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[Risico22]

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Prologue

'Truth And Consequences'


NEW YORK

The conference jury room was a modern room in a modern building located in downtown New York. Decorated with black walls and carpet, with lighting coming from low voltage lamps built into the walls and ceiling. In the centre of the room was a large glass table surrounded by leather chairs.

It was 2:30 in the afternoon, and although it was a relatively hot day the room was kept cool via air conditioning. Outside the room two guards were posted, to ensure no one interupted or interfered with the juries decision until an agreement had been reached.

That was usually the case. But not today.

The two guards were dead. They had been shot in the head, the bullets hitting dead centre in the middle of their foreheads. And the perpotrator was at that very moment in conference with the eight men and women inside the room they had been guarding.

"Fellow jurors. Ladies, as well as gentlemen. It is my humble opinion, that desperate times call for desperate measures"

The person speaking was stood at the centre of the table, the only one not sitting down. But that was because all the other occupants had been tied up and gagged by the speaker, so they had no other choice but to sit down. And their focus was unwavering from the speaker, fear and terror in their eyes.

The speakers name was Miles Daggett, and his focus was entirely on the people assembled in front of him. There was a trace of a Welsh accent in his voice, although no one knew if he was in fact from Wales or had picked up the accent in his business dealings.

Because Miles Daggett was an assassin, and he worked for one of the most ruthless and financially successful organisations in the criminal under-world. Although Daggett didn't like to brag, at least that's what he claimed, he was one of their most successful hitmen. He was also the most vicious, and the most sadistic.

Something bad had happened to his face. The life seemed to have drained out of it, leaving a cold empty mask. His pupils were red, and his eyes were sunk into his face. When he smiled, which he did often, his lips parted to reveal his teeth, and people would be forgiven if they believed they were facing a great white shark. All this was to Daggett's advantage.

He loved to make people scared.

Which was exactly what he was doing at that very instant inside the jury room.

"People are out of control these days, you've seen the news, right? It is our responsibility, no...wait, our duty to set the proper example here" he tapped his finger on the table to highlight his point. "That's why I'm calling on the death penalty"

The person Daggett was referring to was a man who had come forward with information for the police following his arrest. This information had been concluded by Daggett's employers as dangerous to their reputation, and they had thus written a death warrent for him. And they had sent Daggett to do it.

The bound jury members flinched in their seats as Daggett slammed his fist on the desk.

"We need to nip this in the bud! If we don't nip now...things will collapse into chaos"

Daggett had read up on his hit, as he always did on any mission he was sent on, and he had found out some very interesting things. The man in question was a former employee of the same organisation, a low level paper pusher who dealt with the narcotics sections. He was about to let out the whole story after he had been caught in the act of signing for a supply, for a better deal for himself. Daggett's employers couldn't allow that, and neither could Daggett himself. He hated people who didn't keep to their side of the bargain.

"We're sending a message to the Johnny Junkies and the Suzie Sad Sacks of this city that crime, in our opinion, is okay in our books!"

Daggett turned to the nearest person sat round the table, a young blonde woman who visibly trembled as his eyes locked onto hers. Daggett's lips parted as he smirked demonically at her.

"Is it okay in our book?" he asked her.

The young woman was unable to answer his question, her mouth like the others bound by a piece of duck tape. Desperate, she shook her head and mumbled the word 'No'.

Daggett's smirk fell, and his brow furrowed "Mmmm...what?"

The woman could do nothing as Daggett's heavy gloved hand smacked her across the face, leaving a red mark. He turned back to the other members of the jury.

"This guy is a whistle blower! He deserves to die!" he snarled, his face contorting into a look of pure rage. This only lasted a second though, as his familiar smirk returned to his face.

"But...that's not fair, is it?" he shrugged. "Life's not fair"

From the looks of him, Daggett looked less like a vicious assassin and more of a joke. His dress sense for example was borderline bizarre. As well as his natural white-blonde hair, he was wearing a long trenchcoat, dark purple in colour, with a matching hat on his head. Underneath he was wearing a black jacket and a red and whie chequered pullover, with black trousers. He also wore black and white shoes with red socks. A silver scarf round his neck completed the image. In short, he looked more like a clown than a professional hitman.

Which was exactly what made Daggett such a vicious individual. After all, what was more terrifying than an evil psycopath under the jolly clown makeup?

"Being fair just doesn't cut it. We give these people all the chances in the world, and they always end up re-offending the second they get back out onto the streets! Why continue to give all these waste cases second chances? Why?" he paused, as if waiting for an answer from his trussed up victims.

