Promise Me

by Jack O. Daniel

  It was an intimate party of just twenty. Guests came and went throughout the night. The evening ran into the wee hours of the morning until she was the only one left.

  Susie picked up two glasses of champagne and offered a toast. ‘Welcome home, Izzy.’

  ‘To home,’ she said with a smile, but with a heart that felt empty.

  SOMEWHERE IN NEW ZEALAND, Mystery Man received a call as he was packing his holdall for a return trip to the United States.

  ‘Change of plans, buddy. Head for San Francisco. We’ve made the arrangements, but the plane is departing in an hour. Can you make it there in thirty?’

  ‘Sure can,’ he said.

  He closed his phone and smiled. San Francisco was all he remembered about her, yet he couldn’t forget any of her.

  3: Missed Connection

  HE WAS CASUALLY DRESSED in a long-sleeved Rodd and Gunn black turtleneck shirt, light blue denim jeans and a pair of lace-up trainers. He overlaid his chosen attire with a stylish, button-up woollen blazer to keep the New Zealand winter cold at bay. He packed quickly, throwing essential items into his holdall that consisted mostly of miscellaneous items. There wasn’t a lot to take to his next destination, just a couple of shirts, pants, running shorts, shoes, and socks. They didn’t fill his military canvas bag.

  He carried it down to the sitting room to await his lift. Setting it down on the settee, he walked towards the floor-to-ceiling French glass doors to survey the handsomely landscaped garden. It was replete with deciduous trees that now stood proudly nude of their leaves; climbing ivy and statues standing sentinel.

  With his hands in his pockets, he turned around to gaze up at the ceiling to admire its detailed, artistic pattern of roses and leaves. This was where he’d spent his formative years until he was sent to Eton, that bastion of British learning, to complete his high school through to his A-levels. College had been Oxford and Princeton.

  Visits to his mother’s birthplace were becoming rarer. The last time before this was three years ago and much had changed in that time. He only managed to visit for a couple of weeks at a time, mostly to see to this, his ancestral home situated on Herne Bay. It was a responsibility he had taken seriously since his mother’s passing.

  ‘Going already?’ a voice asked.

  The owner of the voice was the silver-haired house matron. She was coming forward in haste, her Kim Kardashianesque hips swaying. Her long white hair was tightly pulled back and arranged in a bun, putting on display a weathered brown face. He called her Goldie. No-one knew why. He just did, and it stuck. She had been with his family from his birth 25 years ago. ‘Yeah, so please look after yourself and stop fussing about the house,’ he reminded her.

  She huffed. ‘If only that bloody gardener would do his job properly.’

  Just then, they heard a car horn. He grabbed his sand-coloured holdall, smiled, gave Goldie a quick kiss on the head, and said, ‘See you again – whenever.’

  She called out to him as he walked out of the elaborate double doors carrying his holdall, ‘Preferably before I’m dead.’

  He shook his head with a smile, hurried out and climbed into a sedan with heavily tinted windows.

  The chauffeur eased the car out of the driveway. He sunk back into the leather seat and enjoyed the ride, grateful for the prearranged company hire car and its no-nonsense driver.

  Without being told where to go, the driver took him to the Auckland International Airport. He was dropped off right outside the sign for Air New Zealand.

  With long strides, he walked towards check-in, in the priority queue, and handed over his American Passport for scrutiny. He was through in a heartbeat.

  Several heads turned to look casually at the 6’2”, athletic-looking man, who was walking with single-minded purpose towards the gate. Auckland Airport was small-scale and uncomplicated by international standards so, although his plane was boarding in fifteen minutes, he didn’t feel compelled to run. He would be there in no time at all.

  He observed a man walking towards him. They acknowledged each other with the briefest of nods. This suited man extended a brown briefcase. ‘Study notes,’ he said.

  He accepted it without slowing down, the exchange completed in one swift move, in time with their steps. He followed the sign to the boarding gate; the other man continued to walk towards the exit;

  He settled down on his seat in Business Premier, Air New Zealand’s flagship Boeing 777-300 business class. He had direct aisle access, a seating formation that had no impediment if he wanted to answer the call of nature. The wide seat also flipped over to create one of the best beds for sleeping in the sky. The downside was it didn’t recline far enough when being used in seat mode.

