Assassin b-2

by Murray Mcdonald

  Assassin

  ( Billionnaire - 2 )

  Murray Mcdonald

  Murray McDonald

  Assassin

  Prologue

  He replaced the receiver. How he had remained calm during the call escaped him. He was far from calm, probably as far as anyone could be. He threw the phone against the slightly curving wall and watched with satisfaction as it exploded into thousands of useless components.

  “Beaumont, get in here!” he screamed into the intercom.

  By the word ‘get’, Beaumont had already entered the room.

  “They failed! The deal’s gone through! Can you believe it? A group of damn kids!”

  “Shall I deal with them?” offered Beaumont.

  “No. Let me think a minute… this is merely a set back, that’s all. We just need to tweak Phase 2 slightly…yes… that’s it, that’s all we need to do. Do you know something Beaumont, I think they’ve actually done us a favour. This could be even more fun than I imagined.” He was calming down and beginning to think more rationally.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Are all our people in place?”

  “Yes, we have one or two loose ends to tie up but they won’t take long.”

  “What are they?”

  “Best you don’t know, leave them to me,” suggested Beaumont, he preferred to deal with the detail himself.

  “OK but don’t leave anything to chance. If anyone gets in the way, kill them.”

  “Of course.”

  “Good. Commence Phase 2 immediately.”

  “Yes Sir, Mr President.”

  McDonald, Murray

  Assassin (The Billionaire Series)

  Part One

  Chapter 1

  Two months later

  “In breaking news, another assassination has shocked the world of politics. The Italian Premier, Mr Carlo Valentini, has been gunned down in broad daylight…”

  A mobile phone rang. Charles Heathcliffe Beaumont IV answered the call before the second ring.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, it’s done.”

  “Yes, I can see that, it’s already on CNN. Why didn’t you call sooner?”

  “It’s only been 5 minutes. I had to get away from the scene, the reporters must have been bloody quick.”

  “OK, I just like to know what’s happening,” replied Beaumont. “Have you received the brief for your next target?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Now get moving, the timescale is very tight. Phone me when you land.”

  Beaumont looked down at the plan again. It had taken 15 years, billions of dollars and hundreds of killings to reach this point and now, in less than a year, the plan would be finally complete. He had only been involved in the last three years, inheriting his position on the death of his father, Charles Heathcliffe Beaumont III. He thought his father had been a weak and pathetic man. If only he had known then what he knew now. His father had, in fact, been a brilliant man, a genius, not the bumbling old fool that everyone thought he had been.

  Unfortunately, Beaumont IV had never known the genius behind the facade. It was only after his father’s funeral that he discovered the truth. In his will, his father had left him a video, clearly marked private ‘for your eyes only’. When he first played the video he thought there had been some mistake. A look-a-like must have stood in for his father. Gone was the awkward-looking old man, replaced by a straight-backed, upright and forceful man exuding power and authority. His father quickly explained that he had always found people to be more open and honest around the old eccentric Charles Heathcliffe Beaumont III. He had made millions from loose tongues in his old gentleman’s clubs. On seeing him enter the room, many would say “don’t worry it’s only Beaumont” and would continue discussing their business. He of course picked up on every word, jumped on the deals and made a fortune.

  In the video, he explained to his son the intricate and complex structure of their finances. He thought his father was worth a few hundred million but now discovered that he was worth billions and he, the only son and heir, had inherited the lot. In death, his father became the father he had always dreamt of. His friends had always referred to him as ‘the bumbling old fool’, something he had never been able to deny. His father apologised for not having told him the truth and that he had had to accept that his son thought little of him but was comfortable in the knowledge that he knew his son would appreciate him in death. The young Charles nodded vigorously at this point. He was very proud of his father.

  However, at the end of the video, Beaumont III dropped a bombshell which not only changed his son’s life but his whole outlook on the world and resulted in his working for the person who was to become the President of the United States of America.

  Beaumont looked again at the plan and discarded Phase 1 or, as Beaumont called it, the President’s Folly. He had argued against Phase 1 and its relevance when the President had first suggested it. It was not until the terrorists had taken the schools hostage that he realised the President had ordered the operation behind his back. He, of course, was called in to help when the whole thing blew up in their faces and had only just managed to cover the President’s tracks. The call to Donald Kennedy had been his idea. Phase 1 was now out of the way and they could concentrate on the real plan, Phase 2. The President had just given him the latest tweaks. Would the man never learn? Business should never be mixed with pleasure.

  Chapter 2

  Four months later

  “We interrupt this programme to bring you a breaking news story. The President of Russia has been assassinated. Mr Gasparin was found dead in his bed this morning after what appears to have been a failed coup d’etat by one of his Generals. The rogue General was shot on sight as he embarked on a second frenzied attack on the Russian Prime Minister, Mr Kruschev, the would-be successor to the President. A Russian Federation spokesperson has spoken of the heroic efforts of the Minister for State Security who single-handedly foiled the plot and rushed to Mr Kruschev’s aid, shooting the rogue General in the process. The Prime Minister is in a serious but stable condition. This brings the total to nine major political assassinations in the last six months…”

  The television exploded as the solid crystal paperweight hit the screen. Doors flew open and the room filled with heavily armed men. Four of them made for the figure behind the desk, throwing him unceremoniously to the floor. Another two tackled the man in front of the desk, one placing a gun to his forehead while the other secured his hands. Confusion reigned as more men filled the room. Finally, the doors to the office were closed and secured.

