Good Intentions - Adrian Hell #6 (Adrian Hell Series)

by James P. Sumner

  She laughs. “A bottomless bank account, total anonymity and immunity from everyone… it’s every man’s dream, surely? You’ve barely been at it a month, how are you bored already?”

  I shrug. “You were bored when you got here… what’s your excuse?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Yes, but I was lying, remember?”

  I sigh. “Whatever.”

  She smiles. “So, what now?”

  I finish my coffee and take a breath. Resting on the counter, I glance down at my right arm.

  WWJD.

  What would Josh do?

  I smile, mostly to myself. “Research.”

  10:07 AST

  I grabbed a quick shower, threw on some fresh clothes, and set my laptop up on the kitchen counter in front of Lily and me. She’s sitting on one of the stools, transfixed by the screen. I’m just pouring us both another glass of juice. It’s hotter than hell, and despite the AC blasting cool air throughout the entire house, it’s still unbearably warm.

  I sit next to her and pass her a glass, which she takes silently. I watch her studying an article on the page for a moment, looking uncomfortable. I bet she feels as if she’s betraying The Order or something by showing some initiative. She’s probably never done the whole research thing before. I know The Order says they will provide you with all the information you need to carry out the contract, but I would bet my bottomless credit card they only give you half the story. I can guarantee they leave out the important bits, such as why you’re killing them…

  I don’t think it’s just me being stuck in my ways and stubborn, either. It’s a perfectly legitimate question that I think we have the right to have answered. Lily, me, probably countless others… we’re the ones on the front line, risking everything to kill these people. The least The Order could do is tell us why. They’re not a religion—they don’t operate on unquestioning belief and donations.

  Besides, I know from experience never to ignore my spider sense. Every time I do, it nearly gets me killed. And it’s not as if I’m asking for an in-depth report or anything, I just want a simple explanation. The guy’s a terrorist… or they profit from other people’s misfortune… Hell, even they’re a bit of a prick—I deem all those statements as more than adequate reasons to shoot someone. But saying nothing immediately makes me question things.

  Anyway… to business.

  As much as I’m an advocate of research and preparation, I have to say it’s actually pretty fucking boring, and definitely not my thing. I’ve just spent about twenty minutes doing it, and I have a whole new level of respect for Josh. Here am I, feeling bad about making him think I’m dead, when I’ve been making him do this shit for over a decade! I’m surprised the guy hasn’t tried to kill me himself.

  Okay, so Sayed bin Mawal wasn’t exactly a hard man to track down online. It turns out he’s one of the richest men on the planet. He was loaded before 4/17, but in this unstable new world, he’s one of the few who has actually maintained his wealth.

  Despite only being at the tender age of thirty-one, he’s the majority shareholder in numerous companies across the world. The most prominent of those companies is Fuelex—a public, multi-national corporation, and one of the largest exporters of crude oil in the world.

  So Forbes says, anyway.

  Now, I have to admit, I kind of glossed over the details here, because they weren’t really about him, but the basic gist of why he’s so rich is that Fuelex stock rose significantly in the aftermath of 4/17.

  The attacks affected Eastern Europe and Asia, mostly, with The West being largely left alone—with the obvious exception of Texas—as was Africa and parts of the Middle East. Consequently, there’s been somewhat of a power shift in certain areas. International trade agreements have mostly been ignored in favor of the greater good. No one can afford anything anymore. Millions of people are homeless. Half the world is drowning in poverty and economic recession, despite the other half, to its credit, doing everything it can to help out.

  Some of the key players in the crude oil industry who were based in countries hit by the attacks are no longer in business. Consequently, their substantial share of the pie has now been split between the only remaining players on the field—the U.S. and the Middle East. Both regions have always been prominent in the industry, but now, they completely monopolize it.

  The U.S. still charges above-average prices to its customers not affected by the recession. This serves to keep the commodity afloat on the stock market, which in turn helps strengthen the market as a whole.

