“I’ve seen your bar tab, Jim,” he said.
“It’s been paid. Relax,” Jim said as he poured himself more rum.
“I’m not worried about the money… not this time any way. It’s about how much you’re drinking. I mean c’mon man. You’re no early twenties city boy that burns their money so they can disappoint a woman and wake up with a hangover.” Carl leaned back slightly and clasped his hands together like a schoolteacher waiting for his pupil to tell him how he cheated on a math test. Jim smiled but didn’t have a response; he knew Carl was right.
“C’mon Jim. If you were any other schmuck I’d happily take your money and pat you on the back whilst making sure every drink was added to the bill, but we’re friends. Plus it’s not good business to have a regular drink himself into an early grave. I still want your tab racking up when I’m using a stair lift to get my ass up to my office,” Carl said with a smile and a laugh showing off his immaculate white teeth. Carl was wearing a dark purple silk tie that appeared to match the paint color of the wall behind him; his grey suit complemented his color scheme well, but still made Jim want to vomit.
“Yeah I know I should go easy on the devil juice. I just gotta get through the next couple of weeks. Then I will be back to my usual measures of poison.” Jim managed a laugh; the first in weeks.
“Don’t be too restrained… that bartender isn’t paying himself, and the lights gotta get paid too.” Carl tried to keep the conversation light hearted but could see his friend was really battling his misery. Jim managed to flash a half smile, and then downed another shot. He looked around the bar, it was quiet, mid afternoon on a workday meant the only people hanging around were students drinking coffee and the odd businessman who was also toughing out a rough day.
“You know, Carl, I wouldn’t usually ask you for advice, but in this situation I figure that your words are as good as anyone’s.” Carl didn’t know whether that was a compliment and so remained silent. “I keep thinking about the guy. The Special Forces guy that saved my life. I never met him but… anyway I just keep thinking about him. He stood and risked his own life taking a shot to save mine. It just makes me think that he was willing to do that for me. Giving away his position to enemy forces. How can I turn on a man like him? All those guys, they’re superheroes, the guys I’m turning my back on is one of them. I bet if he was in my shoes he would have held onto his morals over a paycheck...” Jim stared at the buffed floor. His eyes welled up. “I can’t walk in my office without a mini celebration in my honor and yet I can’t shake the feeling that what I’m doing is wrong. I’m letting down someone who wouldn’t do the same to me. A real man, with real values… I don’t even know what to call myself anymore.”
Jim’s face was puffy. He winked several times to stop tears falling from his eyes. Carl listened intently, clasping his hands together over his knee; he could hear the pain in Jim’s voice. Carl could do little to help and decided to just be honest. It was the only tool he had left to help Jim.
“You know what I would do?” Carl leaned in toward Jim and whipped his glass away. Jim looked up toward Carl. “I wouldn’t sit around here feeling sorry for myself and crying like a baby. If I was in your shoes I would do what I thought was right instead of trying to drown myself in alcohol. Call the guy and tell him to get outta there. Run, hide, disappear, whatever. I would tell him straight. Then I would come back and visit my old pal Carl and have a drink without a dark cloud following me everywhere I went.”
It was the harsh truth and Jim knew it. Carl was an honest and decent man. He meant what he said, and if it were him in Jim’s shoes he would be on the phone right now.
“You know what, Carl. You just said what I’ve been thinking for days, but if I do this and anyone found out I would be toast. I would lose my job for sure, and perhaps worse!” Jim said as he regained his composure. The dark cloud was dissipating now he felt it was possible to do what was right.
“Well, seems to be every minute you lived after that sniper saved your life has been borrowed. If you get killed then you can be thankful you had all these years instead of having a hole put through your head in Afghanistan or Iraq or wherever the hell you were.” Jim looked at Carl square in the face.
“Gimme the rum.” Carl passed it over with a look off indifference. Jim poured a small amount into a glass and knocked it back.
“Cheers Carl, I’ll be back for that drink in week. Fresh and content.”
“You better,” Carl replied; both men smiled. Jim reached out and squeezed Carl on the shoulder, and then walked out.
Carl waited in the booth for a moment. Then he took the bottle back to the bar and put it in the cabinet. Jim was maybe having a crisis but there was still a business to be run and Carl would be damned if he was gonna let over half a bottle of rum go to waste.
The oil prince changed from his traditional clothing into a pair of jeans and a thin leather jacket over a Gucci turtleneck. Tonight he was going to a casino.
Like many things the prince did, gambling was Haram, meaning strictly forbidden, in the Islamic culture and so the prince had to make a quiet entrance and exit. This was something the casino had got used to with wealthy clients form the Middle East. The prince had a private room booked on the upper floor of London’s best casino. They promised anonymity and had a structure in place to guarantee it. Two wealthy friends that he had gambled with before would join the prince during the night. The prince enjoyed poker but would spend the night playing roulette as he found it more exhilarating. The table minimum was £500; just one spin of the wheel would usually have a total table bet in the region of £20,000.