Again, the bound and terrified hostages flinched as Daggett slammed his fist onto the table top.

"Because you're weak! None of you have the stomach to do what has to be done! The medicine taste's disgusting, but its neccessary for the greater good. You see where I'm going with this?"

No one spoke. Daggett straightened up.

"Say something. Anybody"

Again, no one said a word. Daggett's brow furrowed.

"Speak!"

Of course, no one was able to answer the question, their mouths gagged with tape and their hands bound to their chairs. It was a sick game that Daggett used to enable him to have full control of the situation.

"What's the matter with you people, hmm? You look like you staring in front of a firing squad!" he sniggered, eying his hostages one by one.

"I don't even have a gun...or do I?"

Everything recoiled in horror as Daggett threw off his hat, revealing a hand gun concealed in the brim. He grasped it and held it in front of him. The gun was a Khar P9 double-action semi-automatic, six inches long and weighing just eighteen ounces. The clip was fully armed, and he pointed it at each terrified juror in turn.

"The first one who blinks, gets it" Daggett smirked, his finger poised on the trigger. Something caught his eye, and he raised the gun directly at a young man sat right in front of him on the other side of the table.

"Oh, you blinked!" Daggett flashed his teeth.

The man shook his head desperately, his eyes widening in horror. Daggett nodded his head.

"Yes you did" he remarked, before firing the gun. The bullet hit the man directly inbetween the eyes, the force knocking him and the chair backwards onto the floor. Daggett lowered the gun and leered at the remaining jurors.

Daggett sniggered, but stopped as he eyed another male juror sat closer to him. He had his eyes shut, not looking at Daggett.

"Are you quivering?" Daggett muttered in disgust. The jurors eyes opened slowly and looked up at him.

"Are you afraid of me?" Daggett raised an eyebrow. "Are you afraid of what I might...do to you?"

The man shook his head in answer. Daggett clicked his tongue.

"You got something to say?" he reached down and ripped the tape off of the jurors mouth. The young man gulped, and shook his head again.

"No" he answered, hoping it would satisfy the hitman.

Daggett smiled softly "Then you shouldn't have said...anything at all" he said, before raising his gun and shooting the juror at point blank range.

Daggett wiped off the blood that had landed on his coat and smirked at the remaining jury members, all of them now in fear of their lives after seeing two of their acquaintances murdered.

"I can't stand big mouths" he chuckled.

Daggett looked round the room, and then checked his watch. It was a gold rolex, and clearly cost an immense sum of money. His head snapped up, and he placed both hands on the table.

"Wanna hear a joke before I go?" his question resulted in some of the jurors shaking their heads desperately, one or two of the women sobbing. Daggett ignored them.

"Do you want to know why I didn't declare this a hung jury, hmm? Because I didn't have enough rope!" he smacked his hand on the table and chuckled. He then let out a sigh and straightened up.

"No one gets me, do they?" he smiled in disappointment and shrugged his shoulders. Fully straightening up, he brushed his coat down. Placing his hat back onto his head, Daggett doffed it at each juror in turn.

"Until we meet again, its been a real pleasure" he turned round and prepared to leave. He came to a sudden stop however, when something sprang to mind. Turning back round to face the remaining hostages, he smiled in embarassment.

"How silly of me. I almost forgot!"

His embarassed smile unwavering, Daggett raised his gun and emptied the clip into the heads of the helpless jurors. He didn't miss a shot. When he was finished, Daggett shook his head and left the room.

"I'd forget my head if it wasn't screwed on!" he chuckled to himself, leaving a bloodbath in his wake.

It wouldn't be long after that that the man Daggett had been hired to kill was also dead. Daggett always got a job done, at the expense of anyone who intentionally and unintentionally got in his way.

After all, he was the best for a reason.


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A few months later, a few hundred miles away, Daggett's employers were putting the finishing touches to their latest project.

And a certain someone was about to become neck deep in it...

[Risico22]

Risico

Part 1: 'Business Dealings'


DARTMOOR


The Mercedes-Benz 770 W150 Grosser Tourenwagen weighed more than three tons and was armoured like a Panzer tank. But the seven-passenger limousine seemed to glide over the thick cushion of snow, passing with unlit headlights barren moorland that glowed eerily in the dim light of the moon. As the car neared an apparently deserted farmhouse that jutted ut towards the road, the driver tapped down on the brakes. The car slowed to walking pace and approached the low-slung building with all the stealth of a stalking puma.

