by Bryan Koepke
He caught a hint of sweat and perfume, took a second deeper breath, and wondered if it was a woman behind him with the gun to his head.
“Drop the gun. We’re all going for a ride together in the black limo,” a woman said in a deep, sexy voice. He thought about the backup eight-inch blade he’d brought in a slender scabbard on his hip, pressing against his flesh inside his underwear. Yet he couldn’t reach that before she blew his brains out. He decided to go along with them for the time being.
The door to the limo opened up just as they reached it. Alex went in first, barely breaking his stride. Julian stopped in his tracks. The gun and whoever was holding it was still behind him.
“Get in, or I’ll shoot you dead right here, right now,” the woman said in a cold voice.
*
The interior of the limo was dark except four purplish dome lights next to the opposing rear bench seats. It reminded him of the kind of light in a strip club. Two other women were seated with them, a blonde and a brunette. The same ones Julian had spotted dancing together on the dance floor.
Alex was diagonal to him, sitting next to the dark haired woman. She looked drunk and was leaning against the side of the door, but Julian wasn’t sure if she was simply acting. The woman who’d held the gun on him reached over and pried Julian’s hand from his handgun.
Her fingers had claw-like nails that seemed thicker and stouter than anything natural. She had the grip of a professional, or at least of someone who’d spent hours in a gym.
“You like movies, don’t you?” the blonde woman said as she let Julian’s gun drop to the floor and then stepped down on it with her high-heeled shoe. This one would have to be taken out first, he gathered. She’d been trained somewhere, with a smoothness to her actions that reminded him of a woman he once worked with on a job in Southeast Asia.
Alex reached for the roof and pressed what looked like a couple of buttons in a wooden cutout. Julian wondered if it was the controller unit for the car’s rear ventilation system. A monitor folded out of the ceiling a few feet past their heads the way they do on airliners. The blonde held up a remote control and pointed it at the screen. Julian squinted in the dark and heard a familiar voice. It was Ian Drae talking to someone.
He could see his employer standing in the kitchen of his home. Julian remembered the stainless kitchen stove and refrigerator. He’d only visited once, but would never forget the way the house was furnished with the best money could buy. He relaxed a little and watched as Drae dismissed his maid and butler for the night, made a drink for himself, and retreated to another room in his house down the hallway from the kitchen.
The room was paneled in what looked like black walnut, and the old man sat for a while on a red leather sofa enjoying whatever he was drinking. Julian figured scotch, but it could have been bourbon. Drae mumbled every once in a while, oblivious to the fact that his every move was being videotaped. He was all alone in the big house, and the staff had left.
After a bit a buzzer sounded and Drae went back to the kitchen and opened the oven door. He pulled out a Pyrex dish and set it on the gray granite countertop. Julian could see steam rising from the top and he felt his stomach rumble with hunger. The few handfuls of almonds he’d eaten earlier were long gone. If the plan had gone the way he’d imagined, Alex James would be bleeding out in the parking lot behind the nightclub and Julian would have been seated at the restaurant he’d chosen five miles north, enjoying his steak. But now he coveted the old man’s dinner on the video.
A smell came to him as he watched the small color screen. It was cheap perfume. The kind young girls buy at drug stores. The scent was emanating from the brunette sitting directly in front of him. She seemed disinterested in the movie and for that matter life in general. Julian took her in for a few seconds. She had a pretty face with high cheekbones and a subtle nose. He liked this one, but wondered if she’d been drugged.
Julian watched the man walk back to the kitchen. He wondered if someone else was in the house filming the old man and then decided it was part of Drae’s interior security system. The camera was stationary and each time the man entered a new room, the film jumped to that camera location, as if the system was governed by a motion sensor. He wondered why the old man would care to film his everyday activity. Most security systems filmed the exterior of a home, recording a possible forced entry.
