“Good day gentlemen,” announced Freeman breezily to the group.
“Hold on!” responded Baker gruffly.
Everyone remained quiet as they waited for Baker.
“Sorry, just had to ditch my Secret Service detail.”
“Well, I’m pleased to announce that our problem is resolved, all trace of our little problem has completely disappeared.”
“Excellent,” responded Baker.
“Exactly how did he disappear?” asked a wary Charles Russell in London.
“I believe we blew him up on an island somewhere near Malaysia,” replied a triumphant Freeman.
“Oh fuck,” replied Charles. “That was us! George Cunningham’s just been on the phone ranting about some fucking island that just blew up. He started screaming we had screwed him one time too many.”
“What exactly did he mean, screwed one time too many?” asked Baker, the chill in his voice changing the tone of the conversation.
“I’m not sure, Sam. That’s all he said,” replied Charles tentatively, knowing it would not satisfy him.
“Well I suggest you get on the phone and find out exactly what the fuck he meant and remind him who’s boss.”
“Will do.”
“NOW!” screamed Sam.
Sam had always been the boss, the other four had realised almost from the day they met that they would follow him wherever he went. Sam was destined for greatness; his looks, charm, authority and ambition would take him wherever he wanted to go and for Sam that was the Whitehouse. He was going to be the President of the United States of America, no matter what it took. First he needed money, nobody got anywhere in politics without money and for Sam that meant having more money than everyone else that stood against him.
Everything he had ever planned had the goal of Sam Baker being inaugurated as president. First, he needed partners that would help him achieve that and that’s where Henry, Charles, Andrew and Peter came in. They were the brightest of the intake into Yale along with Sam and would help him build his fortune, not that they had any say in the matter. Sam’s family had all been Bonesman, members of the ultra secret Skull and Bones Society and he arranged for the four to be tapped and become one of fifteen new members. Over the following couple of months, Sam cultivated friendships with his four selected partners and even formed a secret sub society, the Acton Group, with only five members.
The Acton Group met in complete secrecy and over the next four years, Sam groomed his partners into hatching a plan to take the business world by storm. All had initially balked at the idea but over time, Sam broke down their sensitivities, helping them to understand that they could have anything they wanted, it just depended on what they were willing to do to get it. Sam had chosen well and before long, was organising the breaking of legs to ensure Charles won a cross country race or a car crash to ensure Andrew retained his debating crown. None even raised an eyebrow. Success and power as Sam had taught his partners was a very powerful drug; once you’d had it, you’d do anything to keep it.
Sam had known he was different from an early age. Things just didn’t affect him the way it did others. Guilt, remorse, empathy were feelings he just couldn’t comprehend. However, he quickly realised that whether he felt them or not, he had to at least act them. People reacted strangely when you didn’t. It was at the age of twelve that Sam finally realised what was wrong within when he read an article that used the mnemonic CORRUPT to help describe the criteria of a sociopath.
C - cannot follow law
O - obligations ignored
R - remorseless
R - reckless
U - underhanded
P - planning deficit
T – temper
Ever since, Sam’s favourite saying had been one by an English historian, Lord Acton, after whom he had named his secretive group. He had famously stated that, power tends to corrupt; absolute power corrupts absolutely.
“In one month, I’m going to be President of the United States and nobody is going to stop me. Do we all understand?” continued Sam to the small group.
To a chorus of yeses, he continued.
“Firstly, whatever happens, I don’t like the pompous tit in the UK and if what George is crying about is true, perhaps we should just get rid of him.”
“Who, George?” asked Freeman surprised. George had been groomed for some time to be the next British PM.
“NO! For fuck’s sake, do I have to spell everything out? The Prime Minister!”
“Oh, sorry,” replied Freeman.
“Is that a good idea? I mean a head of state, surely that’s…”
“Peter, stop being a fucking pussy,” interrupted Sam. “We’re almost at the finish line and you’re worrying about some pompous English twat.”
Charles re-entered the conversation.
“George apologised profusely when I called him just now. He’s just upset because after he found out where the island was, we blew the fucking thing up!”
“Shit,” replied Henry understanding what a difficult a position the UK’s Defence Secretary was in.
“It’s not all bad though, only one other person knows where it was.”
“Who?” asked Sam.
“The PM. Seems George is an ambitious little shit and is asking if we can help.”
“Perfect,” replied Sam. “Henry, George, you know what to do.”
Chapter 41
“Will somebody please tell me, what the fuck is going on?” exclaimed the president, slapping his latest briefing paper down onto the coffee table.
He was joined in the oval office by Gerald Walters his National Security Advisor and Stephen Hughes his Director of National Intelligence, two of his closest and most trusted aides.
Receiving nothing more than shrugs, he continued.
“Let me get this right. In the space of twenty four hours, the head of the NSA blows his brains out. An entire NSA shift die in a car crash; the head of the SSB gets murdered and we lose a B1 Bomber and you’re telling me they’re unfucking related??!!”
“Yes Sir, we can’t find any link,” replied Hughes shifting nervously in his seat.