  “Mr President, are you OK Sir?” asked the Secret Service Agent in charge.

  “No, I’m not! Get these damn idiots off me!”

  “Sir, we have reason to believe that an attempt has been made on your life. An explosion was heard in your office.”

  “Yes, caused by me. It was my TV. Now get off me and get out!” screamed the President. “Beaumont, where the hell are you?”

  “I’m here Sir,” came a muffled response from the floor. His face was being pushed into the presidential emblem on the rug.

  Ten minutes later and with order restored, the President and Beaumont were left alone in the Oval office.

  “What’s the latest on the Russian Prime Minister and have we heard from the imbecile yet?” barked the President.

  “Yes, he just called when I was outside. He assures me everything is fine, there’s no way the Prime Minister will survive. They’re just trying to calm people down by saying he’s stable. Our man’s already been approached by half the cabinet to take control when they announce the Prime Minister’s death. The plan worked perfectly, our man will be in power within 24 hours. Congratulations Mr Presid
ent.”

  “Excellent…Beaumont…Excellent!”

  Twenty four hours later and under the gaze of the world’s media, the former Minister for State Security was sworn in as the new Russian President. His heroic defence of the country against the rogue General had assured him instant acceptance in Russia and across world.

  The fact that he had been responsible for the cold blooded murder of the President, the Prime Minister and a very loyal General were known only to himself, Beaumont and the President of the United States of America. The coup d’etat and rogue General story were an elaborate ploy to elicit support for somebody who, up until then, had been a minor, second-rate politician.

  Chapter 3

  Four months later

  “The Prime Minister of Japan has been assassinated, this is the twelfth assassination in the last year. We cross over now to our Japan correspondent who is at the scene…”

  “DAD!” shouted Tom through to the kitchen. “Turn on the news, Mr Tanaka has been killed!”

  Hearing no response, Tom got up and walked through to the kitchen. His father sat motionless, his head in his hands, the TV was on, the story playing in the background.

  “Are you OK Dad?”

  “Sorry,” he replied. “I just can’t believe it, I was speaking to him two days ago. We just agreed a major contract for Alba’s Japanese division,” said Donald shaking his head in disbelief.

  Tom didn’t know what to say. Of the previous eleven assassinations, six were close friends of his father’s. Tom’s father was the richest man in the world and owner of the world’s largest company, Alba International. His father’s mobile phone rang. Donald didn’t move so Tom answered it.

  “Hello, Donald Kennedy’s phone,” said Tom.

  “Hi Tom,” came a solemn Mr Sakamoto.

  “Hi Mr Sakamoto, how are you?”

  “OK, under the circumstances. Are you looking forward to school? What is it, less than a week to go?”

  “Yep, I’m counting down the hours.”

  “Excellent,” he said ignoring the sarcasm. “Is your dad around?”

  Tom looked across at his father who had heard Tom deliberately say Mr Sakamoto’s name so he knew who it was and nodded that he would take the call. Tom handed the phone to his father just as Lela came into the room. Tom put his hands to his lips motioning for Lela to stay quiet and pointed to the next room.

  “What’s up?” said Lela as they walked into the lounge, concerned at the dramatic scene behind them in the kitchen.

  “Mr Tanaka, the Japanese Prime Minister has been assassinated,” replied Tom bluntly.

  “NO!”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh my God I can’t believe it, how many leaders have been killed now?” asked Lela, having lost count.

  “It was eleven before today, the President and Prime Ministers in Russia and India, the Presidents of Brazil, Indonesia, Mexico, South Korea, Turkey, South Africa and the Prime Minister of Italy,” replied Tom counting them off finger by finger.

  “Why can’t they stop it? I mean extra security or whatever, it just seems bizarre that they can’t protect these people.”

  “I know but they’re being killed by people close to them, people they’ve always trusted, look at the Russians, killed by one of their most decorated Generals.”

  “How’s your dad?” asked Lela, changing the subject.

  “It’s hitting him hard. You know what he’s like about security. He’s not saying anything but I think he thinks he’s on the list of whoever is doing this.”

  “What? Surely not, it’s only prime ministers and presidents who’ve been assassinated.”

  “I know but didn’t you wonder why my birthday party was so subdued? Remember last year, we had friends jetting in from all over the world. Not this year, all we had were my grandparents and a pack of blood thirsty hounds patrolling the grounds day and night.”

