by M. L. Janes
When Allsop started to snore gently, Alice said to Séamus, "I can't bear you and the girls getting tied up with this Syndicate. I know I'm trapped, but it was my mother's foolish decision."
"You can't blame her for fearing the justice system," Séamus told her. "Most juries don't understand the science of evidence, or even the meaning of it being 'beyond reasonable doubt.' What's more, maybe 70% of people in this world live under a justice system closer to Kevin Grant's than English Common Law, and they accept it as being the norm. It's certainly not unfamiliar to the girls. " He paused. "And this is one way I can be allowed to keep an eye on them. I will be inside the Syndicate, right along with them. You and they tell me that my minding role is the most important thing to them. Strangely enough, just now it's the most important thing to me."
Alice grabbed his hand. "Dear, please promise me you'll stay one of the good guys?"
"I'll tell you what. I'll promise you that I'll tell you whatever I'm doing, providing you promise to help me work out whether that means I'm a good guy or bad guy. And if I'm on the wrong side, help me figure out a way of crossing over which allows me to keep my legs working."
Alice kept his hand in hers. "Any advice on how to handle Wilkie?"
Séamus started munching on one of the many sandwiches provided for them. "If I understand anything about him, he'll be enraged at what happened. A group of politicians wreck your key research tool just because they don't like the truth when they hear it? I suspect that the Agency has pretty much destroyed everything we've developed at the facility, and that he's been ordered to stop all work on translation."
"But the Consortium had a version."
"Yes, and I have the girls safe. Just make sure he feels he can trust you. That you will be supportive of whatever direction he wants to take from here. Let him suggest you try and contact me. Then we'll just have to make sure he's committed himself over to our side. If we're going to reach the Consortium and negotiate decent terms, his assistance will be vital."
A little while later, both he and Alice fell asleep. He awoke when he felt the van driving through town streets, and noticed they were still holding hands. They had reached Cambridge and Alice directed the driver where to drop her. She gave all the girls a long hug, then one for Séamus that was particularly tight. "We're committed to sharing, just like before, aren't we?" she asked. He agreed with her. She climbed out of the van's side door without turning round again.
When they reached Felixstowe, Séamus and the girls exited the van inside a warehouse and climbed up into a container on the back of a trailer. It was wonderfully furnished with soft, full-body reclining chairs with sophisticated seat belts, various options for lighting, plenty of food and drink, digital entertainment, and a wide range of emergency equipment. They were all given a briefing about what to do in the case of various emergencies, as if they were airline passengers listening to FAA-approved pre-flight instructions. They were also given sleeping pills and medicine to fight sea-sickness and claustrophobia. Thereafter, other than some uncomfortable swaying during loading and unloading, it was simply a matter of waiting until they disembarked in a similar warehouse in The Hague. For certain, a number of bribed officials had ensured that their container was not on any inspection list. The officials' upside was a much fatter salary, and their downside was a threat to their welfare and that of their families. In return, the Syndicate would do its best to minimize their exposure, covering its tracks with proper documentation everywhere possible. The cattle breeding center was the ideal front, requiring sealed animal transit under quarantine laws. Of course, on this occasion the bribed officials would have been disturbed to know that the girls were escaping government-ordered elimination, but they would never know.
Within another twenty-four hours, Séamus and the girls were having a late breakfast at a hotel on the French Riviera. The girls were dressed in clothes that had been supplied for them, and which they were delighted with. Their table sat on a wide, street-side patio, and they were enjoying watching the passers-by.
Before sitting down they had already walked to the beach, and it had startled the girls to find not only women sunbathing topless, but also to note the average size of the exposed breasts. They had remarked with great interest on the buildings – how old they all looked, yet how immaculately kept they all appeared to be. With small exceptions, the only old buildings they had previously seen treated so lovingly were temples.
"This is truly yet another dream," Jenny said, tasting for the first time a genuine French croissant. "Now I feel like we are on the European vacation we had all talked about."
"I wish it were," Séamus commented. "But unfortunately we're officially on the run from every government in Europe."
"How worried should that make us?" Tina asked.
"At this moment, not very," he reassured her. "They won't imagine we made it out of the British Isles yet, and even then they wouldn't put out a full-scale alert for us. There's just too much danger I'll go to the media with our incredible story. In fact, there's a package waiting to do just that, if I don't delay it again in two days' time. They know I would take such precautions, so there's very little chance we're going to get abducted or killed. But to keep us really safe I think we are going to have to split up for a while."
Chrissy nodded, though the others looked concerned at the thought. "It makes sense. One young man and four young Asian women – it sort of narrows down their search."
"That's right," Séamus said, "Even though we can take some defensive action by each of you choosing a different English accent and sticking to it. I leave it to you to judge how convincing your French or Italian is, but I think it's safer to invent a life history somewhere less familiar to the locals here."
"Where do you think we'll go?" Phyllis asked. There was an element in her voice that suggested some sudden interest in the adventure.
