The Crypts of Eden

CHAPTER TWELVE

Obsidian Hall was dressed in a plush robe and ascot. In his hand was the most expensive cognac that money could buy. As his valet stood poolside with a food trolley piled high with deboned chicken, he watched the small Hindu toss pieces into the water from the upper tier. The surface became froth as the sharks wrestled for the morsels.

In the distance, a helicopter approached.

The Hindu man looked at it and then to Hall. “Should I greet our guests?” he asked.

“No, Abdul. Keep doing what you’re doing,” he said.

“Very well, sir.” The Hindu went back to throwing chicken back into the pool, the bull sharks mounting each other in order to feed.

Obsidian Hall left the tier, taking the walkway to the helipad at the ship’s stern, and stood at the fringe of the rotor wash with one hand on the railing and the other holding his drink, watching the chopper land. As the rotors continued to spin at full velocity, the chopper door slid open and four commandos hopped out, each carrying a weighted duffel bag.

Obsidian Hall opened his arms in invitation. “Welcome aboard the Seafarer.”

As the chopper lifted and banked to the east, the warriors stood their ground. The forward commando, a large man wearing a khaki-green T-shirt, camouflaged pants, and GI issued boots, addressed him. “Mr. Obsidian Hall.” He said this not as a question, but as a confirmation.

Obsidian inclined his head. “Welcome aboard,” he repeated.

“Name’s Butcher Boy,” said the commando. “But you already know that.” He then jabbed a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the three men standing behind him. “And this is my team.”

Obsidian waved them on in invitation. “Please,” he said. “We’ve much to discuss.”

Grabbing their duffel bags, the warriors left the helipad and followed Obsidian Hall to the ‘Pool of Sharks’ where they would dine from plates bearing foods with fancy French names.

Obsidian Hall and the four commandos sat at an opulent table inside an observation room that overlooked the ‘shark pool.’ Set in fine fashion were candelabras made of gold and diamond-like crystal glittered with spangles of light. The table was made of expensive teakwood, and the bone china that sat upon it was made of the finest quality.

Standing at the entryways were two guards, each man carrying an Uzi.

“Tell me something,” said Butcher Boy, referring to the guards. “Why not them?”

“My ship is a floating museum of antiquities,” Hall answered. “I have more than a billion dollars worth of ancient artifacts on board with numerous more considered to be priceless. Their place is here to watch over them. What I want in my employ are seasoned fighters, not glorified security guards.”

One of the guards standing by the doorway warred with that sentiment with a facial tic.

If nothing else, Obsidian Hall was setting the parameters of their authority while establishing his.

“You men are being paid a lot of money,” he told them. “And since I’m the one footing the bill for your services, then I’m the one in complete authority. The command is mine.”

“Come again, mate?” The challenge came from a beefed-up Australian with a shaved head and an old scar that ran laterally down his cheek to his top lip, the scarring pulling down the corner of his lower eyelid enough to expose the glistening pink tissue within. “Funny,” he said. “You don’t look like a fightin’ man to me. ’Ave you been in combat before? Ever shot a man, killing him?”

“No.”

“Then what gives you the bloody right to man a combat unit? You sitting there, all pretty-like in your prissy little robe and ascot.”

Butcher Boy raised a hand toward Aussie. Don’t be stupid and kill this deal!

“Five million dollars per soldier once the mission is complete,” he answered immediately. “That’s my right.”

The Australian appeared stunned. “Five million per?” he whispered. “Seriously, mate?”

These people were so easy to please, he thought. Toss a few of pesos their way and they’ll jump through whatever hoop you tell them to. “I believe five million dollars for your services grants me that right, yes?”

“Unless the threat of danger proves too high,” answered Butcher Boy. “You can’t spend money if you’re dead.”

“But aren’t there certain risks to every mission?”

“We’re battle-seasoned vets. You’re not. The core of command decisions are based on current threat. Should you make the wrong determination, then my unit can get wiped out.”

