Good Intentions - Adrian Hell #6 (Adrian Hell Series)

by James P. Sumner

  Silence falls on the scene, and I find myself holding my breath. I’m not sure this was the best plan B I’ve ever had—I have the barrels of two guns resting against my head, and I’m unarmed. My only chance is—

  “Come with us,” says the guy to my right. “Prince Sayed will want to meet you before we kill you.”

  I close my eyes for a second, breathing a quiet sigh a relief. Then I re-open them, turn to look at the guy, and smile. “Excellent. Lead the way.”

  11:14 AST

  It took three elevators to reach the penthouse levels, with each one taking us up twenty-odd floors at a time. I think they do it that way so you don’t have one long cable running top to bottom. Probably safer.

  The doors open with a ding on the sixty-fifth floor. I’m surrounded by the five assholes from downstairs. They usher me out into a small lobby with corridors stretching off to the left and right.

  “This way,” says one of them.

  We all head to the right and make our way down the long hallway. The plush chocolate carpet muffles the marching of our collective footfalls. Artwork hangs at sporadic intervals on the cream walls. Stationed between the doorways, statues and busts atop marble plinths stand like sculptured sentries. Overhead, chandeliers that must cost a small fortune hang down, providing ample lighting.

  I look around, trying to appear casual. I even let out a low, impressed whistle along the way to give these ass-hats the impression I’m stunned at the opulence around us. I guess I am, to an extent, but the truth is I’m scoping the place, and I’m a little worried. There are very few doors, which suggests each room is sizeable. There are security cameras everywhere. I also have to assume everyone else in the prince’s entourage is as armed and as well organized as these pricks.

  Seriously, the White House was easier to get inside than this!

  We stop outside a set of double doors. Four of the men take a step back, training their guns on me. I glance at each of them in turn. Their fingers are tight on the triggers, their arms unwavering. Just waiting for a reason…

  I best try not to give them one.

  The fifth guy knocks on the door. After a moment, the left hand side opens slightly—a thin crack offering no view of the interior, blocked by the body behind it. There’s a brief, muted exchange in a foreign language, and the door closes again. A moment later, it re-opens fully.

  I feel a cold, metallic pressure in the middle of my back. Someone’s using his gun to urge me forward.

  “Inside,” says a voice behind me.

  I begrudgingly comply, stepping over the threshold and into the room, hearing the rest of the group file in behind me. I immediately begin looking around, to—

  Whoa…

  The room’s fucking huge! It must take up the entire side of this floor, easily. It looks like… Christ, I don’t know what it looks like! It’s like a ballroom or something. Maybe a palace. It’s very bright, on account of the far wall being nothing but floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Abu Dhabi. The midday sun is shining in, and it feels as if I’m level with it as I gaze out, squinting at its glare.

  The room stretches away to my left, probably all the way back to the elevators. I was thinking there were a few different rooms that were just pretty big, but it turns out the entire floor is one massive suite!

  There’s a wide ledge running around the perimeter, with steps leading down to the middle every few hundred yards. There’s a piano in the far corner, multiple tables and sofas, at least ten doors in total…

  I genuinely forget myself for a moment. “Holy shit…”

  “Impressive, isn’t it?”

  Huh?

  I look to my right and see a man approaching. He’s wearing a light-gray suit that’s probably so expensive, my bottomless credit card couldn’t afford it. He has dark, smooth skin and jet black hair, which, like his beard, is groomed and styled to perfection. He’s wearing gold-rimmed sunglasses, and I can see a watch on his left wrist that’s likely worth more than a small nation’s GDP. Two men with submachine guns over their shoulders, hanging loose by the strap flank him. Both are smartly dressed and look like professionals.

  I raise an eyebrow at him as he smiles a polished, politician’s smile.

  “The room… it’s beautiful, no?”

  I shrug. “Yeah, it’s not bad.”

  I’m surprised—his English is impeccable. He sounds normal… Nothing like I would have imagined. I know there are all sorts of customs and traditions usually observed by Saudi princes and their staff, but this guy is acting… dare I say it—American.