Drae went to the cabinet and pulled down a white dish with gold trim around the periphery. He found a knife, cut a two-by-two section, and ended up pulling a blob of the pie onto a plate. Then he carried it back to the room where he’d left his cigar and drink.
The television was on and it looked like American football. Drae sat in his chair with one hand on his thigh and the other grasping a smoking cigar. He took a pull off the cigar and smiled at the television. Ian took a big bite of food, then washed it down with his drink. Suddenly, an odd look came over the man’s face.
He made a noise, the kind when taking a hard punch to the stomach. Drae’s face went sour. His mouth opened, he coughed, and food shot out. What was left in his mouth dripped down the front of his white shirt. Ian fell forward onto the tray, knocking it over and sending the plate and silverware to the carpet. His body looked odd to Julian. His spine was pitched up in the middle like he’d died before hitting the ground.
The video ceased and the monitor rolled back upward into the roof of the limousine. Everyone was quiet as if digesting what he or she had just witnessed. Julian braced, expecting the woman who’d taken his gun to raise it toward him.
“I understand you’ve been hiding out at that farmhouse near Brussels,” Alex said, turning on the couch toward Julian, making the leather squeak.
“How do you know that?” Julian said.
“I have my ways,” he said, “don’t I, Candice?” He winked at the blonde across from them. She smiled back.
“You’re good, but I have to say, for a hit man you’re getting kind of old. What are you forty, forty-five?” Candice said, narrowing her eyes at him.
Julian didn’t like her in the least, and now that she’d opened her mouth he was back to thinking of a good way to shut her up. He could lunge, grab her by the throat, and choke her, but then Alex and the other woman would certainly react.
If he was going to make a move, it would be the base of his palm to the nose. It was quick and silenced an adversary before they knew what hit them.
“I’d like you to go to work for me first thing in the morning,” Alex said, handing a small silver attaché case over to Julian. “Your instructions are inside.”
Julian took the case and thought I’ll act like I’m working for you, get the hell out of this situation. Then I’ll pay you a visit when you least expect it and take all three of you out.
“We’ve got a security system at Draecon like no other company,” Alex said. “Now that Ian Drae is dead, I imagine you’re looking for a new employer.”
Julian sat back, wondering what was coming.
“I’ll pay you double whatever Drae was paying you. What I want done will be easy. One of the targets is already on your radar,” Alex said, reaching out toward the blonde woman. She picked up a narrow black briefcase about the size of a small laptop computer. The woman pressed a button on the case next to its handle. The top popped open and the diamonds inside sparkled in the faint light of the interior.
After a short ride the foursome spilled out into the street and entered a tall building. Julian followed Alex and the others off the elevator and down the hallway toward a luxury apartment. He knew the route well, remembering back to the day he’d let himself into Alex’s apartment to case it and plant his surveillance equipment. In less than two hours he’d gone from planning to murder Alex James to working for him. With Drae dead, Julian needed a new income stream. The old man owed him money and it seemed like his new client had plenty to burn.
Chapter 32
“Reece, I’m very happy you agreed to do this for me,” Marie Rhodes said, brushing away
long strands of her brown hair as she drove south toward Campbeltown. He sat on the opposite side of the SUV, watching the rolling green scenery go by and wondering what the next several days would be like. Reece was excited about the chance to fly over the Scottish countryside. He wasn’t going to tell her, but he hadn’t flown an airplane in close to a year.
“Don’t mention it, Marie. Anything to help you out, but I do have to say, the way things went between us the other night before Haisley arrived, I’ll be coming back to see you as soon as I can.”
She reached over and ran her hand over his upper thigh. They made eye contact and she gave him a little wink.
“I still can’t believe Margaret is gone. Poor dear never hurt a fly. I hope she went quickly and she wasn’t scared when she passed.”
“Yeah, I can’t imagine being murdered. What a way to go,” he said. “You and Margaret. Were you best friends?”
