“And?”
“I went to the local FBI office first. They told me that none of the online poker sites were American companies — they’re all offshore. Strictly speaking, they’re illegal in the U.S. They said they had no jurisdiction and kind of implied that I was an idiot for even going to them. So then I called a couple of guys I know who do promotions for The River. I told them what I thought had happened and asked them to put me in touch with some senior people at the site.”
“Did they?”
“Yeah. I had several tense conversations with some English guy named Jeremy Ashton. He sort of nudged me along during our first talk, trying to find out what my beef was, and then he asked me to send him my analysis of the play. I did, and when I didn’t hear back after about a week, I called him again. He wasn’t so nice this time. He basically said I was just a sore loser and that they had decided to ban me from the site. I went off on him, screaming, swearing, threatening to go public with my information. He told me to calm down and that he would take another look at my material.”
“To what end?”
“I never heard from him again.”
“And did you go public?”
She heard a big sigh. “No, I didn’t. The night after my rant at Ashton, my car was blown up in the driveway.”
Did you know this? Ava mouthed to Maggie. Maggie nodded.
“And you think it was them?” Ava said.
“Who else would have done it? The car was blown up at four in the morning, and the state police said it was a professional job.”
“Why didn’t you tell the police of your suspicions?”
“I’m a coward, plain and simple. If they could blow up my car once, they could do it again, and this time maybe with me in it,” Maynard said. “And Felix had a worse experience. He went to Ashton about the same time I did. He lives in Vegas, and two days after he called Ashton, his apartment was trashed. They left a note on his front door that said We can get to you anytime. I thought I should tell you that before you go chasing after them.”
“That was thoughtful. Thank you.”
“You don’t sound too concerned.”
“These kinds of things happen from time to time. I don’t pretend they don’t; I just don’t let them paralyze me.”
“So you’re going to help Philip? Is that what I’m hearing?”
“I’m not working for Philip, but if getting some money back for my client helps Philip, then I guess you could say I’m going to try to help him.”
“How about trying to get my money back while you’re at it?”
Ava hesitated. She was tempted by the idea of another fee, but then she thought of the complications that would entail. “I can’t do that,” she said. “I’m under contract and I handle only one client at a time. If I’m successful, though, there should be some side benefits. We can talk then.”
“I guess that’ll have to do,” he said.
“In the meantime, are you willing to help me?”
“How?”
“I want a copy of your paperwork. I want whatever analysis you and Felix did. I want a signed statement from you, Felix, and whoever else was involved on the losing end, attesting to the fact that you think you were cheated and how you think it happened.”
“I can do that.”
“Now I also need to understand how these sites operate. For example, how are the hands constructed? I imagine there’s some kind of sophisticated computer program at work here.”
“Yeah, there is. The River created its own software but the site is managed by a First Nations band on an island near Kingston, Ontario. The company is called the Cooper Island Gaming Commission.”
“How do you know that?”
“It says so on the website,” he said. “First Nations are exempt from all U.S. and Canadian gambling laws — that’s why we have so many casinos on Native land in North America. It’s just a natural extension to have them administer online gambling. The Cooper Island Gaming Commission supposedly has a hell of a server capacity.”
“So they supply the servers and administer the site.”
“Yeah. There are more than ten billion poker hands in the River system, all dealt on a random basis.”
“And no issues, no problems until about six months ago?”
“That’s right.”
“So if you’re right about Buckshot and Kaybar seeing your hole cards, someone has obviously messed around with the software.”
“That’s what had to have happened.”
“Have you approached the band?”
“They were next on my list, until my car blew up.”
“Do they handle the money as well?”
“No, that all goes offshore. For a few years it went to Cyprus, then for about nine months it was Madagascar, and for the past year it’s been Costa Rica.”
“Ah, I was wondering where Costa Rica fitted into this. That’s where Philip was sending his money.”
“Like the rest of us.”
“What was the procedure for transferring money in and out?”
“They’d take money any way you wanted to send it and they’d pay you just about any way you wanted as well. I never had any problems putting money in or getting it back.”
“Philip’s money was sent to a variety of banks, and to a different person each time. Why was that?”
“For security. When you wanted to send a wire, you had to email them from an address they had on record to let them know what you were planning. They would email you back with the name of the bank and the individual the money was to go to. Once the wire had gone, you had to send them its number and the exact amount of the transfer. You were given detailed directions not to use the words gambling, poker, or The River in any of your communication with the banks. They were trying to avoid any possible problems with the U.S. government.”
“Where does this Jeremy Ashton work? Costa Rica?”
“Shit, no, he’s in Las Vegas. Amazing, isn’t it? A company that’s incorporated in Cyprus, has its operations centre on a Canadian reservation, and flows its money through Costa Rica, and the operations are directed from Vegas. God bless cyberspace.”
“Is it a public company?”
“No.”
“Shareholders?”
“I couldn’t find out.”
Ava drew a circle around the word software. “The First Nations band, could they be investors in the company?”
“No, they provide a service, that’s all. Their main interest is in supplying the server support. A lot of their customers are gambling sites but they make it very clear that they have no financial involvement with any of them.”
“You would think they would know if the software had been penetrated,” Ava said, as much to herself as to Maynard.
“You would. That is, if they had a reason to investigate it.”
“And they should know who Buckshot and Kaybar are.”
“They’ll know.”
“What’s the name of the band?” she asked.
“The Mohneida First Nation. Their reservation is on Cooper Island, which I’m told straddles the U.S.-Canada border about twenty minutes from Kingston.”
“And you didn’t approach them?” she repeated.
