The quick snapping motion of the dealer's hand as he dispensed the hole cards seemed somewhat slower than before, as though he too felt the full weight of the moment. One card landed softly and neatly before each of the four players. All sat motionless. There was the slightest of pauses and then each player received their second card.

James Bond placed his hand on top of his cards and pulled them towards himself. It was not until the last moment that he let his gaze drop from the ice-cold stare of Quentin Schaal and to the two pink rectangles that sat before him. He cupped his left hand around the cards and, just enough to reveal the ranks and suits to himself, lifted them with his right. Bond took a quick mental note of his cards, fixing them in his mind and resolving not to look back at them for the rest of the round.

The first round of betting began with Vagason. As the former double-agent looked up from his cards, Bond noticed a somewhat skeletal quality to his appearance – the sunken eyes, the hollow cheeks, the too-pale skin stretched tight over the bald head. The man's thin lips parted, revealing two rows of small, sharp, off-white teeth. He spoke in a low, emotionless whisper.

"Check."

"Check." Schaal surprised Bond with this move – Bond had been expecting him to push the bet as fiercely as he could. But then perhaps his intention was to catch Bond off-guard, so as to disrupt his focus and method within the game. Well, Bond would be damned if he would let that happen.

"Check."

"Check."

The first round was over and not a single bet had been placed. Bond had not expected this, though he suspected it had been a heavily tactical move on Vagason's part. Perhaps a double bluff, Vagason's attempt to hide a weak hand by playing it honestly, in the hope that the other players would mistake it for a bluff on a strong hand. Whatever cards he held, the next round would start to determine their true value to him – even the worst pair of hole cards could make a full house.

Three cards were spread across the centre of the table then quickly rearranged into descending order. The Ace of Clubs and the King and Queen of Diamonds. Bond didn't so much as glance at Vagason as he made his bet – he didn't need to. Vagason was a professional and would not betray his motives with some obvious tell or flicker of emotion. Instead, Bond thought only about his opponent's decision.

"Three billion."

He had ten billion in total and this move as good as confirmed to Bond that Vagason did indeed have a weak hand. Had he had a truly strong hand he would have placed a higher bet or maintained his bluff of checking. Schaal must have come to the same conclusion, because his next move was to slowly begin the attack on Vagason. He did not speak, only pushed the plaques forwards.

"Raise – six billion," announced the dealer.

"Call." said Jono, though only after a hesitant pause.

"Call."

The bet returned to Vagason.

"Call." He threw forward the plaques and chips to make up the six billion pound bet.

Bond had fifteen – now nine – billion in total, as did Schaal, while both Vagason and Jono had started this round with ten. The night had been long and weary and now all four men were determined to end it. Bond had seen it before – the hard-set drive for victory, for the end, in each man's eyes, forbidding the game to continue for one more hand. It ended here.

The Turn was dealt – the Seven of Diamonds.

"One billion." said Vagason.

"Raise." Schaal was playing a dangerous game. "Three billion."

If they matched the bet, Vagason and Jono would be left with only one billion each.

"Call." Jono snapped, pushing his bet forwards.

"Call." said Bond.

Vagason was silent, staring into the small pile of plastic he still had. He had assumed the demeanour of a condemned man. Finally, he conceded.

"Call."

He made the bet.

The air stiffened. Time slowed.

This was it.

The final card of what must prove to be the final hand. The card's identity was almost irrelevant – the bet was inevitable. Fifty billion pounds all rested on this hand.

The River was dealt.

The dealer slid it slowly into place with the other four cards. Bond made sure to lock every muscle, every feature, into place before looking – he could not risk showing even the slightest bit of emotion now.

The card was the Ace of Spades.

Silence. The eager spectators, the dealer, the nearby croupier and the four warriors did not make a single sound. All attention was on Vagason.

Bond wondered for a moment whether Vagason would accept the inevitable now or delay it for as long as he could.

He did not delay.

"One billion. All in."

"Six billion." declared Schaal. "All in."

"One billion. All in." Jono's voice was little more than a whisper.

Bond felt Leiter's and Katrina's eyes on him, unblinking watching his every move in anxiety. But Bond knew exactly what he was doing.

"Six billion." His cold blue-grey eyes met with Schaal's. "All in."

The end started with Vagason as he confirmed the weak hand Bond had suspected from the start – a two and a six. Nothing.

Next there came Schaal. He slowly pushed his two cards forward, lifted them and flipped them over, back onto the table.

Two black Kings.

With the King and the two Aces that were already there, that made a high full house. It was a strong hand, drawing a few claps from the spectators. Bond saw Leiter biting nervously down on his lip, Katrina now peering out from between her fingers. The odds were now so strongly in Schaal's favour it seemed impossible for him to lose.

"Full house – Kings full of Aces." said the dealer.

Jono quickly flipped his cards over – two Jacks, making two pairs. It was not enough to defeat Schaal's full house.