The driver gazed thoughtfully through the frosted windscreen with eyes the colour of granite. The building appeared to be abandoned, but he knew better. And despite the hastily slapped white paint over the cars black bodywork making it invisible against the snow, he knew that they had been seen even before reaching the farmhouse. Glancing down at the watch strapped to his wrist, the neon hands pointings towards quarter to midnight, he kept his paws tightly around the steering wheel. And waited.

The gentleman stretched out on the spacious backseat of the limo looked up as he felt the car decelerate. He sat up and looked towards the back of the drivers head with half-lidded eyes.

"Are we here?" he asked, speaking English with a faint Italian accent. His voice was low and authoritive.

The driver, revealed to be an Indian in the dim light of the vehicles interior, nodded once.

"Good. He should be here shortly. Stay alert" the passenger said, and then sat back against the seat, tipping the brim of the panama hat he was wearing down over his eyes.

As if on cue, a light flicked on in the supposedly deserted farmhouse. A few seconds later, the burly figure of a man wearing the olive uniform and cap of the old Red Army emerged from within the building and strolled towards the limo. The driver tensed automatically, even though he knew everything was going accordingly. The guard walked towards the drivers side door and gestured for him to wind the window down. When this was done, the guard glanced momentarily over the coyote, and then to the rear of the car and the passenger. Satisfied, the guard removed his head from inside and gestured forwards with his arm.

"Go ahead. They'll be expecting you" came the gruff reply.

The driver tapped down on the accelerator, and the massive vehicle hissed into life. Within seconds, both the guard and the farmhouse had disappeared into the swirling white as the limo continued down the track towards its destination. The passenger allowed a thin smile to spread itself across his face.

Four headlights blazed on as the road widened and a set of thick iron gates emerged from the darkness. As the limo approached they swung open on their own accord, the resulting squeak escaping into the night as the massive machine passed through and onto a tarmaced drive leading up to a massive four-storey mansion. Giant spotlights lit it up against the brilliant snow, each one lighting it from a different angle. The limo slowed down to a crawl, finally coming to a halt in front of a large stone staircase, a luxurious red carpet leading up towards the buildings entrance. As the driver climbed out and walked towards the passenger side door, the heavy mahogany doors of the mansion swung open and two figures emerged from within. A man and a woman, wearing thick winter coats to combat the blizzard, strolled down the stairs with an air of intense calm and superiority as the driver opened the car door and stood to attention.

The tall, well groomed form of a man dressed in a suit emerged from the dim interior of the limo. He was in his mid-thirties and had the handsome chiseled features of an actor. A thin mustache adorned his top lip. His hair was a sensitive mix of gray and white, but there was nothing sensitive about the way his expressive green eyes looked up at the two figures in coats walking towards him. A thin smile spread itself across his face as he extended a gloved hand towards the male.

"Mr Sneider. At last we meet" his low resonant tones sent a chill through the driver stood a few paces away. Sexy was the only word to describe how the mans Italian edged voice sounded.

In the bright glow of the industrial spotlights overhead, a tall male gripped the mans extended hand and shook it, his bright white-blonde hair lit up against the snow in stark contrast to the black overcoat tightly wrapped around him.

"Mr Divellio. Its a real pleasure" he flashed a bit of tooth as he released his grip, the lenses of his silver framed glasses flashing around the edges. "I'd like to introduce you to Miss Sasha De Stelle, my co-partner"

Divellio turned his gaze towards the slender form of the woman stood next to the Sneider. She looked as though she had walked off a modelling set, golden blonde hair trailing down her shoulders in curls. Her rouge tinted lips parted into a smile as she held her hand out, which Divellio accepted and planted a kiss upon.

"Delighted. To finally meet my business partners is almost worth the long trip" he joked, gesturing for the driver to begin unloading the limo.

"You have my deepest sympathies, Mr Divellio." Sneider replied with a grin that would melt ice. "Dartmoor is hardly the most welcoming of environments, but it serves its purpose"

Divellio let out a short laugh and a nod "Shall we?" he gestured towards the front doors of the mansion.

The woman, Sasha, shook her head "Not yet. Mr Fentworth has yet to arrive"

Divellio frowned slightly, a mixture of irritation and cold, and checked his watch. A few minutes to midnight. "Are you expecting him any time soon?"

"Oh yes," Sneider replied. "He should be here any second"

"In fact he's right on time" Sasha cut in with a smile, and looked up towards the ink black sky, having put on a pair of shades from within her pocket.

