by Alex Just
~ Switzerland ~
Stanley’s Porsche glided into the Hilton car park, its satin black body absorbing all light, disguising the power the car possessed. Before he’d even turned the engine off, a valet boy was opening his car door and offering to park it.
‘Thank you,’ Stanley spoke the words sincerely and smiled.
He made a beeline for reception.
‘Good evening ma’am,’ he smiled charmingly at the receptionist, a dimple appearing on his right cheek. ‘I was wondering if my friend, Signor Ramon, has already checked into your hotel.’
Unused to such politeness the receptionist nodded and blushing slightly, replied, ‘Give me a second sir.’ Her fingers flew over the keyboard, performing a flawless choreographed dance, sure enough, a few moments later she looked up with a confident smile. ‘He is sir; he’s staying for another two nights in room 56 on the seventh floor. I believe he’s booked out a conference room of ours, Florida’s the name, for an 11am sitting tomorrow.’
‘That’s great, thank you for that Miss Florentine,’ he read the name off her badge smoothly. ‘I was wondering if I could please get a room for myself on the same floor. Under the name “Marion” would be great.’
Her face flushed again at the personal touch. Her fingers resumed their quick confident manoeuvres and within seconds she glanced up at Stan.
‘That’s room 55, on the seventh floor Mr Marion. I booked you in for the next two nights. It includes a buffet breakfast and access to the hotel’s facilities. Is that OK? Will you be paying with credit card?’
‘Perfect. I will be paying with credit card thank you,’ He swiped ATIS’s gold card through the machine and punched in the details.
‘Would you like me to inform Signor Ramon of your arrival?’
‘Oh no please don’t trouble yourself, I’d like to surprise him,’ Stan took the key card and made his way over to the stairs. He jogged up to the seventh floor, quietly made his way over to room 55 and stepped in.
A bottle of champagne nestled in a stainless steel bucket flooded with ice cubes welcomed him along with two flutes.
If only that receptionist had the evening off, the playful thought flashed through Stan’s mind, but only for a second as immediately his cell phone started buzzing angrily.
‘Stanley Muddingfield.’
‘It’s Ben, I looked at those pictures you sent. You were right. It’s him. The thing is you have to know what you’re looking for. I’m afraid this is not enough to convince those in higher places.’
‘Damn it! That complicates matters.’
‘Well not necessarily buddy, the two of us have worked tons of projects bigger than this together, just this time, we won’t have back up if our arses get strung on the line. It’s up to you; you wanna get him this time or not?’
Stanley paused for a minute. Such a tempting offer; he should by rights turn it down. A picture of Adrianna surfaced in his mind, the face of Russell too. All the pain, the misery which Smith had caused, surged through him and his anger intensified.
‘Whatever, we’ll do it. You know I want to, no matter the cost. What have you got for me?’
‘First off its messy, Smith dies right? Well supposedly, but more to the point, he’s off the records. Then three years ago “Signor Ramon” springs up out of nowhere and I mean nowhere. He owns 20 million, although no one knows how he got the cash. That’s where it gets really interesting, because, I thought if he owned the 20 mil before he assumed his new identity then someone would’ve used the Cayman Islands to clean the cash and drop it into his account. Not the case. Well, the exact number of cash, it turns out, was “donated” to a charity, that coincidently belongs to Ramon, by um, Stanley Muddingfield.’ A pregnant pause.
Gripping the edge of the bed for support as the colour drained out of his face, he took two breaths, and angrily replied.
‘Me? No, no, no! That’s not possible!’
‘I was shocked too, so, I thought; let’s get an ID photo of this Stanley bloke. Well yeah, turns out I was staring into your ugly mug, only it’d been changed slightly, you got a beard, moustache and blonde hair!’ He laughed.
‘You think this is funny? This can’t be happening! He was using my identity? I don’t like what we’ve stumbled onto, Ben. I really don’t like where this is going.’
‘I’m not done yet…’
‘Spare me the suspense,’ Stan’s voice was strained.
‘There’s a whole history to what Stanley Muddingfield’s been doing over the past twelve years, before Signor Ramon springs up. And, as soon as Ramon begins to exist, Muddingfield ceases to exist, leaving his entire “legal” property and wealth to his good friend Ramon. He lived in Miami, in an eight million dollar sea-view mansion. He was an investment banker. He kept an incredibly low profile, never showed up in the media, threw no parties and only had a few social gatherings which included strange individuals with no relevant social or political standing. The one time he made it into the media, was in a small local article. Apparently he bought an uninhabited island somewhere in the south-pacific ocean and according to the article; it’s way out in the middle of nowhere, away from any shipping or plane routes. He justified it as “protecting the environment” and this all happened eleven years ago, the moment he became Stanley Muddingfield.’
This cannot be happening, was all Stan could think. How could it be that his entire life had been plagued by that one man and his cruelty?
‘And how is it that the FBI or ATIS never caught onto me being in Miami?’
‘Well you know how it is, there are people with the same names on this planet, and because the ID photo doesn’t totally resemble you it didn’t get picked. Look even if it did, the institute would’ve assumed that it was your house and your money under your name but a false photo to protect you considering you’ve completed high profile assignments and have enemies. Really the chances of them investigating this are non-existent. Do you see?’
‘I do, you’ve done well my friend, as always, thanks. I’ll have to take a while to process this. Smith has a conference planned at this hotel, so I’ll find out who is there and what it’s about. Call me if you get anything else.’
‘I will,’ Ben replied.
He needed to think clearly, take time to figure out how to get this mess sorted. Again he was ever so grateful for his one and only true friend, Ben, who had never let him down and whose efficiency was unparalleled. Picking up the room phone, he dialled for reception.
‘I’d like to a book a table for one in your restaurant for tonight please, yes in half an hour sounds fine, the names Marion. OK, thanks. Have a good evening.’
Conference room Florida, where is that located, he wondered, thumbing idly through the hotel brochure. One floor up from his and there was a storage room next to it. The possibility to eavesdrop was beginning to look better and better. He’d go check it out now, before dinner, and see if there was a way to get into the storage room.
Picking up his jacket, he double checked the safety on his Smith and Wesson pistol, securing the silencer. Smiling at the irony of the piece’s name, he headed out.
An arm grabbed him round the neck; he felt the hard edge of a gun in the small of his back.
‘Make the slightest bit of noise, and you’re dead Stanley. You’re a nuisance, always were one, Smith will be so happy to hear how easily I captured you. You never trusted me, not properly, only what you couldn’t avoid. Remember?’ The whispered threat held so much menace that it would’ve made skin crawl. Stanley recognised the voice, his stomach felt as if he’d just swallowed lead. Keep a cool head, keep a cool head, was all he could tell himself over and over.
‘Markus, always the “good boy” weren’t you?’
‘You got that bit right,’ he laughed cruelly ‘now you and I are going for a stroll. Try getting away or pulling any stupid stunts and I swear I’ll leave a scar on your face that’ll make the joker look pretty.’
With that he released St
anley’s neck and forced him down the corridor towards the elevators, gun pressed into his back.
***
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