  But… the people who are affected by the recession still need oil. They can’t afford to pay what the U.S. is asking, so to counter this, Fuelex—arguably the largest single entity in the business—have begun exporting it at a loss, purely to satisfy the massive demand from millions of people who couldn’t afford it otherwise. It helps everyone out, which is great, and it’s ultimately only the good prince himself who’s losing money—and he doesn’t care because he has lots of it.

  The problem being, him doing that devalues the commodity on the stock market, which is causing all the rich people in the States, who are desperately trying to carry on as normal, to lose money. Lots of money. Like, billions of dollars.

  So, I think—if I understand all that shit—I’ve found the reason The Order wants him dead. They themselves, or the people who have reached out to them, want the prince gone because it’s simply too costly to let him live.

  I understand it, but I don’t like it. They basically asked Lily to murder Robin Hood.

  I massage the bridge of my nose and pause for a drink. It’s too hot to think…

  Maybe I should try learning to go with the flow. Stop asking so many damn questions and accept the fact that life’s different for me now. It shouldn’t matter to me why I’m being sent to kill someone, should it? This is my job. Hell, this is my life. Back in the old days, when it was just Josh and me on the open road, I know that was more about running from my past than anything else. I needed that moral justification so I felt better about myself and what I was doing.

  But now?

  I don’t know… As I said to Lily earlier, old habits die hard.

  “Check this out,” says Lily, distracting me.

  “What is it?”

  She scrolls down a page on a local news website. “It says here that bin Mawal is staying in a penthouse suite at the Jumeirah Hotel for the next few days.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Oh…”

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  I nod. “If that’s true, it puts him either on or above the sixty-fifth floor of the Etihad Towers. In Tower One, I believe.”

  “Oh…”

  “Yeah… Oh. If he’s as well protected as you say, it’ll be near-impossible to hit him while he’s in the hotel.”

  She raises an eyebrow and half-smiles at me. “Near impossible?”

  I smile back. “Yeah… there’s no such thing as a truly impossible shot. You can get to anyone providing you make the right approach.” I stand, finish my drink, and grab my keys from near the edge of the counter. “Come on.”

  Lily stands. “Where?”

  “We should start with some recon. We’ll take my car—chances are you’ll be spotted, and we want to avoid that if at all possible.”

  “So, what, we’re going to the hotel?”

  I shrug. “Yeah, why not? That’s where he is.”

  I turn and head for the door.

  “But, Adrian, what if someone sees us? This is reckless… This is insane! Why on earth would you go and stand outside the guy’s hotel? It’ll be swarming with his security. I can’t believe you’re…”

  I stop listening to her as I open the door and step outside. The heat hits me like a freight train as the effects of the AC are left behind. I jump over the door of my Aston Martin and start the engine. Lily appears in the doorway, and stares at me defiantly.

  “This is stupid!” she shouts.

  I smile back.

  She’
s not the first person to say that to me when I’ve had an idea, and I doubt she’ll be the last.

  12

  10:58 AST

  I pull over to the side of the road and kill the engine, parking in the shadows of the Etihad Towers. The temperature is unholy, and the shade is doing very little to compensate. I lean back in my seat and stare up at the dizzying height of Tower One.

  Christ, it’s big.

  I think Tower Two, which is just to the left of it, is a little bigger though. I’m looking up at the top floor, trying to figure out a way of getting up there without being seen.

  Nothing’s springing to mind…

  I look across at Lily. She seems distracted, a little spaced out, staring blankly at the dash. “Hey, you okay?”

  She nods vacantly. “Yeah. I’m just thinking what I’m gonna say to Horizon when he finds out Sayed bin Mawal is still alive.”

  I smile. “It won’t come to that, I promise. The guy’s gonna be dead by the end of the day. Don’t waste your time and energy worrying about The Order, okay?”

  She looks at me. “You can’t possibly be that confident…?”