“Not best, but we were very good friends. Karl used to bring her back to Tarbert with him for the weekends so he could work more efficiently”
Reece looked down at the envelope he’d used to take notes earlier that morning. Marie had contacted a family friend and convinced the man to loan his single-engine Cessna Skylane to him. On the phone the man proceeded to ask Reece a series of questions about aviation. After a few minutes, convinced that he knew his way around a cockpit, he told Reece how to get to the hangar. The key was stashed under a red brick in a bathroom. Reece didn’t need to know it, but the man had chuckled and told him it was a spare master key capable of opening all of the hangars.
They’d agreed that he should fly into London Biggin Hill, since it was tucked between London’s Heathrow and Gatwick airports and would be relatively easy to fly in and out of. Reece was quickly learning that the people of Scotland were far more friendly and trusting than he’d imagined. The people here reminded him of the way things had been during his younger years back in St. Louis, when the world had been a kinder, gentler place.
“I’m going to miss you,” Marie said, brushing his thigh again as she rolled to a stop at a four way. “It’s been such a pleasure having you stay with me.”
Reece was about to speak when she leaned in and put her lips on his. They kissed passionately. It was like she’d been sprung out of jail and was filling a need for intimacy that she’d quelled for years.
He wanted to stay just where he was, but the weather report he’d gotten earlier was calling for lowering ceilings and instrument flight conditions. Reece knew if he didn’t stop now, they’d soon end up in the back, and there’d be no flying today.
*
Reece pulled back on the control yoke of the Cessna and urged it to lift off the runway. The engine was developing good power in the cool air and the airplane climbed quickly toward a layer of thick gray clouds. He figured the Cessna 182 Skylane had all 265 horsepower at this altitude, and he hoped he’d be able to climb higher than the 2,000 feet elevation he figured he’d need to avoid penetrating the cloud cover. To be legal he’d need to call for an instrument flight rule (IFR) clearance. With that he could fly in the clouds with reference to the instruments of the airplane, the way commercial pilots did all the time. The last time I flew IFR was last winter. I doubt I’m even current. Better not chance it.
Instead he pushed forward on the control yoke and leveled off the airplane’s climb at 2,100 feet. That gave him 500 feet of room between the airplane and the bottom of the clouds, keeping him legal for visual flight rule (VFR) flight. Reece twisted the throttle knob to the left, bringing back the engine’s RPMs. Next he adjusted the red mixture knob and lastly the propeller knob.
The airspeed indicator was nudging 150 knots and he knew at this speed the flight to London would be quick. The thing he wasn’t used to was the lack of visibility in the moist air of the U.K. In Colorado on most days you can see for a hundred miles in the dry air. They call it severe clear.
The drone of the engine pleased him and his thoughts quickly returned to Marie.
What if Karl is paying for all of this? It’s not like that would even make a dent with his earnings. If so, that explains her need to keep him safe from harm.
*
After landing at Biggin Hill airport Reece taxied to the spot where the ground controller told him to go. He shut down the engine and tied the Cessna down to protect it from sudden wind gusts with three yellow ropes connected to steel gussets anchored in the asphalt. With the tail and both wings securely tied down, he locked the door to the airplane and walked toward the airport office.
The runway was busy with students practicing touch and go landings, where they’d come in to land, touch their landing gear, settle onto the asphalt runway, and then advance the throttle, taking off again into the air. It was a common way that students practiced their takeoffs and landings while staying in the traffic pattern.
On the walk over to the fixed based operator’s office (FBO) he spotted a long shiny black limousine and figured it might be the one Karl had told him would be coming. Reece popped his head into the FBO. The kid sitting at the desk didn’t look old enough to drive a car, let alone fly an airplane.
“Hey, I just parked the red and white Cessna in spot 23,” Reece said.
“Okay,” the guy said. “If you top off your tanks with gas before departing, there’ll be no charge for parking. Otherwise, we stick you with ten Euros per day.”
“Got ya,” Reece said. “You can go ahead and top off the left auxiliary tank with 100 low lead.”