  He gestures to the rest of the room with his hand. “All the money in the world, yet places like this never fail to take my breath away. You see, I never take anything for granted, my friend. I appreciate every luxury I have. My wealth may have been inherited, but I’ve worked hard to grow it to what it is today. And I like to think I’ve put it to good use.”

  “Yeah… congratulations on being so loaded.”

  “I consider myself an honest man, my friend.” He gestures to me. “A trait I believe we share.”

  I shrug again, but say nothing. I’m aware of the close proximity of his armed guards—and I doubt these guys are all he has. I have no move. I just hope this works…

  “My staff tells me you freely admitted being sent to kill me. Is that right?”

  I nod. “Yeah. Sorry.”

  He holds his hands up and smiles. “No need to apologize. You are simply doing a job. I assume there is no personal animosity here. But what I don’t understand is why you would tell me…? Why endanger yourself like this? And, make no mistake, my friend—you are in significant personal danger right now.”

  I flick my gaze around. “Yeah, I see that. Truth is the people I work for aren’t crazy about giving out explanations. Me? I have no issue killing someone, but I have to believe they deserve it. They didn’t tell me why they want you dead, which didn’t sit right with me. And when I did a bit of research on you, it seemed to me that you’re a pretty decent guy.”

  He shrugs modestly. “Thank you.”

  Every good lie is ninety-five percent truth. I can understand why someone would want to kill him. But given I’m not one of the rich people losing money because of him, I can also acknowledge the good he’s doing. If I wasn’t in The Order, and someone approached me to do this job, I’d decline it based on what I know right now.

  But… that’s not an option. Bottom line, I am in The Order, and he needs to go whether I agree with it or not, because Lily’s already said he’s been taken care of. If Horizon finds out he’s still alive, it’s her ass in the crosshairs.

  I nod at him. “No problem. Anyway, I told them to shove the job up their ass, which they didn’t take too well. So now, they’ve put a contract out on me as well. I just wanted to give you a heads up.”

  He’s stopped a few feet away from me, and his bodyguards have fanned to the sides, covering me from a wider angle. He appears to be thinking about what I’m saying, nodding thoughtfully to himself and staring into space.

  “Well, I appreciate you telling me, of course. But you must have known the risk in doing so. Which makes me think maybe there’s something you want from me? Something you want to get from this? Money?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t want anything from you. I just want to screw over the people trying to kill me, that’s all. You surviving long enough to get out of the city would definitely do that, which is fine by me. I don’t need your money.”

  He smiles, but it’s not through humor. It’s more apologetic. “My friend, I think you have underestimated my position. It’s not an issue of me surviving, as you put it. Take a look around. I’m surrounded by some of the best personal protection in the world. We’re sixty-five floors up. No one can get to me here.”

  I shrug. “I did.”

  “True, but you’re not here to kill me. I assume…?”

  I shake my head. “No, I’m not.”

  “So I’ll be fine. I’m thankful for
your concern, but it was unnecessary. Now, all that remains is to decide what to do with you.”

  “Oh, that’s easy. I’ll just walk out the front door and you’ll never see me again.”

  He laughs. “My friend, I admire your confidence, but I’m afraid it’s not that simple. Tell me why I should just… let you go. You were hired to murder me, after all.”

  Wait a minute…

  I’ve just noticed something. bin Mawal has a very diverse security detail. Lots of different ethnicities. They’re also very well organized. Clearly, the prince has spared no expense on his protection.

  Why is that standing out to me?

  I think back to my therapy sessions with Kaitlyn, how she goes on about conscious and subconscious… I subconsciously picked up on this, like an instinct. And I trust my instincts, which means it’s an important fact.

  Oh, no…

  I turn to the guy standing on my left, who accompanied bin Mawal a few moments ago. “Hey, buddy, who do you work for?”

  He frowns, glances at the prince, and then shrugs. “Him.”