Dan Mitchum’s second term as president had been disappointing. The economy was floundering, Iraq was an unmitigated disaster and just about every American ally had deserted them. A proud man, Mitchum struggled to comprehend just how different things could have been. His first term had been triumphant, his second however would be his legacy. One thing he was certain of was that he was not going out on a scandal but that was exactly what this whole FUBAR, using one of his old Marine terms, reeked of.
“Can’t find a fucking link??!!” screamed the president, his face flushed with anger.
“Well there is one other thing,” offered Walters who had been Mitchum’s NSA throughout his presidency.
“What?” demanded the president impatiently.
“The appointment of Joshua Brooks as head of the SSB is just bizarre.” Walters looked at Hughes as he spoke.
Hughes was responsible for all of America’s Intelligence Services and was often referred to as the intelligence Czar. A recent creation, the role had already proved its worth, resulting in a co-ordination and team mentality unseen in the previously competitive community.
“You’re joking!” exclaimed Hughes almost falling off his chair.
“You didn’t know?” asked Walters, genuinely surprised.
“First I’ve heard of it. What the fuck is that anally retentive prick doing in there?!”
Walters studied Hughes. He had planned the meeting carefully with the president. Both knew something was going on but they just didn’t know who they could trust.
Walters nodded almost imperceptibly to the president.
“OK Stephen, I’m sorry but you’re here under false pretences. We weren’t sure if we could trust you.”
Hughes jumped out of his seat, the indignation clear in his face .
“Sit down! Now is not the time for theatrics. I’m sorry, g
et over it and let’s move on.”
The president waited for Hughes to calm down before continuing.
“Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.”
Chapter 42
Scott rowed through the night never once breaking his rhythm. The small row boat powering through the water. Ashley slept on and off through the night. Every time she woke up, she pleaded with Scott to let her row. However, he just shook his head defiantly. Ashley tried to talk to him but every time she tried she was met with a wall of silence. Not since his declaration of war, had Scott uttered a word. Even when Ashley sighted land for the first time, Scott remained silent. Much to Ashley’s amazement, he stepped up the pace and accelerated towards the mainland.
Ashley just watched in awe as after eight straight hours of rowing, Scott still managed to sprint to the finish. She watched fascinated as each muscle in Scott’s back tightened and relaxed as he powered through each stroke. She had seen muscular men in her time, the freaks on Mr Universe, the sprinters with their huge leg muscles and the long distance runners with their leanness. It seemed to her Scott somehow managed to be an amalgam of them all, his musculature although not bulky was exceptionally defined. His stamina was unparalleled and his power seemed endless as they neared the marina.
As their boat drew alongside a seemingly deserted yacht, Scott jumped up and onto its deck, holding the boat for Ashley to join him. As Scott pulled her aboard, she could see a large multi-layered red roofed building off to her left, a seventies style tower block to her right and a smaller building straight ahead and could just make out the sign, Sutera Marina.
“Where the hell are we going?” whispered Ashley.
“We need to find some clothes,” replied Scott kicking the door to the main cabin open.
The small lock broke and the doors flew open to reveal a tight staircase that led down to a galley. Scott left Ashley standing on the deck as he headed down into the bowels of the boat.
“Come on!” he beckoned as he walked through the galley towards the bedroom area.
Ashley feeling somewhat exposed on the deck of the boat they had just broken into, did not need to be asked twice and quickly descended into the galley of what appeared to be an exceedingly luxurious yacht.
Scott waved Ashley on to follow him and before long, they were selecting clothes from various wardrobes that adorned the master suite of the yacht.
“Perhaps we should shower before we get dressed.”
Ashley had noticed her reflection in the mirror, the remnants of the island covered her body, the black ash covering her from top to toe. Scott looked in the mirror and his mind was cast back to the explosion. Ashley rushed to his side and took him in her arms and for the first time since the explosion Scott cried. Ashley felt every sob as his body rose and fell in her arms. The tears dropped onto her shoulder as his emotions finally came crashing down. Ashley guided Scott back onto the bed and lay with him silently. Within minutes the exhaustion took its course and both fell sound asleep.
Scott woke up four hours later, still entwined in Ashley’s arms. Disentangling himself, he quickly showered and dressed and checking Ashley was still sleeping, quietly made his way onto the deck. Closing the door behind him, Scott jumped down into the row boat and rowed across to the jetty. Tying the small boat to the jetty Scott made his way into the Marina building and walked directly towards the men’s locker room where he singled out locker number 231. The combination padlock opened to the code 1281 and revealed Scott’s secret stash, one of many Scott had secured throughout the world. Scott was not one of the world’s most accomplished assassins for no reason. He had back-up plans for his back-up plans. He pocketed the $3,000 cash, passport and credit card in the name of David Thomas, a Canadian citizen before placing the Fabrique National Five-Seven pistol into his belt at the base of his back and exiting the locker room.
***
“Scott!” called Ashley from the shower as she heard something knock against the hull. “Scott?...Scott are you there?”
