Near Dark (Scot Harvath #19)(27)
The security services in France were granted a lot of latitude when it came to bugging and surveilling houses of worship. Perhaps they weren’t interested in anyone at Trang’s temple, but he wasn’t willing to roll the dice. He told him to find another location.
Trang came back to him with a restaurant owned by one of his cousins. It was a much better idea. Unlike Buddhist temples, fair-skinned, blue-eyed Westerners walked into Asian restaurants all the time in Paris.
They had met in a private room in the back. Trang had been in high spirits. In fact, Aubertin didn’t know that he had ever seen him like that. After ordering food and drinks, Trang had gotten down to business.
He had just been assigned the largest contract killing in history—one hundred million dollars. The target was an American intelligence operative. He had no idea who the client was. It had been arranged by a middleman, someone Trang had worked with before.
Allegedly, the client was so eager for the contract to be filled, the middleman had instructed Trang to put it out to a select pool of assassins, simultaneously. Whoever killed the intel operative first would receive the money. Trang, though, had his own idea.
He would make it look like he had followed all of the instructions, but in reality he and Aubertin would take the money for themselves and split it fifty-fifty.
“You should never steal from the people you work for.”
“It’s not stealing if the job gets done,” Trang had said. And then, he had laid out his plan.
It was a bold collection of double crosses. Not only would the client’s wishes be ignored, but the assassin who bagged Scot Harvath would end up getting a bullet in the head.
Aubertin would be a fool not to wonder whether Trang had a final double cross prepared for him. If he chose to follow this path, he would have to tread very carefully. With a potential fifty-million-dollar payday, how could he not?
In order to insulate himself, Trang wanted Aubertin to run everything—the selecting and tasking of the assassins, all of it.
Then, when the successful assassin came to collect his pay, Aubertin would debrief him, kill him, and use the information to collect the bounty for himself—splitting it later with Trang.
“It’s all upside,” the Vietnamese had said. “You’re not labor on this one, you’re management.”
The offer was incredible—one he knew he would never see the likes of again.
“I get to do it my way, with the people I want?” said Aubertin. “No strings attached?”
“No strings attached,” Trang had replied.
For the next twenty minutes they talked. Finally, with all of their issues resolved, they clinked glasses, and sealed their deal.
CHAPTER 12
OSLO, NORWAY
The Thief Hotel was one of the coolest, most opulent hotels in the world. It took its name from its location—Tjuvholmen, or Thief Islet. Once known as a haven for bandits, pirates, and prostitutes, today it was a trendy waterfront neighborhood jutting out into the Oslo Fjord filled with restaurants, yacht harbors, condos, and office buildings.
Built by a Norwegian billionaire and adjacent to the Astrup Fearnley Museum of Modern Art, the chic, splashy hotel functioned like a swanky additional wing. It displayed a rotating array of the museum’s most impressive contemporary pieces. But the art was nothing compared to The Thief’s guest list.
The six-star property, famed for “treating rock stars as guests and guests as rock stars,” attracted a powerhouse, international clientele, as well as the crème de la crème of Oslo’s cultural, financial, and political elite. It also had a kickass rooftop bar and restaurant, which was why S?lvi Kolstad had chosen it for her rendezvous.
She had loved The Thief since before it had even opened. As part of the waterfront renovation, it was an ambitious urban-renewal project and she was proud of what it said about Oslo’s commitment to always move forward.
The whole area, packed with financial, advertising, and media executives, dripped with money and was incredibly glamorous. In fact, she had suggested to Gunnar that this was where they should live, but he had brushed it off. He wanted to be in one of the older, more established quarters of the city—like Briskeby with its shops and luxury apartment blocks, or leafy, park-studded Bygd?y.
It was too bad. Had he jumped in when she had suggested, they probably would have doubled their money by the time they divorced.
None of that mattered now. Or maybe it did still matter, a little, but she knew better than to dwell on it. Nothing good would come from thinking about Gunnar and what could have been. It only served to upset her.
Parking in the underground garage, she came up to the street level, walked to the bridge in front of the hotel, and peered over the railing. There were always beautiful boats moored along the dock below. Today was no exception.
An exquisite Riva bobbed against its fenders in the sparkling water. She had to be almost fifteen meters long. The sparkling, silver paint job stood in perfect harmony with the caramel-colored teak decking and highly polished chrome railings, cleats, and assorted fixtures.
S?lvi loved boats and loved getting out on the water. Despite everything else they had in common, the fact that Gunnar didn’t, should have been a sign.
Entering The Thief through its massive, automated revolving door, she breathed in the delicious, rarefied air. Simply walking into the lobby, she felt like a VIP. Crossing to the elevators, she took it all in, the art, the décor, the staff—there was no other way to phrase it, the whole place was just so damn sexy. It only got better once she got to the roof.