  Tom was referring to the latest addition to the world’s most secure private estate, which consisted, of over 20 square miles of beautiful Scottish countryside protected by the most advanced and expensive security system ever devised. A system recently supplemented by one of the oldest and most reliable security measures, a pack of 20 Rottweillers which patrolled the grounds, each the size and weight of a fully grown man with twice the power. Everyone in the Kennedy household had objected to their presence but Donald had been insistent. Tom’s mother, Rachel, still wasn’t speaking to his father for having bought the dogs.

  “I just took it for granted that was your choice, you know, after last year’s fiasco in the cinema,” said Lela.

  “No, it had nothing to do with you kicking the crap out of those idiots!”

  Lela and Tom lived as brother and sister although they were from different families. Their parents had been thrown together fifteen years earlier as a team of assassins had tried to kill Tom’s parents. Lela’s father, Saki, had saved them. He was one of the most lethal fighters ever born. Unfortunately, Lela’s mother had died during the attack but thanks to Donald, Lela was saved. In gratitude, Saki pledged to protect the Kennedys forever and that is how the bizarre union between the Scots and the South China Sea islanders began.

  Saki, like every islander, had been trained in a secret and extraordinarily powerful martial art from birth. This tradition dated back to his ancestors who first inhabited the island thousands of years earlier. They were the sole survivors of an elite tribe, the most feared fighters ever known, dedicated to the protection of an ancient empire and its emperors. Their island, ‘Penaraja’, was named in their honour and meant ‘Emperors’ Guard’.

  Saki had begun Lela’s training shortly after birth, such was the complexity and intricacy of the movements required to master it. The art was the first pure martial art which, over the centuries, has been diluted by others into modern martial arts such as Kung Fu, Karate, Jujitsu and Tai Chi. Only the Penarajans, with their intense training, had maintained the pure art. Lela was an exceptional student and, at the age of 15, was probably one of the best fighters alive, second only to her father and even that was debatable.

  “So what can we do?” asked Lela.

  “Other than support my dad, nothing. When is your dad due back from Penaraja?”

  “Soon I hope. We start school in a few days and he wants to spend some time with us before we leave. I’m sure your dad will feel better when my dad’s back.”

  “Yeah, You’re right. Any idea what he’s been up to?” Tom referred to the fact that neither he nor Lela believed what Saki had told them he had been doing for the previous four weeks.

  During their annual holiday to Penaraja, the island home of Lela’s family, Saki and Donald had been very secretive and detached from the rest of the family. Even Tom’s mother had commented that she did not know what was wrong with the two of them. On the day they were due to leave, a mysterious emergency resulted in Saki being left behind. Tom and Lela had noticed the almost imperceptible nod between Donald and Saki and the one thing that Tom thought he would never witness, Saki looking worried. Saki never looked worried.

  After the Kennedy’s had left, Saki had phoned every evening to check that everyone was OK and to ensure that Lela was training. He would then to speak to Donald at length, sometimes hours. Tom and Lela had tried, once, to listen in on their conversation but heard nothing other than Donald’s “hmmm’s,” “yes’s” and “OK’s.” Saki seemed to be doing all the talking and Donald all the listening. Tom’s mother had caught them eavesdropping but instead of telling them off, asked what they had heard. Her only response was “very strange.” She too was in the dark about what was going on.

  Four weeks on and Lela still had no idea what he was up to.

  “None whatsoever, I’m very worried though. Whatever it is, it can’t be good. I can’t help thinking it’s linked to last year’s kidnapping,” she said.

  “Either that or the assassinations. My dad’s very worried about those.”

  Tom jumped, Lela screamed as both fe
lt a hand clamp down on their shoulders, they had been the only people in the room.

  “Hi guys!”

  “DAD!” cried Lela throwing her arms round her father.

  “SAKI!” shouted Tom hugging them both.

  Chapter 4

  Beaumont considered himself the smartest person he knew. In his 35 years, nobody had come close. Of course, the President was a clever man himself but Beaumont was not merely clever, he was a genius. Princeton, Harvard, MIT, not only top of his class but perfect scores.

  Today would see another more than perfect score, such was the brilliance of Beaumont’s plan. The plan he had inherited on his father’s death had been deeply flawed and would never have worked. Had it not been for his father’s untimely death, the whole thing would have fallen apart. His brilliance had turned a bad plan but a good idea, into a brilliant plan and a realistic objective. Of course, it involved significantly more deaths than was first envisaged but that didn’t bother Beaumont. It was as though his brilliance consumed him, leaving room for nothing else, no compassion, no emotion, no ethics.

  Beaumont’s office linked directly to the Oval Office, the President’s Chief of Staff having being displaced to an office further down the corridor. The title on the door read ‘Special Assistant to the President’. Rumours were rife about just how ‘special’ Beaumont’s assistance was. He was always well presented, Saville Row tailored suits, perfect hair, immaculate teeth, sparkling eyes. He was probably the prettiest person in the Whitehouse and some said Washington. Women were mesmerised by his looks while men envied his hold over them. However, in all his time in Washington, he had never been linked to anybody in a romantic way. He appeared to have eyes for only one person, his boss, the President of the United States of America.