  I shrug. “Like I said, no hit is impossible. But… some of them can be difficult, so a little bit of thought is required, that’s all.”

  She scoffs. “Only a little bit?”

  “Yeah… too much and you jeopardize the mission. Our business is about instinct. Get too weighed down with a plan, you lose sight of your objective. You become more bothered about doing it a certain way than you do about simply getting it done. That’s when shit starts to go wrong.”

  She shifts in her seat, turning her body toward me. “Okay… you’re the expert here. You’re the best there is…” She air-quoted that. Bitch. “…How do we kill this bastard?”

  I raise an eyebrow at the not-so-subtle edge in her tone. I’ll chalk it up to concern for now.

  “Let me see what we’re dealing with first.”

  She frowns. “What are you going to do?”

  I nod toward the entrance of the hotel. “I’m gonna go ask what room he’s staying in.”

  She shakes her head with disbelief.

  I laugh. “It’ll be fine. But maybe don’t wait around for me, just in case you’re spotted. Drive around for twenty minutes or something, meet me back here after that, okay?”

  “Yeah… whatever.”

  “Oh, and my Beretta’s in the glove compartment, should you need it.”

  She furrows her brow with confusion. “Won’t you need it?”

  I shake my head. “No. If I get close enough to him, they’ll search me, and having a gun will be hard to explain away. I don’t want them to think I’m a threat.”

  She flicks her eyebrows up. “Your funeral…”

  I climb out of the car and she shuffles sideways behind the wheel. She starts the engine, revs it harder than I’m happy with, and then speeds away.

  I watch her go and then walk over to the entrance. It’s a large revolving door made of tinted glass, with polished brass handles affixed to the outer edge of each pane. I push the right hand side and step through as it spins counterclockwise. A blast of refreshing, cool air hits me as I walk out the other side and into the main lobby.

  I glance idly around before heading over to the front desk, which is in front of the wall facing me, running almost the full width. There’s a decorative logo of the hotel chain mounted above it. Straight away, I spot three guys sitting on the circular sofa away to my left. They’re wearing dark suits with their white shirts half-fastened underneath. No ties, but my trained eye spots the bulge of their weapons holstered beneath their jackets easily enough. Same on my right, except there are only two. They have to be bin Mawal’s men.

  I need to be discreet here… subtle.

  I know, I know—I’m screwed!

  My shoes squeak on the polished, marble floor as I approach the desk. There are four people behind it sitting side by side—three women and a man. The counter is waist height, so I can only see their upper bodies. They’re all smartly dressed, formal. One of the women, on the far left, is talking on the phone. The man, sitting on the far right, is dealing with a young couple who look as if they’re checking in—they have suitcases with them and they look happy, so it’s unlikely they’re on their way home.

  I stop in front of the young woman sitting to the left of the guy. She’s attractive, but has a little too much make-up on for my liking. She has straight black hair that rests comfortably on her shoulders, and an easy smile that just reaches her dark eyes.

  She looks up at me. “Hello, sir, how may I help you today?”

  I smile a quick greeting. “Hey, yeah, I’m just wondering if you can tell me which room one of your guests is staying in, please? They’re an old acquaintance and they mentioned they’re staying here a few days. I was passing, so figured I’d call in and surprise them.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, we can’t give out that information. However, if you give me their name, I can call their room and let them know they have a visitor? At least it will still be a surprise…?”

  She smiles, which I reciprocate. Not ideal, but not her fault.

  “That would be great, thanks. His name’s Sayed bin Mawal.”

  To her credit, she didn’t skip a beat. In fact, I doubt anyone would’ve noticed the split-second flash of concern that registered in her eyes. But I’m not just anyone. And I did notice it.

  “My apologies once again, sir, but His Royal Highness, Prince Sayed bin Mawal is not available for visitors. I would be happy to take a message to him on your behalf…?”

