“Good evening Sir,” she smiled perfectly.
“Hmm,” Clark’s mind was elsewhere, the thought of her screaming in pain tied to the bed was arousing him. He snapped himself out of it, promising himself he’d come back for a taste another time.
“Darius, please” he commanded.
“I’m sorry we don’t have a Darius, Sir. I’ve got a Juan, a Richard and a Paul,” she replied looking at the screen in front of her.
Clark’s temper flared.
“I’m not some fucking bum boy, you fucking bitch!” More than ever he wanted her on the bed screaming in pain, he could teach this bitch a thing or two.
“I want to see your boss-man, Darius.”
As he raised his voice two men appeared from behind the partition that separated the reception area from the rest of The Palace. Clark also sensed another two coming up behind him.
“Now, now Sir, calm down,” suggested the man stepping between Clark and the receptionist. The other three moved in closely, surrounding Clark, leaving him little room for manoeuvre.
“I need to talk to Darius,” Clark informed them confidently.
“A white boy with balls, eh? Well Darius ain’t wanting to talk to you. So if you don’t mind,” the man pointed to the elevator as the man at his rear stepped aside.
Clark followed the pointed hand and looked towards the elevator but then slowly turned back to face the desk.
“You’re failing to grasp the enormity of the issue,” began Clark icily, his eyes suddenly darkening. “It makes no odds to me, I can speak to Darius now or in twenty minutes in the back of the ambulance rushing him to Intensive Care. It’s your call.”
Clark stared into the eyes of the man in front of him and could tell he had rattled him, nothing scared people more than looking into the eyes of a cold blooded killer. As he delivered his chilling message, his hands had very carefully removed the two Walther P99 silenced pistols from their holsters, with his hands crossed across his stomach the heads of the two men at his sides would be all but removed within the next second. The other two heavies and the receptionist would be shot once each through the forehead. Clark had already planned each shot, taking into account any reactionary movements. For example the receptionist would be shot last and he would shoot 18 inches diagonally down to the left of where her head now was as she would duck down to the right. Clark had killed enough people to know exactly how people reacted in any given situation.
Darius had watched on the CCTV as the man had entered and then been surrounded by his men. He had also noticed the man’s hands move, something he knew his men hadn’t.
The buzzer on the reception desk buzzed and cut through the deadly atmosphere. The receptionist tentatively moved her hand towards it, pressing it down.
“Send the man up please,” boomed Darius.
The three men surrounding Clark stepped back instantly, surprised to see the guns that had not been there previously pointing at them.
“You wouldn’t mind leaving these here would you please?” asked the man at reception nervously. He had never met anyone like Clark before.
“Not at all,” replied Clark, he had another gun in an ankle holster and several throwing knives in his belt.
Clark was escorted into Darius’ office by the receptionist, still promising himself a return visit as she walked back out of the office, her thong leaving nothing to the imagination.
“Yes, very nice but I’m afraid not for sale,” said Darius, as he followed Clark’s gaze.
“Everything’s for sale,” replied Clark licking his lips at the thought of the girls blood mixing with her sweat and rolling down into the small of the back. Screaming for him to stop.
“There is some truth in that,” agreed Darius. “Now how can I help you?”
“I need some information about one of your girls,” asked Clark.
“Can I ask why?”
“No.”
“Well I’m sorry I can’t help you.” Darius rose to his full size towering over Clark, signalling an end to their conversation.
Clark did not want to resort to violence to obtain his information, it was not always reliable. “Wait, I believe this girl may no longer work for you, her name’s Rosie.”
“That fucking bitch,” spat Darius. “All I know is she isn’t who I thought she was.”
Clark’s ears perked up at that piece of information. “What do you mean?”
“She was supposed to be a prostitute but if that girl’s spread her legs for a few bucks, I’m a fucking Benedictine monk.”
“So who do you think she is?”
“Don’t know. Maybe some sort of journalist looking for a story or something. The bitch zapped me with a fucking Taser and legged it this morning.”
“Shit, do you know where she went? Like a home address or something? Phone number, anything that can help me track her down?”
“We tried her home address, fucking bitch got three of my men locked up. Other than that all I’ve got is a cell number.”
Clark couldn’t believe his luck. “Perfect.”
Darius opened his drawer and retrieved the number from his phone book, writing it down on a sheet of paper before handing it over. “So who are you? Some kind of government dude or something?”
“No,” replied Clark simply, as he stood and left Darius’ office, he had what he needed.
“What you going to do to her?” shouted Darius after him.
“Exactly what you’d want me to do to her. Fuck her and then kill her.”
Darius smiled for the first time that day.
As he made his way to the car, he made a call, barking instructions before reading out Rosie’s number. As he hung up, another call came through. He answered and smiled. The operative he had requested was on the way. They would arrive by helicopter at about eight.
***
Tyson’s Galleria was only a five minute diversion on the way to Dulles International and would be perfect. Nieman Marcus would resolve her wardrobe crisis. Of course it would take longer than five minutes but Ashley had plenty of time. It was at least two to three hours before she needed to be at the airport, only another twenty minutes from the Galleria.
