POCKET CHANGE 2: A GAME OF CARDS
by Sharon R.

Final Chapter

Carter's saliva escaped from under his tongue and strung down onto Jules' face thinning out the pool of blood, also a gift from Carter, that had been collecting on the orbit just under his eye. He sat on Jules' chest, knees pinning the shoulders down, steel gun barrel occasionally chattering against the rebel leader's teeth. Carter kept it propped between Jules' jaws half way to the gag reflex. He knew not to shove it in too far lest the man gag and move, ruining the moment before he pulled the trigger. Not too far from center. He wanted a nice, clean shot down and back through the brain stem. The only thing Carter could hear was his own ragged, labored breathing as he panted and gasped through his open mouth, nothing but pure rage emanating from his face.

"Sir?"

He just wanted one last look at the scum.

"Sir?"

He was watching the eyes. Watching Jules blink.

"Sir, please."

Carter wanted Jules' eyes open and looking at him when he blew his brains out. He had to time it right. Just right, so he could enjoy it.

"Put the gun down, sir."

It was a young, clear American voice just off to his side. He heard the man's calm, direct words, but he couldn't move. Did he even want to?

"Sir, look down at your chest."

Carter didn't look until he saw Jules attempt a smile. As he broke his focus, Carter saw not only the red pinpoints of light dotting his chest, but strings of them coming from a variety of distances, all ending on him.

"Sir, take your finger off the trigger." He was on one knee now right next to Carter, slowly and gently guiding the gun out of Jules' mouth, up and away out of Carter's hand. But the two remained in place - Carter on top of Jules staring down into his face, Jules now reveling in his rescue.

"I thank you for coming to liberate me," Jules announced from his position on the ground. He let out a grating, evil laugh to accompany his cheesy grin. "These men here were about to kill me," he astonishingly mocked.

That was the point at which Carter snapped and let his fist go in a fury, pummeling the man's face. He didn't count how many swings he got in before he was forcefully dragged from atop Jules and pinned face down on the ground himself by two of the men in black.

Her warm blood came from the small wound in her chest and the larger exit wound in the center of her upper back, soaking through Luka's right pant leg. In his head he visualized the damage the bullet had done: arteries, lungs, spine, heart.

"Luka."

His eyes were as cold as Colleen's body as he sat frozen, propping up the dead woman's upper body, her long red curls cascading over his arm, the tips dipping in and out of her own blood as Luka occasionally rocked her.

"Luka, put her down."

He looked up to see Bob standing over him, heavily armed.

"I didn't want to," Luka tried to tell him, "but…"

"I know. I saw from out there." Bob was uncharacteristically soft spoken, given the situation. "We got here as fast as we could."

Luka stroked Colleen's face, pulling a strand of hair from over her eyes and tenderly tucking it behind her ear.

"You need to let her go. We have to get you out of here." Bob reached down and tugged at Luka's arm, barely giving him a chance to lay Colleen's body onto the soft green African floor.

As another faceless man guided Luka to an awaiting chopper, he looked back one more time at Colleen only to see Bob on one knee next to her bowing his head, closing her eyes with one hand, the other stroking her elbow - the only part of her upper body not covered in blood.

"Thank you," Jules said with a business-like tone while standing and brushing the dirt from his clothes with his hands, "my security team can take it from here. Dogo?"

The route to the awaiting choppers was straight past Jules, and although Luka wanted nothing more to do with the man, he couldn't help but slow down and connect eyes with the man as he approached.

"My, my, Luka," Jules succinctly put out with the drone of smugness, "you are quite a good shot." He nodded over Luka's shoulder toward Colleen's body. "Dead on, one might say. I, my friend, am impressed."

Luka said nothing, but instead stood silently in front of Jules as the man squirmed, frantically looking around for a familiar face among the two doctors and militiamen dressed in black.

"Dogo! Ce n'est pas ce que j'ai commandé," he shouted into the night. But his summons, then orders were unanswered. He finally realized he was alone among the many mysterious armed men. A sweat broke out on Jules' brow, the droplets slowly etching down the creases of his face to linger at his chin before falling to the ground. "Dogo?"

Luka moved in close to Jules' ear. "Loyalty is a funny thing… Jules," he carefully, but with delightful maliciousness, delivered. "Sometimes what appears to be loyalty is actually deception."