  Bonuses included an NZ wine selection, not that he had an inclination to help himself to it. He opened the briefcase to start the study notes, completely ignoring an elegantly dressed brunette seated just in front of him.

  WHILE MYSTERY MAN WAS cruising over the Pacific Ocean, asleep in business class, Isabel and Susie were having breakfast at an outdoor café.

  They occupied their usual table by the window. It was laden with untouched food, a smorgasbord of delicacies, and a pot of Earl Grey tea. They had been talking in whispers until suddenly Susie blurted out, her voice an octave higher, ‘You had unprotected sex?’

  Isabel simultaneously glared and kicked her best friend under the table. The waitress glanced back at them, overhearing the sex bit. Susie noticed and waved her off to mind her own business before returning her attention to the conversation. ‘Izzy, what if he was sick?’

  She shrugged resignedly, smirked and said, ‘Too late to worry about that, isn’t it? I’ll have a blood test in a couple of weeks.’

  ‘Was he gorgeous?’

  She answered dreamily. ‘Very. He had dark blue eyes. The only time I’ve seen that colour was in the Aegean Sea in Santorini. One clear day, I was sitting on top of a cliff, watching the water ... It was like glass, indigo glass.’ She sighed softly as she recalled this detail and remembered how they intimately stared at each other through the glass door as they made love.

  Susie broke her trance by asking, ‘What’s his name?’

  Isabel frowned a little and shook her head. Susie protested, ‘Come on; I won’t tell anyone.’

  ‘You don’t understand,’ Isabel said. ‘I don’t even know his name.’

  She had to laugh at Susie’s shocked facial expression. Isabel covered her face with her hands and said, ‘I know, it’s stupid. I had unprotected sex with someone whose name I didn’t even know.’

  ‘Well, I suppose we’ll just have to refer to him as Indigo from now on, in lieu of a name.’

  Indigo. She thought for a split second. Yes, that’d be an appropriate pseudo-name for her Mystery Man.

  Not much later, still jet-lagged, she said she wanted to go home, ‘I need more sleep.’

  They walked back to their respective apartments and promised to catch up again soon.

  THE FIRST THING ISABEL noticed as she stepped into her apartment was her answer machine blinking. It could only be her Daddy, who still had her obsolete landline on speed dial. She had long wanted to cut this utility service off, but couldn’t, since her father insisted on calling it.

  She pressed the button to retrieve the message. ‘Honey,’ he said, sounding somewhat clipped and abrupt. ‘Hope you’re still keen to work for me. We have a problem in London; I’m hoping you’d go sort it out.’

  London, she thought for a moment. Why not?

  She called him back and left a message. ‘I’ll see you about the London assignment tomorrow.’

  She slept like a baby and woke up the next morning refreshed and raring to go.

  She bumped into her Daddy in the elevator and commenced their conversation right there and then. ‘So, what’s in London?’ she inquired between sips of flat white.

  ‘They suspect insurance scam, art insurance. I need you there until the issue is resolved.’

  ‘How lon
g do you think you’ll need me there?’ she asked, knowing it was an open-ended assignment.

  Mr. Caine shrugged. ‘For as long as it takes.’

  They had agreed to the terms of her transfer before the elevator car reached the top floor of the Caine Insurance building.

  It pinged ever so softly when it arrived at their designated floor. The doors opened. They entered the plush office of Mr. Caine, Chairman of the Board. Understandably, they were the only ones around since it was only eight in the morning.

  ‘When do you want me to leave?’ She asked as she admired her father’s newly refurbished workplace. She particularly liked Ken Done’s kaleidoscopic painting of the Sydney Harbour she’d sent him as a present. It was an appealing riot of colours!

  ‘Yesterday,’ was his reply.

