by T. M. Catron
I eased around the foyer wall to get a look at the other side of the living room. Number Four sat in a chair in front of a small desk, facing the open living room.
And now I had a real problem. If I went for the man at the desk first, Number Three would see me and shoot me. Same dilemma if I went for Number Three first. I slid back toward the door, out of sight of either.
Five minutes.
I went down the hall to the dark kitchen. A little red light showed the coffee pot was still on. The carafe contained a dark sludge at the bottom that gave off a burnt odor. A closed door led back to the dining room. I drew out my needle and turned the knob. The door opened a sliver, and I peered through.
Straight into the eyes of Number Three.
Since I’d lost the element of surprise, I launched myself through the door just as he reached for a gun on the table. He raised it, but I had the needle in his neck before he could fire. A soft cry left his lips, the remnant of his warning. He succumbed to the drug and slumped into his chair. I silently berated myself. That was too close.
Four minutes.
I hid ten seconds in a corner to see if the commotion had aroused any suspicion. Number Four still sat in his chair ten meters away, looking at his phone. Ten meters. Too far to go through an open room without being seen. I was good, but not that good.
Instead, I slipped behind the curtains and out through the window. Number Five stood on the balcony looking out over the twinkling nighttime city. Somewhere, a siren wailed. I crept up behind Five and put him out the same way, laying him gently down on the tiled floor. Then, all I had to do was walk the length of the terrace to the French doors of the bedroom. I didn’t even need to confront Number Four just now.
The bedroom door was locked from the inside. No fancy keypad to hack my way in. I sighed in frustration. Sometimes an absence of technology was the best kind.
Three minutes.
I pulled a plastic dagger from my ankle and tried to slip it between the doors. It was too thick. Silently cursing my luck, I prepared to break the glass and make a mad dash inside. The time for stealth was over. But I didn’t know who or what was on the other side of those heavy drapes. If the rumors were true, EW had another bodyguard stationed in the room.
I put away my knife and took a step back. The drapes moved, parting a little. A woman moved between them. I had just enough time to press myself against the wall before the latch clicked and she stepped out.
The robed woman who exited the bedroom was definitely not Armelle. Shorter, with hair that fell down her back.
Toral?
My heart rate sped up, and I couldn’t bring it under control. I choked back a gasp and forced myself to take a better look. No—this woman was young, yes, but with long auburn hair. She crossed the balcony to the solid stone railing. I snuck inside, closed the door, and locked it behind me. Why had I seen Toral? I shook my head to clear it, willing away the shock that was still lingering in my body. Then, I parted the drapes.
Two minutes left, or was it one? My lapse in focus had fazed me.
The room was dark, and I thanked Condar for my night vision. To EW, it would have been pitch-black. To me, the room looked gray and purple. After I had made sure the drapes were closed, I double-checked the room.
Contrary to popular belief, EW didn’t have a bodyguard here. Maybe he should consider it. The man slept propped up on three pillows, his hairy chest exposed, the sheet barely covering his nakedness. A gun and a tablet lay on the bedside table within arm’s reach.
I stowed EW’s gun in the drawer, drew my own plastic gun, and turned on the light next to the bed.
Gregory Emerson-Wright let out a great snort and shifted further down into his pillows, opening his mouth to let out a weary sigh. The lamplight reflected beautifully off his bald head.
“Hey!” I said.
He didn’t move. I nudged him with the muzzle of the gun. “Emerson.”
On the other side of the drapes, the woman tried to open the door. When she couldn’t get in, she knocked loudly on the glass. When no one responded, she cursed in Italian.
EW woke up. Seeing the gun pointed at his face, the man’s eyes went wide as flying saucers, and his face turned ashen. At the same moment, Bodyguard Number Four barged into the room with a gun in hand, ready to investigate the commotion. He saw me, saw the gun, and saw EW stricken with fright.
