by A. J. Roe
How does he know I worked there? “I’ve been my own boss for a while now. Your boss can feel free to pay me instead though if he likes. When would it be?”
“Immediately if it suits you. We could fly out of Luton this evening. Professor Voss felt it was an extremely time sensitive situation, hence my attendance rather than him coming to meet you in person. The Professor has a retainer contract with a private airline for just such situations.”
Rick quickly wiped the grin from his face. Something about the offer seemed a little too good to be true and his experience, that often meant it was.
“That sounds great. But have you got any ID or something first? Not that I don’t trust you, its ju-”
“-Of course, sir. I understand entirely. You can never be too careful these days.”
The visitor slid out a black wallet and flicked through a row of cards, finally coming to stop at a company ID. He handed the card to Rick, who checked the photo, or pretended to at least. His gaze had actually been drawn to what was now on display beneath where the company ID had sat. Rick couldn’t quite make it out from this angle, but he was certain the logo in the top right corner was a military insignia.
“Well, what do you think, Mr. Wilson?” He reached out a hand to take his card back.
This was not going to sit well with Sarah and he briefly considered turning down the offer or at least asking to delay it. But when would he ever get a chance like this again? It was a private jet!
“I wouldn’t be able to leave until around eight. My ex-wife is coming to collect my daughter then.”
“That’s no problem at all sir. I’ll wait for you downstairs in the black BMW across the street. Take your time.”
They shook hands and the driver made his way back to the doorway. Rick followed a step behind keeping a close eye on him, something about the whole situation still seemed off.
The moment the door was closed, it dawned on Rick that he was now facing a couple of very awkward conversations. The phone call with Sarah was not pretty but it had to be done.
Finally, the offer of paying her back the money that he owed (it had added up over the last few years), was enough to persuade her to come and collect their daughter when she finished work, even though it would be late.
“Can’t I come with you?” Ellie asked from just behind the doorway as soon as the conversation ended, “I wanted to stay here, it's not fair!” Rick could see the disappointment in her eyes but when would he have a chance like this again?
“No. Sorry sweetheart. I have to work. I’ll be back in a couple of days though then we’ll have all the time in the world to hang out.”
“Fine,” she said in a perfect imitation of her mother’s voice and sighed. “Just don’t forget to be back for my party on Sunday okay?”
“Of course not!” Rick pulled a face as though he was deeply offended then smiled. He knew her birthday was on the fifteenth but with the craziness of the past few days it had crept up quicker than he’d realised.
“You promise?”
“I promise I will be there on Sunday,” he said with his palm raised as if taking an oath.
A bundle of clothes and his passport were hastily thrown into a brown leather bag. Rick changed into a slightly more appropriate outfit, sacrificing his ancient ‘Iron Maiden at Donnington Park’ T-shirt for a grey polo and his tattered jeans for a pair of dark green combat trousers.
He tested out a couple of hiding places for the dagger and found the only good spot, where it wasn’t immediately obvious or stabbing him in the crotch with each step, was tucked into the rear of his waistband. Still it made sitting down awkward, so for now he stuffed it among the clothes in the depths of his bag.
When Sarah eventually arrived in her beaten-up rust-coloured Vauxhall Astra, he was standing at the side of the road while Ellie sat on his leather travel bag beside the X8. His ex-wife looked like she’d been slapped around the face when it became obvious that he actually did have to go to catch a private flight to the south of France for business.
“Just make sure you're back for Sunday,” she hissed through a crack in the car window.
Rick kissed Ellie on the cheek. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” The little girl quickly rubbed the residue off, grimacing as if he had just smeared mud across her face, climbed into the back of the car and heaved the door shut.
Sarah stepped out, glancing back over her shoulder to make sure Ellie wasn’t still listening. “Seriously, every time you let her down, I’m the one who has to pick up the pieces, she acts like it doesn’t bother her but it really does! Sooner or later you’ll lose her trust for good unless you make her your priority. No more bullshit, just be there, okay?”