Séamus sipped his black coffee, savoring how excellent it was, and reminded himself again that he should grind his own beans, if he ever could settle enough to equip his kitchen. "I'm going to try and get you the widest choice, provided we get assurances about your safety," he replied. "I don't think there are real limits. I believe our sponsors have the connections to get us genuine passports, even the biometric kind, because they are actually processed within the government offices. But I hope that will make you understand the money and trouble these people are expending upon us, and the amount of repayment they are expecting in return."
"We're prepared to work hard, of course," Tina said, "But our escort skills may take a very long time to repay the investment. If this Syndicate is illegal, I assume they're investing so much in us now because they expect a big return later. I suspect that would require selling our services to this Consortium you mentioned the previous night. It seems like they are not going to give us much choice on the matter, are they?"
"Séamus said they would always give us a choice. Didn't you, Séamus?" Jenny added quickly.
"I believe so. We're free to leave them, provided we make sure we can repay what we owe them in the following three years."
"You believe that?" Phyllis asked skeptically.
Séamus nodded slowly. The baguettes were amazing with butter and sweet, white coffee. "Actually, Phyllis, I do. It's like this Syndicate has its own internal laws. But they apply them ruthlessly. There's no forgiveness if you break them."
"I want to see how much money I can make as an escort," Chrissy said. "Send me to the city with the highest rollers. I'll knock the spots off their dice. I want us to be free to decide on this Consortium based on its merits. I don't want to owe these people any more than I have to."
"If I was a big earner in Bangkok, think what I could do in New York or Tokyo," Tina said. "If I have to pretend love, I'll do it. I might even fool myself."
Jenny and Phyllis added their agreement. They started talking excitedly about cities around the world. Séamus was pleased to let them enjoy it. The greater their motivation, the better. He wa
s sure they would do very well. He was just concerned that the Syndicate would ask more than they could afford. In a strange fashion, he perceived Kevin Grant to be fair in his own way of looking at the world, but he still had to generate enormous funds to meet the need for bribes, pay-offs and his own versions of minders. The man had taken on great risk in agreeing to spirit the five of the out of the country. No doubt he personally loved the challenge of taking on thirteen governments, but he was nevertheless obliged to see the whole thing as a business proposition. The girls could only do so much while considering themselves free. Now he had escaped immediate danger, Séamus was beginning to think about Alice's anxiety for them and the pressure upon him to find the Consortium, perhaps persuade them to take on the girls in the face of ferocious government opposition, and at the same time negotiate a fee that satisfied the Syndicate.
"Good morning, Mr FitzGerald," said a man with a French accent. "I'm Jacques Masson. I think you were expecting me after lunch but I managed to make it a little earlier."
The man who would find him employment. Séamus looked up and shook the hand of a well-dressed, intelligent-looking young man who sported a small moustache. His build appeared slight but the handshake suggested strength. Allsop had told him the Frenchman was ex-military and a judo black-belt.
He introduced Masson to the girls, and Jenny began talking to him rapidly in French. The man seemed delighted and carried on the conversation with a series of questions to her. Chrissy and Tina joined in, and Séamus watched them all in amusement. Finally Masson said to him, "Unbelievable, Séamus! Jenny talks like she was raised in Paris. These other two ladies sound like they are from Quebec! I was told about their language abilities but… to hear it, it blows you away!"
Séamus realized the experience would be more intense for non-native English speakers, who were not used to foreigners mastering the tongues. "I gather another gentleman is coming today who will handle their employment," he said to Masson.
"That's true," the Frenchman replied. "But you know, now I hear it for real, my brain cells are working overtime. How useful they might be in other ways, too."
"More than you are even imagining now," Séamus told him. "These girls can count cards and do mental arithmetic that will stun you."
Masson was nodding slowly, grinning widely as he looked from girl to girl. They each gave him some version of a smile, no doubt starting to read him as they would a new customer.
"You know, Séamus, talking of casino work, there is a really nice job available to you right now. It's worth a great deal of money if you can pull it off. Our client is the casino which is bleeding money and no one's figured a way to stop it."
He ordered more coffee, lit a cigarette and settled back in his chair. "A very rich gentleman is beating the house every week. The casino knows he's cheating and are pretty sure how. But to prove their case they need to stop the game at a certain point and remove him from the table. The problem that confronts the casino is the presence of his bodyguard. This man is over two meters tall and weighs perhaps one-thirty kilos. It is all muscle. Of course, we could find enough men to control him, but it would ruin forever the image of this casino. You see, it is particularly exclusive and has never had any disturbance. Its clients rely upon that fact, and of course this gentleman takes full advantage of it. As long as he is playing at the table, or when he is finished, they cannot show proof of his cheating. So if there is an attempt to remove him, his bodyguard will step in. The man will claim his rights are being violated, and resist. The least attempt by the casino to use force will inevitably bring a response from the bodyguard. You can imagine how horrible the whole thing would then become. This business has been going on for months. The man is an expert in choosing how much to bleed out, week by week, so that they can catch the cheating only at certain fleeting moments."
