"Actually, we could use that. It's a psychological tendency for people to assume a less aggressive perception of someone with a perceived injury or flaw. This may work to our benefit. The private contractors are most likely ex-military or mercenaries. They'll have been trained to resist this, but it's a bias no one can fully remove."
"Alright, so we use my handicap to our advantage. Should I walk in with a sling and crutches too."
"The sling would certainly add to the illusion we want to portray."
Abram rolled his eyes. He was joking. He glanced over to the kitchen. Even though it had only been a few hours since the tacos, he had burned right through the calories. His stomach growled again.
"I'll figure out how to get you a weapon, you just worry about getting the prime minister alone," Scott Train said. "Sandra will take you for a tux tomorrow.
Sandra raised her hand to object, but Scott Train silenced her with his own hand.
The waiter came with the food just in time. Abram's steak glistened with seasoning and hollandaise sauce. Abram didn't wait for the others, and dove right in. He was ravished. Scott Train got a similar steak, but slightly bigger. Sandra's fish still had the head and skin intact. She removed those delicacies and placed them on a spare plate. No one spoke the rest of the meal. That suited Abram just fine. He preferred to eat in silence anyway.
After the meal, Scott had the driver from the night before take Sandra and Abram back to the hotel. He, instead, decided to walk. Claimed he needed to clear his head. Abram and Sandra didn't speak in the car ride to the hotel either. She hopped out of the SUV before it had come to a complete stop. Abram jumped out after her. She was at the rear entrance when Abram grabbed her arm.
"How long are you going to act like nothing happened?"
"Nothing happened."
"Something happened," he said.
She did her best to maintain her resistance.
"It was just sex. I had a weak moment. It was a mistake."
She tried to open the door, but Abram pushed it shut.
"It certainly didn't feel like a mistake to me. Why are you so resistant to the fact that we had a connection?"
She licked her teeth, looking off to the street.
"I don't do this kind of thing," she said.
"What?"
She glared at him.
He was inches from her.
"What are you so worried about? Life is too short."
"You might die tomorrow," she said so suddenly and with such force that it made Abram take a step back.
"Is that what you're worried about?" he laughed.
"It's not funny. The prime minister is not a good man. He's done some terrible things. You shouldn't underestimate him."
Abram smiled with a cocky confidence.
"I won't. I can handle the prime minister."
"That's what I'm afraid of. You're too sure of yourself. You Special Forces guys are all the same. You think you're invincible and that nothing can stop you. Well, I got news for you, a bullet to the head is pretty darn permanent."
Abram lunged forward and kissed her. She pushed him away a few seconds later.
"I'll be careful. Besides, I have you watching out for me."
Abram grinned and tried to kiss her again. She shoved him away, less aggressively than before.
"No! I can't have anything clouding my judgment tonight. I need a clear head for tomorrow."
"Hmm, I knew we had a connection."
She punched him in his good arm.
"I'm going to bed. And don't knock on my door," she added. The fire had returned in her eyes. Abram loved it when she was feisty.
The door closed behind her. Abram let out a deep sigh. He sat down on one of the parking curbs. The occasional car whizzed by with a low hum, then would head off to its final destination. The sky was clear tonight. Half the moon's glow illuminated the ground below. His hands glowed in the dim light. He sat out for another hour or so before heading up to bed.
When he passed Sandra's room, the lights were off. He wondered if she were still awake. He was tempted to knock, but decided against it. She was right. They all needed a clear head tomorrow if this was going to work. Abram latched the door behind him. He flipped on the shower and walked to the fridge. There was a small coffee maker on the table with two plastic styrofoam cups. He filled his cup twice from the sink.
Abram unwound the plastic trash bag from the waste can and wrapped his cast in a protective cocoon. He disrobed in the room and left his clothes on the floor. The bathroom was full of steam when he entered. The hot water pierced the doubt and remnants of the last several weeks away. He allowed the heat to sear his skin to the point of burning. The pain helped clear his mind and refresh his body. He shut off the valve ten minutes later. He wrapped one of the itchy white towels from the wall around his waist. He cleared the steam from the mirror with the palm of his hand.
His eyes were heavy in the corners, his cheeks blanketed with several days’ worth of growth.
"You've done this before," he said to his reflection. But the eyes didn't show or share the same confidence. Abram smeared his reflection with his hand. He plopped down on the bed. He played the next day over and over in his head. How would he do it? How would it feel? Would he be able to stop if he went too far? Abram assured himself he had control. The prime minister was corrupt. He was doing the world a service. He wasn't a murderer.
But the small voice in the back of his mind said otherwise. He lay awake for most of the night before finally falling asleep.
Chapter 25
The next day was a blur. The clock read 10:03 when he heard the banging on his door. He shuffled over and cracked it open.
"Are you still sleep?"
"I was..."
Sandra barreled her way inside. She had two bags in her left hand and what looked like something from the Dry Cleaners cast over her right shoulder. She laid them on the bed.
"What's this?"
"Your attire for the day. This is your tux for tonight. I figured you were a bowtie kind of guy."
Sandra saw him eyeing it.
"It's your size. I should know."