Rick grunted in response and muttered something vaguely close to an agreement at an almost inaudible volume. He suppressed his concerns that this was turning into a seriously weird week and chose to focus on the thought of the riches and fame that awaited him at the other end of the short plane ride. “I’ll be there.”
Moments later, the X8 roared to life and took off with an astonishing pace, quickly joining the nearby motorway. Rick made a mental note to bring back a birthday present for Ellie. He pulled a marker pen out of his bag and scrawled the word ‘Sunday’ across the back of his hand in black permanent ink. Rick had no way of knowing just how far, and just how badly screwed up, his life could possibly have become by then.
8
I can’t believe this is really happening. Rick peered out into the darkness as the bright lights of an airport emerged over the horizon.
Minutes later they had turned in through a gate that was nestled between tall red brick walls and capped with coiled barbed wire. The place looked more like a military compound than a commercial airfield. “I thought we were going to Luton?”
“Apologies Mr. Wilson, my instructions changed at the last minute,” the driver said, looking back at his passenger in the rear-view mirror. “It shouldn’t disrupt your trip at all.”
Rick shifted uncomfortably in his leather seat, now sticky with perspiration. He looked longingly down at the matte-black handle wondering if the doors were locked. After a few seconds, he decided the risk was still worth the reward. Especially when his only other option would be jumping from a moving vehicle in the middle of an active airfield.
They drove a further half a mile alongside the flashing green and red lights of a runway and right into the centre of an immaculate hangar. Buzzing fluorescent bulbs, a hundred feet or so above in the enormous steel cavern, spotlighted a sleek white Gulfstream G700. The only touch of colour was a sky-blue stripe that ran the entire length of the fuselage.
When the car came to a halt in front of the plane, a young blonde woman, dressed in a tight grey dress, stepped forwards to help Rick from the car. The first thing he noticed was the fruity, sweet scent of her perfume. The next was the depth of her emerald green eyes, which held his gaze for a good second longer than was necessary. She introduced herself as Cassandra, then presented him with the pilot and a co-pilot who stood to her left. The two men were both adorned in neatly pressed white shirts, ties and blue blazers with full ranking insignia.
Better them than me, Rick thought. It was a warm evening and their outfits must have been stifling.
The driver passed Rick’s bag to Cassandra. With a smile she stepped in front, leading him up the staircase towards the gleaming jet while he enjoyed the view. Gently she took hold of his arm and guided him across the threshold. The touch made him feel a little uncomfortable, like a doted-upon child.
Rick was used to getting by without a lot of luxuries. Like most of his generation, he’d been stung by consistent failures of the government, numerous global crises, pandemics and a failing economy. Now, entering the absurd luxury of the plane was like stepping into a different life; one he never thought he’d have a chance to experience first-hand.
The stewardess led him through a full kitchen at the front of the aircraft. In the central section over the wings
was a plush brown carpeted room and a set of four cream leather reclining chairs around a polished walnut coffee table. Further back were two more recliners, one behind the other on the left-hand side, and opposite them on the right was a fat, black leather sofa. Behind the far arm of the sofa, was a drawn curtain which Cassandra swept back to reveal a full-sized double bed. “Where would you like to be seated, sir?”
This is ridiculous, he thought, trying to ignore the burning sense of guilt in the back of his mind. Sanjay deserved to be here with him, but instead he lay broken and drugged up in some random northern hospital.
At least, with a bit of luck, he’d be able to bring his friend some good news in a few days' time when he was back home and on the mend. They wouldn’t fly me out on a private jet for nothing would they?
“Here’s fine.” Rick pointed to the recliner in the middle of the cabin and reached out to take his bag from Cassandra. He wanted to keep the dagger in his sight this time. She politely signalled that there was no need to worry, placing a hand on his arm and following him to the seat before sliding the bag beneath the chair in front.