Séamus suddenly felt light-headed. He realized the coffee and baguette and croissants had tasted so wonderful because it simply felt good to be free and outside the jurisdiction of the British government. The feeling of freedom, and the acuity of his tastebuds, were enhanced by the knowledge that he had taken himself right to the edge of survival. He was a wanted criminal, he had no money, no family and no love, he was heavily in debt to a ruthless, criminal syndicate, and he had only the vaguest ideas about how to keep his charges safe. It had been as if he was savoring every sensation because he wasn't sure if he would ever enjoy them again.
But now this job had come along and, given its likely value to the Syndicate, it would put him nicely on the road to paying back his debt, and perhaps build a useful reputation into the bargain. But did he really have the solution that apparently no one else had come up with?
"No decent ideas yet to solve this?" He asked.
"None that the client is prepared to risk," Masson told him. "You only get one shot at this – success or disaster. We suggested drugging the bodyguard or even paralyzing him with an injection. But can you imagine how that might look? Some mountain of a man being hauled out, either limp or stiff? It would take years for the customer base to recover."
"And they can't just ban this guy?"
Masson shook his head. "He will sue for the implicit accusation that he is a cheat and resulting loss. He's already earned millions that way."
Séamus nodded, staring at the girls who had followed the conversation with keen interest. "One more question. What's the lead time you have between knowing the evidence will be there and having to stop the game?"
"About one minute, I understand."
"OK, consider this one." Séamus described his concept of a plan to Masson. Masson watched the girls as he listened to it, and started beaming a smile at them at his appreciation of their roles. As some minor gaps appeared in the sequence of controllable events, both he and the girls started adding their own suggestions. Before long, the six of them were talking like a single team, testing each step of the plan for unanticipated action by others. A flaw would be exposed, a couple of solutions suggested, followed by a quick debate, then finally a vote taken. It would be Masson who would need to present the plan to the casino, and he was free to push back even against a shared view by the other five, yet it appeared he had immediate respect for the girls' opinions.
"This is an entirely new experience for me, and I feel humbled by it," he said at one point. "From my military days I consider myself a good judge of men. But of course, that's generally learned from seeing men interact with other men. You ladies have given me another perspective – how they might change their priorities in the company of skilled women." He smiled a bit sheepishly. "I don't like to admit it but, yes, I think I would fall for the trick you're describing to me. It's easy to say, 'I'd know better than that,' but sometimes our egos – and our libidos – can convince an intelligent man of foolish things."
"Actually, I don't see it as a trick," Chrissy commented. "I think of it as him just seeing his life in a whole new way. When circumstances start changing rapidly around us, it's very helpful to be able to do that. There's no bigger fool than the man or woman who sticks to their old routine when the world has changed around them."
"At least that's one type of foolishness that I haven't been guilty of recently," Séamus commented. "Now, Jacques, assuming you can convince the casino to proceed with our plan, I'm going to need an expert tool-maker."
Ivan Berezovsky considered himself a much more complex and interesting individual than people gave him credit for. He did not regret his size and muscular build – it had been an important survival tool in the Russian town where he had grown up – but it tended to type-cast him. Both men and women generally assumed he had little intellectual ability. With men, that was OK. With his limited education, he was only going to get a well-paid job that required physical intimidation, and it probably helped that he was assumed to be insensitive by nature. But he felt it limited his success with women. He was handsome enough, and he had definite physical appeal to the type who liked their men heavily on the macho side. Howeve
r, he longed for a woman to say she really liked his character. There were only so many years he could go through life keeping up some confidence about the decent, fun-loving man he was, without some endorsement. He feared turning into some bitter misanthrope in his later years, perhaps even getting sadistic, if he never managed to make a real connection with someone who clearly needed his company.
As he watched his boss play at the card table, he felt no particular emotion towards the man. He judged his boss to be a thoroughly cold human being, set on accumulating money, and constantly successful at it. He treated Ivan with respect and paid him a decent salary, but any conversation was purely an exchange of essential information. His boss didn't care about him as a human being, so Ivan saw no reason to see the man as anything but a source of income. The income was secure as long as his boss was successful and Ivan did as he had been told. Should anyone approach the man and attempt to stop him playing, Ivan was to approach and ask, politely, that his boss be left alone. If no one put a hand on his boss, then either the game would continue or the croupier would shut it down. If shut down suddenly during play, Ivan was not breaking any local law by immediately seizing any cards he could get his hand on, essentially contaminating any evidence. If a hand were placed on his boss, Ivan's instructions were to undertake the minimum steps needed to prevent his removal from his chair. Any force would be met with slightly greater resistance, and nothing more. It was essential, Ivan knew, that apparent guilt for creating any disturbance should rest with the house and not his boss.
Ivan was proud that he could understand the subtleties of this arrangement, and that the success of his boss's scheme depended upon the casino's desire to keep the peace at all costs. But there was something he didn't like about the fact that his huge frame, which looked even more massive in the tuxedo which was de rigueur attire for that establishment, was being used as a visible threat to the civilized good order that its clients cherished. It meant he was effective at his job simply because people were intimidated by his appearance. That made him feel a bit like a circus exhibit.