Guarding Savage

by Edlund, Dave;

  Farther aft was the dining room, and the centerpiece was a polished cherry table that could seat twelve. Beyond the dining room were three bedroom suites.

  Somewhere over the North Atlantic between the southern tip of Greenland and Ireland, Peter wandered to the bar located at the front of the cabin. The bartender, in his late twenties and neatly groomed, looked expectantly to Peter. “What is your preference?” he asked with a decidedly British accent.

  “How is your selection of single malt Scotch?”

  “Quite extensive. May I suggest the 18-year-old Talisker?”

  Peter scrunched his nose. “A bit too peaty for my taste. Do you have Oban?”

  “Certainly. We have the 2001 Distiller’s Edition, but if you’d like to have an extraordinary Scotch, I’d recommend the Oban Bicentenary.”

  “Sounds interesting.”

  “It’s quite remarkable, really. Aged sixteen years in sherry casks. Quite rare, but we managed to obtain several bottles.”

  “Well, you sold me. I’ll give it a try. Neat, no ice.”

  As the bartender was pouring, Robert stepped in next to Peter. “Club soda, please. No ice,” he said.

  Peter warmed the glass in the palm of his hand, transferring the warmth to the richly-colored whiskey. He turned and leaned against the bar. “I could get used to flying this way,” he said to Robert.

  The big man smiled and nodded. His blue eyes, the color of glacial ice, twinkled with amusement.

  Peter sipped his Scotch. “Ex-military, I’m guessing.”

  “It still shows, huh?”

  “Short cropped hair is the first clue. But it’s mostly the way you carry yourself—confident, disciplined.”

  “Once it’s drilled into a guy, suppose it just can’t be untaught,” Robert answered. “Navy. Twelve years.”

  “How did you end up in this job?”

  “Long story. The short version is I was in the right place at the right time.”

  Peter raised his eyebrows. Perhaps another time he would ask for the long version.

  “You have an interesting history,” Robert said.

  “Oh?” Peter took another sip of the Oban Bicentenary, enjoying the warmth as the whisky went down his throat, and the aftertaste that hinted of sherry, but without any sweetness.

  “Ran a background check on you. Standard procedure, of course.”

  “Of course. And?”

  “Graduate of the University of Oregon; reside in Bend, Oregon. Founder and owner of EJ Enterprises. You develop and manufacture unique magnetic impulse pistols. Never had the pleasure of using one myself, but I hear it’s a nice piece of hardware.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Anyway, you have high-level security clearance with the U.S. government despite the fact that you have never served in the military or intelligence community. You had a run-in with local law enforcement recently. Apparently, they had reason to believe you were responsible for several murders in Bend.”

  Peter clenched is jaw. “And you want to know if I was. Is that it?”

  Unblinking, Robert held Peter’s stare. His implied question demanding a response.

  “The answer should be self-evident,” Peter said. “But if you’re uncomfortable with my past, I’ll just get on the next flight home.”

  Robert pinched his eyebrows together. “Okay. I just wanted to hear it from you. Consider it a test.”

  “Did I pass?”

  “Yeah—for now, anyway.”

  “Remember, I didn’t go looking for Jade. I just happened to be there when things got ugly.”

  Robert gently rubbed his fingers over the bruise on his forehead. It was still painful.

  “Wrong place at the wrong time? Is that it?”

  Peter nodded. “It seems to be a habit of mine.”

  “Some guys are like that. I’ve known a few. They generally don’t live long.”

  “Gee, thanks. Up until now, I was really enjoying this flight.”

  “It’s my job to know who Miss Jade is associating with. I have to be suspicious of everyone. Don’t take it personally.”

  Peter downed the last of his Scotch, then slid the glass across the polished bar.

  As he turned to leave, Robert placed a hand on his shoulder. “Hey. Thank you. If you and your friend hadn’t intervened the other day, I hate to think of what might have happened.”