  She smiled. ‘In which case, I’d better pack. Since I’ll be there for a while, I’ll see about leasing my apartment this time while I’m gone. Bye, Dad.’ She stood on the tip of her toes to give him an affectionate kiss.

  FIFTEEN HOURS AFTER it left Auckland, Air NZ Dreamliner was taxiing down the runway.

  A tall, handsome man was last to disembark, preferring a calm exit to elbowing his way out. At any rate, with his long legs, and no baggage to collect, he was out of the building ahead of everyone from his plane.

  He hailed a taxi and asked to be taken to the Grand Hyatt, where he had a night booking. He smiled as he thought of the possibility of bumping into her, that mysterious woman whose eyes had bewitched him. It was as though she had burrowed into his soul.

  The one thing he would always remember about her was the colourful little butterfly tattooed just below her navel. He remembered passing his hand over it as they made love; his palm on her abdomen, he had felt her quiver.

  End of Preview

  Last Pursuit

  How far would you go for love?

  Book Two of the Colour Series

  1: She wasn’t on the School Bus

  HE WAS THE FAMILIAR FIGURE by the roadside for a few weeks now with Molly by his side. The five-year-old, a Belgian Malinois, was born on the same day Cherie Rivers, his infant daughter, arrived home from the hospital.

  “Blue” Rivers looked down with amusement at the super fit dog, her tail wagging wildly in anticipation of Cherie’s arrival. He squatted down to pat her, and she rewarded him with slobbery kisses in return. ‘You’re disgusting,’ he said, but smiling as he rubbed the dog’s head.

  Though his face was often wet with Molly’s saliva, he wouldn’t have it any other way for she was his other daughter. She and Cherie shared the crib as babies. Now, they shared a bed.

  Molly felt the vibrations of the approaching school bus and twisted her head towards it. Blue rose to his feet. The driver saw them and gave a friendly wave, but much to Blue’s chagrin, the school bus didn’t stop. He frantically waved the driver down, who slammed on the brakes. He jogged towards the bus with Molly by his side. The middle-aged, bespectacled driver opened the school bus door and looked at Blue a little bewildered. ‘She’s not on the bus.’

  ‘What do you mean she’s not on the bus?’ Blue replied with alarm.

  ‘Take a look, mate.’

  They both climbed in. Blue quickly scanned the kids’ faces, searching for his daughter. Molly already knew Cherie wasn’t on-board. No way she’d miss her scent if Cherie were playing hide and seek.

  Blue turned his attention back to the driver. ‘Did you wait for her?’ he asked although he knew the answer.

  ‘Yeah, didn’t leave ‘til quarter past. I thought she hadn’t gone to school.’

  ‘Thanks, Bailey.’

  Blue motioned for Molly to hop off the bus.

  Something’s not right.

  He lived in a small military town. Nearly everyone there was past, present, and even future Paras, members of the British Commando Unit called the Parachute Regiment. Even Bailey, the school bus driver, had been one.

  The hairs on his neck and arms stood up. His stomach twisted into a knot. He sensed it: Cherie had been taken.

  Sensing trouble, Molly whimpered.

  2: The Shape of Nightmares to Come

  A SHORT, LEAN, AND QUICK-FOOTED MAN hugged a tree branch. Not too long ago, he would have needed to use a pair of binoculars to watch his quarry and then report back via an earwig. These weren’t necessary anymore.

  Today, he was using a wireless device, a camera that transmitted live images to someone likely to be thousands of miles away. It wasn’t his business to know who or why. His only business was to do what he was told and to stay undiscovered while doing so.

  SOMEWHERE IN THE BALKANS, Carl Joseph Sigmund Kruger-Daniel was watching the scene unfold through the lens of a top-of-the-line, high-resolution camera. He crossed his right leg over, set both hands on his lap, sighing dramatically. Silly man, he thought, you shouldn’t have got involved in the first place.

  The man in his sight was Blue Rivers, his former bodyguard. Carl’s right leg swung back and forth, as was his habit. He mused with a tight smile, ‘So, here we are. You and me. I shall enjoy the duel.’

