Josef had learned one other lesson from his father—to always make extra copies of his work. At the speed at which Abdul was going through girls Josef knew that he would exhaust his supply very quickly, and from his conversations with Anis, he had inferred that Marilyn was a special favorite. A man such as Prince Abdul would not want to be constrained by having to order in advance, and Josef knew that, so he had made enough copies to keep the prince entertained for the next three months without interruption.
From his PCD he called his lab in Switzerland and asked for Heinz, “I need fifty girls here in three days. Twenty-six Marilyn. Eight each of Hepburn, Taylor and Loren. Put them on Helmick I, and deliver them here by Friday morning.”
That took care of one problem. He looked at the ten million Euros he was holding. Abdul was getting copies of copies—not that it mattered since he killed them so quickly. Now all he had to do was take care of the other request. He scrolled down on his PCD until he found the number in New York City that he needed. Pressing that number, he waited for an answer.
“Tell Stanley Westbrook that Josef Helmick is calling for him.”
Chapter 9
At 8:00 A.M. Amanda Sutton had just finished her two-hour workout at her health club in New York City. Two hours each morning of workouts with her personal trainer was only one part of a fitness regimen that included strict dieting and constant weigh-ins. This morning Amanda had been a little under the weather—she was battling a slight head cold, and after putting in a late night working a private party the night before, she had gotten only four hours of sleep before getting up to go to the gym. Still, Amanda was in the beauty business, and her workouts trumped everything else in importance in her life.
Amanda was nineteen and had been living on her own for a little over a year, but she had been modeling and appearing in talent shows and pageants since before she could speak. With her long, wavy medium brown hair and almond-shaped green eyes with gold flecks, she was a stunning young woman. There had never been a moment in her life when she had not been striking—she had won the “You must have been a beautiful baby” contest with its five-hundred-dollar cash prize when only a year old, and that victory had led to appearances in soap and shampoo commercials, and later fast food ads. Her father owned thirty-five casual dine-in restaurants throughout Texas, Oklahoma and Louisiana, and he invested many of the profits from those businesses into sending Amanda and her mother on frequent junkets to New York for work. Melinda Sutton was a typical stage mother—always pushing her daughter forward and constantly maneuvering for space at the front of whatever line they happened to find themselves standing in. Like many child actors and their parent/managers, Amanda and Melinda had a difficult relationship which had become more difficult as Amanda had grown older and had wanted more control over her own career.
At eighteen, Amanda had signed with one of the top modeling agencies in New York, and it was through them that she had been able to secure her contract as the newest model for the country’s leading lingerie store. Modeling for the lingerie company was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for a young woman in Amanda’s position—the job meant not only a steady paycheck but also travel to glamorous locales, frequent television appearances, and the opportunity to consort with wealthy, sophisticated men. Don Sutton was not overjoyed when his daughter landed the contract—he was a little embarrassed to know that his friends would be drooling over his scantily-clothed teenaged daughter. Melinda was overjoyed, but she was less enthusiastic when Amanda let her know clearly that now that she was eighteen she expected her mother to “butt out” and let the agency make her professional decisions. Still, Don paid for half the studio apartment in New York City and the Suttons sent expense money, which Amanda used to supplement her income from her modeling jobs and “professional appearances,” such as the party she had attended the previous evening.
As Amanda stepped out onto the warm, muggy street, her PCD rang. The number was blocked; it read “Private.” Amanda was intrigued; a couple of the men at the party had asked for her number the previous evening. Maybe one of them was calling to ask her out. She answered.
“Amanda, how are you this morning?”
“I’m okay,” she didn’t recognize the voice. “Who is this?”
“This is Stanley Westbrook, Amanda. I want to have lunch with you today. I represent a man who wants to hire you for a very special job.”
“Uh, you need to call my agency. I can give you the number….”
“My client does not work through agencies, Amanda. This is a very special private job. Look, meet me for lunch at The Four Seasons and hear what I am offering. I am authorized to give you one thousand dollars cash just for showing up…whether you take the job or not. Can I expect you at 12:00?”
“Uh, sure. I’ll be there.”
“Fine. The table has been reserved under your name. I will see you there.”
Amanda disconnected the call. That was the downside of modeling—there were always low-life types trying to take advantage of a girl. On the other hand, one thousand dollars was good money just to eat lunch and hear what he had to say—too good to pass up.
She decided that rather than stopping in at the agency she would just call and see if they had any assignments for her. As it turned out, they didn’t, so she went back to her apartment to get ready for her lunch date.
At 12:00 she was at The Four Seasons. Her long hair curled softly on her shoulders. She wore a small amount of well-applied eye makeup to accentuate those amazing green eyes and a little bronzer on her cheeks. In her blue jeans, knit top and sandals she looked young and fresh and completely lovely.
Stan was already seated at the table when she arrived, and he rose to shake her hand. He was about forty-five and balding but not unattractive. He had large dark eyes, thick dark brows, and an olive complexion. He seemed pleasant and cultured and smooth. As they talked, Amanda thought that he might be interesting company—if he had a lot of money.
