Our man crosses the marble floor of a certain Monte-Carlo casino. Every ceiling dome hides a lens; every dealer wears an earpiece. But the double-brim hat flips inside-out at the coat-check, and the tailored jacket reverses from midnight blue to gray. The man who walked in for baccarat is not the man who walks out with the briefcase.
Rule one of the trade: don't beat the cameras. Simply be three different people to them. Shaken, not surveilled.