Hall shook his head. “This little excursion of mine is not against a military faction,” he said. “Your purpose is to see that I return to this ship safely once the matter is concluded.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it,” he answered. “I guarantee that you will not be confronting anyone bearing arms.”

The commandos looked at each other. This was easy money. But still, a red flag went up. Why pay so much for sentinel protection if there was no true opposition?

“Low risk, high yield,” Hall said enticingly. “Do we have an agreement?”

“No combatants?”

“None that you’ll need to worry about.”

It was like stealing candy from a sleeping baby. How could they proffer any type of refusal with a five-million dollar commission per soldier for minimal risk? Let the man play the role of Napoleon Bonaparte if he wanted to, as long as his money was good.

“Do we have a deal?”

“On one condition,” Butcher Boy said, leaning forward with his face rock-hard. “I don’t care how much you put on the table, Hall. When my employer pays me to do a job, he does so because he can’t do the job himself. And since I like to be Judge, Jury and Executioner of my command, then I take the lead when I’m in the field. I will not jeopardize the safety of my unit for any price. Nor will I allow someone with no combat experience to take leadership of a company when he hasn’t so much as laid a finger on a weapon. But I will concede to your demands because of the factor of minimal risk. But if an imminent threat arises, one that would compromise the safety of my team, then the command becomes mine.”

“So terse,” said Hall.

“That’s my one condition.”

Obsidian Hall leaned forward to counter. “Mr. Butcher Boy, let’s get one thing straight right now, shall we? Tomorrow we leave for Turkey. If you do not want to abide by my rules, then I’ll have the chopper readied for you within ten minutes. And that goes for your team. Do you really think guys like you are so unique?” He fell back and barked a laugh. “Guys like you are a dime a dozen.”

Butcher Boy looked around, noting the faces of a team that had been together so long there was an umbilical tie between them. No words had to be spoken. The looks on their faces said it all: compromise.

Obsidian Hall relented, however. “But with negotiations being what they are, then I agree to your term,” he said. “It would be prudent to hand over military authority to those who are most capable of handling the situation, should a threat arise. But until that time, Mr. Butcher Boy, first there’s God, and then there’s me.”

Butcher Boy nodded, the agreement sealed. “You haven’t told us about the mission.”

“It’s not really a mission,” he told him. “More like an expedition to an unchartered domain.”

“You’re taking us on a hike?” This came from the freckle-faced Irishman whose red hair was closely cropped. He was, fittingly, called Red.

Hall nodded. “Tomorrow,” he began, “we’ll be heading for Turkey where you will all commit to serve as my team.”

“We’re essentially bodyguards, then,” said Red.

Hall looked at him straightforwardly. A facsimile of the man sat beside him, a brother perhaps, except this man’s hair was blond, but their features uncannily the same. “Your job will be to protect my backside and make sure that I walk away alive and well,” he told him.

“And how will payment be made?” asked the blond man.

“I will forward two million dollars to your account immediately,” he said.

“And the other three million?” asked the Aussie.

“Upon my safe return, then I will send the balance to your accounts.” And then: “It’s not much of a gamble, gentlemen. Do your job, see that I’m protected, and none of you will have to work another day in your life. That I promise. If you agree, then I’ll have the money wired to your accounts within fifteen minutes. If not…” He pointed toward the direction of the helipad. “Then off you go.” He brought the crystal glass to his lips, and took a sip while waiting for a response.

Butcher Boy looked at Aussie, who nodded in agreement, then to Red and his brother, who also nodded acceptance. “We agree,” Butcher Boy said evenly.

Obsidian Hall lifted his glass in cheer. “Very good. I love to negotiate terms.” He then snapped his fingers to the Hindu man, who bowed and left the room. He focused his attention on the mercenaries at the table. “Right now, two million dollars is being wired to your accounts,” he informed them. “And by this time, come a day or two, I’ll be sitting on the throne where humanity first began.” Nobody knew what he was talking about. They simply chalked it up as the ramblings of another eccentric billionaire. “Salud,” said Hall, raising his glass.

Beyond the observation window, the bull sharks continued to swim in perfect circles.