EW looked around for his gun. When it wasn’t there, he raised his hands and then put them down again to his sheet, tugging it up over himself. I kept my gun on him.
The door rattled again, this time with more violence and more swearing.
“Terrible language,” I said, shaking my head.
Number Four was frozen in place, gun pointed directly at me.
Finally, EW recovered his voice. “What are you waiting for, half-wit! Shoot him!”
My cue.
“If I had wanted to kill you, Mr. Emerson, you would have been dead already. And if I had wanted to kidnap you, I would kill you before I let someone else take me out.”
“Drop the gun, and I may only call the police,” the half-wit—Number Four—said.
The bodyguard’s voice betrayed his discomfort, lined with a twinge of fear. He’d failed miserably at his job, and he knew it.
“Now he finds his voice,” I said. “Mr. Emerson, your lack of security is appalling. I have just demonstrated to you how easily an unknown threat can sneak into your room at the dead of night and do whatever he wants with you and your guests.”
The living room balcony door vibrated, and the lock rattled. More cursing, this time in French. I gestured to Four.
“Please let the foul-mouthed lady in, although I doubt she realizes how much better things are outside.”
“No, leave her,” said EW, never taking his eyes off me. “Who are you?”
“My name is Morse. And I am going to be your new head of security.”
“You expect to get a job by threatening my life?” EW’s face turned an angry shade of red, and his eyes narrowed. “You know what happened to the last man who put a gun in my face?”
“He was beaten to death in a back alley, his hand severed from his body and sent to his family attached to the gun, and his body dumped in the Seine. Quite a story. Is it all true?”
“I assure you it is.”
Italy banged on the glass panels with both hands, screaming obscenities in Italian, French, and German.
“Well then, go ahead and try.” I laid the gun on the bed and stepped back. EW snatched it up with one hand, the other still holding tightly to the sheet around his waist. When he felt it, his face grew three shades redder. “Plastic?”
“Yes. 3D printed, fully functional. And very much loaded.”
Number Four walked around the bed with his gun still trained on me.
“I would like to point out again, Mr. Emerson, that I was able to overcome and subdue four of your personal bodyguards and get around another—all in the space of five minutes. Oh, and outwit your wife’s closest bodyguard earlier today in less than that.”
“Shut up!” said Four. I ignored him. EW frowned. Four grabbed my shoulder and then patted me down. He found my plastic dagger and took it. I didn’t resist. I didn’t look at him, either.
Someone banged loudly on the front door. Voices raised in alarm. They had discovered the bodyguards outside. Italy had given up at the terrace door. I heard her pad barefoot down the length of the balcony, trying the other doors. All of them had been locked. In a moment, she would find the open window.
EW stood, grasping the sheet around his waist. “What about my wife?”
“I barely know your wife, but I have an interesting story about Roy. Please tell this one to put down the gun. You’ve got mine. Like I said, I’m not here to harm you.”
The phone beside the bed rang. EW answered it, all the while glaring at me in anger… and a little bit of curiosity. “They’re what? Yes, yes, we’re fine.”
He hung up. Whatever h
e’d decided, he wasn’t going to let hotel security know I was in here. Not yet, anyway, in case he decided to have me killed.
The idea of EW or Number Four trying to kill me was laughably funny, but I didn’t need him to try. Then, he might discover my superhuman abilities, and I’ve have to kill him. And that would be the end of my mission. Possibly the end of me.
EW walked into the dressing room and emerged again wearing a white hotel bathrobe. Then he picked up my gun from the bed and sat in a nearby chair.
“Since you claim to have accomplished all this in five minutes, Mr. Morse, I’m giving you only five minutes to explain yourself.”
11
Emerson-Wright
I only needed three minutes to tell EW exactly how I’d reached his bedside. The more I explained, the redder his face became. By the time I finished, it was the most brilliant shade of scarlet I’d ever seen on someone who wasn’t being strangled.