As the cab pulled into the mall, Ashley’s face drained, it was Sunday and at 5.50 p.m. she had less than ten minutes to get into the store, pick her clothes, pay and leave. It was never going to happen. The second the cab stopped she bolted into the store. Being a regular may just save her. The security guard tried to stop her entering the store but she wasn’t having any of it, shouting “I’ll just be a second, it’s an emergency!” She quickly made her way to the ladies’ designer-wear section and was met with a huge smile by Doug, the very heterosexual manager of the department. Ashley almost kissed him. She had hoped he’d be on duty but managed to stop herself when the leery eyes quickly covered every inch of her body. No attempt was made to hide his mental undressing of her right there in front of him. Ashley had always found him repulsive but as repulsive as he was, he was the best judge of style in the Washington area. It seemed all the other women agreed that his drooling over them was a small price to pay for the perfect outfit. He’d been there for years despite numerous complaints.
“I need a complete wardrobe before I board a flight tonight!” she gasped, staring into his eyes as deeply as her stomach would allow.
Working on commission and faced with one of the stores biggest spenders, it was not a difficult decision.
“Lock in,” he announced to his assistant rubbing his hands in anticipation.
***
Clark directed the driver to Reagan International. They needed a van. At the second counter, he got what he wanted, a Ford Freestar minivan, blacked out windows and a sliding side door. It had been over forty minutes since he’d called in with Rosie’s number and he would have hoped to have heard back by now. He was beginning to worry; the last thing he wanted was to have to intercept Rosie at Dulles airport.
“Where to?” asked the driver as he
turned the key in the ignition.
“Head towards Dulles but don’t rush,” replied Clark willing his phone to ring.
Five minutes later his wish came true. His phone rang.
“Clark,” he answered.
“Hi, I’ve got the location for you, I’m sending it to your PDA now.”
“Excellent.” Clark hung up the phone and removed his PDA from his belt. A message pinged into his inbox and as he clicked the link, the screen changed to a map of the area. A red dot designated the location of the target. Clark zoomed in on the location and checked his watch.
“Tyson’s Galleria and quick, it must be shutting soon,” he barked.
He looked at his watch again, it was 7.02 p.m. and it was Sunday. He was no great shopper but he knew shops didn’t stay open after 7 on a Sunday.
***
As Doug rang the purchases through the till, he passed them to Ashley who was carefully packing them in her new Gucci roll-on. One outfit however was kept aside, that was for the airplane. She couldn’t possibly do first class in BR she thought. As Doug ran her credit card through the machine she disappeared into a changing room and donned the new outfit, jeans boots and the most fantastic jacket. Doug really was a star she thought, it all fitted perfectly. As she stepped out of the changing room, she casually glanced at the time.
“Oh my God! It’s 8 o’clock! I need to get to the airport.”
She grabbed her bag and began to run for the exit.
“Wait a minute, I need to let you out,” shouted Doug running after her.
He ran with her to the main doors where thank God she could see her taxi still waiting for her. She was sure he’d have gone but obviously he was a trusting type. As they walked to the taxi, Doug suddenly threw his hand to his mouth.
“Oh my God I’ve left your credit card,” he began to turn his head. “Back th…”
Before he could finish his sentence, his head simply ceased to exist. A second shot thumped through the taxi’s windscreen before lodging itself in the cabby’s forehead. Ashley didn’t even have a chance to scream before the impact on her neck stopped her.
***
“There she is!” shouted Clark.
The van’s side door slid back as the marksman took aim with his H&K PSG1A1 sniper rifle, the newest in the line and still the most expensive factory rifle available. One thing that never failed to amaze Unit members were the weapons they had access to. It was almost as though they were a testing ground for new weapons. Almost daily, new toys would be delivered and it seemed nothing was out of their reach.
The driver kept the speed steady, knowing exactly how his colleague worked. They had been a team since the day they joined the army, twenty years earlier. One was the spotter and the other the shooter and they still held the Green Beret record for recorded kills.
As they drew closer, Clark withdrew his gun and took aim at Rosie. As the sniper dealt with the collateral, Clark took care of Rosie.
“Leave them, just take her!” he shouted as they screeched to a stop next to the taxi.
With Rosie dumped in the boot, Clark ordered the driver to get them to the helipad. Ten minutes later and with one additional passenger, the minivan was speeding towards Dulles International Airport. It was going to be close.
***
It had been a long day for purser Brian O’Toole. He was supposed to have another day off but had received a call two hours earlier. The other purser had phoned in sick and he was on standby. At least Flight BA0292 Washington Dulles to London Heathrow was a night flight and was usually fairly mundane. Also, he was in first class so it should be nice and quiet. He may even get a couple of hours sleep if he were lucky.