Rick melted into the thick cushions of the recliner as the plane underwent the smoothest takeoff he had ever experienced. I could get used to this.
“Can I get you a drink sir?’ Cassandra asked once they were stable.
“Please. What have you got?”
“Anything,” she said with a flutter of her eyelashes.
“Okay, I guess I’ll have a whiskey sour?” He half expected his request to be denied.
“Of course. Would you prefer Scotch or Bourbon?”
He laughed. “Scotch.”
Two minutes later, Cassandra brought him the most ornate whiskey he’d ever laid eyes on. A single spherical ice cube, surrounded by the liquid, sat in a sugar-rimmed, crystal tumbler garnished with a swirl of orange peel. She took his food order from a number of choices better suited to a five-star hotel than a plane. Rick selected a Wagyu Beef Steak with Miso sweet potatoes.
As she walked off to prepare his meal the speakers of the PA crackled, and a voice came through with incredible clarity.
“Mr. Wilson, this is your Captain, William Roberts speaking. Our host Professor Voss would like to welcome you aboard Air Solutions Charter Flight 9466. Our current altitude is fifty-one-thousand feet, we are averaging six-hundred-and-four miles per hour and should arrive at our destination in around eleven hours. If there is anything we can do to make your trip more pleasurable, anything at all, please do not hesitate to contact any of our staff members.”
Eleven hours? What the hell? “Excuse me,” Rick called to the stewardess who was at the front end of the plane behind a curtain.
“Yes sir?” she answered immediately, once again flashing the type of smile that could launch ships.
“Did he just say eleven hours? I thought we were going to France?”
“I apologise Mr. Wilson, we were under strict instructions to keep our destination a secret until we were in the air. Professor Voss had some concerns about safety.” Rick narrowed his eyes as he ran through a list of possible destinations in his head, The US? The Middle East? They could basically get anywhere in the northern hemisphere in eleven hours.
Maybe he could forgive his mysterious benefactor for asking him to fly out and meet in person, especially if it made him rich. But completely lying about the destination and transporting him halfway around the world in secret? It was basically a kidnapping. Who the hell is this guy?
“This is bullshit! You can’t just lie to people about where they’re going.” Rick’s voice had started to raise and he could see a spark of fear in the stewardess’s eyes, even though her face stayed calm and collected.
Rick took a deep breath and tried to let it wash his anger away. He’d always prided himself on being easy going, besides they were already airborne, there wasn’t exactly a lot he could do about the situation other than try to enjoy it.
Right now, it was Monday night. As long as he was back before Sunday, a full-six days’ time, that was all that mattered.
9
“Welcome to Japan,” the customs officer announced in an accent so thick it was almost incomprehensible.
The official was dressed in a neat, navy-blue suit and bowed down from where he stood behind a tall grey counter. Then with robotic accuracy, he flicked open Rick’s passport delivering a series of rapid stamps before allowing him and the stewardess, the only people in the narrow, white-walled room, to pass through.
Rick was still half in disbelief. It wasn’t until they had got up to cruising altitude, about forty-five minutes after takeoff, that Cassandra was finally permitted to inform him about their destination. Rick’s initial anger at the deceit soon passed. He had finished his meal, along with another couple of Whiskeys, watched some generic Hollywood action film and slept beautifully, wrapped in silk sheets on the soft double bed. Honestly, it was hard to stay angry when he was getting an all-expenses-paid luxury trip to somewhere he’d always dreamed of visiting.
“That was quick, wasn’t it?” Rick said, surprised they hadn’t even bothered to pat him down or x-ray his bag before he crossed the official border.
“The Japanese are very efficient,” Cassandra said over her shoulder with a smile. “Besides, quick transitions are one of the perks of flying privately.”
The logistics of travelling to a distant location hadn’t even occurred to Rick until just now but apparently his mysterious host had taken care of everything. He must want to buy the dagger. Why else would he go to all this trouble?
