Nathaniel Jackson was ten years senior to Mitchell and a former Ranger. Tall, with a smooth-shaven head, large, broad shoulders and strong, muscular arms, Jackson always seemed to have a few extra pounds around his midriff that he proclaimed weekly were coming off shortly; not that they ever did. His wife cooked too well, and he liked a breakfast of donuts with his morning coffee. He could, however, easily bench press his own weight or step into in a boxing ring with a man half his age and expect to win.
As Mitchell made his way towards the semi-private, high-stakes poker tables, he smiled to himself. He had never been to Vegas before. The architecture of the Paris Hotel with the legs of a scaled-down Eiffel Tower inside the casino is a clever design, thought Mitchell.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other two members of his team, Sam and Cardinal, playing craps; by the sound of Sam’s complaining, they weren’t doing very well.
Samantha Chen was officially the team medic, but she was so much more than that. Her short stature meant nothing; she was just as deadly with a rifle as any man on the team. Sam, as she preferred to be called, stood just over a meter and a half tall with a petite, but firm build. Her dark-brown eyes burned with a hunger to be the best at everything she did. A former airborne medic, she was a self-professed adrenaline junkie and loved to be outdoors. She enjoyed going free climbing, scuba diving, and parachuting whenever she could.
Right alongside Sam was her boyfriend, Gordon Cardinal. A tall, slender man with a thick, black goatee, Cardinal had grown up on a farm nestled against the Canadian Rockies. Recruited straight out of Canada’s elite JTF-2, he was the team’s sniper and surveillance expert. Whereas Sam was excitable, Cardinal was as cool as a mountain glacier; nothing ever seemed to faze him. Even now while he lost at dice, he couldn’t have looked more disinterested.
With a pissed look on her face, Sam grabbed the dice from Cardinal and announced loudly that she was taking over before they lost any more money. It was all an act. Mitchell’s friends were there to keep an eye out and to cover his back should anything go wrong at the poker tables.
Mitchell nonchalantly walked over to the private tables at the back of the casino, where he was met by a white-haired gentleman in a tuxedo. With the hint of a French accent the man asked, “Sir, may I please see your invitation?”
With a smile, Mitchell produced his invite. After bowing politely, the white-haired man escorted Mitchell to an empty table. There were several other tables in the room, all of which were filled with overly eager players trying for the estimated five million dollars in prize money to be won. Mitchell took a seat, glanced down at his watch and saw that it was midnight. He was precisely on time.
A waitress in a skimpy outfit walked over. “Would you like something to drink, sir?”
“A tonic water would be great,” he replied. Mitchell sat back and unbuttoned his tuxedo jacket.
Hired to deliver a flash drive containing the access codes to a secret Swiss bank account in exchange for the life of the son of a Saudi diplomat, Mitchell tried to look relaxed. A minute later, the waitress returned with his drink. Mitchell smiled and tipped her. He sat there sipping his drink, trying not to look like he was looking around. Mitchell slowly moved his eyes over the casino patrons. It didn’t take him long to realize that he was wasting his time. His contact could be anyone from a woman wearing a large, flower-covered dress to a skinny man with a long mullet dressed in ratty-looking shorts and a T-shirt with a monster truck on it.
He was about to dig out his phone and check the latest sports scores, when he noticed the white-haired man stop a tall, fit-looking man wearing a white suit with a light-blue shirt and tie. Mitchell quickly studied the man. He looked to be in his mid-forties. He had olive-colored skin with short, black, curly hair. Mitchell took him to be Greek.
With a smile, the man walked over to Mitchell’s table. Taking a seat right beside Mitchell, the man held out his hand in greeting.
“Good evening, my name is Alekos Alexandrakis,” said the man politely.
Mitchell shook his hand. It was firm and tight. “Ryan Mitchell. Pleased to meet you, Mister Alexandrakis.”
Alexandrakis smiled. “I’m pleased that you got my name right, Mister Mitchell. So many people seem to have a problem with it.”
“I’m lucky with names, I guess.”
Alexandrakis’ expression changed immediately, becoming serious. “I take it that you followed my directions to the letter and that you are unarmed.”
“I did, and I am not carrying any concealed weapons,” replied Mitchell, slowly opening his tuxedo jacket to show that he wasn’t carrying a gun.
“Now, do you have on you what I require for us to conclude our business?”
“Yes.”
“Very good, hand it to me and I will provide you with the room number where young Saad is being held.”
Mitchell hesitated. “How do I know that you will live up to your end of the bargain?”
“I may be many things, Mister Mitchell, but I would never harm a child. You have my word that Saad has not been harmed and is being well looked after. Once I have the flash drive, I promise to tell you where you may find him.”
Mitchell nodded his head, slowly reached into his jacket and placed the flash drive on the table in front of him.
Alexandrakis took a quick look around and placed his hand over the flash drive. He was about to pull it towards him when a waitress walked over and stopped right beside him. Turning his head, Alexandrakis’ eyes widened when he saw that the waitress was pointing a pistol, concealed under her drink tray, straight at his head.
“Be a dear, Alekos, and give me the flash drive,” said the woman, her accent Scottish.
Mitchell turned his head. His jaw dropped open. He thought he was looking up at a ghost. He instantly recognized the woman’s unforgettable, smoky, emerald-green eyes. With short red hair and extremely fit physique, she was the heir to a mercenary organization with contacts throughout the world.
“My God, I thought you were dead,” gasped Mitchell.
“So did a few other people, who are themselves now dead,” replied Grace with a wink.
Mitchell didn’t need to be told that she had settled several scores after escaping certain death in an underground river in Liberia.
“Mister Alexandrakis, give me the flash drive,” said Grace, her voice sharp and threatening. “Also, please don’t try anything foolish, Mister Mitchell. I have several women spread throughout the casino who would put a bullet in the back of your head before you got out of your chair.”
“Miss—?” asked Mitchell, recalling her face, but not her name.
“Maxwell, Grace Maxwell, at your service.”
“Okay, Grace, you can have the flash drive for all I care. However, I need some information that Mister Alexandrakis has with him,” explained Mitchell. “Please believe me. I’m not lying. A young boy’s life is at stake.”
Grace smiled. “He’s across the street in the Bellagio Hotel in room 311.”
In his earpiece, Mitchell heard Sam and Cardinal acknowledge the information. They left their game, hurried out of the hotel, and sprinted out onto the busy street, ignoring the blaring horns of the cars as they weaved their way around them.
With a look of disgust on his face, Alexandrakis slid the drive over to Grace, who deftly picked it up and slipped it into the top of her form-fitting waitress’ outfit.
“How the hell did you know what was going on?” Mitchell asked Grace.
“Didn’t Alekos tell you? We’re working together,” said Grace with a smile. “He hired me to kidnap the boy, which I did, and now I’m double-crossing him before he can do the same to me.”