Ashley began to panic. She had woken up and stepped straight into the shower. Seeing Scott’s wet towel, she had assumed he had just had one. She now wished she had looked for him before showering but had wanted to be clean and rid of the ash which had set him off just a few hours earlier. The sound of the bedroom door opening and closing brought her back to her senses. Scott wouldn’t leave her, they had a connection. Something very special had passed between them. She opened the door of the ensuite and found herself staring into the face of three complete strangers.
“Whoa, Christmas has come early boys!” proclaimed the largest of the three men leering at her naked and dripping body. The three were dressed identically, deck shoes, Bermuda shorts and polo shirts. The large one was huge and like no sailor Ashley had ever seen before, whereas the other two were exactly like every sailor she had ever met, preppy.
Ashley quickly stepped back and tried to shut the door but the men stepped forward and stopped her, pushing the door open and exposing her even further. She tried to cover her nakedness but one of the men grabbed her towel, while another took her dressing gown from the hook, relieving her of any possible coverings.
“You can’t hide that mighty fine body from us,” said the one grabbing the towel.
Ashley covered herself as best she could with her hands.
“Get the fuck out of here, NOW!” she screamed.
The largest man stepped forward and made to cover her mouth.
Ashley stepped back before suddenly rocking forward, bringing her knee crashing towards his groin. Although big and cumbersome he saw it coming and moved surprisingly quickly.
“Feisty little bitch, excellent!” he smiled as she connected harmlessly with his thigh.
Ashley could almost taste the alcohol on his breath and realised she was in real trouble.
“Who wants to go first?” asked the man holding the towel.
“ME!” came a sinister voice from behind.
For the first time since seeing the naked Ashley, the three men took their eyes off of her and turned to see who had barged in on their fun.
Scott stood calmly watching the three as they turned towards him. The two smaller men stepped aside letting their brute of a friend square up to the much smaller Scott. Scott tossed a towel to Ashley who quickly covered herself.
“Did anybody touch you?” asked Scott icily, his eyes darting between the men.
“No,” replied Ashley, stepping round the back of the men and out of the ensuite.
“OK, why don’t you wait for me in the galley?” instructed Scott.
Ashley looked at him and could see by the look in his eyes that Scott had no intention of debating the point.
“What you going to do asshole?” the brute poked Scott hard in the chest, making him take one step back.
Scott checked Ashley had left the room before withdrawing the FN 5.7 pistol from the small of his back. The brute immediately stepped back and raised his hands in surrender.
Scott raised the pistol and pointing it skywards let the men see him placing it safely on the sideboard at the back of the bedroom. He then turned and walked back towards the three who suddenly began to realise they may be in trouble.
“We were just having some fun man, you know how it is. I mean you saw her, fit yeah and afterall you have broken into our boat,” blabbered the man still holding Ashley’s dressing gown.
As Scott looked at the dressing gown, the brute made his move, throwing a wild punch at Scott’s head. Scott ducked and threw a punch so quickly, the brutes two friends didn’t know why he suddenly bent over. Scott finished him with a knee to the face that shattered his nose and cheek bone. However that was nothing compared to the damage Scott had caused to the man’s libido. When he regained consciousness he would discover he had all but been castrated, his testes destroyed by Scott’s lightening fast but crushing punch.
Dressing Gown and Towel hadn’t even moved such was the speed and ferocity with which their friend
had been dispatched. One second he had thrown a punch and the next he lay crumpled on the floor with Scott standing menacingly over him.
Both stepped back.
“But she told you we didn’t touch her,” protested Towel.
Scott looked down at the brute. “And that’s the only reason he’s still breathing!”
Dressing Gown and Towel glanced at each other before launching their combined assault, both diving towards Scott at the same time from different angles. If they could get him on the floor they thought they could take him.
The moment the two had started their move, Scott’s mind had already calculated what needed to be done. Signals had been sent to individual nerve endings and Scott was also on the move. Fighting was as natural as breathing to Scott. He didn’t think about merely hitting his opponent, his moves calculated the exact point of impact and power required to deliver the desired result. He had already decided the three men’s behaviour towards Ashley was deserving of a permanent reminder. The brute had almost touched Ashley and had been by far the most intimidating. As such, his fate was the worst. Dressing Gown would have a limp, his left kneecap, his favoured side, would be smashed while Towel would lose the use of his right arm, never again would he humiliate a woman by stealing her towel.
Scott spun to his left the instant the men commenced their rush towards him. Then spinning to the right, he came towards Dressing Gown first. He ducked and delivered a crushing straight legged kick just as Dressing Gown’s full weight rested on his left leg. The momentum of Dressing Gown’s weight continued forward while his kneecap was forced backwards. The crack was audible as the kneecap had no option but to give way as Dressing Gown crashed towards the floor, his mouth twisted in agony. As the knee snapped, Scott was already spinning over the top of Dressing Gown. He crashed his elbow into the back of Dressing Gown’s neck as he spun over the top of him towards Towel. The blow instantly rendered him unconscious. The screaming could take place once Scott was gone.
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