Read Online Playing the Game by Simon Gould - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Simon Gould
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consternation.
As was the case when these meetings came to a head, they all left at different times and from different, pre-arranged, exits in order to remain anonymous and so that no ties between them were ever established.
Lee Brindle left first, as he always did; the demands of his particular job, and the fact that he was not based in Los Angeles, meant that not only were the meetings mainly prioritised around his usually nightmarish schedule, but that his time either side of them was particularly precious.
Conway was next, closely followed by Cyprian Hague, who was rushing to a press conference that he had already delayed once, and couldn’t afford to again; something about promising extra funding for several schools and hospitals across LA. Well, anything to get him that record-breaking extra term. If he made it to his next term, that was. After today’s meeting he was by no means certain that he would.
Farrington and Brittles left within five minutes of each other, albeit from opposite sides of the building, and from different floors.
If anyone had been watching any of the members leave, they would have noticed a distinct increase in the number of times they looked over their shoulders, and a slight increase in pace.
As Brittles left the room, Burr stood up and walked to one of several half empty decanters on a table and idly poured two scotches. ‘Well Paul, do you think they bought it?’
Paul McCrane took a moment to reflect on the events and conversations of the last couple of hours and brought his hand up to his goatee, stroking it thoughtfully as he spoke. ‘I’m pretty sure they did’, he mused, taking a large swig out of the glass in front of him. ‘I was pretty convincing, well we both were’.
‘The email was a particularly nice touch, I thought’, Burr flattered.
‘Ah yes’, McCrane agreed, ‘Well if there is one thing I can do, it’s think on my feet when I have to’. He picked up the decanter for a refill.
‘We have made the right decision Paul, I’m sure of that’. McCrane was sure as well, or at least he thought he was. Still, it was affirming to hear that from another.
‘Yes, I agree with you there. Conway’s actions have been inexcusable and you were right with your initial feelings. His actions cannot be condoned’, McCrane was clarifying what they were doing almost as much for himself as for Burr. Even though this decision had been made for some time, it was still a massive decision on their part. ‘This way, when Conway meets his untimely death, no-one here will ask questions; they will just assume that Caldwell got him first. They will be more terrified, if anything, and we can work that to our advantage. We can be their saviours. Something for which they will forever be in our debt.
‘Also, what is so perfect, is that we can make it look as though it was The Chemist,’ Burr took the reigns. ‘If we tie him up and inject him with Clozapone the media will obviously pick up on the similarities and assume that The Chemist is making some kind of high-profile ‘No-one is safe’ statement. Our hands are clean’.
What McCrane and Burr had told the rest of the Animi was true, up to a point. They had released Caldwell from San Quentin and then Caldwell had killed the guards and escaped.
The photograph taken on the kitchen wall of the safe house however, with the words written in blood? An easy fabrication for a seasoned pro like McCrane. The email from Vancouver? Simply didn’t exist, although if he really wanted one, he could have had one within the hour, backdated for appearance purposes.
What he hadn't told the rest of the Animi, even his close friend Jameson Burr, was that he had received a
As was the case when these meetings came to a head, they all left at different times and from different, pre-arranged, exits in order to remain anonymous and so that no ties between them were ever established.
Lee Brindle left first, as he always did; the demands of his particular job, and the fact that he was not based in Los Angeles, meant that not only were the meetings mainly prioritised around his usually nightmarish schedule, but that his time either side of them was particularly precious.
Conway was next, closely followed by Cyprian Hague, who was rushing to a press conference that he had already delayed once, and couldn’t afford to again; something about promising extra funding for several schools and hospitals across LA. Well, anything to get him that record-breaking extra term. If he made it to his next term, that was. After today’s meeting he was by no means certain that he would.
Farrington and Brittles left within five minutes of each other, albeit from opposite sides of the building, and from different floors.
If anyone had been watching any of the members leave, they would have noticed a distinct increase in the number of times they looked over their shoulders, and a slight increase in pace.
As Brittles left the room, Burr stood up and walked to one of several half empty decanters on a table and idly poured two scotches. ‘Well Paul, do you think they bought it?’
Paul McCrane took a moment to reflect on the events and conversations of the last couple of hours and brought his hand up to his goatee, stroking it thoughtfully as he spoke. ‘I’m pretty sure they did’, he mused, taking a large swig out of the glass in front of him. ‘I was pretty convincing, well we both were’.
‘The email was a particularly nice touch, I thought’, Burr flattered.
‘Ah yes’, McCrane agreed, ‘Well if there is one thing I can do, it’s think on my feet when I have to’. He picked up the decanter for a refill.
‘We have made the right decision Paul, I’m sure of that’. McCrane was sure as well, or at least he thought he was. Still, it was affirming to hear that from another.
‘Yes, I agree with you there. Conway’s actions have been inexcusable and you were right with your initial feelings. His actions cannot be condoned’, McCrane was clarifying what they were doing almost as much for himself as for Burr. Even though this decision had been made for some time, it was still a massive decision on their part. ‘This way, when Conway meets his untimely death, no-one here will ask questions; they will just assume that Caldwell got him first. They will be more terrified, if anything, and we can work that to our advantage. We can be their saviours. Something for which they will forever be in our debt.
‘Also, what is so perfect, is that we can make it look as though it was The Chemist,’ Burr took the reigns. ‘If we tie him up and inject him with Clozapone the media will obviously pick up on the similarities and assume that The Chemist is making some kind of high-profile ‘No-one is safe’ statement. Our hands are clean’.
What McCrane and Burr had told the rest of the Animi was true, up to a point. They had released Caldwell from San Quentin and then Caldwell had killed the guards and escaped.
The photograph taken on the kitchen wall of the safe house however, with the words written in blood? An easy fabrication for a seasoned pro like McCrane. The email from Vancouver? Simply didn’t exist, although if he really wanted one, he could have had one within the hour, backdated for appearance purposes.
What he hadn't told the rest of the Animi, even his close friend Jameson Burr, was that he had received a
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