The two men looked up at the sound of an engine, as a helicopter appeared overhead, its single spotlight beaming down over the mansion. Its spinning rotors seemed to cut through the blizzard swirling around it, as it began to descend towards a patch of land several metres from the front entrance. A few moments later it landed with a bump, its rotors beginning to slow immediately.

Sneider let out a chuckle at the surprised expression on Divellio's face, and lay a well manicured hand on the Italians's shoulder.

"Come. Lets go meet your other business partner"

Walking at a stride, the three figures approached the helicopter as its rotor blades came to a halt and the side hatch swung open. A small body dropped down onto the snow, and in the industrial light was revealed to be a young caucasian man wearing an expensive cream suit and hat. He was several inches shorter than the other three figures, his white hair an exact match to the snow underfoot. Despite this height difference however, it was something in his eyes that set him apart from the others. Sea blue in colour, they were absolutely gorgeous to look at. Coupled with his youthful exterior and tight fitting attire, it wasn't a surprise when Divellio felt a twinge in his lower regions.

Sneider stepped forwards and locked the young mans hand in his own "Mr Fentworth, its a pleasure to see you again. I'd like to introduce you to Yannis Divellio, our latest banker" he gestured towards the Italian, and Divellio had to fight the reaction to flinch when Fentworth's eyes locked onto his. He forced a polite smile.

"Mr Divellio," Fentworth sauntered over and shook his hand. "I'm Simon Fentworth. Nice to see some new faces round here"

Divellio smiled and squeezed slightly more on the outstretched hand "It's a pleasure. And please, call me Yannis"

That made theyoung man smile all the more wider "Okay. In that case, just call me Simon"

Divellio's ears flicked, which Fentworth noticed but said nothing of. Instead, with a final squeeze he realised his grip from his hand and turned to face Sneider and Sasha.

"Is everyone assembled?" he cast a glance over at the helicopter, where two uniformed attendants dressed in the same way as the guard from the farmhouse had began unloading his cases.

Sasha nodded curtly "All here. We've been waiting for you and Mr Divellio to arrive before we began"

"Good. Good. Wouldn't want to miss anything, not at this late stage" Fentworth chuckled, reaching into his suit pocket and removing a cigarette packet. He lit one up, and soon blue smoke was wisping around his muzzle.

Sneider gestured back towards the mansion "Well, shall we get started?"

With Sneider in front, the small group began to trudge towards the mansion. Divellio made sure that he was walking just behind Fentworth, admiring his tight rear.

"So tell me Darius," Fentworth called over to Sneider, who turned his head to face him without stopping. "How goes the task in London?"

Sneider flashed his teeth at the question, and tapped his watch "Anytime now. We should hear about it before the meeting starts"

Beginning to ascend the stairs up to the mahogany entrance to the mansion, Fentworth stopped suddenly, allowing Divellio to walk past him unawares. The Italian let out a surprised yip as he felt a firm hand feel him up under his jacket.

"I think me and you are gonna get on just fine, Yannis" Fentworth crooned, then resumed his pace as he walked through the doors. Flustered for a brief second, Divellio soon followed with all the eagerness of a puppy. The doors shut as he ran inside.


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LONDON


The sniper looking down over the glass balcony overlooking the main street knew that his target was about to appear at any minute.
He was wearing a tight fitting black bodysuit which matched the dark texture of his fur. He was wearing rectangular shades and black gloves. In the dim lighting, he was all but invisible.

He squatted down and placed a silver case in front of him. Snapping it open, and lifted out the sections of a Magnum sniper rifle. He began to assemble it, trained hands snapping each seperate piece in. He then snapped on a Laseraim AR-15 into place on top of the rifle and peered through it. A small red dot appeared on his boot. He added a silencer to the end of the barrel, and smiled lovingly as he stroked the rifle over, cold steel over warm palms. He was ready.

Getting the gun across town had been easy. Placed inside a sports bag, the silver cases lightness had meant that noone had so much as glanced at him. He had managed to walk freely without misshap. In his line of work that was essential. To remain unseen and unnoticed.

His name was Carlos, and he worked for The Forge. An underground terrorist group that catered for every service imaginable, ranging from drug running and prostitution, to murder for hire. Carlos was an assassin, and a damn fine one at that.

He was lying on his stomach on the overhead balcony overlooking an office building on the other side of the road. Getting access had been easy. Simply by using the service tunnels and elevator, he had managed to remain unseen as he had made his way to the top floor. If he had been seen, he knew one or two methods of submitting an opponent. A handgun tucked in the waistband of his pants would ensure he remained unchallenged when the time came to leave.