  “Sure,” Peter said with a shrug. “It’s what I do.”

  s

  Peter completed the flight in his seat—feet up, headphones on and cat napping. He felt tired, but restful sleep was elusive. His mind kept going back to the encounter in front of the restaurant on Wall Street, when the two thugs attempted to kidnap Jade and Amanda. What if I hadn’t been there? His thought echoed Robert’s question. The possible outcomes were frightening. Although he’d only met Jade a few days ago, he was developing a paternal bond with her. Still innocent and sheltered from the dangers that could appear at any time, Jade reminded him of his own daughter, Joanna—before she had a brush with a homicidal maniac. Fortunately, that encounter had turned out well. Life is so precarious. One moment everything is fine, and the next moment disaster upends it all.

  The trio—Peter, Jade, and the ever-present Robert—arrived at London City Airport, just east of the city center and taxied to a large, private hangar. It wasn’t long before customs officials boarded the aircraft, stamped everyone’s passport, and cleared them to debark. Even Diesel was allowed to leave, having avoided quarantine on the basis that he was represented to be one of the Sultan’s canines. Robert hung back to make a phone call and hurried down the stairs to meet Jade and Peter. They were engaged in casual conversation while waiting next to the assembled luggage. In short order, a Rolls Royce Phantom drove into the hangar and stopped opposite the trio.

  While Robert held the door open, Jade slid across the backseat. The leather upholstery was the color of ripe tangerines, and it was supple and soft, a demonstration of the exquisite legendary quality of the company. The door panels, dash, and center console were finished in polished black walnut burl with highlights of inlaid ebony and Birdseye maple marquetry in a classy geometric pattern.

  Peter sat next to Jade, and Robert closed the door with a satisfying and solid thud. Diesel rode shotgun, earning a slight grin from Robert.

  “Do you ever travel in anything other than a Rolls?” Peter asked.

  Jade laughed. “It’s my uncle’s. What can I say? He likes the brand.”

  Peter raised his eyebrows and gently ran a hand across the seat, his eyes darting around the interior, attempting to absorb the meticulous artisanship—and opulence. “Well, I can see why.”

  Robert was behind the wheel with the engine purring. “To the Ritz, Miss Jade?”

  “Yes, Robert.” Then she looked at Peter. “I need to take a long nap; I never sleep well on an airplane. But tonight, we should go to the theatre. Have you ever been to a show in London?”

  “No, I haven’t. It’ll be another first for me. No doubt one of many on this trip.”

  “Robert,” she said, “after we check in, please see the concierge for tickets. Whatever is new and popular will be fine.”

  He nodded as he maneuvered the big car to exit the airport. Soon, Robert had the Rolls motoring on Newham Way and then the A13, headed for the heart of London.

  Peter glanced at Jade. She was looking forward, seemingly lost in thought. “I’m curious,” he said. “The Sultan’s name is Omar Muhammad Shah. Why didn’t he keep the family name of Lim?”

  “Checking up on my family?” she replied with a smile.

  “Maybe—a little bit. It only seems proper I should at least know the name of the man who is giving me a Rolls Royce.”

  “I see. Well, when he became Sultan, my uncle chose to honor the first Sultan of Brunei by adopting the same name. My mother and my grandmother prefer to use their Chinese family name and given names.”

  “Your mother—Eu-meh—was she born in Brunei?”

&nbs
p; Jade nodded. “My grandmother came to Brunei as a refugee following the end of World War II. She was very beautiful, and one day Sultan Omar Ali Saifuddien happened to see her walking out of a shop in Bandar Seri Begawan—that’s the capital city. The Sultan’s palace is a few kilometers south of the city, on the banks of the Brunei River. Anyway, he saw my grandmother and instantly fell in love with her.”

  “Sounds like a fairy tale come true. Are your grandparents still alive?”

  “Grandmother is. She lives in the palace and occasionally still advises my uncle.”

  “Really? She must be very sharp.”

  “Well, in case you hadn’t noticed, the women in my family are quite intelligent and very head-strong. Unfortunately, my country still clings to old customs.” Jade frowned.

  “Meaning, there is no place in government for women.”