For the first time, Jules' half cocked, conceited smile was forced - incomplete - and just faintly quivering with fear. Luka relished this small victory as he headed to the landing zone.

"I'm okay," Carter yelled from under the men who had restrained him to the ground. "I'm okay," he grunted as his arms were jerked into the small of his back.

"Let him up." Bob had walked over to Carter's corner of the scene. The very large men literally picked Carter up off the ground and placed him on his feet. "You alright?"

Carter nodded, seeing Colleen's body for the first time over Bob's shoulder.

"You sure?" Bob asked again, quietly - personally.

Carter opened his mouth to say something, anything, but his eyes fixed on Colleen's body stifled his ability to speak.

"Okay," Bob yelled over the roar of the choppers firing their engines, "get them out of here."

Carter was whisked away, held on both sides by two of the men, to the chopper sitting beside at least two other dark, mysterious crafts in the middle of the field, and put inside just after Luka. There were no lights on the outside of the chopper, and few if any inside. Once they were in the air, the only time Carter could see anything was when the full moon penetrated the dark tinted windows. The men were armed with large automatic weapons, dressed head to toe in black, wore night vision goggles and a communication system attached to the tight weave of material covering the rest of the face. And they didn't talk much. Just an occasional coded blurb.

"Four fox, two pups, 5-8 from LZ, 22-17."

The chopper, certainly not the large clunky Russian MI-8 they'd flown in Uganda, was eerily quiet, very smooth in the ride and flew low - too low for Carter's comfort.

"We're real close to the trees," Carter said nervously, sucking in his breath as the tree tops looked to reach out at him. Wearing his white t-shirt and khaki pants, he was the only one who stood out.

"We are flying below radar, sir," the deep, unaffected voice answered.

"Aren't you afraid we'll crash?"

"We haven't yet, sir."

"Do you have to call me sir?"

"No sir."

Luka sat opposite Carter, but kept to himself. He couldn't help but replay the night's events over and over in his head. Jules whispering to Colleen, her smile, the proof, her gun.

Click - bang.

Just like the dream, only Colleen was doing Jules' dirty work. There was nothing for him to look at inside the chopper, everything dark - black. He knew that although he couldn't see the faces of Bob's men, they could see his quite well. He wondered if they knew… knew what he'd done.

After a couple of hours the choppers slowed and hovered. Carter looked out the darkened window but saw nothing below until a huge array of flood lights was turned on illuminating a large house surrounded by man made berms, cement barriers and barbed wire. It was like a fortress. The last time Carter descended in a helicopter he landed upside down. This landing couldn't have been smoother and, again, nearly without sound compared to any of the aircraft he had ever been in.

The chopper took off again almost as soon as they had exited, and once they had been escorted into the building, the flood lights were doused. Two of the men remained behind, showing them into a large office area on the basement level. It had been a long time since they'd been among modern furnishings, and this room had two leather sofas, a desk, long conference table with several chairs and books. Lots of books on Africa and the Middle East. A large, unusual looking file cabinet took up one whole wall. It had extremely short but wide drawers, all locked - a few topographical maps of Congo lay on top having been left there by someone in a hurry. There was a bathroom off to the side that they could get into, but all other doors were locked by key and the windows were only small, narrow openings at the top of each outside wall. There was no going in or out. They each laid claim to a sofa and proceeded to sink into themselves for the night without saying one word to each other.

It's not like either one was a prize winning sleeper, but that night in particular neither one put in more than an hour's worth of slumber at a time. They tended to alternate. When one slept, the other tossed and turned eventually getting up and pacing around the room, finally settling back into the dark brown leather at about the same time the other startled awake from whatever nightmarish hell he was going through. And thus went the night.

Sometime around dawn, Carter awoke to find Luka sitting at the head of the table staring into his reflection off the high glossed finish.

"Look, Luka…"

"I don't want to talk about it."

Carter ignored him. "I know what you found out about her was devastating, but… but… you didn't…"

"Didn't have to kill her?" He finally raised his head and looked at Carter. "She had a gun to your head. So yes, I had to kill her."

Carter swallowed hard. He hadn't known. Didn't even think about what was going on between Jules and Colleen. "I'm, ah, I'm sorry," he stuttered.