The door of the office building opened, and Carlos's target emerged. Tensing up, the assassin trained the rifle until the red dot was right over the mans head. From what Carlos could see through the scope, he was middle aged with thinning gray hair and wearing a suit that someone didn't seem to suit him. But that was all irrelevant. None of that mattered to Carlos.

His finger tightening round the trigger, Carlos waited for the perfect moment. The target stopped and turned round, almost facing the assassin. That was it.

He fired.

Down below, the man flew backwards with blood trailing through the air. He was dead before he hit the ground, a bullet hole dead centre in his forehead.

Carlos smiled in satisfaction, and began dismantling his weapon. His bosses would be pleased with him.

He had just completed Phase One of 'Risico'.


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DARTMOOR


The neon blue haze of the fitted wall lights illuminated the entire space of a modern conference room with a rich shag carpet, dazzling portraits and a gleaming chandelier overhead. The only other furniture in the room was a large black table with a black mirror top surrounded by red leather chairs. There was an oak door on the other side of the room which was locked, guarded by uniformed guards carrying sub-machine guns. Safety was a big issue for The Forge.
There were twelve people sat around the table, including Yannis Divellio and Simon Fentworth. One was an American, gray and fat and wearing an open necked polo shirt that failed to conceal his portruding beer gut. The person sitting next to him was female and Japanese, apparently in her sixties with an unearthly calm about her. The male opposite her was wearing a crumpled black suit, whilst the person sat next to him was in full military dress. Each person sat around the table was from a different nation, and each one had the same business-like calm that radiated throughout the room.

At the head of the table sat Sasha De Stelle and Darius Sneider. Now no longer wearing their trenchcoats, Sneider was wearing a dark purple pinstripe suit, whilst his female counterpart wore a tight-fitting black business suit. Sneider was sat next to a younger man, a tanned Latin American , and was idly stroking his hand over the the other males arm. No one seemed to notice, or at least didn't mind.

"Good evening," Sasha said, opening the meeting. Her voice came out in sultry French tones. "Thank you all for attending at short notice"

A few heads nodded in reply, but the silence remained.

With the exception of Divellio and Fentworth, the ten people assembled round the table made up the executive body of The Forge. The Americans name was Tex Whitaker; the Japanese female was Madam Ling. The black suited man was Alexie Oramof, and the military figure was Parish Trembell. They were there to go over the final details of their latest business venture, codenamed 'Risico'. In just a few days, co-mentioned operation would make them richer by five hundred million dollars.

There had originally been twelve members of The Forge. One had been murdered a few years back and another had died of heart disease. But considering they had been in business for some ten years, it was not a bad record. All ten were equal partners, with executive overseeing assigned to a single member for each new project. With 'Risico' however, this number had been raised to three. Sasha De Stelle, Darius Sneider, and the Latin American who was called Pieter Stubbe were in command.

"It is my pleasure to announce to you all that everything is progressing on time and on schedule" Sasha announced. "Since beginning this project some four and a half months ago, the final pieces are now being put together and all loose ends tied up. Our clients wishes are being serviced to the highest callibre"

"After all," Sneider cut in. "The Forge provides excellence...at all costs"

There was a small amount of laughter around the table. Tex Whitaker remained solemn.

"Whatever our clients eventual desires once the poject is completed," Stubbe spoke for the first time, his hand now squeezing Sneider's. "He has offered us five hundred million to perfect this project. And as Mr Simon Fentworth has informed us, the first payment has already been placed in our overseas bank account today. Within the next three days we will be ready to move into Phase Two"

There were smirks all round. Madam Ling clapped her gloved hands and Trembell flashed his teeth in a wide grin. This movement highlighted the left side of his face, which was scarred badly. The result of a car bomb in his native Israel. Trembell represented Mossad, although he was alone in his dealings with The Forge. Two paychecks made for a very lavish lifestyle.

"How many will this thing kill?" Oramof spoke out. Typical of him to be so suspicious and to the point. A veteran of the Cold War, Oramof always made sure he was informed of everything in his various business dealings.

Sneider cleared his throat "We will kill no one with the weapon, Mr Oramof. Our client has merely approached us to provide the weapon, not use it. He will use it himself for whatever purpose. Is that okay?"

Oramof nodded stiffly. Sneider flashed a smirk and looked over at the other figures round the table.