  “So how much do you know about my home?”

  “Not very much. I know Brunei is surrounded by Malaysia and has a coast on the South China Sea. I hope to learn more.”

  “My country is tiny, although at one time Brunei ruled much of what is now Malaysia and the Philippines. We have ancient ties to China, both cultural and trading. In 1984, my country won independence from the United Kingdom.

  “My uncle, the Sultan, rules over the government. But like Singapore, the influence of British law and system of governance is still evident. For example, we have a Parliament, but we also abide by Sharia law in some instances.”

  “So I gather that Islam is the predominant religion in Brunei?” Peter asked.

  Jade nodded. “Sunni Islam, but we also have Buddhists and Christians. Does that concern you?”

  “I have no qualm with Islam. In fact, I believe Islam and Christianity have a great deal in common.”

  Jade leaned forward, twisting in her seat until she caught Peter’s eyes. “Do you believe in the God of Abraham?”

  “I do.”

  Jade waited for elaboration, but Peter declined to speak further.

  “You are uncomfortable discussing religion?” she asked.

  “Yeah, you could say so. I hold my beliefs private because the last thing this world needs is another person advocating for one religion over others. Too much violence has been justified by religion—too many people have been killed in the name of God.”

  “A lot of good has been done, too.”

  “Sure. But I don’t support Sharia law. I’m sorry if that offends you.”

  Jade reached out and touched Peter’s hand. “Not to worry. You do not offend me. I know you are a good man.”

  Chapter 7

  London, U.K.

  August 23

  The doorman at the Ritz Piccadilly held the rear door of the Phantom open as Jade slid out, followed by Peter. Robert was at the curb and followed Jade into the ornate lobby of the grand and historic hotel. Peter expected one of the hotel staff to object to Diesel, even though he was leashed and healing beside his master. But none did. Must get a lot of celebrities traveling with their pet dogs.

  Peter leaned toward Jade as they approached the registration desk. “Another favorite of you Uncle?”

  She gave Peter a curious look. “Oh, no. He would never stay in a hotel. He usually stays at Buckingham Palace when he visits London.”

  Peter raised his eyebrows. Of course.

  The bellman motioned toward the elevator. Jade led the way as they exited on the second floor and entered a wallpapered hall with crystal wall sconces.

  “Looks like she knows her way around the hotel,” Peter said to Robert.

  “She’s a regular here, and she always stays in the Prince of Wales Suite.”

  In three quick strides the bellman passed Jade, reaching the carved mahogany door first. He slid a keycard into the lock and turned the latch, holding the door as his three guests entered. A butler, dressed in a traditional gray suit, was waiting in the entrance hall. “Welcome back, Ms. Lim.”

  She returned a warm smile.

  “Champagne?”

  “Yes, thank you.” She studied the butler’s face only for a moment. “Roger, yes?”

  He bowed slightly. “Thank you, ma’am. You remember my name.”

  They passed through the entrance hall into the spacious living room with Chippendale sofas and armchairs. A large bay window overlooked Green Park below. Jade sat near the fireplace.

  “Krug Grande Cuvée,” the butler said as he lowered a silver tray holding three flutes. Jade and Peter each took a glass, but Robert passed, preferring to walk through the adjoining dining room and three bedrooms, just to be sure everything was in order.

  s

  Peter felt refreshed and energized after walking Diesel through Green Park, followed by a three-hour nap. He had taken position in a generously padded leather armchair, the color of dried tobacco, and was reading that day’s edition of The Times.

  Robert had disappeared to the kitchen, mumbling something about wanting to make sure Roger prepared a hearty breakfast in the morning. The drive to Goodwood in West Sussex would take close to two hours, longer if there was traffic leaving London.

  Peter stood as Jade entered the room. She was wearing casual business attire—pressed indigo-died jeans and a silk blouse under a suede vest. Having previously confirmed that the theater did not require coat and tie, Peter was dressed in slacks, a button-down Oxford shirt, and a navy blazer.