They walked through a huge, mostly empty terminal, with just a few businessmen sitting on black leather massage chairs that hummed and buzzed in the dim cavernous space.
At the far end of the hall Cassandra led Rick out through a pair of glass double doors and towards a row of gleaming black cars parked up at the kerb. A skinny, timid-looking driver in a dark suit leaped out of a well-polished Nissan President and literally sprinted around the car to take Rick’s bag and open the door for him, bowing and apologising profusely the whole time.
“This is Hiro,” Cassandra said, “He’ll take you up to Professor Voss’s estate.”
“Thanks. Fantastic service by the way. I’ll make sure to fly with you again for my next kidnapping.”
She laughed, covering her mouth coquettishly “Of course, sir. I hope to see you again.”
Rick sat in the back seat of the car thinking about the trip. He really hoped that he’d be flown back on the same plane once their business was done. He knew Cassandra was just doing her job but having someone so remarkable around was always a pleasure. Rick shook off the thought, no longer having the time nor patience to go pining after unobtainable women, as he would have done in the past.
A few miles on, the smooth black sedan rolled through the outskirts of Fukuoka, the largest city on Kyushu, Japan’s southernmost island. The orange LED clock on the dashboard read 16.08 and from the line of brake lights ahead it looked as though the evening rush hour was beginning.
Rick’s one and only prior foray into Asia had been more than a decade ago. He’d spent two weeks on a beach in southern Thailand binge drinking buckets of cheap cocktails, eating Shrimp Pad Thai and getting sunburned. He had long since forgotten just how crazy everything was on the far side of the world. From what he could now see rushing past the luxury vehicle’s windows, Japan seemed even more so than Thailand.
The buildings towered high, adorned with shining sculptures and vast flashing neon signs, throngs of businessmen in dark suits and young kids in colourful attire paced shoulder to shoulder along the busy pavements.
The car buzzed along at a steady speed. The traffic was somehow dense but orderly, flowing away from the tightly packed glass towers and high-rises of downtown and out into the suburbs. In Rick’s befuddled, jet-lagged brain, the Nissan seemed to float along in a swell of vehicles, as though being pulled by the current of a river.
After the best part of an hour, the gre
y concrete of the city had disappeared entirely and was instead replaced with pristinely ordered rows of trees and low houses with upturned roofs that gave them a distinctly Japanese style. Finally, these too dwindled away, and after another half hour of driving through the countryside, the car wound up a steep hill overlooking a small town down below.
Rick watched as the streetlights of the residential area flickered on one by one in the distance, signalling the approaching night. This did little but add to his body's confusion, which still firmly believed it was breakfast time.
At the top of the hill, they turned into an estate surrounded by high stone walls. Each wall was lined with perfectly trimmed hedges and adorned with a security camera every hundred feet or so.
They pulled up to a guard hut outside the main gate and a security officer dressed in khaki, flagged the car down and bowed until he was horizontal. The driver spoke a few lightning-fast words before they were waved on and a pair of ornate iron gates, that would have been more in keeping with a medieval castle, creaked open.
Rocks popped and pinged under the wheels of the heavy vehicle as they drove up the shingle driveway. A sense of trepidation grew as they were swallowed deeper and deeper into the compound. Fortunately, the view to the east soon stole Rick’s attention away. A perfectly manicured Zen Garden glowed blood-red, illuminated by the final rays of the day’s sunlight before they disappeared behind distant mountain peaks. It was a picture-perfect, postcard-like shot of Japan, only adding to further his sense of detachment.
Twenty seconds later, they reached the end of the driveway before a building that looked relatively modest in comparison to its high level of security.
The house was two storeys high and built from huge, white stone blocks. It had a low hanging wood and slate roof that curved slightly upwards at the corners blending Japanese and contemporary western styles. No doubt a demonstration of the owner’s unique tastes. This guy’s either going to make me rich or screw me over, Rick thought. Right now it seemed things could go either way.