  Any friendliness there was has left her tone. She’s now completely professional, all business, despite sounding a little defensive. I think I might have asked the wrong receptionist…

  I frown. “How do you know he’s not available? You didn’t even check?”

  She smiles again, but this time it doesn’t reach her eyes—it’s simply a sign of impatience. “With respect, sir, it’s highly unlikely you’re an old acquaintance of His Royal Highness, and because of an earlier security concern, he doesn’t wish to receive any more guests. I’m afraid I will have to ask you to leave.”

  Before I can say anything, the five men in suits appear and surround me—one either side of me, with the other three forming a loose semicircle behind. With the desk in front of me, I’m pinned in. Nowhere to go.

  I ignore them and look at the young woman. “Okay, I don’t want any trouble. I’ll leave. But do you think you could pass a message on for me anyway?”

  She goes to speak, but doesn’t get the chance. The man on my right steps forward and grabs my arm with a firm grip. He stands tall, authoritative. He has short, styled, dark hair. His beard’s similar. He has a Middle Eastern complexion and emotionless eyes. “She said leave. So leave.”

  I look at his hand, then up at him. I hold his gaze and don’t blink. “Son, you got three seconds to let go of me.”

  He glances around and smirks at me. “Or what, asshole?”

  “Or… I’ll pull your arm out of its socket and beat you to death with the wet end.”

  His arrogant smile fades. There’s a bustle of noise as everyone’s suit jacket is brushed aside, making their firearms easier to reach should they need them.

  I don’t take my eyes off him. I still don’t blink. I’m openly challenging him to disobey me. To push me and see where it gets him. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. It’s in my DNA. Hearing the phrase ‘or what’ triggers a genetic, almost primordial rebellion inside me.

  That being said, I’m not allowed to draw attention to myself or kill anyone anymore, am I? Order’s orders…

  Spoilsports.

  Plus, while I’d normally be relishing the opportunity to take these pricks out, if just one of them draws their gun, it’ll change everything—there are too many innocent people standing around. The receptionist might have been rude to me, but I doubt she’s on the prince’s payroll. Or her colleagues, for that matter.


  No, I can’t get involved here. But I’ll be damned if I’m letting him think he can get away with still holding onto my arm.

  I raise an eyebrow. “I’m waiting…”

  His eyes narrow and he takes a deep, reluctant breath. Then he moves his hand.

  I should fucking think so, too…

  I look back at the woman behind the desk. Time for plan B.

  Yes, I have a plan B—don’t look so shocked!

  “Listen, the prince is gonna be really interested in my message. You should hear me out.”

  She looks at the man on my left momentarily. “Okay. What is the message?”

  “Someone’s hired an assassin to kill him. He should increase his security and get out of the city right away.”

  She frowns and shakes her head slightly, clearly not believing me. “Really? And how, may I ask, do you know this?”

  I smile. “Because I’m the guy they hired.”

  All five guns are drawn and aimed at me in a flash. I hold my arms out to the side, palms facing up, showing I’m no threat. Or, at least, making them think I’m not.

  The guy who grabbed my wrist steps forward again, pressing the barrel of his gun to my temple. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Adri—” I stop myself. Shit. No, I’m not. “My name’s Brad Foley. I work in the… private security business. I sometimes freelance, if the money’s right. Anyway, someone’s offering me an awful lot of money to kill the prince.”

  One of the men behind me places his gun on the back of my head. “So why are you telling us? And what’s to stop us killing you right now?”

  I turn my head slightly, so it’s clear I’m addressing him despite not looking round. “There’s nothing stopping you. But a man of the prince’s standing… I’m guessing he’ll want to know who his enemies are. Am I right? I might do this sort of thing on the side, but I’m not an amateur. I know who he is. I don’t care what reasons someone else might have for wanting him gone… I don’t want to be the one to do it. When I told them, they were pissed—as you might expect, and now they want me dead, too. So to get back at them, I thought I could warn the prince, give him the opportunity to prepare himself.”