by Alex Just
~ Switzerland ~
Luck was on his side. Markus didn’t know about the silenced gun hidden in Stan’s jacket. He seemed to have gotten older, less cautious, for he was breaking a golden rule; when you’re marching a hostage you never hold the gun right up to their back.
Stanley ducked suddenly, twisting his body to the side awkwardly. His elbow fired up and knocked the gun sideways. The attack caught Markus completely by surprise. Numerous things happened at once. The elevator pinged noisily. Markus put up one hell of a fight, forcing Stan to reach into his own jacket, to try to pull his weapon out. A rough shove from Markus caused him to stumble and he fell over to the side. Two thuds, silenced shots and Markus’s eyes bulged. Blood dribbled out of his mouth as he stumbled backwards, disbelief etched into his brute face, breaking it into even uglier lines.
Looking up Stan saw two men dressed in dark suits standing by the elevators. One of them stared in disbelief at the other who held his silenced weapon out, an expression of horror on his face. Obviously he’d tried to shoot Stan, but at the wrong moment Stan fell, leaving Markus exposed to take the bullets. Wasting no time Stan pulled his own weapon out drawing a bead on the bodyguard holding the gun, pumped two rounds into him and without missing a beat, shifted his aim and put a single bullet through the head of the remaining body guard who was half way towards drawing his own weapon.
Ping. The lift doors shut and all that could be heard was Stanley’s ragged breathing.
How did they know? He cursed silently. Someone must have tipped them off. Who? Now was not the time or place to think this through, there were three bodies to dispose of, and he was in a five star hotel to make it even more inconvenient. In the end, lacking all creativity he dragged all three into his room and closed the door, locking it securely with the bolt and chain.
Next he used the sheets and blankets of his bed to wrap the bodies up and piled them into the large bathtub of his suite. He drew the shower curtain making sure you couldn’t see anything from the doorway if you glanced inside. His mind was still in a daze as he closed the bathroom door. He needed to sit down. What the hell just happened? Damn, this was awkward. Three corpses and I’m supposed to be on holiday.
A sudden thought dawned on his mind. How much time do I have before Smith realises his goons have failed? He had to leave his room now and hope like hell Smith had not heard the commotion right outside his own room. Something didn’t add up though, the more he thought about it. How had he been found so damned quickly? Smith would’ve wanted to talk to him, Stan was sure of that. It had been a long time and their past played too an important part in his life that he would have it destroyed; so why send Markus to fetch him? What the hell was going on? Maybe whoever had spilt the beans on him had gone through Markus rather than Smith. That would explain why it was Markus who had come with the full intent to kill him.
One way or another he had to get out of the room and make his dinner appointment in case someone came to see why he hadn’t been at his reservation in the restaurant, and then stumbled upon a bath with three dead men.
Cautiously he left his room, leaving nothing of his in it and hung the “Do not disturb” sign on the door. That should last until he checked out. The bodies would be found, no doubt about that, but he’d be far away by then if all went to plan. Thankfully he’d used his alias, that way no one could identify him, especially seeing as he’d made sure no traces were left behind that could compromise his identity.
Conference room Florida was a colourful affair, with walls lavishly decorated and covered in palm trees and beach scenes. Interesting choice Smith, I wonder why. Could it be something to do with that island of yours by any chance, Stan pondered as he peered into the exquisite room. He was sure the room would be swept for bugs so no point in giving himself away for something that simple. Up on the ceiling he could see where vents had once been. They were now sealed off with jib board. These little imperfections lined the walls at regular intervals. A plan began to form in Stan’s mind, one that would definitely work and should involve little risk.
Twenty minutes later, Stan was sitting at his table for one, admiring the lavish menu. He was ravished and didn’t much care for finesse or gourmet sized meals. He decided to order the steak, thinking big and asked to keep the wine menu on the table. While he waited for his food to appear, he let the days events run through his mind in chronological order.