  “Yeah, I know that. But you’re a contractor, right? You work for a company he’s hired… who?”

  He stands tall, pushing his shoulders back. His chest swells with pride. “GlobaTech Industries.”

  I smile. Then I laugh. And I can’t stop laughing. That is just… brilliant!

  13

  11:42 AST

  Okay, so, here’s my dilemma. I’m not allowed to let Josh find out I’m still alive. If I do, The Order kills me. Probably Josh, too. And here I am, standing in a room full of GlobaTech employees.

  Do you see how that screws me on so many levels?

  There I was, thinking I was being real clever, coming up with a plan B… Never thought about needing a plan C!

  Ah, I’m new to the whole planning ahead thing, I’ll forgive myself.

  Still need to figure a way out of this though.

  …

  …

  …

  Shit.

  I’m an idiot.

  I just assumed bin Mawal would use his own people for his security, not someone else’s. I genuinely had no intention of killing him when I came in here. I was just scoping the place out, planning how I would take him out later. But now, if I leave just one of the men in this room alive, I risk word of Brad Foley having been here getting back to GlobaTech HQ… and, therefore, back to Josh. With all the goddamn security cameras around here, it would take him all of ten seconds to hack the footage, see me, and then all hell would break loose.

  That’s something else… I’ll need to destroy the security footage.

  Christ.

  Okay, one King Kong-sized clusterfuck at a time.

  I look over at the prince. My cheeks are aching slightly from the genuine laughter. He’s frowning at me, probably confused.

  “Have I… missed something?” he asks.

  I shake my head, still smiling. “No, sorry. I’ve just realized what an astronomically bad day I’m having. You know those moments where things are so outstandingly fucked up, all you can do is laugh?”

  He nods and smiles. “I do, my friend, yes. But, forgive my ignorance… I don’t understand why you’re just realizing this now.”

  I sigh.

  Shit, shit, shit!

  I need to start thinking of a plan C, don’t I?

  I stare at him, momentarily studying my reflection in the lenses of his glasses. “Okay, honestly? Prior to my little moment of clarity just then, I didn’t really consider myself to be in a bad position.”

  He chuckles. “Well, your confidence is certainly honorable, if a little unjustified. Why, may I ask?”

  I shrug. “There’s no reason you would want to hurt me. I’ve explained I came here in peace. I’m doing you a favor—despite the faith you have in your security detail, you need to understand that the people who hired me… the people now coming after both of us… are very dangerous, and far bigger than you or I. Why would you want to hurt me or kill me?” I gesture to the men surrounding me. “Would these guys even obey an order from you to take me out if I wasn’t a threat? They’re GlobaTech employees… they’re the golden boys at the moment, aren’t they, with everything that’s been happening…? It wouldn’t look very good on the company if their staff murder people because their customers tell them to.”

  Prince Sayed smiles humorlessly. His seemingly warm and friendly persona is leaving him. Maybe he doesn’t like being proved wrong? It’s like a physical change, as if he’s removing an item of clothing. He’s just… different.

  He points to each one of them individually. “They will do whatever I tell them to. That’s what I pay for, their protection and their obedience. The wealth I have affords me a freedom not available to most. If I deem you a threat, they will execute you.”

  I breathe out a slow, calming breath. In much the same way I just saw him change, I suspect he’s now seeing the same thing in me. The act has stopped. The lie is no longer valid. The change in him was all I needed to satisfy my own moral code. For all the good he might do, the fact he’s capable of such arrogance and anger tells me there’s probably more to him than meets the eye. More than what the public figure shows the world. In that moment, I was left with very little doubt that The Order’s contract is fully justified, whatever the reason.

  Besides… he just threatened me. Nobody threatens me.

  This used to be the type of situation where my Inner Satan would take over. Where I would ‘hulk out’, as Josh would so eloquently put it. But that doesn’t happen anymore. Which is actually even worse news for these assholes. No… my demon’s no longer some out of control beast that escapes from time to time. Now, in much the same way I would pull a gun and load a magazine, he is a trained weapon—something I use in addition to my normal skillset.

