Spot of Vengeance

J. Anthony C.

Description

Ex-Army intelligence Danny Swift has always yearned to be an artist. By coincidence, he meets art dealer Hafiz De Mercurio who promises to help him launch his career. Little does Danny know that Hafiz hides behind a deadly cloak of deception until British intelligence recruit Danny, and his perilous mission is to covertly observe the elusive Hafiz. They believe something big is coming, something coordinated, a terror spectacular to rival anything seen before, and the key lies in a cypher hidden in works of art. Unable to refuse, Danny is drawn into a world he'd turned his back on, a world of lies, deception and double-dealing.As the clock ticks down and Danny begins to crack the code surrounding the enigmatic Hafiz, Danny will be tested in ways he neverimagined... including preventing the massacre of innocent people and artworks on display in the eleven Gagosian galleries around theworld.

Informations

• Publié par: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Date de parution: 11 juillet 2019
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781838599751
• Langue: English

Extrait

Copyright © 2019 C. J. Anthony

The moral right of the author has been asserted.


Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.


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ISBN 978 1838599 751

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Matador is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd

For Vicky who watches over me,
who motivates me every day to chase my dreams.
Contents
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Prologue
•
My involvement is important. My name? Danny Swift, ex-Army Intelligence. With an excellent eye for detail and an imperturbable equanimity, I was one of the best operators in my field. With over a decade on covert operations, I decided to give up the unjust wars and my own private battle of was it all worth it? Therefore, I left the service to follow my lifelong ambition: to become a full-time contemporary artist.
My obsession with art was more like a religion, with a natural talent to put oil onto a canvas. Safe in the solitude of my mind, painting out the trauma of war and destruction. I simply couldn’t wait to get my artwork out there. Easier said than done, I thought. The creative world is such a competitive industry, especially for an emerging artist; getting the artwork recognised isn’t as easy as it sounds. There are many misconceptions about the art world. There is no perceived middle ground; it’s simply those who do make it and those that don’t. This is precisely what makes the art market mystifying to outsiders. You’d think the value of art would depend on its aesthetic value; a picture you enjoy looking at on your wall. This isn’t always the case amongst the art world’s elite.
The art world has developed an intricate signalling process where the approval of only a handful of critics, collectors and dealers determines what art is good and what is not. So, I had to think intelligently in order to make a strategy to get that lucky break. It was crucial that I had the right person, with the right resume, to help me get the right exposure for my paintings.
2011 was a poignant year for me; a year I was lured into the hunt, confronting an unimaginable evil. It was when I first met the renowned art dealer and critic Hafiz de Mercurio, the ultimate paradox. It’s sinister how a complete stranger has the ability to alter the lives of others, without them even knowing.
His assistant. Hauntingly beautiful, effortlessly soigné, yet lethal, she yearns to please his every command. Just like the time she had the life of a wealthy stockbroker in her hands… Every violent death paints its own story.
One
•
2010, LONDON
The impending prospect of Derek’s death was precisely thirteen minutes away. Timed to perfection, Marina Khan arrived at an address in the affluent area of Kensington. With its rows of black glossy doors framed by white stone porticos. Money here was more important than religion for the self-absorbed residents, in sheer consumerism and greed, living in little bubbles, oblivious as to what really went on in the world outside their guarded community.
•
Derek Clarke was known as a ruthless trader, arrogantly flamboyant and the wrong side of fifty, rotund with mahogany skin from holidaying in Monte Carlo. He unlocked the door to his plush Kensington apartment, ushering in his colleague and the two hired escorts with short skirts he’d had specially delivered to the restaurant earlier. Wearing the epitome of an 80s grey pinstriped suit. It had been a typical lunch après a lucrative morning’s dealings with an upside of £24 million for one client and £13.4 million for another; life was good. He threw his keys onto his marble cocktail bar and took off his suit jacket, draping it over the back of the chair, revealing a crisp white shirt with traditional red braces that matched his red cheeks. He always had Vicky his daily housekeeper chill a nice bottle of Mercier in a cut-crystal ice bucket before leaving.
