“Never met before.” Neil’s chest swelled, like he was bracing himself for something unpleasant.

“My name is Joseph Vengerov.” As though anyone in the world didn’t know that. “And I know you must be Neil Raines, Thomas’s father.”

Neil stiffened. “You know him?”

“Of course I know your son,” Vengerov answered, still wearing that strange smile. He let that sit in the air a moment, then, “You must know I’m affiliated with a certain program that your son also participates in.”

Neil grew pale. “You’re involved in that?”

“Only in an advisory capacity, but I anticipate far more involvement in the near future.”

Yeah, Tom bet Vengerov anticipated that. He knew Vengerov was taking advantage of the malfunctions to angle for Blackburn’s job.

A dark flush stole over Neil’s face.

And the buzzing in the Green Room had become a white noise, because Tom’s brain was razor-sharp, trying to slice through what was going on here. Something was happening here. He was missing something.

“I didn’t stake you for a poker game, of course,” Vengerov said smoothly. “I’m staking you for another venture.”

With one angry flick of his hand, Neil sent the chip careening back toward Vengerov. “I want nothing of it.”

Vengerov snatched it from the air easily, reflexes like a striking snake’s. “I think you do. It’s roulette.”

Tom’s eyes narrowed. Vengerov was playing some game here. But what was he trying to do?

And then Vengerov said, “I appreciate the game for one simple reason.” His eyes dropped to Tom’s. “It doesn’t involve luck. It’s all mathematics where the ball will land. A computer with mathematical precision, for example, could calculate what number the ball would land on merely from listening to the spin decelerate.”

That’s when Tom realized it: he had a neural processor. Vengerov knew it. He knew Tom could calculate the right number.

“Come,” Vengerov said, imperious, like Neil was one of his lackeys.

And to Tom’s disbelief, even though Neil wore this expression on his face like he was raging inside, he followed.

Tom felt like he was in a bizarre, alternate universe as he trailed behind Neil to the roulette table, where gamblers chose their position at the wheel. One spin of the wheel launched the ball into motion, and the players who correctly chose the color of the slot where the ball landed won money, and the ones who chose the right number reaped greater winnings.

“Let’s not gamble with that ten thousand I staked you,” Vengerov told Neil. “I shall also wager . . . these.” A flick of his fingers, and one of his lackeys placed an intimidating pile of chips before him. “Mr. Raines, add a wager of your own to mine. We all need some skin in this game of ours.”