millions." "Check the tapes. Table 3. 10:15 PM."

The Viper stared at the napkin. He picked up his phone. He barked an order in Arabic. A minute later, the phone rang. The Viper listened. His face went pale. He hung up.

He looked at Sebastian with new respect. Or fear. "You caught him."

"I see everything," Sebastian tapped his temple. "Numbers don't lie. People do."

He stood up, wincing slightly. "Keep the 50,000 as my... consultation f*e." "We are leaving."

The Viper hesitated. Then he nodded to the guards. "Let them go."

---

[The Redemption]

Rue des Anglais, No. 7. Dawn.

Dr. Braun was asleep in his chair when the door opened. Clatter. A bag landed on his chest.

He woke up, startled. He opened the bag. Bundles of cash. Euros. Dirhams. Dollars. More than enough to buy the clinic.

"The ring," Sebastian held out his hand.

Braun whistled. "You robbed a bank?"

"Better," Sebastian said. "We beat the House."

Braun unlocked his safe. He took out the diamond ring. Sebastian took it. He turned to Harper.

She was standing in the doorway, still wearing the red dress, tired but triumphant. Sebastian didn't say a word. He took her left hand. He slid the ring back onto her finger. It fit perfectly.

"No more contracts," Sebastian whispered, echoing her words from the day before. "Just us."

Harper looked at the ring. Then at him. "Just us," she smiled.

"Now," Sebastian turned to Braun. "Pack your bags, Doctor." "You're coming with us."

Braun choked on his coffee. "To where?"

"To Berlin," Sebastian’s eyes were cold and focused. "We have a geneticist to find. And I need a personal physician who knows how to keep his mouth shut."