Food and drinks were served at the behest of the guests and instead of using regular betting chips that were made of plastic the chips were made of crystal. Each person was given a colored crystal as they entered the room. They were perfectly straight on top but had a curved edge that reflected light in all directions. Each chip had a value of £500. The prince had requested emerald chips in advance. The casino was a hotspot for the rich and famous, and some were permitted to bring their own security, including the prince. Every now and again a famous footballer or TV star would turn up with some friends and splash cash across the casino floor. They were rarely given access to the more restrained culture of the private rooms.
Tonight Rena and Lindon were one of three different security teams watching a client. The casino had its own bouncers and security staff which would keep the regular customers away from the private room. Lindon and Rena were running perfectly on schedule when the prince’s driver pulled up in the Bentley. It took twenty minutes to drive to the casino. Lindon drove the Mercedes G-wagon and held onto the Bentley’s bumper until they reached the casino. Whilst Lindon found parking Rena joined the prince in his Bentley. The car descended out of Lindon’s sight into an underground car park reserved for VIPs. Neither Lindon nor Rena was searched on their way in. Lindon was carrying a 9mm pistol whilst Rena carried a much smaller handgun that was strapped to her ankle.
The prince was enjoying himself and had bet over £100,000 in the first hour. His friends were slightly more reserved as they gambled more often. One was a wealthy American and another was a British entrepreneur. The private room was large, about thirty feet across. Two chandeliers hung prominently from the ceiling and black marble was used for every conceivable surface. The men drank expensive champagne and told stories of recent business acquisitions. All of them were losing money but celebrated as if they had won the lottery every time a number they bet on came in. At 11.30pm the prince was on a hot streak, or so he thought he was. Not many players would consider hitting two of the last five numbers anything to shout about. The roulette table was a flurry of colors. Crystal chips were stacked high on number seven and number twenty nine. The prince’s lucky numbers.
Lindon decided to step outside for some air as he had a headache that he couldn’t shift. Rena had just come back from the ladies’ room and was happy to stand watch on her own. The night was b
ecoming tedious for them both. They were unable to drink or take part in the excitement at the tables. They were in a locked room full of rich men. The threat was extremely low and the only concern was them drinking too much and a scuffle breaking out, but none of them were fighters and security would step in long before anything past a slap was exchanged.
Lindon walked down the staircase at the rear of the building to street level. Lots of loud young revelers milled around a nearby bar waiting to get in. Smoke lingered in the air at the back of the casino. There were staff members out having a quick break and a few gamblers getting a nicotine fix between pounding the tables. Lindon looked up at the night sky. It was overcast and bleak. “Why did I even bother?” Lindon said under his breath. The private room was being pumped with oxygen ten times cleaner than the streets below to keep gamblers awake and spending. The ‘fresh air’ at street level was not helping Lindon’s headache.
Lindon looked over the partygoers shivering in the damp and cold streets. As he did his cell phone buzzed. It was his burner phone. Only a few people had the number and none of them would text him. Must be a network message, Lindon thought. The phone number showed up as withheld:
‘Trust no one, not even your colleagues, and have your own getaway for your job in London - a friend’
Lindon stood for a few seconds. He was perplexed. A getaway, the job he was working didn’t need a getaway? There was no way it could mean the job he was working at the moment, but it was possible it could be referring to his next job. Trust no one? Who were they talking about? And more importantly who were they?
He clambered back up the stairs quickly and scanned the room. He had begun to sweat and so stood near a cool air conditioning vent at the bar. Everybody there was fairly calm or drunk. An outburst erupted in the corner. Number 22 had landed on the roulette wheel with £12000 piled onto it. Big wins all round. The cheers echoed. Rena was still standing ten feet from the table, looking bored. She leaned more of her weight onto her left leg with her head tilted slightly. Rena had never gambled and struggled to see the enjoyment. Lindon walked over to her after he had cooled down from his run up the stairs.
“Everything OK while I was gone?” he asked.
“Yeah, apparently something good happened as they’re all cheering and celebrating.” Lindon looked over and noticed the huge stack of crystal chips on a number. The tower of chips glistening with all different colors.
“Ah, looks like a good number came in. Big wins all round judging from the multicolor stack that’s being broken up by the dealer.”
Rena shifted her weight to her right leg, jutting out her hip towards Lindon’s body. The prince and his friends were shouting at a waiter “CHAMPAGNE, CHAMPAGNE!”, waving their hands in the air.
“Soooo, have they won more than they’ve lost yet?” Rena asked.
Lindon laughed. “Not a chance. Most of them have lost on a lot of spins. That win might put the American and the Brit near even, but the prince will still out a hundred grand even after the win.” Lindon felt his cell phone buzz again. Rena smiled and felt even more confused about the allure of gambling. Spending several hours making the same bets and celebrating when you’ve still lost a ton of money just didn’t add up to her.
“Rena, I just gotta check my phone, I will be on the other side of that door.” Lindon pointed to the rear fire exit. Rena waved her hand. She was staring at the men trying to work out how much each had just won. Lindon pulled out his phone from his pocket as soon as he closed the fire exit door. The screen flashed up with a new message.