Henry Matthews dragged himself away from the blonde and very leggy hooker in search of a drink, whilst her companion, a brunette, all cleavage and big hair, helped herself to a couple of snorts of cocaine, which lay in equal-sized parallel lines on the mirrored coffee table. Henry smugly joined his older colleague at the bar, undoing his top shirt button and removing his necktie. ‘So, Derek, are we going to hit a few before or after the champers?’
He looked around, nimbly pouring four glasses of the ice-cool Mercier.
‘Let’s hit after, shall we, chum?’ he suggested. ‘Perhaps we should get a bit more acquainted with our guests first, don’t you think?’ He sent a seedy wink in the direction of the girls before sipping his champagne, watching them freshen up their makeup in front of the mirror, which was hung near a large marble fireplace.
The two prostitutes giggled away in disbelief at their affluent surroundings. The job had only come in that morning, and neither had much sleep from the previous evening’s work, which had been slow and not that profitable to them or their madam; a glutton of a woman who knew a lot of important people in the right places, ensuring that all their work was contracted out for safety and Madame’s anonymity.
Derek and Henry took over the champagne as the girls finished their ablutions, having cleverly worked out, with the experience of several shared jobs, who was having who this time.
•
Matt Gibson was on the evening shift at the Lancaster Gates apartments. The sun was setting over the exclusive district of W2. He had been a concierge for thirty years and considered himself to be top-notch at it. Reading over the notes left from the day shift of who was in the building and who was due in by way of visitors, two apartments were empty whilst the incredibly snooty inhabitants holidayed in Barbados for the winter. Matt immediately recognised that the worst offender for arrogance, Derek Clarke, was entertaining again, which meant an array of visitors and cabs delivering alcohol and unmentionable items throughout the course of the night. ‘For the love of God, he’s a bloody nightmare’, he muttered, shaking his head whilst he checked the reception security monitors.
Matt noticed a woman stood outside on the screen. Mesmerised as she started to strut towards the building. With every step of her athletically toned legs, the slit in her short red skirt revealed the French lace design of the top of her rather exquisite pair of stockings, complemented by a pair of black patent Christian Louboutins. Wearing a Burberry trench coat, again in black; bearing a resemblance to a deadly black widow spider. Her long dark hair was secured in a ponytail at the nape of her neck. Leaving the monitors behind, he moved closer to the glass doors to observe the visitor, to better appreciate the full class that imbued her every pore, sensing something mysteriously furtive about her. Her large opaque sunglasses concealed much of her beautiful face, whilst her look was completed by a stylish Hermès leather shoulder bag that sat comfortably on her slim right hip. She had an air of supremacy that is usually found in those who know they are truly beautiful. ‘ She’s God’s gift’, he murmured under his breath.
Marina opened her bag and took out an A4-sized piece of white paper which was rolled up like a scroll. It meant nothing to the staff inside the apartments, but to the trained eye, the detail on one side would reveal exactly what was about to take place. Slowly, she unrolled the paper for a few seconds, smiling to herself almost joyfully. She then rolled it back up, replaced it carefully inside her bag and started to walk in a precise, model-like fashion towards the entrance of the residence.
‘Hello, cheeky’, Matt said, somewhat sarcastically and under his breath, as he continued to watch her movements through the glass door.
Suddenly, about ten feet away from the doorway, Marina paused, looking up at the rows of windows in the higher storey’s of the five-storey building, as if she was having one last confirmation of planned thoughts she was rehearsing in her head. Matt looked on inquisitively. Through her sunglasses, she mentally scaled each level, clocking the strategically placed security cameras, her moist red lipstick glistening against her flawless complexion in the evening sunset.
She continued towards the main entrance of the building in an assertive ma