She ordered water with lemon and fish with steamed vegetables. After the waiter left the table she studied the card that Stan had given her. “So who are you, and what do you do?”
“I am a purveyor of beautiful things,” Stan answered smoothly.
“Huh? You mean like an agent?”
“I am an agent, but not in the sense that you are probably thinking. I work with highly-specialized clients from all over the world to help them find exactly what they want when they want it. Currently I am doing a job for a particularly discriminating client. He saw you at the lingerie fashion show you did three weeks ago, and he was very impressed. He wants to hire you.”
“I have a contract; you need to talk to my agency.”
“I told you this is a very special job, and my client is not working through ordinary agencies. I have been hired to find exceptional models for a private Armani fashion show in Dubai. This is an exclusive show—the models are being hired individually. The guests will include the world’s wealthiest men from Europe and the Middle East. The show lasts two days—you will fly to Dubai on a private jet and stay at the Hotel Armani. As part of your assignment you will also attend a private party at the Armani Club in the world-famous Dubai Tower. You will mingle with the fashion show guests —along with the other models, of course. When the weekend is over, the private jet will fly you back to New York City.”
“Dubai—on a private jet?” Amanda was very excited. This was the kind of offer that the top models usually received; women like her who were just starting out were normally passed over for these opportunities.
“But…if I take a job outside of my contract, I can get fired immediately. That is one of the conditions—I can’t take other work without written permission from the agency.”
“This is a private show in Dubai, Amanda. Who’s going to tell them? All you have to do is call in sick for a couple of days. Tell Marjorie that you caught that summer flu that’s going around, and you need a few days off. You’ll fly out Thursday, and you’ll be back on
Monday. This is an amazing opportunity—not only will you be in the same room with the world’s most powerful men, but you will be very well compensated for your time.”
Amanda looked at him expectantly, “How much?”
“Fifty thousand dollars in advance and fifty thousand dollars when the show is over.”
“One hundred thousand dollars? For a weekend….” Amanda’s fork still had a steamed carrot attached to it when it fell to her plate. What an offer! Dubai, the Armani Club, a private show—this was exactly what she had dreamed of when she first signed with the agency.
Trying not to sound too excited she asked, “How do I get paid?”
“Give me a voided check. If you agree to my terms, I will wire transfer the fifty-thousand-dollar advance to your account on Wednesday. I will call you after the wire has gone out so that you can check with your bank and verify that it has been received. I will send a limousine for you at 6:00 A.M. Thursday morning to take you to JFK, and you will fly out on the private jet. When you return, I will wire transfer the other fifty thousand.”
Amanda’s heart was racing. “This sounds incredible. Can I think it over? I might need to talk to someone.”
“Sorry, darling, but you can’t think it over, and you can’t tell anyone. This is a once-in-a-lifetime job for an exceptional girl. If news that I am putting together opportunities like this got out, I would be mobbed by a million would-be starlets. This deal is conditional upon your not telling anyone—if you breathe one word of this to anybody, the deal is off and you must return our money. And, Amanda, if you tell anyone, we will find out. It’s now or never, yes or no.”
“You know what, you’re right! I don’t need to talk to anybody. My answer is ‘yes’. I’m in.” She was opening her purse to get the check.
“Wonderful! Welcome to our team, Amanda. My employer will be so pleased.”
“And when will I meet him? This guy you’re working for, I mean?”
“You’ll meet him in Dubai. He’s looking forward to it.” Stan rose from the table. “I have another appointment, my dear, so I must leave you, but take your time and finish your lunch. I have already taken care of the check.” Reaching inside his jacket pocket, he produced an envelope and placed it in her delicate hand. “I will call you on Wednesday. Thank you for having lunch with me.”
“Thank you, Mr. Westbrook.” She opened the envelope carefully and counted ten hundred-dollar bills. Placing the envelope into her purse, she finished her lunch alone and then hurried back to her apartment.
She was too excited to take a nap now. For the next two days, all Amanda could think about was her impending trip to Dubai. She wanted to tell everyone, but she was afraid that if she told anyone Stan would find out and rescind his offer, so she kept quiet. Finally, on Wednesday about noon, she received a call on her PCD from a number marked “Private.” When she answered, she heard Stan’s voice on the other end. “Check your bank account, dear. I just wired the money.”
Amanda used her PCD to access her bank account and, sure enough, she was fifty thousand dollars richer. It was real—she was going to Dubai!
The next morning she was up at 4:00 getting ready for her trip. At 6:00 she was standing outside her building waiting for the limousine. When the car stopped at the curb, she did not even wait for the driver to help her; she opened the door, put her own bags inside, and climbed in. When the door closed, the driver pulled back onto the street and headed for JFK.