Mathew Smith, the name alone drove a wedge into Stan’s heart, anger and hate flaring up. I’ll kill you Smith, for what you did to Russell and Adrianna, was his silent vow. Smith comes back from the dead, is in possession of at least 20 million dollars cash, plus the five million he’d previously owned under Stan’s name. He could do a lot of damage with that money. He didn’t doubt for a second, the banker had lied. He’d owned, and still did, an island, in the middle of the south-pacific for the past fourteen years. He’d recently acquired a new identity. That meant only one thing, whatever he was planning was going to happen very soon, the fact that he’d ditched his “Stanley Muddingfield” identity meant he was moving around the country and starting to put his plan into action. Someone was bound to pick up on it, if it had been under Stan’s name, especially given his own history with the FBI, before ATIS.
At that moment the waiter arrived bringing his steak. Not surprisingly it was tiny and Stan couldn’t help laughing at it, much to the waiter’s discomfort. So now, Smith was having a conference with a group of people, maybe that’d shed some light on what was going on. Markus, now that was a very unexpected and unpleasant surprise. He was the damned mole they’d had amongst themselves in the FBI. He had trusted the man against his gut feeling. He’d had no choice. So much of the information he’d worked days and nights to uncover on Mathew Smith, a futile effort. Every step of progress Ben and he had made had been reported to Smith.
The worst was that it was Markus, who’d alerted Smith to their capture plan. It made sense now, how Mathew knew the heat was getting too high, and that it was time to hide. Too late for the FBI to do anything about Smith, considering he “died,” they had turned their eyes on themselves. Sifting through their team, searching for any leaks.
Stan and Ben came under investigation which was ridiculous, then, Markus suddenly disappeared. Ben and Stan were dismissed from service due to the disastrous results of the blotched operation; the civilian couple, Russell and his fiancée, who’d been asked to play the bait to lure Smith to Fiji, had also lost their lives in the hotel explosion.
Russell had been Stan’s foster brother. Growing up with him and Smith in the miserable orphanage, until the three of them finally escaped. It was soon after Russell’s death that Adrianna, Russell’s biological sister, and Stan’s love, cut off all contact with him. Thinking back, if it wasn’t for that he probably would never have accepted the shady job offer which ATIS had made.
Half way through his pitiful steak, his thoughts were interrupted by a voice he knew well, belonging to the individual whom he hated with infinite passion. A quick glance confirmed his fears. It was Smith. The temptation to stand up and put a bullet through his head right there and then was so overpowering he was forced to use every ounce of self-control to remain in his seat and casually lift the wine menu in front of his face. The time would come; he’d no doubt about that.
The Maitre d’hotel showed Smith to his table, which fortunately was in a little alcove in the restaurant and had a wall that protruded into the dining area, shielding Smith from Stan’s view. Interestingly enough he was accompanied by a beautiful woman that was not his wife; Rose. That could only mean one thing. No, please, no. Did he have Rose killed like so many other people who got in his way? Rose had been a great friend to Stan. It was with her help that he’d managed to find Russell’s biological sister, Adrianna, as they had been separated at birth. Adrianna had been adopted by a family and Russell deposited in an orphanage. Smith had be
come a target of minor interest to the FBI, and Adrianna and he were constantly in touch with Rose, Smiths wife. Stan tried to use her to gain evidence on Smith, so they could arrest him.
That was until she was forced to leave. Stan had ordered this, it was too risky, and Smith was bound to catch her betraying him. Apparently he did in the end as Rose was nowhere in sight. It seemed that no matter how hard he tried, Stan always got those closest to him hurt. He had to leave. Now. Before the painful memories of his past swamped him; before he succumbed to the bars beckoning call, the brandy it could provide. It was his cure, healing him in painless oblivion and preventing any scrap of his past from drowning out reality.
He stood suddenly, almost knocking over his water, catching it just in time before it made a scene. The fear that he’d nearly been caught tore him away from the brink of the toxic abyss which were his memories, forcing him back to a reality almost as bad. He quietly left the restaurant and rushed to the nearest bathroom, splashed water onto his face and calmed down.
He’d work to do; he couldn’t afford to lose focus like this again. As soon as the conference was over he’d have to try and locate the island. That was going to be a daunting task.
***
7