An African house servant delivered breakfast to the both of them and they ate at opposite ends of that long table, again both lost in thought. Both were hurting physically as their injuries were swelling. Carter's jaw was stiff, a couple teeth loose. His nose was blocked with dried blood making it hard to breath and his right hand was sporting a broken bone or two, but at least he could still use it to some extent. Luka had most of the feeling back in his arm, but he knew he'd broken his collarbone and hyper extended his elbow. The right side of his face sported several abrasions, now beginning to be hidden by his beard growth. The door opened again and Carter picked up both trays to give back to the servant only to be met by another one of Bob's mysterious men, only he wasn't wearing the customary black ski-type mask.

"Othiamba?" Carter asked as the man shut the door behind him, not sure if it was him or not.

"I have some clothes here for you. Maggie and Sean got some of your things for me to bring back to you, and this bag of medical supplies."

"So you work for Bob?" Luka asked.

"Yes."

"How long?"

"Two years. First as an agent while I was in the army attached to the President's detail, then when the camp opened I, um, … well…"

"Were you there last night?" Carter wanted to know.

Othiamba nodded. "Bob is hoping to get back later tonight. He wants you to know that you cannot leave here, for your own safety, but you may use the living quarters upstairs."

With the door held open by Othiamba, the doctors made their way upstairs into a beautifully decorated home sprinkled with artifacts and artwork, modern contemporary furniture and servants.

"I have to go now," Othiamba said from behind them, "but I just wanted to let you know that I truly enjoyed working for you at the camp. Even though I was an agent, I was first a PCRC camp worker."

Luka reached in his pocket and pulled out a photograph, its edges battered. "I'd appreciate it if you would get this to Toomay. I don't know what's going to happen… and I want her to have it."

Looking over Luka's shoulder, Carter caught a glimpse of the picture. "That's Joseph, Toomay - the family. Where did you get that?"

"The house."

"Ikela?" Carter raised his eyebrows as he realized the extent of Luka's journey. "You went back?"

Luka didn't answer Carter - didn't have to - as he handed the photo over to Othiamba.

After shaking their hands, Othiamba left the doctors in the care of an older woman who clucked with her tongue at their appearance, and a teenage boy also in a white uniform insistent that they take off their shoes.

She shooed Luka into the shower first, probably unable to stand looking at the dried blood that had embodied most of one pant leg. He was startled at his appearance as well when he looked in the mirror, vanity lights on either side not letting him miss a thing. So he stood there and looked at the man who just killed the woman he thought he had fallen in love with.

(A few lines of Song Lyric Let Me Fall previously properly attributed, deleted 5/3/05 as per new regulation by site adminstration. PC2 can be read in its original text at LUKAFIC.)

Carter wandered around the living area admiring the artwork, totally seeing Bob fitting in. He even had framed family pictures lining the mantle of an enormous rarely used fireplace, and throughout the house on the walls were larger framed pictures of him and probably people he had worked with, including Presidents Carter, Reagan, GH Bush, GW Bush and Clinton.

"Dr. Luka is still in there," the woman came in to tell him. "He not even turn the water on yet."

Carter knocked on the door and let himself into the bathroom when Luka failed to answer. He was sitting on the closed toilet almost in a daze.

"Luka?"

"I can't get undressed with one arm," he said with a nervous little chuckle. "Isn't that funny?"

"It's okay. I'll help you. I kind of owe you one." Carter found a pair of scissors in a drawer and cut Luka's black t-shirt away, careful to avoid his bruised collarbone, but unable to avoid examining the fracture site. "I think it's a clean break. I don't feel any edges."

Luka nodded in agreement and stood to let Carter get the pants off his hips, then sat down in his boxers, his eyes vacant and heavy. "How could I have been so blind?"

"You weren't blind. You saw what she gave you and what you wanted to see." Carter finally pulled the pants off Luka's legs, Colleen's blood having soaked through and dried to his skin. "She betrayed you, took advantage of your heart." Carter stood and leaned back against the sink waiting for Luka to say something, anything. But he just sat in silence. "You got it from here?" Luka nodded and Carter left him to his shower.

When Luka was finished, he opted to stay unshaven, but let Carter help him on with his clean clothes. It felt good to be clean, but somehow it didn't make things better.

Carter lingered in his shower until the hot water ran out. He didn't care. He'd been taking cold showers in a ramshackle, broken down outdoor stall for months, and even that was on a rigid schedule. He was just exhausted and sore… and worried about Luka.