By the time he made it onto the plane, pre-boarding had already begun and so far, it was looking good. He looked at the passenger list and couldn’t believe his luck. Only one first-class passenger was booked on the plane. With only five minutes left before take-off, Brian was already selecting the seat he would sleep in. It seemed that his one passenger wasn’t going to make it. As the captain introduced himself over the PA, the phone rang in the first class cabin. Brian answered.
“Hi, just to let you know, a last minute booking, First Class, on his way to you now.”
Brian hung up the phone just as the passenger walked towards him. Ever the professional, he walked towards the man and offered to hang up his coat.
“Thank you.”
“Not at all, sorry, but do you have your boarding card?”
“Of course,” replied the passenger handing over his card.
“Ah, Mr Clark, seat 1A, just this way Sir.”
As Brian showed Clark to his seat, a noise behind them made them turn. Both smiled as the new passenger entered the First Class cabin. Brian immediately made his way towards the new arrival and offered to take her coat which she graciously accepted as she handed over her boarding card.
“Miss Diaz, seat 4A.” Brian pointed to the seat to her left.
“Please, call me Rosie.”
Part Two
Chapter 13
Walker replaced the handset slowly before switching off the small desk light, throwing the penthouse into complete darkness. He leaned back in his seat and looked out across the emptiness of Central Park to the dozing city that never sleeps. Twenty five years ago, Walker had sold his soul to five men; it had been a very lucrative agreement. He sat in a $40 million dollar apartment, his house in the Hamptons was worth at least that again and he had holiday homes in the Caribbean and the South of France. He also had a private jet and more money than he could spend in many lifetimes. However, Walker was now wondering whether it was all worth it.
The call had not gone well. The anger in the men’s voices was evident even before they discovered the reason for the call. Two had been roused from their beds with the promise that if the emergency didn’t warrant their involvement, heads would roll. The emergency did warrant their involvement but the revelation of what had happened and the threat to the five men meant tempers flared. Initially their wrath fell on Walker but he had managed to push some of it back when he reminded them that he was the one who had cautioned vigilance all those years ago. Their anger needed to be vented and the next obvious recipient was The Unit and their botched operation. The Colonel bore the full brunt and his penalty was quickly agreed. Permanent retirement. Walker was to see to it immediately after “pulling his finger out of his ass and fixing the fucking issue”. The undertone was clear, one more failure and the Colonel would not be taking Walker’s fall.
With that, the men had ended the call. Walker knew the five men would be panicking. They had everything to lose. And when you had everything, everything was a lot to lose.
Chapter 14
Scott woke up to a plate of eggs and bacon pushed through a slot at the base of the door. He checked around the room and quickly concluded it had not been a dream.
“What time is it?” he shouted.
“Seven a.m.,” came the terse response.
In two hours he was supposed to be at a meeting with his tutor to talk about his aims and ambitions for his Economics degree. Just as well it was going to be delayed. He had no idea what his aims and ambitions were. Up until two weeks ago, he didn’t even know he’d be going to university, never mind Cambridge. It had been a very weird few weeks and had all started with the strange letter he received three weeks earlier. A meeting was scheduled which he was invited to attend; a meeting which according to the letter would have a significant impact on his future. The meeting was set to take place in law offices in Singapore.
Scott, never one to miss an opportunity, requested leave from his employers, something he had never previously done and it was therefore accepted without question. He had then travelled to Singapore and arrived at the designated offices for the meeting which was nothing like what he had expected. It was over almost before it had started. Basically, his mother, a woman who had died before he had known her, had little to leave him except the one thing she treasur
ed above all else. Education. It seemed his mother was a Cambridge graduate and had had some influence at the University, so much so, that she had somehow and completely anonymously managed to secure the placing of her child (sex yet to be determined) two months into her pregnancy. The lawyer had gone on to explain that the rather strange arrangement had been organised in haste and no further explanation given. Except that almost 25 years from the date of the letter, a place was reserved for her child on the Economics course at Trinity College, Cambridge, along with accommodation. All costs would be borne by her estate and a small sum of money left over would provide a basic allowance. Scott was overcome with emotion. He had never known his mother and she had only ever been described to him as beautiful, wonderful and generous. He had never even seen a photo. He had no idea who his father was, whether he was alive or dead. Nobody knew, his mother having taken that knowledge to her grave, three months after his birth.
His employers had not been overly happy at his change of plans. However they had accepted that it was a once in a lifetime opportunity and within an hour of his notification, they offered him a significant bursary to stay within their employ while he studied, guaranteeing him a substantial increase on completion of his course. They were extremely keen to retain his talents. Never considering anything else, Scott accepted the offer gratefully.
***
It was 7.35 a.m. when the shit started to hit the fan and as far as Harris and Kelly were concerned, it never really stopped.
The door burst open and the custody sergeant rushed into the room, his face filled with dread.
“Jesus, what’s happened?” asked Kelly having just walked into the office herself. Harris was sitting sipping a coffee looking as bemused as ever.
The sergeant caught his breath before he could respond. It had been a long night and a distressing one. He had replaced his friend and colleague from the previous night who remained critical in Intensive Care.
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