  I can feel him next to me, patting me on my shoulder, offering his support as he limbers up, ready to go to war with me, not instead of me.

  I take another deep breath and plan in my mind how this is going to go down.

  There are four guys behind me, two on my left, one on my right, and bin Mawal in front of me. Eight targets… seven of them armed, five of them already aiming their guns at me… maybe two within reach on a moment’s notice.

  Well, Prince Sayed can wait—he’s not a threat and he’s not going anywhere. His two personal bodyguards aren’t a priority either. They’re armed, but they’re not holding their guns. It’ll take them two or three seconds to prepare themselves and take aim, by which time I’ll have shot them. So, my focus needs to be on the guy to my immediate left—who, luckily, is within reach—and the four douchebags behind me.

  I raise an eyebrow and smile at the prince.

  Showtime.

  I step quickly to my left, grab the guy’s extended arm by the wrist and turn into him, putting my back against his chest. Grabbing his hand with mine, I squeeze, forcing him to fire four shots. Directing his arm by holding the wrist, I put a bullet in each of the four guys behind me. The lethally accurate gunshots are deafening in the silence of the large suite, and the sickening squelch of bullets penetrating skulls follows a moment later.

  Before the lifeless bodies thud to the floor, I push back, using my weight to turn us both counterclockwise. As we do, I squeeze off a round at the guy standing farthest from me, next to the prince. It punches him in the chest, sending him flying backward, but I’m not stopping to celebrate. I continue the turn, shoving the guy away from me and easing his weapon from his hand as he goes flying into the remaining bodyguard, who himself is slowly starting to register what’s happening, and reaching for his own weapon.

  As one guy collides with the other, I spin in a quick circle, stopping to face Prince Sayed. Using the gun I’ve just acquired, I aim under my left arm and fire three rounds. The first hits the guy I had a hold of squarely in his back, between the shoulder blades. He falls away to the side, sprawling to the floor as the other two bullets hit the remaining bodyguard in his ches
t. He flails backward, landing heavily and sending his own weapon skidding away to my left.

  Silence falls once again. I’m breathing heavily, partly from the exertion, partly from the adrenaline rush. I grip the gun tightly in my hand and stare at the prince, as he stands slack-jawed before me. He looks around quickly, the panic evident, despite not being able to see his eyes.

  He lunges to his left, presumably heading for the main door. Which is a really stupid move, because he’s nowhere near it, and unless this guy’s actually Clark Kent, he’s not going to run faster than—

  BANG!

  —a speeding bullet.

  I just shot him in the leg. Right above the knee. He buckled mid-stride and collapsed in a heap on the floor. He’s screaming with understandable agony, clutching at the wound as it gushes blood across the otherwise spotless, tiled floor.

  Hmmm, thinking about it…

  I walk over to him quickly, crouch beside him, and deliver a stiff jab to the side of his face, just below the cheekbone, on the bend of his mandible. His eyes flash wide for an instant, and then he stops screaming.

  There we go. He could have woken the dead with all that noise. But, more likely, he will have alerted the rest of his, what I have to assume is significant, security detail. Which, in turn, means I need to get the hell out of Dodge.

  I stand and walk a quick circuit of the room to make sure every door is locked. It won’t keep people out for long, I know, but it’ll buy me an extra minute or two, which is better than nothing.

  I make my way back over to the prince, reach down, and drag him by his collar into the middle of the room, pulling him unceremoniously down the small flight of steps and over to one of the exquisite leather sofas. I sit him down and position him so that his recently-ventilated leg is resting up on a small tinted glass table in front of him.

  I lean over and slap him. “Hey… wakey, wakey, your Highness.”

  He snorts back to consciousness, snapping his eyes open, disoriented. He looks around for a moment, and then focuses on his injured leg. His eyes go wide and his mouth opens, preparing to scream once more as the pain begins to register. Before he can, I shove the barrel of the gun between his lips.