‘Last message. Have a getaway plan. All is not as it seems. You can’t trust your old team - a friend’
Lindon stared at the gloomy stairwell walls. He was surrounded by bare concrete. Did the messages refer to a team from the military, he wondered. His team he worked with in Special Ops was like family; they could be trusted for life. The message must be referring to the team he was going to be working with in London, as it was the same team as the last job he worked, but they were all professionals. Lindon couldn’t think of a reason not to trust them. He thought of the different ways he could hack into his phone system and identify the number on the other side of the messages, but it would most likely be a burner phone. He stood for a moment, completely confused.
Lindon knew there were people out there who would be trying to find him. He had left the military very suddenly and didn’t serve his full notice period. Something the military took very seriously, but he was Special Ops. They rarely bothered tracking them down. They usually disappeared and had mental breakdowns. It was better that they weren’t in the military by that point. They were like lions going away to die. Leaving their family and finding a quiet spot to waste away. They had seen so much. Lindon couldn’t believe the military would still be looking for him after so long, but he had worked a lot of mercenary jobs and some had gone badly. Some people had sworn revenge. Maybe someone had finally caught up with him and an old teammate knew about it. If there was someone out there who had tracked him down he needed to come face to face with him or her and make sure they were stopped, at any cost.
He had to go ahead with his next job in London but he needed a plan. He decided he would play it safe and plan his own getaway instead of relying on a Dino Brothers extraction. Lindon took a deep breath. Thinking about his next job was not going to help him get through his current one. He tried to reset his mind to what he was doing now. He needed to stay sharp.
Lindon returned to the room and grabbed a sugary soft drink from the bar. The prince was beginning to look less interested in gambling and half an hour later Rena and Lindon were back in the Mercedes following his grey Bentley. The prince left the casino £240,000 lighter but somehow with a smile on his face. Rena started the night struggling to understand the temptation of gambling and left feeling more confused about why anyone would throw their money away so carelessly. However one thing was for certain. Rena would never be putting her well-earned money on a roulette wheel.
Chapter 21
Warren had sat through six meetings in the last eight hours at the White House and was beginning to feel like a theater actor coming on and off stage with only a few lines.
Roger hijacked most of the meetings halfway through to talk politics with the president. This made Bill, James and Warren feel like an audience rather than participants. The president had told Warren that he was to remain at the White House and preferably in his room until Lindon was in the hands of the CIA and Kioshi was eliminated. Warren had agreed with the president but only because he was the president. If he had asked him to perform a backflip whilst singing ‘The Star Spangled Banner’ Warren’s only question would be where and when.
He sat on the end of the bed in guest room number seven. Everything about the room was perfect. Fresh white sheets lay atop the most comfortable bed Warren had ever slept in, not too firm or too soft, but just the right amount of sink-in softness, and firm support. The view out of the window was the White House lawns, which were perfectly cut and not a single blade of grass was out of place. Even the coffee cups were perfect. It looked like everything in the room was brand new. On the wall was a thick picture frame housing an American flag. The glass covering didn’t have a single smudge. There wasn’t a single trace of dust anywhere. Warren lay back on the bed and stared at the white ceiling. He had tried to start a conversation with the security staff but they weren’t receptive and although his room was a very pleasant place to be it didn’t have anything other than a TV. There were no books, magazines or computer tablets.
As Warren lay back on the bed and wondered how long he would have to stay in the White House there was a loud thud at the door. Warren jumped up. He had been nervous for almost a week and any sudden noise caused his heart to race. This anxiety had spread to his bladder and he was now desperate to go to the bathroom for the seventh time that day. The door handle was slowly eased down and opened. Warren held his breath for a second.
Bill walked through the doo
r wearing the same suit he had landed in. He was also test-driving his new wing tip shoes, again. What better place than the White House to wear them in, he thought. However he had got permission from his wife prior to doing so.
“Hey Warren, Roger wants to meet in five. You ready?”
Warren walked towards the only other door in the room. “Hold on, I gotta go to the bathroom. Is it just Roger this time?”
Bill raised his voice a little so he could be heard on the other side of the door. “Just Roger.” Bill began swinging his belly forwards and backwards and shifting his weight from his forefoot to his heel while he waited. Warren noticed Bill moving forwards and backwards as if he was at a bar and his favorite song had just come on. Warren suspected Bill was doing this as a vague way of bringing attention to his feet.
“Those the new shoes you mentioned?” Warren said whilst he rustled through a draw to pick out a shirt that wasn’t stained or creased. He hadn’t yet taken advantage of the White House laundry service, unlike Bill.
“Oh these. Yep, there the ones!” Bill said in a poor attempt to sound surprised as if he had forgotten he was wearing them.
“They look good, might look at getting myself a pair when I’m allowed out of this room.” Bill nodded and stored the compliment in his mind ready to convey to his wife when she next called.
“So, anything new?” Warren asked as both men walked out of his room and down the long corridor. There were guards every so often and army personnel in full regalia were dotted around each floor. Bill felt the need to stop and inspect one of the men every now and again. As a Two Star General he wanted all ‘his’ men looking sharp.
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