(Lyrics deleted)

They spent yet another day of not talking to each other. They walked around inside the house, pretended to read books, look at maps and crack a smile at the help who tried too hard to feed them and ask if they wanted anything. Carter found himself knocking on the large glass sliding doors looking out onto the Ugandan plains surrounding the house - actually the plains surrounding the cement, and wire around the house. Bullet proof, he guessed. Definitely not Home Depot run of the mill stuff. Occasionally one of the men, armed with weapons equal in weight to their own body, appeared walking the perimeter, and when Luka opened the large ornate front door, two of them greeted him with their gun barrels. The door was closed for him.

Finally, long after dinner, Carter tried to strike up conversation.

"I think Bob actually has family and maybe even friends." He pointed to the mantle where Luka had just walked by, but never actually stopped to study the photographs. "Of course I'm not sure camels would qualify as friends. But maybe they do to Bob."

Luka humored Carter and went over to the fireplace, pretending to look. He picked up the older unframed photo of a much younger Bob standing in the middle a desert with what appeared to be a middle eastern tribesman on a camel. He was about to show it to Carter when he noticed what was in the framed picture that it had been propped up against. Dropping the picture of Bob, Luka took the frame and walked over to the sofa, pulling a picture of his own out of his pocket.

"What is it?" Carter asked looking over his shoulder.

Luka put the picture of Amanda next to the framed, posed picture of a family

"Who's that?" Carter asked, focusing on Luka's picture.

"Colleen's daughter."

"And that…" Carter's voice trailed off as he recognized Bob holding a red headed little girl, his arm around Colleen. Only this wasn't in Iraq or Afghanistan. More like Wal-Mart picture studio.

"Good evening gentlemen," Bob bellowed as he walked into the study area, tossing a folded newspaper on his desk. Without stopping he made his way to the bar, pouring himself a scotch, straight up. It wasn't until he'd poured himself a second that he joined the doctors on the other side of the room. He sat opposite them in a large leather chair, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. He knew what they were looking at - what they had figured out. "I didn't know. I didn't think she had it in her."

"Amanda?" Luka asked standing to put the picture back where he found it.

Bob leaned back, downed the rest of his drink and lit a cigarette. "You know that what we talk about here, stays here." Carter and Luka nodded. "I met Colleen Reilly in the Middle East in '92 when she was stringing for Reuters. She was young - very young, very beautiful and dangerously head strong. After spending so long in countries where women were covered up and beaten into submission, she turned me on." He smiled and looked up at the mantle as he shared his memories. "But it was a volatile relationship. We were both too headstrong, and both unwilling to admit fault. She got pregnant, we got married at the American Embassy in Jordan, and things just fell apart from there."

"So the story you told us about the CIA shipping you back and trying to railroad you wasn't true?" Carter asked.

"Oh, it happened. But about the same time this was going on, I had infiltrated a terrorist network and someone blew my cover. Over a hundred people were arrested in their home countries as a result of my work, and many were executed. It was big, very big and my life was - is - in danger." He took a long, hard drag on the cigarette, then slowly rotated it in circles as he tapped the ashes into the oversized ashtray on the marble topped end table next to him. "These people are ruthless and follow their victims all over the world, taking out the lives of the loved ones first before actually killing their original target." It was almost as though Bob had never told anyone the details before.

"Our divorce was nearly complete, Colleen couldn't deal with Amanda. She could clothe her, change her diaper, do routine maintenance like clockwork and maybe even love her in her own way. But she couldn't care for her. She was too wrapped up in her career. Proving herself as a photographer garnered her the attention she craved. She said being a mother was suffocating." Bob rolled his eyes and smirked as he stamped out his cigarette and lit another one.

"Staying with me was out of the question. I asked for this transfer as Lead Regional DO officer." The fact that he had confused the men was obvious. "Directorate of Operations. Anyway, being here in this compound, any CIA compound, kept me safe, and those people who have it out for me have natural enemies here, so this is where I make my home. But it's not safe enough for a little girl. My step-mother is raising her."

"You don't see her?" Luka asked.

"A couple times a year the agency finds us a remote location to spend a couple days together, but no longer than that. These people have about a three day time frame that they can track me down once I leave this region."

