Read Online Agent of Influence: A Thriller by Russell Hamilton - Free Book Online
Authors: Russell Hamilton
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patterns from college as soon as they got to together.
“I know where you are heading tonight. Which strip club you gonna blow those winnings at?”
Alex gave his friend a wry smile. “I’ll decide that later,” he replied. “What’s on tap for today?”
“How about breakfast?” Michael suggested. “Cindy is taking a shower. She will be at least an hour. We can eat and do a little more blackjack until she’s ready. Then we can check out the new hotels on the strip. Sound good?”
“Sure. Let me grab a few things first,” Alex said as he stepped into the bathroom.
Ten minutes later they were devouring a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast from the hotel buffet. Between bites, Alex noticed a large man sitting several tables away. The man was methodically nibbling on fruit and cereal. The haggard look on his face, and the crumbled clothes he wore suggested his long night had tu rned into an early morning. He did not notice the caramel colored suit coat hanging over the empty chair opposite the man.
Chapter 9
Zachariah Hardin un-tucked his lime green golf shirt and let it fall over his waist as he paced back and forth across the floor of the penthouse suite of the Desert Dust Inn. They were going to be late for their tee time. Zachariah glanced at his watch and fiddled with his khaki pants. He cursed the stripper for her boldness and his adoptive father for his tardiness in successive breaths. The annoying part of it was that he knew Aman was right. He pushed his luck too far, and it finally caught up with him. He was the President-Elect of the United States and would officially take the oath of office in less than a month. He should be more careful. The more dangerous half of his personality still thought he deserved to have some fun. He spent more than ten years of his life married to a woman he absolutely despised just so he could keep up the proper appearances. Was he not entitled to a good lay now that she was dead and the election was over? He knew what Aman’s response would be; he would tell him the mission should always come first.
He thought Aman was being overly cautious. There was nothing that could stop them now. Their plan was in its final stage, and they had succeeding in sneaking their Trojan horse into the city walls. The thought of their plan unraveling now was horrifying, but the death of his wife had already confirmed their destiny as far as he was concerned. Still, he vowed to be more cautious and stick to the girls with whom he was familiar. One of his friends from the Senate had suggested a platinum blonde call girl who was especially good at her job. He would ring her up as soon as he got back to the capitol city.
He glanced at his Secret Service agents who were standing vigil by the elevator. Their robotic movements and lifeless stares gave him a chill, as if they could read his soul. He turned around so he did not have to face them and stared at the Las Vegas landscape. The selection of this city as the base of operations for Aman’s empire was either the ultimate irony or a brilliant stroke of luck. The city was the perfect representation for the decadence of the West. Aman always refused to divulge how he got his start here. All Zachariah knew was that his adoptive father had lived here almost since the city’s infancy, and his influence and power grew along with the burgeoning strip of casinos in the desert.
The first hotel to be constructed in Vegas, the Flamingo, opened in 1947 thanks to Bugsy Siegel and his financial backbone Frank Costello. The idea of the “city of sin” originated with Meyer Lansky, who ran the books for Costello. In 1938 Lansky worked for Lucky Luciano in New York, and he traveled to Cuba at the behest of his boss to meet with Cuban dictator Fulgencio Batista. They came to
“I know where you are heading tonight. Which strip club you gonna blow those winnings at?”
Alex gave his friend a wry smile. “I’ll decide that later,” he replied. “What’s on tap for today?”
“How about breakfast?” Michael suggested. “Cindy is taking a shower. She will be at least an hour. We can eat and do a little more blackjack until she’s ready. Then we can check out the new hotels on the strip. Sound good?”
“Sure. Let me grab a few things first,” Alex said as he stepped into the bathroom.
Ten minutes later they were devouring a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast from the hotel buffet. Between bites, Alex noticed a large man sitting several tables away. The man was methodically nibbling on fruit and cereal. The haggard look on his face, and the crumbled clothes he wore suggested his long night had tu rned into an early morning. He did not notice the caramel colored suit coat hanging over the empty chair opposite the man.
Chapter 9
Zachariah Hardin un-tucked his lime green golf shirt and let it fall over his waist as he paced back and forth across the floor of the penthouse suite of the Desert Dust Inn. They were going to be late for their tee time. Zachariah glanced at his watch and fiddled with his khaki pants. He cursed the stripper for her boldness and his adoptive father for his tardiness in successive breaths. The annoying part of it was that he knew Aman was right. He pushed his luck too far, and it finally caught up with him. He was the President-Elect of the United States and would officially take the oath of office in less than a month. He should be more careful. The more dangerous half of his personality still thought he deserved to have some fun. He spent more than ten years of his life married to a woman he absolutely despised just so he could keep up the proper appearances. Was he not entitled to a good lay now that she was dead and the election was over? He knew what Aman’s response would be; he would tell him the mission should always come first.
He thought Aman was being overly cautious. There was nothing that could stop them now. Their plan was in its final stage, and they had succeeding in sneaking their Trojan horse into the city walls. The thought of their plan unraveling now was horrifying, but the death of his wife had already confirmed their destiny as far as he was concerned. Still, he vowed to be more cautious and stick to the girls with whom he was familiar. One of his friends from the Senate had suggested a platinum blonde call girl who was especially good at her job. He would ring her up as soon as he got back to the capitol city.
He glanced at his Secret Service agents who were standing vigil by the elevator. Their robotic movements and lifeless stares gave him a chill, as if they could read his soul. He turned around so he did not have to face them and stared at the Las Vegas landscape. The selection of this city as the base of operations for Aman’s empire was either the ultimate irony or a brilliant stroke of luck. The city was the perfect representation for the decadence of the West. Aman always refused to divulge how he got his start here. All Zachariah knew was that his adoptive father had lived here almost since the city’s infancy, and his influence and power grew along with the burgeoning strip of casinos in the desert.
The first hotel to be constructed in Vegas, the Flamingo, opened in 1947 thanks to Bugsy Siegel and his financial backbone Frank Costello. The idea of the “city of sin” originated with Meyer Lansky, who ran the books for Costello. In 1938 Lansky worked for Lucky Luciano in New York, and he traveled to Cuba at the behest of his boss to meet with Cuban dictator Fulgencio Batista. They came to
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