That little hint of playfulness was back. Abram dumped the contents of the other two bags onto the bed. Two pairs of blue jeans, shorts, socks, tennis shoes, boxers, and three shirts. All strangely his size.
He was impressed.
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me. I just didn't want to have to see that hideous shirt one more day."
Abram glanced down at his turquoise shirt from the food market.
"I thought you liked it. It really brings out the green in my eyes."
She rolled her eyes.
"Get dressed. I'll be back later to go over tonight's agenda with you."
"Where are you going?"
He removed the shirt and tossed it to the wall. His abs rippled as he threw it. He caught her looking. She averted her eyes.
"Are you sure you don't want to stay for a bit? Maybe you could measure the rest of me."
Her eyes were fire and her tongue licked her lips.
"I already have."
"And?"
Her eyes traced his chest, his biceps, down to his abdomen.
"Sufficient," she said and spun around and left, leaving Abram caught in a cloud of introspection and a hurt ego.
He took his frustrations out on the tags in the shirts and squeezed his legs into the shorts. He needed to burn some steam. He slid the socks and shoes on and joined the concrete road outside. He set off at a quick pace south. He didn't know where the concrete trail would lead him and he didn't care. He got back to the hotel four hours later.
His body was numb, his mind clear. He took a quick cold shower and dressed in one of the pair of blue jeans and a black cotton shirt. His burner phone hadn't gone off the entire run. It sat silent on the nightstand next to him. It was only 2:35. His escort wouldn't be there until five. After checking his phone one last time to ensure he hadn't missed a call
from Sandra, he decided a catnap wouldn't hurt. He woke two hours later. When he saw the clock, he jumped out of bed and quickly dressed. The tux pants were a little snug around the thighs, but they fit. He was glad to see the bowtie was a clip-on. He stroked his wet fingers through his hair and splashed some cold water on his face.
He almost didn't recognize himself in the tux. He checked the phone again. Still no call. It was five minutes until five. Abram stuffed the phone in the inside jacket pocket and headed to the street.
The driver was already waiting for him.
"Mr. Abram?" he asked. He wore a similar black suit, white gloves, and a bell cap. He held the door open for Abram.
"Thank you."
The middle console had refreshments. Not wanting to spill any crumbs on his suit, he opted for one of the small water bottles instead. The liquid would suffice as sustenance for now. Besides, he had no appetite. The driver didn't ask him any questions and Abram didn't try to have small talk. The Cadillac rolled by Stanley Park where Abram had watched the tennis match and continued north another mile or two. When the driver rolled up in the roundabout driveway, Abram's heart jumped. He thought he was going to have more time than a ten-minute drive to prepare for the night ahead. He checked his phone. Nothing. Why hadn't they tried calling him? He was going in blind.
The driver came around and opened his door.
"Have a good evening, sir. When you're ready to leave for the evening, just ask one of the valets and they'll call you a driver. It was a pleasure."
He closed the door then returned to the car and drove off. Abram assumed the drivers would be busy all night transporting guests. Abram made his way up the roundabout and was instantly greeted by two concierge. They each wore matching foot-long, fluffy black hats and red military suits with white slacks. A red stripe ran down the center of the pant leg, lined with golden silk. Their security counterparts wore similar garb, but were accompanied by a rifle and a pistol strapped on a black leather belt.
The concierge greeted him with warm smiles and ushered him into the grand atrium. The two security personnel watched him the whole way. He let out the breath he was holding the moment his soles touched granite. The atrium extended fifty feet up with a domed roof. The ceiling was an exact replica of the Sistine Chapel. Even the walls were painted to match the Michelangelo style of the ceiling. A thirty-foot crystal chandelier drooped from the center with a million lights. Abram was amazed at the craftsmanship. Only a few lounge chairs and a single table with a candle trio decorated the atrium. This was no doubt meant to wow guests. It worked.
"Right this way, sir."
A doorman escorted him to the main hall. They passed a large study on the left with shelves that reached just as high as the atrium. How could anyone read that many books? Let alone in one lifetime? The interior of the mansion was decorated in classic Victorian wood, every square foot intricately engraved. Abram was glad he wore a tux to the party. When the doorman bade him farewell, he was in the main hall. He’d thought he was one of the first to arrive, but the hall was already busy with bodies.
Waiters carried hors d'oeuvres on large, silver cylinder trays. Abram snagged a glass of champagne and a scallop stuffed with battered crab meat. He wormed his way through the crowd to the bar.
"What can I get you to drink? the bartender asked.
"Scotch. Make that a double."
The bartender nodded. Abram leaned his back against the counter and scanned the room. He had no idea who any of these people were. They all wore the same indignant and pretentious faces. Each pretended to care what the other was saying. The way these wraiths snaked from one person to the next was sickening.
"Double scotch," the bartender said, and placed two crystal glasses of golden scotch on the counter. Abram drank the first in one gulp and placed the empty glass on the counter. He sipped on the second. So far there had been no sign of the prime minister. Abram snuck a glance at the burner phone in his jacket pocket. Still no messages. He wondered if the prime minister had discovered who he was. They could be planning at this very moment how they wanted to kill him and use his body parts as an example to any who dared challenge someone on the high council of corruption.