"So all this time…" Luka trailed off. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I couldn't risk having anybody connect that little girl to me in any way, and Reilly knew that too. The one thing we have in common… had in common is our love for that little girl."

"I'm sorry." Luka realized that Bob had witnessed the killing of his ex-wife, mother of his child, at his hands. A man sworn to first, do no harm.

"Don't beat yourself up over this, Luka. It will be a while before we know everything, but I think it was only a matter of time before… well, yeah." Bob went back to CIA mode. "Akonda-Bouche does these things in secret, travels around daily. We had a short amount of time to gather a lot of intelligence. I have to say, you guys got there with impressive speed.

"How did you get there before the choppers?" Luka asked.

"We repelled from them about four clicks south of the ridge where nobody would see us, then hoofed it the rest of the way. Brought the choppers in after we spotted you. Still too late."

"Have you been to the camp?" Luka asked.

Bob nodded. "Yes, all is well there. I've told Maggie and Sean some vague things. The rest know that you are safe and temporarily attached to a UN medical mission helping out at a disaster site. "

"And Norman?" Carter asked, not sure he really wanted to know.

"I believe the word he used was perturbed."

"Mm hmm. I bet." Carter helped himself to a can of pop behind the bar.

"Mbuto?" Luka asked hoping that Bob knew.

"His father showed up at camp just a bit ago, with a woman. Mbuto spent some time with him, but ultimately the guy went back. Refugee life is just not what the man is. The boy is okay with it - happy with Toomay."

Carter sat on the sofa next to Luka who gave him the 'I'll tell you later' look.

"Now what?" Carter asked.

"Well," Bob made his way to the bar for a third deserved trip, "now I get on a plane and meet my daughter at a safe house in Amsterdam and tell her about her mother." He offered drinks to the doctors, only Luka accepted matching Bob's speed in which he ingested it. "I don't know about you two yet."

Luka refilled his glass, glad that he wasn't drinking alone. "Will we face charges?'

"You won't have to worry about that." With great reluctance, Bob picked up the newspaper he had tossed on his desk and looked at the headlines, before giving it to Carter who started to read aloud.

"A small revolution has stirred up the pot in northern Congo as President Joseph Kabila's only threat to power, Jules Akonda-Bouche was overthrown and murdered… murdered last night by those within his tight inner circle." Carter looked up from the paper, shocked at what he had just read. "I didn't kill him. I didn't kill him."

Luka took the paper from a stunned Carter and continued reading. "Local authorities were contacted by personal security forces for visiting dignitaries who came upon the gruesome scene just outside of Dakamba in the Mbandaka Region. It appears as though Akonda-Bouche and a personal security guard were lured back to a remote house where they were killed. Among the dead is American prize winning photo journalist C.J. Reilly who either stumbled upon the revolt or, as locals suspect, was killed by Akonda-Bouche himself who had a dark reputation regarding his dealings with women and foreigners."

Carter's mouth hung open as he struggled to reorganize the picture in his head he had left with the previous evening. "I didn't…"

"No, you didn't," Bob reassured him. "This is where it becomes a 'need to know' basis. And you don't need to know what happened after you left. All I can tell you is that Amanda will grow up with the knowledge that her mother was everything she thought she was. She won't have the resentment and regret that Colleen lived with." Bob put his empty glass down and walked to the door, mumbling, "some things are just better left buried."

Luka and Carter remained in the study looking closer at the items that defined Bob. The pictures took on new meaning, as did the small, purple painted clay dish on the corner of the desk.

"Carter, I'm sorry," Luka confessed as he swirled the last of the brown liquor in his glass. "If I had known, we could have gotten you some buprenorphine to block the withdrawal and craving…"

"It's something that has to be started within 24 hours of the narcotic. I doubt there's any on this continent. I'm really okay now. I worked it through." Carter was standing at the window watching as a very soft, gentle rain began to fall. "If I'd stayed back, maybe she…"

"She probably would have killed me." Luka joined him at the window wondering where the weather had come from. Since they had arrived back in Africa, the few times it had rained it always came with a vengeance - loud, hard and vicious. This was a tender rain.

Carter leaned into the floor-to-ceiling window frame and plunged his hands into his pockets. "What are we going to do, Luka?"

"Got it." Carter leaned over the snoring patient and cut the suture material Luka held up. "I can find someone else to help out if you want to take a break."

