Going Solo: The Gospel of Luke

By Irv Brandt

Jack Solo is a poker playing, wisecracking Chief Inspector with the United States Marshals Service. He is contacted by Megan McGrady in Washington DC, where she is a teaching assistant in the art history department of George Washington University. She heard of a plot to steal four volumes of the Book of Kells from Trinity College in Ireland. As Jack begins his inquiries, Megan is pushed in front of a blue-line train in Georgetown. Jack is recruited by Interpol to investigate her untimely death, leading him to Dr. Alexander Mikhailov—Megan’s boss. Alexander is a lot more involved than he’d like to let on. In fact, a Russian crime syndicate is blackmailing him to steal the Book of Kells, as Megan warned. Jack is on the hunt to avenge Megan and save a priceless historical artifact. His travels take him to Ireland and eventually Costa Rica. He is able to recover the volume containing the Gospel of John, but the Gospel of Luke is still missing.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Apr 5, 2019
• ISBN: 9781684700004

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Pocket kings.

I peeked at my cards again, just to make sure. Yup, king of hearts and king of diamonds. I put a hundred-dollar chip on top of my cards and looked at the dealer.

I’m going to raise to fifty.

I then tossed two twenty-five-dollar chips in the center of the table.

The gentleman in seat 9 flicked his cards away. Fold, he said.

The woman in seat 10 had the dealer button in front of her. She appeared to consider the raise for a moment but then folded her cards.

The man in seat 1 was the small blind, and he threw his cards in the dealer’s direction.

Seat 2 was the big blind, and he sat there staring at me. He didn’t look happy, and I couldn’t blame him. I had taken nearly $1,000 from him in the last hour. He was a young kid with the typical poker-player look of blue jeans, sweatshirt, World Series of Poker hat, sunglasses, and oversize headphones hanging around his neck. I, on the other hand, was wearing a dinner jacket over a silk shirt. I did have my bow tie undone. Just call me Mr. Casual.

The kid took off his sunglasses and stared at me some more. I held his stare for a moment and then smiled. Stop staring so hard. I’m finding it difficult to breathe, and I’m having trouble swallowing.

The kid shook his head and said, I’m tired of you trying to push me around.

I put my elbows on the table and rested my chin on my folded hands. If you don’t like being pushed around, you shouldn’t be playing no-limit Texas Hold’em at the Bellagio. Maybe Freemont Street or the Plaza is more your speed?

I could tell he didn’t appreciate my suggestion. He stared hard at me before announcing, Reraise. Make it a hundred.

The players at seats 3 through 7 folded, and the action was back to me.

Call.

The dealer then patted the table. Two players. Heads up. He dealt three cards facedown and then flipped them up in a neat row. The flop came four of diamonds, four of spades, and seven of spades.

The action was to the kid, and he quickly bet $200. I looked at him and considered the bet for a moment. You know, kid, it’s not always wise to bet a flush draw.

The kid had put his sunglasses back on and now sat there motionless. I smiled at his poker face. I prefer not to wear sunglasses because I like the people at the table to see my baby blues. I tossed $200 in chips toward the dealer to call the kid’s bet.

There was now a growing pile at the center of the table. The dealer patted the table and dealt the turn card faceup into the row. King of spades. I had just made a full house—kings full of fours.

Check from the kid. And then I checked.

The dealer dealt the river card faceup at the end of the row. Jack of hearts. The action was back to the kid, and he pulled his sunglasses down to the end of his nose to look at me. I raised my eyebrows up and down at him like Groucho Marx.

Still looking at me, the kid pushed a stack of chips toward the center of the table. Four hundred, he said.

I sighed heavily and looked back down at my cards. Yeah, I know. A masterful performance, right? It’s all part of the game. Raise to eight hundred.

That gave him pause. He pulled his sunglasses off and stared at me for a moment before opening a bottle of water and taking a long drink.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and asked, Do you have a big hand?

I held up both my hands. Yeah, two of them.

The kid tried to hide his smile, but I could tell he thought that was funny.

How many chips do you have left?

I looked down and did a quick count. A little over three thousand, I said. I’ve got you covered by a hundred or so.

The kid nodded and said, I’m all in.

I call.

The dealer said, Cards up, gentlemen.

The ace and ten of spades for the kid. Ace high flush, called the dealer.

I flipped over the pocket kings, and the dealer said, Full house. Kings full of fours. Full house wins.

The kid got up and walked away from the table without saying a word. He was probably headed downtown to Freemont Street or the Plaza. The dealer pushed the chips in my direction, and I got busy stacking them.

I played for a little while longer, but it was soon apparent that nobody was going to give me any action. It was almost seven o’clock at night, and I decided it was a good time to take a break. I put my chips in a rack and walked over to the poker counter.

Cashing out so soon? asked the poker boss.

I shrugged. Might as well. I think I got about as much action out of that table as possible. I’m going to get a bite to eat.

He nodded as he counted out a stack of hundred-dollar bills in front of me. I picked them up and tossed a C-note into the tip jar before walking out into the main casino.

I had decided to head upstairs and order room service and was walking toward the elevators when I saw a beautiful black cocktail dress at the baccarat bar. The woman wearing it wasn’t bad either. Black hair, porcelain white skin, and the palest blue eyes I had ever seen. I decided I really wasn’t that hungry but a drink might be a good idea.

