The Devil's Handshake (17 page)

He laughed loudly.

Foiled! He set about drying himself, put on
some cologne from Aqua din Pinna, his favorite from the small
perfumery in Florence, his underwear, and then his linen tailored
white shirt followed by his sky blue linen trousers. He pulled his
holster personally designed to fit discreetly with a Glock pistol
in it over his shoulder, around his side, just as Mikhail had
insisted. He donned his tailored linen jacket to hide it.

As he made his Bombay Martini with a drop of
bitters from the drinks tray, Thomas pondered Umberto’s final words
of the afternoon.

“
Thomas, promise me you will
control the Demon for if you don’t he will consume your soul one
day,” he said referring to Thomas’s determination to use power as a
way to punish the injustice in his life he felt that had been
committed to him and those he was charged to lead and
protect.

“
Remember, my son, rather
than providing closure, he does the opposite, keeps the wound open
and fresh by taking those things you value most
treasured!”

Thomas had replied back with a wry smile as
he always did when they debated all those years previously when he
had shared his plans to travel to Russia.

“
Yes, Father and when
presented with a Gordian knot, one slashes it,” he replied using
the reference of the famous legend that the man who could untie the
knot was destined to rule the entire world. When Alexander was
presented with it, he had slashed it with his sword and unraveled
it and conquered the known world.

Umberto rolled his eyes at Thomas’s use of
the legend of Alexander as a justification that one shouldn’t walk
away from a fight of honor whatever the cost.

“
Just make sure you find
peace one day and give that young lady of yours, a child,” Umberto
ordered before forcibly kissing him on both cheeks with a firm
grip.

A half hour later as he sat lost in his
thoughts slipping his chilled Martini listening to the sounds of
Venice mixing with the classic music of Bach’s Cello suite No.1
being played softly from the musicians on the terrace bar below,
Nara entered the room. She took his breath away yet again, just
like she had done two years ago in Oleg’s club, except this time
she wasn’t dressed for sin but instead she was a young elegant,
classy woman. As his eyes wandered all over her, he was sure she
would have matched in looks the lost painting by Aetion of Roxanne,
the chief wife of Alexander the Great who was described as the most
beautiful woman in all of Asia by historians.

With her light naturally olive complexion,
long flowing jet-black hair brushed into a ponytail, so it sat down
the front of her left breast, she wore no lipstick, just eye shadow
in doing so emphasizing her dark brown eyes. She completed the
spell by wearing a long flowing dress with a single Chanel top,
with a Gucci charm bracelet on her wrist.

Standing up he smiled looked into her eyes
and was mesmerized.

“
How do I look, my Thomas?”
she asked.

He replied in Italian that she was
breathtakingly beautiful as he held open his hand for her to take,
earning a smile from her even though she had no idea what he said
until he translated it in Turkmen for her.

He took her to a small restaurant in the
shady lanes behind Ponte delle Tette (Tit’s Bridge) and sat in a
corner so he could have sight of the exits, old habits dying hard,
not to mention Mikhail’s orders ringing in his ears. They ordered
antipasti to start, for the entree Nara ordered filetto di San
Pietro while he ordered Risotto al nero sepia accompanied with a
beautiful bottle of Brunello di Montalcino for them to share.

They chattered about everything and nothing
while they waited for main courses to arrive. Looking into her
smoldering eyes, he slipped his hand behind her neck and drew her
closer where he kissed on her mouth. It was a slow kiss and
gentle.

“
My beautiful darling,” he
whispered into her ear as he attempted to feel her
breasts.

“
Naughty! Naughty!” she said
playfully spanking hand in admonishment.

The rest of dinner was interrupted with lots
of looks of love, plans for the new yacht, and fingers intertwining
as they had their coffee and shared a Gelato before he paid the
bill and they left the restaurant.

As they walked back to the hotel along the
streets, a massive downpour arrived just as they reached Piazza di
San Marco.

Standing under the arches with her under his
arms watching the rain come down Thomas murmured, “I better ring
the hotel and ask them to bring the Wellington Boots darling the
flood is coming!”

About ten minutes later, instead of a hotel
porter turning up Mikhail and one of his men rolled up with the
boots and a couple of umbrellas.

“
I thought you said I would
be alone Mikhail?” Thomas said towards him slightly displeased that
his bit of escapism was over.

“
I lied!” Mikhail replied
smiling, not a touch of remorse in sight.

“
Well, I hope you brought
Hanna with you to Venice!” Thomas said, not letting him off the
hook.

“
Yes, I hope you did as well
Mikhail,” Nara said in support of him. Though Hanna and Nara were
from different worlds, they had become good friends.

“
Yes! Yes! Of course I did,
it was the only way she would let me come!” he replied in mock
shock.

As they looked at Mikhail with him shaking
his head, the string quartet started playing for the patrons of the
tourist restaurants around the Piazza.

“
I’m glad to be spending
this moment with you, my love,” Nara said before turning to look up
at him.

“
Me too, my darling girl,”
he whispered as he leaned down and kissed her ear.

Taking over the party Nara invited Mikhail,
Hanna, and Yossi, his man, for a nightcap at the hotel as they
waited for the rain to cease.

Once it had lightened enough, the pair of
them with Mikhail and Ari his new member of their protection team
trailing behind them walked to a pier near the Palazzo Ducale, at
that moment, a streak of lightning flew across the sky. Thomas
wondered if it were his lightning bolt!

On reaching the Danieli on the Grand Canal,
they had their nightcap with Hanna, Mikhail, and Yossi with lots of
joyful laughter ringing around the small bar and then bid them
goodnight they retired to their suite. Once in the lift Thomas had
pressed her up against the wall and let his hands roam freely as he
had kissed her.

“
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.