“Sir!” interrupted Number Four. “This joker’s lying to you because he got caught. If I hadn’t come in, you’d be dead.”
“If you’d done your job, he wouldn’t have been in here at all!”
Number Four flinched.
EW tossed my gun back to me. “My wife mentioned you earlier, Mr. Morse. I’ve already checked your references. Special forces, consulting, private security. All excellent.”
He waved his hand, and the wall-mounted TV turned on, displaying a satellite image. He picked up the tablet from the nightstand and swept across a few screens until the satellite image changed. “Know where this is?”
I examined it a moment. Lush green coastline, lined with a string of small outer islands. The water around them was a brilliant shade of blue. “Belize City.”
“Very good.”
“And what is your interest there, sir?”
“I have no interests there, except I went there on vacation once and I would like to go back. Since you have proven my own security team is sorely lacking, I want you to arrange it.”
“You want me to arrange your vacation?”
“You’ll like Belize. Good food. Pleasant people. And for me, a quiet place to work.”
I hadn’t taken EW as a person who liked a good vacation. So, he was testing me. Good. “And if I do well?”
“You have the job.”
“Sir?” asked Number Four.
“Get out, Robert.”
Robert didn’t need to be told again. He scrambled out like a lion was on his heels. EW smiled the smile of a man in power.
“I’m assuming you want to go to Belize now,” I said.
“Correct.”
I looked back at the satellite imagery. I’d never been to Belize. Arranging a stay there meant a full detail. Janslow wouldn’t be happy. “I want to bring my own men, Mr. Emerson.”
“They may come in addition to mine.”
EW’s men wouldn’t want to follow the orders of a man who had just made them look like fools. I nodded anyway.
“You said you had something to tell me about Roy.”
“Yes, sir.”
Over the next minute and a half, I threw Roy under an army tank, detailing every mistake he’d made since I contacted Armelle. I ended the tale with a vivid depiction of his cowardice during the fake shooting.
EW nodded all the way through.
“Armelle won’t be happy when I get rid of him,” he said finally. “But he’s been needing to go. It’s not his first slip-up, but certainly his most egregious. And now, Morse. I would like to shower and get dressed. Since I am awake, I might as well work.” He shot the last statement at me, a reminder that I had not escaped retribution for my cruel trick at the point of a gun.
When I left the bedroom, Italy had already been escorted out, I presumed still wearing her bathrobe. Robert was attempting to revive Number Three and Number Five. When he saw me, he jumped up.
“What did you do to them?” he hissed angrily.
“They’ll wake up in fifteen with a hangover the size of Vladimir Putin’s ego. Better get someone to cover their duties. Are the two still out in the hall?”
“Hotel security removed them.”
“Good. Get these out of here, too.”
“I don’t take orders from you.”
I smirked. “No, you’re right. And you never will. I imagine Mr. Emerson-Wright will fire you for your failure tonight.”
Robert strode over to me, standing nose-to-nose. “This is not something you get away with.”
“I already have, half-wit.”
His shoulders tensed, fist half-raised before he got control of his anger. Robert knew better than to start a brawl in EW’s living room. He grinned and stepped back.
“That’s okay.” He took another step back, keeping an eye on me. “I won’t forget.”
He picked up a porcelain vase and dropped it on the foyer’s marble floor. It shattered, water and flowers scattering across the tile in a pattern all its own.
Robert then turned on his heel and left, leaving the door wide open. New guards already stood at the metal detectors. They frowned when they saw me.
“Get someone else up here to remove two more drunkards,” I said and closed the door on their questions.
I’m in, I told Janslow. But I have another assignment for you.
What is it?
I explained EW’s little test to him, and he agreed it was all a ruse, but we had to make it look like I believed him. Janslow began making arrangements.
Three hotel employees arrived to remove Numbers Three and Five. They stared at the smashed vase but didn’t ask questions as they dragged out the bodyguards one at a time. I didn’t offer an explanation.
