…”
“Not last night, Tom. You’ve missed more than a day.
A smile grew on Noah’s face as several people trundled into the room. He stood and embraced each of the new arrivals.
“Come and meet the team, lad. We can talk privately later.”
Noah opened his arms, encompassing all in the room.
“Tom, this is the British Group Elevens, or G11’s for short.”
Noah’s belly shook as he began to laugh.
“You’ve met Luther. You also know Petra and Julius from our ride here in the car.”
As he spoke, another figure strode into the room and Tom stiffened with recognition.
“Ah, Tom. This’s Uta … The Raptor.”
Tom nodded towards the woman, but took a protective step backwards. The moment he saw her, his mind screamed murderer . Yet, no. It might not be her. Tom studied her features. This one stood slightly taller than the auburn-haired woman and her raven locks hung straight and long.
Tom looked into her eyes for any sign of recognition, but the woman didn’t seem to know him.
Don’t say a word. This coincidence might have unwanted consequences.
“And, this good fellow is Surat.”
Tom struggled to drag his eyes from the woman and over towards the tough looking man, leaning against the doorframe.
“He’s the one you run to when everything turns to shite. He’s our security expert and the best in the business.”
Surat straightened and glared at Tom with obvious disdain.
“I hope you’re worth it, Fox. You better deliver or else …”
Tom hated being threatened.
“Or else what?”
Surat spat on the carpet, turned and took a step towards the door before answering.
“Or else we’re all dead.”
Chapter Eleven
T he priest examined the dark timbers and white walls of the interior without enthusiasm. The new Dead Rat Hotel on Kings Road, deceived many of its patrons, most believing the building to be hundreds of years old. He knew better.
The priest nodded his approval. He could see the man’s claustrophobia in his erratic movements.
Good. He’s bent over like an arthritic old woman.
The low ceilings and lack of light inside the Rat created exactly what he sought for his meeting with Vogel. The late venue swap from Rome to the southern English city of Brighton, avoided Vogel’s territorial advantage.
The scoundrel can’t rely on security monitoring, or intimidating assistants here.
Father Dom arrived earlier than necessary, choosing a black leather booth near the open fire, with a fine view of the white-capped waters of the Channel. This provided him with time to think and plan, and to indulge himself with a pint of Tui Pale Ale, his favourite imported New Zealand beer.
He could see Vogel wandering around the main bar area, his face downcast and anxious as he attempted to find the correct booth; his expression tightening into a sphere of scrunched lips; a pout the priest associated with cruelty and hatred.
Nothing new … Wait … There we go.
He spotted Vogel’s eyelids blink in rapid succession, revealing uncertainty, even fear, which enhanced the priest’s position. His security chief needed a lesson in compliance. Despite his dislike for the man, he needed him; his improvised plan depended on his spy. The man’s obedience remained a priority.
“Nice trip, Frederick?”
“Hardly. Why here priest? What’s so important?”
Father Dom glared at Vogel with as much malice as he could gather.
“You are, Frederick. You’re the reason. The chairman and I are worried about your loyalty.”
“Rubbish. The chairman knows where I stand.”
“Don’t feign innocence, Vogel.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You need to understand a basic truth if we’re to move on and continue this arrangement.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Yes, Frederick. It is.”
Father Dom noticed Vogel’s pupils widen and lose focus. He sat stiffly; his anger becoming greater than his phobia.
“Fool. Endangering Fox could have destroyed our entire project. You are
“Not last night, Tom. You’ve missed more than a day.
A smile grew on Noah’s face as several people trundled into the room. He stood and embraced each of the new arrivals.
“Come and meet the team, lad. We can talk privately later.”
Noah opened his arms, encompassing all in the room.
“Tom, this is the British Group Elevens, or G11’s for short.”
Noah’s belly shook as he began to laugh.
“You’ve met Luther. You also know Petra and Julius from our ride here in the car.”
As he spoke, another figure strode into the room and Tom stiffened with recognition.
“Ah, Tom. This’s Uta … The Raptor.”
Tom nodded towards the woman, but took a protective step backwards. The moment he saw her, his mind screamed murderer . Yet, no. It might not be her. Tom studied her features. This one stood slightly taller than the auburn-haired woman and her raven locks hung straight and long.
Tom looked into her eyes for any sign of recognition, but the woman didn’t seem to know him.
Don’t say a word. This coincidence might have unwanted consequences.
“And, this good fellow is Surat.”
Tom struggled to drag his eyes from the woman and over towards the tough looking man, leaning against the doorframe.
“He’s the one you run to when everything turns to shite. He’s our security expert and the best in the business.”
Surat straightened and glared at Tom with obvious disdain.
“I hope you’re worth it, Fox. You better deliver or else …”
Tom hated being threatened.
“Or else what?”
Surat spat on the carpet, turned and took a step towards the door before answering.
“Or else we’re all dead.”
Chapter Eleven
T he priest examined the dark timbers and white walls of the interior without enthusiasm. The new Dead Rat Hotel on Kings Road, deceived many of its patrons, most believing the building to be hundreds of years old. He knew better.
The priest nodded his approval. He could see the man’s claustrophobia in his erratic movements.
Good. He’s bent over like an arthritic old woman.
The low ceilings and lack of light inside the Rat created exactly what he sought for his meeting with Vogel. The late venue swap from Rome to the southern English city of Brighton, avoided Vogel’s territorial advantage.
The scoundrel can’t rely on security monitoring, or intimidating assistants here.
Father Dom arrived earlier than necessary, choosing a black leather booth near the open fire, with a fine view of the white-capped waters of the Channel. This provided him with time to think and plan, and to indulge himself with a pint of Tui Pale Ale, his favourite imported New Zealand beer.
He could see Vogel wandering around the main bar area, his face downcast and anxious as he attempted to find the correct booth; his expression tightening into a sphere of scrunched lips; a pout the priest associated with cruelty and hatred.
Nothing new … Wait … There we go.
He spotted Vogel’s eyelids blink in rapid succession, revealing uncertainty, even fear, which enhanced the priest’s position. His security chief needed a lesson in compliance. Despite his dislike for the man, he needed him; his improvised plan depended on his spy. The man’s obedience remained a priority.
“Nice trip, Frederick?”
“Hardly. Why here priest? What’s so important?”
Father Dom glared at Vogel with as much malice as he could gather.
“You are, Frederick. You’re the reason. The chairman and I are worried about your loyalty.”
“Rubbish. The chairman knows where I stand.”
“Don’t feign innocence, Vogel.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You need to understand a basic truth if we’re to move on and continue this arrangement.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Yes, Frederick. It is.”
Father Dom noticed Vogel’s pupils widen and lose focus. He sat stiffly; his anger becoming greater than his phobia.
“Fool. Endangering Fox could have destroyed our entire project. You are
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