None of the security guards had so much as looked at him for more than a few seconds. As of now, it looked like he was in the clear. As the evening progressed, more political figures arrived and joined the fray. Abram had long since finished his second scotch. He took his vodka martini and plunged his way through the mass of guests to the doors leading to the back. The warm night air was a welcoming touch. The closing doors snuffed the noise out. He could finally breathe. He leaned against the stone railing and gazed out into the Ottawa River. He took a sip of his drink and watched as a 30-foot yacht sailed by. It looked so close he could touch it.
"The party's inside."
Prime Minister Gabbot strolled up out of the garden and joined Abram. He too had a vodka martini. Empty.
"I needed some air," Abram said.
"It's a bit hectic in there."
Abram took a sip of his vodka martini and scanned the courtyard. He couldn't see any guards, but he knew that didn't mean they weren't there.
"I like to come out here. There's something soothing about the water. Are you a water man, Abram?"
"I like to think so. I've not sailed for quite some time. It's the most freeing experience there is."
"I couldn't agree more. Allowing the boat to take you where it may, the water lapping at your back and a warm breeze in your face. There's nothing better."
"Why aren't you inside entertaining your guests?" Abram asked.
"Probably for the same reason you're out here and not in there."
The prime minister had a point. Neither of them were fond of crowds, especially when you knew they were a bunch of backstabbing crooks that would stab you in the back in a heartbeat if they thought it would get them ahead. The doors to the mansion swung open. A woman dressed as a princess with her blonde hair braided down her back strolled toward them.
The prime minister greeted her with a kiss.
"Sally, I'd like you to meet someone. This is Abram, the man I was telling you about." She extended her hand. "Abram, this is my wife, Sally."
"Michael has told me a lot about you. Welcome to our home. Stay as long as you wish and please help yourself to the food. We have way too much."
That had them all three chuckling.
"Most of the guests have arrived and are making their way outside."
"It looks as though our respite has come to a close. Time to play prime minister," the minister said. "See you at the table."
He led his wife by the hand toward the stairs to the yard. They strolled through the courtyard and garden, laughing and giggling as they went. Abram admired them for what they had. The nice home, a nice life, a nice future. And he was about to take it from them. Their silhouettes disappeared in the garden as they made their way through the grass.
Abram returned to the mansion and joined the guests as they were escorted to the side of the mansion where a huge tent had been set up. Each party was escorted to their seats. The escort found his name on the list and guided him through the circular tables toward the head of the tent where the prime minister and his wife were seated on a raised platform a foot off the ground. Abram couldn't help but notice the eyes following him and feel the knives they were stabbing him with.
"Your seat, sir." The escort pulled the chair away from the table and slid it forward as he sat down.
"Enjoy your evening."
He ran off to guide the next guest. There were only four other individuals at the prime minister's table, not including Abram, the prime minister and his wife. The Governor General and his wife, and the Commissioner of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and his wife. Neither man noticed him. Their attention was on the prime minister. Sally was busy chatting with the two wives. All three smiled with every word the others spoke.
The prime minister glanced his way and gave him
a curt nod, then was back to business. Everyone seemed to know each other and were deep in conversation at every table. Abram sat quietly, people watching. His left arm started to itch. He unrolled his napkin and poked the butt end of the knife under the cast. He caught a grisly-looking woman staring at him with a look of sheer repulsion. He held up the knife and smiled. She clicked her tongue to her teeth and returned to her self-imposed pedestal.
Twenty long minutes passed before the event coordinator tapped the prime minister on his shoulder and whispered in his ear. The prime minister nodded and pushed his seat back. He raised his glass of champagne and tapped his spoon against the base to grab everyone's attention. The yard went silent as side conversations died down and all eyes were redirected to the prime minister. He fidgeted and his face flushed slightly. Sally placed her hand on her husband's arm and kept it there for the whole welcoming speech.
"Welcome friends and honored guests. On behalf of my wife and I, and the city of Ottawa, we welcome you. I know many of you have some questions regarding the United Nations Environment Assembly and our part in their decision to limit carbon dioxide emissions, and even more pressing, the Syrian crisis. This night is a night for us to reflect and relax. Tomorrow is a new day and we'll face that day's challenges and questions then. For now, let us enjoy warm company and conversation. Thank you for coming and please enjoy your evening."
Short and sweet. Perfect. The prime minister returned to his seat and the tables immediately dove back into their own agendas. Abram saw Sally squeeze the minister's forearm and whisper something in his ear. He seemed relieved, the tension free from his face. The food came not long after.
An array of waiters came around with large trays and served each table and its occupants a gulf coast jumbo lump crab cake, ravigote corn, new potato, and Andouille sausage soup. It took all of Abram's willpower to use the spoon and not slurp it all down. Next came the salad. A Caesar salad with focaccia croutons and Parmigiano-Reggiano. The cheese was his favorite part. The main course followed. Abram's waiter asked if he'd prefer the fish or the steak. He asked if he could have both and the waiter said, "Of course!" but Abram went with the fish, not wanting to draw more attention to himself than he already was.
Kill Shot - An Abram Kinkaid Thriller Page 15