  In his previous estimation, Blue was nothing but a rung above a butler. He realised that he’d been wrong, for obviously, this was a man worthy of his admiration. Blue, actually, presented a challenge.

  Carl spoke barely above a whisper, talking to himself. ‘It’s all on you. I made all the right moves; I had thought it all through.’

  Three months ago, he had asked Blue, who was then his personal bodyguard to take his sacked butler to the Airport. Then, immediately sacked him too, so he wouldn’t be around for the next stages of his plan.

  ‘But what did you do? You had to come back and insert yourself into my grand scheme. You’ve cost me two hundred million plus some. But, it could have been worse, Blue. I could have died if it were not for that bunny!’

  HE HAD BEEN ON HIS way back to his London hotel suite having received confirmation that two million pounds had been transferred to his Swiss numbered account. Handsome payment for the negotiated sale of heiress Isabel Fairbanks-Caine and her lover, Red Ngata-Rhodes, to an Eastern European syndicate. These people were specialists, dealing exclusively in human spare parts.

  His manhood had stiffened as he glanced back at the mansion, imagining the horror that awaited the couple in the hands of their new owners. He deliberately didn’t inform the chop-chop guys that Isabel could be more financially rewarding to them alive than in pieces. Even now, when he thought of what could have been, he got very excited.

  Driving on his country estate’s lane, a huge, white rabbit had dashed across the path of his Bentley, seemingly straight out of the pages of Alice in Wonderland. His driver slammed on the brakes reflexively. The fluffy bunny escaped with its life by a hair’s breadth. That’s when he saw it – Blue’s Jeep hidden behind the bushes.

  ‘What are you doing back here?’ he had asked, rhetorically.

  Overhearing him, his driver turned around briefly and said, a tad confused, ‘Pardon me, sir?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he had replied, with a raised chin to let the driver know to carry on. He knew then that there would be trouble and that he had to think fast. He hated making decisions off the cuff. He preferred planning and thinking things through. But, at that moment, he didn’t have the luxury of time. He had to think on the fly.

  The driver glanced at the rear-view mirror and thought his Master had been talking to himself a lot lately.

  SITTING IN THE OFFICE of his hideaway, Carl smiled crookedly, thinking of Blue’s potential reaction to the story of his survival. Soon, my friend, all will be revealed.

  His eyes fixed on the screen, watching Blue and his dog, a Belgian Malinois, race back inside the house. It’s time to send the message.

  He couldn’t allow Blue to raise the alarm about his missing daughter. He picked up his cell phone to call the little man. ‘Give him the message,’ he said in his usual calm and cultured voice.

  THE SHORT GUY JUMPED off the tree and ran the
half a mile to the cottage, reaching it in three-minutes flat. It was nothing. He didn’t even break a sweat. He rapped on the scuffed, wooden door that hadn’t seen a lick of paint in years. An anxious face came to the door, followed by a beautiful canine.

  TAKEN ABACK, BLUE ASKED brusquely, ‘Who are you? And what do you want?’ Quickly assessing the man, Blue thought he was a Gurkha, most likely retired and working in the Circuit, which referred to the private military industry.

  The visitor didn’t reply immediately; he looked down to check the dog. It was right behind the master of the house, ominously quiet and staring up at him. Blue reached down to touch the canine, to reassure it. The visitor appreciated the gesture with a small nod. ‘I was told to tell you she’s okay.’

  Blue’s aquamarine-coloured eyes narrowed and his chin hardened. ‘Who told you to tell me?’

  ‘You know better than to ask,’ replied the messenger. He turned to leave, but Blue’s long arm reached him and pulled him back.

  ‘Who’s got my daughter?’ he asked, his voice menacing.

  The Gurkha kept his cool. He felt the hot breath coming out of the dog as it snarled at him, waiting for any sign of aggression. He made it a point not to give the dog any reason to attack. ‘Don’t know,’ he said. ‘I’d tell you if I knew. I was told just to tell you she’s okay.’

  Blue released him, reluctantly. He knew how the game was played. You do the job you’re told to do and you ask no questions. It would be a waste of time to beat the hell out of the Gurkha.