"Any more questions?"

"Has it been tested?" another of the assembled asked. He was a black man wearing khaki.

"Not as yet, Mr Alliss. But the people responsible for the bulk of the work are the best in the business, and they have provided us with a new weapon that will change the face of modern warfare"

"And what of them?" Trembell asked.

"They're part in this project is at an end" Sasha answered. "They know nothing of Risico's true purpose, so we have had to let them go. In fact, I hear that one of them has already been terminated in London. Am I right Darius?"

Sneider flashed his teeth "Just a few moments ago"

"Is there anything else?" Stubbe asked, removing his hand from Sneiders grip and folding them.

"Yep" Tex Witaker spread his fat hands across the table. "I've listened to everything you boys have said and I've heard all there is about this 'ere project. And I ain't happy"

Sneider pursed his lips. He wasn't surprised Whitaker had something to say. The man was arrogant, and had a mouth the size of a train tunnel.

"I've earned a mighty fine sum of money from working with yall present, but this project is where I draw the line. I've looked at the risk, and its too big"

"There is no risk" Stubbe muttered, his eyes narrowing at the American.

"Now look here boy," Whitaker raised a finger. "Now I've sat in this 'ere chair and listened to what you've gotta say, which was a damn more of an effort than you can imagine. I say the risk is too great for me to be involved in, and I ain't happy with all these new people getting involved, and I also ain't happy working under two gays neither!"

Sneider stiffened. Next to him, he felt Stubbe do the same. "Mr Whitaker, I would thank you to keep personal matters out of our business dealings" his voice came out low and dangerous, a growl forming in the back of his throat.

"Whatever" Whitaker rebuked. "Now look boy, its none of my business how you two boys like to take it up the end, but this is business and I have money riding on it. I mean, how much confidence do you put in your man to make sure these here scientists don't go blabbing to the press, hmm?"

"There is no risk of that happening. Your nervousness is misplaced" Sasha replied, her lips pursed tightly.

"That may be true, but I know when a risk is too great when it comes to money, and I am not willing to put that in jeopardy. I am hereby leaving this project"

"You can't do that!" Trembell protested angrily.

Sneider cleared his throat "We really don't need to argue about this. Mr Whitaker is within his business rights to leave this project whenever he wishes. After all, business is business"

Everyone watched as Sneider and Whitaker stood up from the table.

"It's a real pity, Tex" he continued smoothly. "But if your sure your doing the right thing, maybe its time we cancelled our business dealings"


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They both walked shoulder to shoulder to the heli-pad
"It won't be the same without you, Tex" Sneider said with a smile.

Whitaker grimaced "Can it, boy!"

Sneider rolled his eyes as they reached the helicopter. A uniformed man ran over carrying a leather attache case. He handed it to Sneider who past it over to Whitaker.

"Open it" the American demanded.

Sneider snapped the case open, revealing several thousand dollars in tightly wrapped bundles. Whitaker removed a cloth sack from his pocket and tipped the cases contents inside.

Sneider sniggered "You never did trust anyone, did you?"

Whitaker shook his head "Not when there's money involved. That's how you stay alive in this business boy, always staying on your guard"

Sneider nodded in agreement as the American climbed inside the helicopter. Whitaker span round and pointed a finger at him.

"I'll expect the rest of it paid into my account by the end of the week. If it ain't, you'll regret it!"

Sneider nodded his head as the choppers rotors span up to speed. Whitaker slammed the hatch shut, and Sneider stepped back at the helicopter rose into the air. He watched as it gained height, and carefully reached into his pocket. He removed a small device and held it in his hand. He began to count out-loud.

"Five...four...three...two...one..." he flicked the switch.

The helicopter exploded in a ball of flame. Whitaker had been careful in avoiding a potential bomb being planted in the briefcase, but he hadn't reconned on the helicopter itself being wired up. Typical redneck stupidity. Never looking at the bigger picture.

"Consider our business dealings...terminated, Mr Whitaker" Sneider smirked, a cruel smile that suited him perfectly.

He felt himself engulfed in a pair of strong arms from behind, and cocked his head to face Pieter, his beautiful face lit up by the helicopters burning remains.

"Your so sexy when you get like that, Darius" he purred.

Sneider smiled, before catching the smaller male unawares by spinning him round, one arm around his waist.

"By the end of this week, we'll have everything Pieter" he half growled, his eyes burning intensely.

Pieter sniggered in the bigger mans grip "Yes. Everything...or nothing at all"


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