The young man behind the counter nodded and Reece left the office wondering what the exchange rate was between euros and dollars. He approached the driver’s side window of the limo. The glass lowered and inside the driver was dressed all in black, looking very formal.
“Mr. Culver, I presume?”
“Correct,” Reece said.
The driver hopped out of the car and led Reece to the rear. Then he opened the door and waited for his guest to get in. The smell of stale cigar smoke wafted out as Reece slid across the smooth gray leather bench seat and admired the interior.
After climbing back behind the steering wheel, the limo driver lowered the window between the seats.
“What brings you to London?”
“I have a meeting with Mr. Rhodes,” Reece said. “How far is it to Karl’s office at Draecon to this address?”
The driver took the business card Reece handed through the divider, eyed it, and handed it back. “That flat is about twenty minutes from Draecon. It’s on the north side of the city. Did you fly in yourself or on a charter?” the driver said, starting the car.
“I came over in a friend’s Cessna.”
They pulled out of the airport and onto a two-lane road. “There must be an incredible sense of freedom being able to fly,” the driver said.
“Yeah, it’s a blast. If you ever get a chance to go up in a small plane, take it,” Reece said. “The views are incredible from a couple of thousand feet.”
“Perhaps you could catch a taxi after your meeting with Mr. Rhodes to see whomever it is you’re wanting to meet with at the flat,” the driver said.
Reece sat back and drifted into thought. The drawings Haisley had given him were clearly aviation-related. What he didn’t know was if this was something Draecon was secretly building or if it was the work of a competitor. Maybe Haisley had found more information on Karl’s computer that would answer that question. After what seemed like ten minutes, the car stopped in an underground parking structure and the driver opened Reece’s door.
“Mr. Culver, if you take the lift right over there up to the seventh floor, you’ll find Mr. Rhodes office is four doors down on the right after exiting. Good day, sir.”
“Thanks for the ride,” Reece said. “Have a good one.”
The interior of the elevator was the first hint that Reece had entered a building inhabited by important clientele. The walls of the large compartment looked as if they’d been hand-carved from the finest woods available. In the corners he
admired the dovetailed joints. A shelf contained Kleenex, and several umbrellas with gold-plated handles hung from a wooden rack. The mechanical actuation of the elevator was the most impressive. When the doors closed the interior was deathly silent and Reece felt an almost unperceivable upward motion. A bell rang and the number seven appeared in green above the doors.
As Reece approached Karl Rhodes’ office, he could hear the man’s deep voice bellowing off the interior walls. He was talking to someone, and Reece stopped just shy of the door, about to knock, when someone came up behind him.
“Are you here to see Mr. Rhodes?” Candice Carlyle said.
“Yes, I have a noon appointment with him.”
“Ah, you must be Mr. Reece Culver. Welcome,” she said, extending a limp hand. “I’m Ms. Carlyle, chief council. If you’ll take a seat inside, he’ll be with you shortly.”
Reece followed her instructions and found a chair. The walls were identical to the interior of the elevator he’d just ridden. He looked out toward the skyline of London and quickly decided the constant cloud cover and lack of bright sunshine was affecting him. In his native Denver it was rare to see clouds for more than a day or two. He sat in the quiet, wondering where Rhodes had gone and noticed that the ringing in his left ear had returned. It was higher pitched today, and Reece wondered if the flight over had affected the pressure in his ears. He grasped his nose and blew, but nothing changed.
“Yes, my lord. I understand. I presume Ian talked to you about all of that,” Karl Rhodes said. Reece wondered what Rhodes was talking about as the man approached his office door.
“This won’t affect North America,” Karl said.
“Yes, we’ve been in contact with Mr. Woodbine and the rest of the board members.”
Reece heard the floor creak but continued to stare out the window that ran across the span of the entire office behind the desk.
“Mr. Culver. I’m so glad you came. I’ve been expecting you. Shall we go have some lunch?” Karl Rhodes said, extending a hand.
