“I love you, Nara!” he said passionately.
“My love,” she whispered back, her eyes stoned with love.
Upon entering the suite, they quickly shed their clothes. Thomas went slowly to kiss her.
“My Thomas, please!” Nara screamed at the top of her voice not wanting the slow build up.
Holding her gaze staring into her eyes with one long push into her, Thomas did as Nara demanded.
“I love you, my beautiful Nara,” he said as he felt her contract around him, an action that enabled him to feel the shudders that were rampaging through her body. She whispered his name as over and over using it as a whip to make him drive into her, so when they came together which they did quickly and with the spontaneity of their love, created their beloved Victoria.
12
London – Present Day
Arriving approximately thirty minutes before the meeting with the Prime Minister, Thomas and his security entourage walked down Parliament Street until they reached and entered a little coffee shop known as Café Churchill.
Unlike its high street competitors, the coffee shop was old-fashioned, had no internet, and yet to this day was the place where most of the world’s movers and shakers always met before a pre-meeting at Downing Street, just as Thomas and his entourage were about do.
As they entered the cafe, a tall man in his sixties stood up and greeted them.
Brigadier Angus Mackintosh, standing poker straight and well over six-feet tall, was certainly a person who met the description of former British Army Officer. He was dressed in his grey pinstriped tailored suit, highly polished black leather shoes, and his Guard’s tie, providing him the blessed appearance of a leader of men.
Thomas, as a young officer during his tour with the regiment had always respected him for his cool leadership style. Certainly one not to play politics, as he was the man who recommended him for his Military Cross and fought for and tried to force his political masters to recognize his men’s bravery right up until he retired.
He had joined the board of TLH after a stint in the Royal Omani Brigade of Guards to provide a necessary respected ‘back-door’ between the British Government and Thomas.
“Hello, Dear Boy,” Angus said warmly crushing Thomas’s hand in the process.
“Late night, Tommy?” he immediately enquired, spotting Thomas’s eyes and earning a cheeky smile from his charge in return. Almost as if was the old days.
“Always, Brig,” Thomas replied for he never called him Angus out of respect.
While Mikhail got an espresso for the both of them, his other bodyguards took up their positions either side of them.
“So are you sure the PM is going to go for this, old chap?” Angus asked.
“Well, Brig, it not just me that needs this so does Britain. The potential oil reserves under little Adwalland should ensure Britain’s requirements are met for the next fifty years,” Thomas began. “I do recognize though that it’s a tough pill to swallow having old Ivan acting as the security guarantee!” he continued as Mikhail arrived with the strong black, rich Italian coffees the café was famous for.
“Mmmm,” the old solider replied. He wasn’t completely convinced of his former protégé’s synopsis, yet he kept wise counsel while they finished their coffee and enquired about each other’s family.
Coffees finished, the five of them left the small café and walked down the busy Parliament Street for about a minute before crossing the road to Downing Street. Mikhail and the security team, armed with Tasers and batons, had to wait outside.
Once the reception officer had confirmed their identification, the former Special Forces officers walked through the security gates and down the road to Number 10.
Arriving outside in a matter of moments and as if by magic the door opened before they could knock. Met a female aide she proceeded to take them to the garden room at the back of the building that overlooked a small courtyard.
As they made themselves comfortable, both men refused the offer of tea or coffee from the lady while they waited for the PM to see them. They didn’t have to wait long.
Minutes later, the door opened allowing the PM, followed by his Personal Private Secretary, the Foreign Secretary, and to ensure the public demands for greater transparency, the official minute taker to walk in.
“Sir Thomas, so very good to see you,” the Prime Minister said in his crisp Etonian tones offering his hand to introduce himself.
Aware that, with the minute taker in the room, no reference should be made to their previous meeting in the Dorchester when he was in Opposition and understanding that the PM’s diary with commercial interests was now “matter of public record,” and having been briefed by Angus not to mention their previous meeting, Thomas took his hand firmly in return and politely greeted him.
At the start, the meeting went pretty much as expected with bland questions being asked by the PM and his aides and equally non-committal answers from both Angus and Thomas being received. This was created purely for any nosey reporters looking for tidbits in the official minutes.
Then after ten minutes with a single nod towards the minute taker, the men watched as the young man left the room only to be replaced by an attractive woman in her early forties.
“Thomas Litchfield,” Thomas said offering his hand, beating the Prime Minister to the punch.
“Sir Thomas,” the woman said taking it while turning towards the Foreign Secretary to lead the way to introduce her.
“Elizabeth, good of you join us,” the Foreign Secretary said taking his cue as he gestured for her to sit down, where upon they all quickly followed suit as well.
Taking in her appearance, Thomas thought she was extremely attractive indeed. She had piercing green eyes and long auburn colored hair. The standard high street dark blue business suit concealed her long slender body gave her a height of ,he guessed, at five-foot-nine-inches and since she hadn’t introduced herself, he quickly surmised that it meant she was from the Intelligence Services so he waited for the PPS to confirm it.
“Elizabeth is from our Security Services, gentleman,” he said before continuing. “As this part of the meeting is privy to the Official Secrets Act, and a DA notice to reflect Elizabeth’s presence I will be taking the minutes,” he added. The DA notice meant anything discussed could never be reported on and could be removed from the public eye.
Nodding their agreement in return, the PM gave his permission to Elizabeth to start. As she did, it suddenly dawned on Thomas he had met her before.
“Sir Thomas, it has been made aware to us that your reasons for this investment may be linked less to your commercial interests, and more to the requirements of men of your position on the other passport you hold are required to deliver?” she said as both a statement and a question in an oblique reference to his citizenship of, and the National Champions policy of Russia, getting straight to the point.
“Yes Elizabeth, that scenario could be easily presented,” Thomas replied without hesitation having expected it.
“We would like you to explain why you think it is vital that the British Government should support your proposed investment plan and not to mention provide its formal recognition of the Russian Government’s intention to build a Naval base less than hundred and twenty miles away from the Americans in Djibouti?” she continued.
He crossed his legs and relaxed and did just that for the next forty-five minutes during a question and answer discussion as Elizabeth, the PM, and the Foreign Secretary probed him hard on the benefits versus the negatives of the erosion of United States and British security relationship that would most likely outcome from such an action and how it would help the long-term interests of Britain. It was a tough sell; Thomas could see everybody was less than convinced but knowing his hour was almost up, nonetheless he decided to go for broke.