The woman watched me as I approached the bar and took the seat next to her. She had what appeared to be an apple martini in front of her. I caught the bartender’s eye and held up two fingers. He nodded and began putting ice in a glass. I looked at this stunning woman and gave her my best smile.

Can I buy you a drink?

She said in a heavy Eastern European accent, I already have a drink.

Can I have a sip?

She smiled as she pushed the drink toward me. I took a sip and nodded. Just as I thought—apple martini. I set the drink down just as the bartender slid a glass with a double shot of Crown Royal on the rocks in front of me. He knew me well.

What’s your name?

Svetlana.

That’s a beautiful name. Where are you from?

Odessa.

I should have known that from your Texas accent.

She looked confused. Odessa is a city in the Ukraine, by the Black Sea.

Oh, that Odessa. Gotcha.

What is your name? she asked.

I reached into my inside jacket pocket and pulled out a business card.

She read it aloud. Jonathan Solo, chief inspector, United States Marshals Service, Interpol, Washington, DC.

My friends call me Jack.

She nodded. And what do your enemies call you?

Chief Inspector Solo.

She gave me a big smile. What does your mother call you?

Pookie. But you don’t know me well enough to call me that.

Svetlana laughed and asked, So what is a policeman from Interpol doing here in Las Vegas?

I shrugged as I took a sip of my drink. I’m more of a detective than a policeman. I just came to Vegas for the weekend to play poker. I have to fly back to DC tomorrow. Duty calls.

I looked into her pale blue eyes for a long moment before setting my drink back on the bar.

What do you do for a living, Svetlana?

She said, I am a dance instructor in LA.

How come a dance instructor from LA is sitting all alone at the baccarat bar in the Bellagio on a Saturday night?

She looked at her drink for a moment and took a sip before saying, My boyfriend and I came to Vegas for the Cirque du Soleil show tonight.

So, where is your boyfriend?

She shrugged. His wife found out he was here, and he had to leave.

I shook my head and took a sip of my drink. Ouch.

Svetlana asked, Where are you staying?

I have a suite here.

I have two tickets to the seven-thirty show, she said. Would you care to join me?

That sounds like a fine idea.

She fingered my tie and said, I cannot tie this for you.

I turned toward the mirror behind the bar and fixed my bow tie. I then caught the bartender’s eye and made a motion for the check. When he shook his head and waved me off, I made a gun out of my thumb and forefinger and shot him. He put his hand to his chest and staggered backward.

Svetlana watched our exchange with an amused look on her face and then stood up and took my hand. Maybe after the show you can show me your suite.

I touched her hair with the back of my hand. It would be my pleasure, I said.

She stood on her toes and whispered in my ear, Pookie, I can guarantee it will be your pleasure.

Oh my.

CHAPTER 2

That was a good night, I thought as I buttoned my white dress shirt in front of the dresser mirror in my bedroom. Now that it was Monday, it was time to set those thoughts aside and get back to work.

I walked to the window and looked out over the city. I lived on the sixteenth floor of the Metropolitan in Pentagon City. From my window I could look across the Potomac River and see the Jefferson Memorial, the Washington Monument, and the Capitol Building. It was quite a view.

I walked back to the dresser and picked up my Glock .40-caliber and slipped it into a holster. I clipped the holster to my belt and closed my eyes for a moment to clear my head. I opened my eyes to look into the mirror and then snatched the gun from the holster and brought it up in a two-handed grip. Damn! That was pretty fast, I thought with a smile.

I reholstered the gun and let my hand drop to my side. I looked in the mirror and thought about doing it again. I grinned at my reflection and shrugged. Not a good idea, I thought. I would probably shoot myself in the foot or send a round into the apartment below me.

I picked up my Taurus .38-caliber snub-nose revolver and put it in an ankle holster. I then pulled up my left pants leg and strapped the holster to my ankle. I pulled my pants leg down over the gun and straightened back up.

The best detective at Interpol always carries two guns.

I walked over to the closet and picked out a tie before slipping on my jacket. Black suit, white shirt, and red power tie. Now I look like about a million other government workers in DC. Just call me Mr. Incognito.

I walked into the living room to get my ultra-slim laptop off the coffee table and put it in my briefcase before slipping my phone into my jacket pocket. Black suit, two guns, computer, and a phone. Now I was ready to head into work.

I took the elevator down to the lobby. It was a beautiful September morning, with blue skies and temperatures in the low seventies. I had left my government car at the office before my weekend jaunt to Vegas. No matter. It was a short walk to the Pentagon City metro station.

I swiped my metro commuter pass card at the turnstiles and went down the escalator to the platform just as a blue line train was arriving. Perfect timing on my part, I thought as I stepped onto the train and took a seat near the doors.

I put my briefcase at my feet and pulled my smartphone from my jacket pocket. I liked riding the train because it gave me a chance to look through my emails before I got to work. The first email I opened was from Daniel Logan at Interpol. Danny is a senior inspector with the US Marshals Service and works for me. Dan’s email was my reminder that I had to give a presentation to a group of city and state law enforcement officials. I was going to give them an overview of the US Marshals Service and Interpol Operations at nine in the morning.

I looked at my watch. Good, I have plenty of time. I clicked through my other emails as the train sped toward DC. We made stops at the Pentagon, Arlington National Cemetery, and Rosslyn before going under the Potomac River. We had left Virginia and were now in our nation’s capital.

The train then made stops at Foggy Bottom (George Washington University), Farragut West, and then McPherson Square, which was my stop.

I hopped off the train and followed the crowd of commuters up