"No, actually this is the last one on my side. You?"

"Ah, two more. I win."

"You had more. But mine were longer," Luka joked. "I win."

"Still trying to rationalize using size as a debate point?"

The quiet in the room was interrupted by a crash outside the door the result of a commotion laden evening. "Damn it all." The muffled protest protruded through the walls, but the doctors were unfazed.

"Because you know, Luka, it's not really about size."

"Ha, ha. Now I'm done." Luka finished dressing the wounds, then cleaned up before leaving. "Coffee?"

"As soon as I find this guy a bed."

Luka tried not to look directly into the eyes of the long line of people waiting for treatment. That way he didn't feel so bad about taking a short break. Days like this were nuts, but at least they kept him busy enough to take his mind off of things. The coffee was bad - again. He left enough in the pot for Carter, but tossed his down the drain.

The large window sill was beckoning to him with the natural light from outdoors glowing around the edges and the sound of children chattering and laughing beneath as they walked by. Luka sat atop the window ledge and leaned back against the frame looking out at the life before him, then put the palm of his hand flush against the glass to feel the cold from outside. She had missed the snow...

(A few lines of Song Lyric for Don't Miss You at All, sung by Norah Jones, previously properly attributed, deleted 5/3/05 as per new regulation by site adminstration. PC2 can be read in its original text at LUKAFIC.)

"Mind if I finish the pot?" Carter asked. "This is great." Carter nearly emptied the pot into his mug and joined Luka over at the window, propping himself against the wall, rubbing the sleep out of his tired eyes.

(Lyrics deleted)

"You look tired, Carter."

"What else is new?"

"Bad dreams?"

"Nope. Before… you know… I had horrible dreams. Very vivid, very real, every one of my senses part of it. And frankly, I got used to it. But ever since then I don't think I even dream anymore."

"Sure you do. We all do."

Carter shook his head slowly. "Well then I don't remember them. Probably just as well," he muttered into his coffee mug - unconvincingly. "How about you? Thinking about her?"

"I don't know how not to."

"Carter and Kovac, PR has been trying to get ahold of you for a couple days now."

"I know." Kovac answered. "We got the message."

Kerry poured out what little coffee was left into a mug. "Yeah, well, they need an answer. They shouldn't have to come to me. Blech… this sucks." Kerry screwed up her face, put the dirty mug in the sink and walked over to Carter and Luka, pink message slip in hand. "All they want is for one of you to be present at some function in Washington to accept a press award given posthumously to a…" Kerry put on her glasses to read the name on the slip, "…a Colleen J. Reilly."

Kerry waited as neither doctor had anything to say, instead exchanging looks with each other. "Well? Carter? It's for some layout she did on your camp."

"I have a commitment that weekend." Carter turned his attention to Luka. "I'm meeting Paulette at the Syracuse airport. The Casey's are sponsoring her student visa and paying her tuition."

"That's great." Luka had a big smile finally.

"Luka?" Kerry shoved the pink note in his direction but he didn't take it.

"He'll be covering for me, actually," Carter said taking the note and tossing it in the trash. "And now we have patients."

At the Admit desk Luka stopped to check his e-mail, while Carter caught some of the CNN news on the wall mounted TV.

…since Jules Akonda-Bouche's assassination, the Congolese president has been relatively comfortable with his lack of opposition. But lately a new man hoping to overthrow the government has floated to the surface. One who strikes even more fear into the people than Akonda-Bouche. His name - is Emile dia Wamba, a rebel leader in his own right with a reputation going back to reports of genocide in the Darfu region of western Sudan…

"Hey, Carter," Malik called out over the noise of the phone ringing off the hook, "you okay?"

Carter took a deep breath and collected himself, something he had become used to doing. "Yeah, no problem." He checked the board and pulled a chart heading off to a trauma room.

"Hey Carter," Luka called out, stopping him before he passed by, "I got an e-mail from Sean. Maggie is doing great. Running a tight ship at the clinic."

"I bet she is."

"Toomay and the kids are doing well, and…" he hushed his voice a bit, "…he says they miss us."

"Yeah, well…"

"Uh-oh."

"What?"

"He made us an offer."

Carter shook his head and walked away. "Not this time, my friend. Not this time. Game over. I fold."

The End