“Send someone to clean up,” I said as they finished.
“That’s alright,” said EW. He emerged from the bedroom, dressed and holding a laptop, and settled himself at the small desk. “You can do it, Morse. It’s your mess.”
I nodded to the hotel staff and saw them out, then double-checked that all doors and windows were again locked. As I straightened the dining room and cleaned the foyer, he said, “You have a room here at the hotel?”
“Not yet.”
“Arrange one for yourself. Robert and the others won’t be needing theirs anymore, and I’ve already communicated that to the front desk. They now have two open rooms. I want you in the one next to mine.”
“Yes, sir.” I left to clean the coffee maker and brew a fresh pot. When I returned, I brought a cup for him.
He motioned for me to set it on the desk.
My replacements arrived but had to knock on the front door for me to let them in. I still hadn’t changed the passcode back to its original. I changed it again and gave them the new code, and then proceeded to make EW’s travel arrangements.
I ran into ill feelings the minute I picked up the phone to talk to EW’s assistant, Michelle. Of course, at 3:00 am, she’d been sound asleep in an adjoining room. I got her working and then called EW’s current head of security, Finn, the man I was seeking to replace. Word of my stunt had already reached him, and he wasn’t happy. The first time I called, he cursed at me, and then hung up. I called back.
Finn refused to cooperate and told me exactly where to shove my offer of cooperation. Now, no one left had the authority to get in my way, except EW himself.
For the next two days, Janslow and I worked non-stop on arrangements. Taking advantage of a couple of hybrids stationed in Central America, I secured a dramatic bungalow on the beach with all modern amenities. EW would fly on his private jet to a private airfield, where a private car would take him to the house. Really, my guys could protect him with their eyes closed. This demonstration was just that, a demonstration.
On day two I submitted my plans to EW, who always wanted to be in the loop.
“I don’t like that airfield. Change it.”
We found a different private airstrip, farther from the bungalow.
Then, “I never fly during daylight hours.”
We changed th
e departure time.
“The bungalow has a pool. I don’t want a pool.”
“Sir, this house has the best modern connections in all of Belize, at least that we could rent.”
“Then buy something. And I don’t want to be on the beach. I hate sand.”
“Yes, sir.”
By the tenth change, my patience wore thin. Finally, EW decided the bungalow would be best, after all. Thankfully, I hadn’t yet cancelled the reservation. We were to leave tomorrow, but by then I knew EW had no intention of going to Belize. And yet he refused to give up the game. So, I played along.
Janslow was ready to sneak into EW’s hotel room himself and slit his throat. But he couldn’t—he was long overdue back in Norway and left the rest to me.
By the next afternoon, everything was ready. “The car is waiting to take you to the airport, sir. Your jet is ready when you are.”
Emerson-Wright sat at his desk, talking to someone on the phone. He held up a finger for me to wait. I walked into the foyer and sat on the purple couch.
He ended the phone call. “Morse.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Fix me a cup of coffee, will you?”
I smiled. “Of course. Would you rather leave for Belize later?”
“In a bit. Keep the car running.”
I made his coffee, brought his cup, and watched him drain it. The hot coffee must have burnt his throat, but he didn’t say anything. He set it down, and I fetched another.
Petty human, trying to put me in my place. No problem. I was used to being a servant. He would tire of ordering me around long before I tired of his power play. Still, my stomach growled with hunger.
Two pots of coffee later, Gregory Emerson-Wright announced he was ready to leave. The route to the airport took us right past Toral’s inn. I envisioned her standing outside it, perhaps returning from a late dinner or sight-seeing. It was a desperate kind of hope, and it troubled me a moment. Why did I care to see her again? And she wouldn’t be loitering about in front of her own hotel. I looked anyway. The cafe was closed. Maybe she had gone down to the beach today to practice her floating. I hoped not, not by herself. Who would give her the next lesson?