Everyone in the room looked to Bond. The odds were suddenly meaningless. This was a duel – the final battle between Bond and Schaal. Schaal was sat atop his tower, victorious, a winner at all costs. To him, Bond was only a desperate fool, making pathetic attempts to escape inevitable defeat.

Bond loosely gripped the two cards, lifting them ever-so-slightly above the table.

Everyone watched as he turned them over and let them fall to the green velvet surface.

Staring up at the spectators and at the players were two red Aces.

Silence. Then…

"Four of a kind, Aces." The dealer's voice seemed quieter than before, yet it was the only noise in the room. "Mr Bond wins."

The applause started slowly, quietly, being drawn free from the state of shock that covered the crowd. Soon it had broken into a loud chorus of claps and exclamations of surprise as Bond's winnings were passed to him.

Bond turned to the croupier who was stood a short distance behind him.

"Have this cashed, please."

"Certainly, monsieur."

Bond handed a plaque to the croupier and then one to the dealer, as thanks. He then stood up, looking towards Leiter. It was good to see a friend's face amongst the crowd of the unfamiliar.

As Bond got to his feet, a spectator stood behind Vagason suddenly brought his arm up. In his hand he held a small, sleek, black gun, which was aimed directly at Bond. The man must have had it aimed at Vagason before, forcing him to surrender the last hand.

The applause had suddenly stopped. Screams of fear and panic took its place. Spectators hurried to leave, breaking free of the crowd. Many remained – some MI6 or CIA, others not so friendly.

"I'm afraid I'm going to need your fifty billion pounds, Mr Bond." came the deep, threatening voice of Jono.

"How did your friend over there get his gun past the metal detector?" Bond asked, ignoring the request.

"Tricking a metal detector is not the most difficult task I've ever been faced with."

"That's funny," said Bond. "Me neither."

His hand was suddenly on his Walther PPK, aiming it squarely at Jono's head. Behind the railing, Felix Leiter drew his own gun out from within his jacket and aimed it at Jono's gunman.

There was more movement amongst the other spectators, people trying to get away before things turned nasty. Vagason seized the moment. He got up from his seat and ran quickly for the exit.

"Mr Vagason!" The call came from an older man within the spectators' circle. "I'm afraid I can't let you just run away when you have lost our organisation all that money."

Vagason froze, visibly shaking. Bond held his position against Jono – if he moved then he removed the risk of even accidentally killing him and Jono's men may not hesitate to shoot.

The older man amongst the spectators pulled his own gun out from within his jacket and took aim on Vagason.

"I'll deal with you as soon as I'm done here, Mr Bond." said the man. He fired once. Vagason dropped down and suddenly there were two more shots from within the spectators. They had been aimed at Vagason's killer and they had hit. The man dropped down, screams broke out, more guns emerged within the crowd as people rushed in all directions, some trying to escape, some trying to reach their targets.

Bond took his chance. He dropped, quickly, hitting the floor as chaos tore through the air above – screams formed a constant curtain of noise, broken every few seconds by gunfire. Pushing against the carpet, Bond rolled over to the railing. The bars were too close together to squeeze through and he would have to put himself in full view of any gunmen to escape. He made sure to do it quickly.

Leaping to his feet, Bond grabbed the top of the railing. In a second he had flung himself over and into the crowd of assassins and agents. He pushed his way past and vaulted for the casino exit, aware of footsteps following close behind him.

Turning back down the corridor that had led him into the casino, Bond ran through the metal detector and along the narrow passage. As he ran, he glanced over his shoulder – Jono was following him, his fist clamped around a large black gun.

Bond ran into the lobby, turned to the receptionist's desk and threw himself over it. He landed crouched behind the broad wooden desk, the sound of Jono's gunshots blaring out on the other side.

"Face me, Bond! You can't hide forever!"

Bond brought his PPK up to eye level. He braced himself, forced himself to count to ten before he did anything.

Another of Jono's shots rang out. As soon as it had done, Bond was on his feet, gun held out, finger squeezing the trigger. Three shots. Jono fell.

Bond had only just holstered his gun and climbed back over the desk when Leiter ran into the lobby. Behind him some distant clatter was still just audible from within the casino. Leiter looked from Bond to Jono's body and back to Bond.

"Three shots? Well we know he's not getting back up."

"I'll bet he didn't see that on the cards." said Bond.

"James, you need to get out of here. It's turning into a bloodbath, they all want the money."

"It should have been transferred to a secure account by now."

"Yes, but that won't stop them trying to make you pay up."

"Okay. Try to grab Schaal – SPECTRE won't want him now; he might be willing to give us some information in return for sanctuary." Bond turned towards the door and quickly headed over to it. He walked straight out, down the steps and into the cool night air. He took a deep breath as he walked through the car park. It was over. Hours ago he had walked in through those doors, prepared for a gruelling psychological battle and now he had overcome it and was walking away victorious.

A metallic click sounded behind him, accompanied by the feeling of cold hard metal being pushed into the back of his neck.

"The account number, please, Mr Bond." said Quentin Schaal.