  Jade had suggested they dine at Myung Ga, a trendy Korean restaurant nearby on Kingly Street. Peter was looking forward to bulgogi—a dish of thinly sliced beef, marinated and grilled on a barbeque. Roger had kindly offered to keep an eye on Diesel—it seemed the canine had made a new friend.

  The Rolls was waiting at the curb in front of the main entrance on Arlington Street. After Peter and Jade climbed into the spacious rear seat, Robert started the engine and pulled away from the hotel. It was early evening, and the Rolls merged into a steady stream of traffic when Robert turned right onto Piccadilly. His eyes were alternating between the cars in front and the rearview mirror.

  After five minutes, they’d travelled about a half-mile. Robert turned the Phantom left onto Regent Street. He was now devoting more eye time to the traffic behind him than he was to the cars in front. The wrinkles on his forehead seemed more pronounced.

  Peter noticed but decided to trust Robert. After all, he was the professional and Peter was merely along for the ride—figuratively and literally. Another five minutes and two more turns, and Robert eased the Phantom to a stop in front of the restaurant.

  “I’ll keep an eye on the Rolls, Miss Jade.”

  “Are you sure? You’re not hungry?”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

  “Okay. If you say so. But if you change your mind later, be sure to ask Roger to cook up a late night meal. He’s an accomplished chef, you know.”

  Peter hung back while Jade strode into Myung Ga as if she owned the place. “Something on your mind?” he said to Robert.

  “Just doing my job.” Robert leaned against the big sedan and crossed his arms.

  “Couldn’t help but notice you spent a lot of time focused on the rearview mirror. A tail?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. I’ll hang out, just to be sure.”

  “Want me to order something for you?” Peter asked with a grin.

  “You worry too much. I’m fine. Now you better hustle inside before Miss Jade gets suspicious.”

  They sat in a corner of the restaurant far from the entrance, at a table for two. The waiter introduced himself and took their drink order—a bottle of sparkling wine from France.

  “Did you notice that look from the waiter?” Peter said. “He probably thinks we’re dating.”

  “Are you embarrassed?” she asked with a sly grin. Clearly, she enjoyed the attention.

  “First of all, we’re not dating. I’m old enough to be your father.”

  “Maybe I like older, more mature men?”

  “Flirt all you like, this is not a date. I have a daughter about
your age.”

  Peter’s protest drew a laugh from Jade. She leaned forward, chin cradled in her hands. “Ever the gentleman. But tell me—you don’t have a rule against being friends, do you?”

  Peter blushed. “Not at all.”

  “I’d like to meet your daughter someday. Tell me about her—please.”

  “Her name is Joanna, but she likes to be called Jo.”

  “Hmm. I like her already; she has character.”

  “She’s an interior designer. She’s always been very fond of drawing and almost everything art related.”

  The waiter returned with the bottle and presented the label for Peter’s scrutiny. Then he untwisted the wire cage, popped the cork, and poured a sample in one of the flutes. Once Peter tasted and approved the selection, the waiter topped off both flutes and placed the bottle in a silver ice bucket.

  “Are you ready to order?” he asked.

  Peter motioned to Jade, and she expertly relayed her meal preference. Then Peter order the bulgogi.

  “Thank you. Let me know if you need anything.”

  Peter smiled, and returned his attention to Jade.

  “Does Jo also live in Bend?” she asked.

  “Yes, she does. And we get together often. I also have a son, several years younger than Jo. His name is Ethan, and he’s a student at the University of Oregon.”

  “Does he also like art? Or maybe, he’ll follow in his father’s footsteps?”

  “Too early to say. But there’s a place for him at EJ Enterprises if that’s the direction he chooses.”

  Jade’s eye widened in sudden realization. “Oh, now I get it. EJ Enterprises is named for your children.”

  The corner of Peter’s mouth widened into a smile. “You are correct, young lady.”

  Several minutes passed in silence as each enjoyed the sparkling wine. Peter refilled Jade’s flute.

  She looked into his eyes and hesitated. “You haven’t mentioned your wife.”