Chapter 10
The limousine transporting Amanda Sutton pulled up to the entrance of the Burj Khalifa, and the chauffeur opened the door for her. After a thirteen-hour non-stop flight she was feeling the jet lag—Dubai was nine hours ahead of New York City, so after flying all day she had arrived about six in the morning. Fortunately, Amanda was still young enough to have the reservoir of necessary energy to rebound quickly from such a demanding trip. Her hotel suite was amazing, and she had gotten to take a little nap and freshen up before going to the Burj Khalifa to meet her mysterious employer. Local time was now 2:00 P.M.
Amanda was doing her best to appear more sophisticated than her nineteen years, but she was overwhelmed by the opulence of the lobby of the Burj Khalifa. She had done a lot of modeling, but she had never been further away from the United States than Cancun, Mexico. Nothing in her travels had prepared her for the sights that confronted her now—from the marble floors with their wavy design, to the rich reds and purples, to the elegantly-dressed cosmopolitan staff representing people of all nations. “Wow, it looks so different from the movies,” she gasped quietly. Rashid, the concierge, ignored her comment as he pressed the elevator button for the penthouse.
In a matter of seconds the door opened, and Amanda was standing in front of the door of the man who had hired her. She had been told only that he had asked to meet her and that she would be spending about thirty minutes with him before being taken to her fitting for the party she was to attend the next day.
She had not had a chance to knock when the door opened for her and a man with dark Mediterranean coloring wearing white linen slacks and a white shirt motioned for her to enter. “Come in, please, Miss Sutton. Mr. Helmick will be with you shortly.”
Amanda took a seat on the couch. For this meeting, she had dressed in a black sheath dress which showed off her figure to its best advantage. Her five-inch platform strappy sandals accentuated her beautiful tanned legs. Her long brown hair hung in soft waves against her shoulders. She smoothed her dress as she waited—first impressions were important, and she wanted the man who had hired her to be pleased.
As she looked up from arranging her dress, she saw him standing in front of her. Funny, she had not heard him enter the room—it was as though he had just appeared. Her first impression was that he was a very good looking man. He was wearing a beautifully-tailored khaki-colored cotton shirt and perfectly-fitting khaki cotton pants. His cologne was warm and musky, very masculine and very sexy. She smiled her most alluring smile and stood to shake his hand. “I’m Amanda, so nice to meet you.” As she said it she tossed her head a little to show off her hair. Just at that moment she looked into his hazel eyes and saw the coldest most calculating look she had ever encountered. It was not that his eyes were unattractive—far from it—but as she looked into them she saw no warmth, no humanity—only a labyrinth of darkness.
Amanda had met many men, and she had learned early on that their opinion of her was a great deal more important to her success than her opinion of them, so she never allowed her personal feelings to interfere with her professional conduct. In this particular case though, as she stood with him still holding her hand, she wanted to give the money back, run from the apartment, and flee Dubai.
“I am Josef Helmick. So good of you to come on such short notice. I promise you that just by your presence here you have made my entire weekend.” Still holding her hand, he pulled her close and gently kissed the side of her face. Amanda tried to control her breathing, but she was so repulsed that she could hardly bear for him to touch her. Working hard not to change expressions, she waited until he withdrew his hand, and then she sat back down on the couch. She smiled that flirty smile again.
“I am so excited to be here, Mr. Helmick. I am very flattered that you wanted me in the show tomorrow.” She sounded nervous—she could hear it in her own voice. She thought about the opulence of her surroundings and the magnitude of the opportunity before her. She really needed to calm down.
“You seem nervous, Amanda. Did you have a good trip?”
“Oh yes, it was wonderful.”
“And your hotel accommodations? Are they satisfactory?”
“It’s all…just so beautiful. Everything is wonderful. And now I am here and ready to get started.”
“Good. Tell me about yourself, Amanda.”
“Well, I’m from Louisiana, originally…Baton Rouge, but I’ve been in New York City for over a year now. I’ve been a model since before I could walk. And, of course, now with my contract I’m
doing runway shows, which is very exciting and a dream come true for me. Stan said that you were in New York for my last show.”
“Not me personally. One of my associates. But he brought me back your picture, and I was instantly smitten. I knew that I had to bring you to Dubai for the party that we are hosting tomorrow.”
He had picked up Amanda’s hand as he talked and now was holding it in his. She was starting to wonder whether there really was a legitimate job here or not.
“Stan said that it was an Armani show. Do you work for Armani?”
Instantly he dropped her hand, stood and walked to the bar. “Armani works for me,” he answered coldly as he poured each of them a glass of wine. “Last year I bought fifty-one percent of the company, so I am the majority stockholder.”
“Wow! So how long have you been in the fashion industry?”
“Fashion is a recent acquisition for me. I have numerous holdings here and throughout the world. My ownership in Armani allows me to meet beautiful women and enjoy diversions from the stresses of my work.”
“So you’re like an investor? Or something?”
“Or something. I am a scientist.”
“A scientist?” Josef Helmick did not look like Amanda’s idea of a scientist, and he certainly didn’t act like one. Was it possible that he was putting her on?
“What kind of scientist?”
The Force (The Kingdom Chronicles) Page 4
