She smiles, which I reciprocate. Not ideal, but not her fault.
“That would be great, thanks. His name’s Sayed bin Mawal.”
To her credit, she didn’t skip a beat. In fact, I doubt anyone would’ve noticed the split-second flash of concern that registered in her eyes. But I’m not just anyone. And I did notice it.
“My apologies once again, sir, but His Royal Highness, Prince Sayed bin Mawal is not available for visitors. I would be happy to take a message to him on your behalf…?”
Any friendliness there was has left her tone. She’s now completely professional, all business, despite sounding a little defensive. I think I might have asked the wrong receptionist…
I frown. “How do you know he’s not available? You didn’t even check?”
She smiles again, but this time it doesn’t reach her eyes — it’s simply a sign of impatience. “With respect, sir, it’s highly unlikely you’re an old acquaintance of His Royal Highness, and because of an earlier security concern, he doesn’t wish to receive any more guests. I’m afraid I will have to ask you to leave.”
Before I can say anything, the five men in suits appear and surround me — one either side of me, with the other three forming a loose semicircle behind. With the desk in front of me, I’m pinned in. Nowhere to go.
I ignore them and look at the young woman. “Okay, I don’t want any trouble. I’ll leave. But do you think you could pass a message on for me anyway?”
She goes to speak, but doesn’t get the chance. The man on my right steps forward and grabs my arm with a firm grip. He stands tall, authoritative. He has short, styled, dark hair. His beard’s similar. He has a Middle Eastern complexion and emotionless eyes. “She said leave. So leave.”
I look at his hand, then up at him. I hold his gaze and don’t blink. “Son, you got three seconds to let go of me.”
He glances around and smirks at me. “Or what, asshole?”
“Or… I’ll pull your arm out of its socket and beat you to death with the wet end.”
His arrogant smile fades. There’s a bustle of noise as everyone’s suit jacket is brushed aside, making their firearms easier to reach should they need them.
I don’t take my eyes off him. I still don’t blink. I’m openly challenging him to disobey me. To push me and see where it gets him. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. It’s in my DNA. Hearing the phrase ‘or what’ triggers a genetic, almost primordial rebellion inside me.
That being said, I’m not allowed to draw attention to myself or kill anyone anymore, am I? Order’s orders…
Spoilsports.
Plus, while I’d normally be relishing the opportunity to take these pricks out, if just one of them draws their gun, it’ll change everything — there are too many innocent people standing around. The receptionist might have been rude to me, but I doubt she’s on the prince’s payroll. Or her colleagues, for that matter.
No, I can’t get involved here. But I’ll be damned if I’m letting him think he can get away with still holding onto my arm.
I raise an eyebrow. “I’m waiting…”
His eyes narrow and he takes a deep, reluctant breath. Then he moves his hand.
I should fucking think so, too…
I look back at the woman behind the desk. Time for plan B.
Yes, I have a plan B — don’t look so shocked!
“Listen, the prince is gonna be really interested in my message. You should hear me out.”
She looks at the man on my left momentarily. “Okay. What is the message?”
“Someone’s hired an assassin to kill him. He should increase his security and get out of the city right away.”
She frowns and shakes her head slightly, clearly not believing me. “Really? And how, may I ask, do you know this?”
I smile. “Because I’m the guy they hired.”
All five guns are drawn and aimed at me in a flash. I hold my arms out to the side, palms facing up, showing I’m no threat. Or, at least, making them think I’m not.
The guy who grabbed my wrist steps forward again, pressing the barrel of his gun to my temple. “Who are you?”
“I’m Adri—” I stop myself. Shit. No, I’m not. “My name’s Brad Foley. I work in the… private security business. I sometimes freelance, if the money’s right. Anyway, someone’s offering me an awful lot of money to kill the prince.”
One of the men behind me places his gun on the back of my head. “So why are you telling us? And what’s to stop us killing you right now?”
I turn my head slightly, so it’s clear I’m addressing him despite not looking round. “There’s nothing stopping you. But a man of the prince’s standing… I’m guessing he’ll want to know who his enemies are. Am I right? I might do this sort of thing on the side, but I’m not an amateur. I know who he is. I don’t care what reasons someone else might have for wanting him gone… I don’t want to be the one to do it. When I told them, they were pissed — as you might expect, and now they want me dead, too. So to get back at them, I thought I could warn the prince, give him the opportunity to prepare himself.”
Silence falls on the scene, and I find myself holding my breath. I’m not sure this was the best plan B I’ve ever had — I have the barrels of two guns resting against my head, and I’m unarmed. My only chance is—
“Come with us,” says the guy to my right. “Prince Sayed will want to meet you before we kill you.”
I close my eyes for a second, breathing a quiet sigh a relief. Then I re-open them, turn to look at the guy, and smile. “Excellent. Lead the way.”
It took three elevators to reach the penthouse levels, with each one taking us up twenty-odd floors at a time. I think they do it that way so you don’t have one long cable running top to bottom. Probably safer.
The doors open with a ding on the sixty-fifth floor. I’m surrounded by the five assholes from downstairs. They usher me out into a small lobby with corridors stretching off to the left and right.
“This way,” says one of them.
We all head to the right and make our way down the long hallway. The plush chocolate carpet muffles the marching of our collective footfalls. Artwork hangs at sporadic intervals on the cream walls. Stationed between the doorways, statues and busts atop marble plinths stand like sculptured sentries. Overhead, chandeliers that must cost a small fortune hang down, providing ample lighting.
I look around, trying to appear casual. I even let out a low, impressed whistle along the way to give these ass-hats the impression I’m stunned at the opulence around us. I guess I am, to an extent, but the truth is I’m scoping the place, and I’m a little worried. There are very few doors, which suggests each room is sizeable. There are security cameras everywhere. I also have to assume everyone else in the prince’s entourage is as armed and as well organized as these pricks.
Seriously, the White House was easier to get inside than this!
We stop outside a set of double doors. Four of the men take a step back, training their guns on me. I glance at each of them in turn. Their fingers are tight on the triggers, their arms unwavering. Just waiting for a reason…
I best try not to give them one.
The fifth guy knocks on the door. After a moment, the left hand side opens slightly — a thin crack offering no view of the interior, blocked by the body behind it. There’s a brief, muted exchange in a foreign language, and the door closes again. A moment later, it re-opens fully.
I feel a cold, metallic pressure in the middle of my back. Someone’s using his gun to urge me forward.
“Inside,” says a voice behind me.