Page 105 of Everything That Kills Me
Some jobs he’d done had been easier than others. He had a feeling this one was going to be tricky.
Thomas had suggested using succinylcholine again and the line that Jack was a diabetic. It was an option. No one had suspected murder in Türkiye. He’d be picking up the succinylcholine and insulin in Marseilles along with more Euros. In order to administer the fatal dose, Jack would need to be very close to Al-Shuaibi, but then they were counting on the guy wanting to fuck him. The Saudi would definitely comeashore to gamble. There might be an opportunity then, though casinos were heavy on surveillance so Jack might have to let him take him back to the yacht. And he was assuming the target would take one look at him and want him.
Make him want you,Thomas had said.
If Jack killed Al-Shuaibi on the yacht, getting away might prove tricky whether the craft was moored in the harbour or outside. He’d have been seen by the crew and bodyguards, and would be pursued by them if he ran. Or swam.
Much easier if it looked as though Al-Shuaibi died of a heart attack. Jack could play the freaked out gay guy and hope they didn’t shoot him. He didn’t like planning missions based on hope or chance. The gun he’d brought with him from the house was essential. Sniping might have been a possibility if he’d had longer to set this up and been able to find a place where he could see the Saudi coming and going, but a few days wasn’t long enough. Al-Shuaibi was only in Cannes for a week and Thomas hadn’t arranged the supply of a rifle.
He kept thinking.
By the time Jack arrived at the hotel, he was tired. He’d parked a tactical distance from where he was staying. He didn’t want the car to be spotted, but he needed it near enough to use to make his escape if necessary. If the car disappeared, it wouldn’t be the end of the world, but it wasn’t worth the risk of having it valet-parked at the hotel.
There had been no reason to use counter surveillance techniques prior to his arrival in Cannes. No one knew he was coming. Even so, Jack caught a taxi around the corner from where he’d left the car and had it drop him off at a different hotel. From there he walked the short distance to the one where he had a room.
He did his usual checks because Thomas had ground them into him…escape routes, position of cameras, places to hide. He hung up the tux in the wardrobe but didn’t unpack his bag. It now held the packages he’d collected, along with the gun. Since he intended to buy some new clothes tomorrow, he might need to purchase a bigger bag.
Once he’d showered, he collapsed into bed. Sleep didn’t come as quickly as he’d hoped. He was thinking of Zeph, wondering what Zeph was thinking about him.
By lunchtime the following day, he’d bought a couple of sets of smart new clothes, including deck shoes to make him look like the preppy guy he was pretending to be. He paid in cash. Once he’d dumped all his purchases back at the hotel—there was no sign that anyone had interfered with his padlocked bag, though the room had been cleaned—he’d changed into one of his new outfits, picked up his backpack containing his insulin travel case—because he always needed to be ready—and headed for the harbour.
He chose a café from where he could see the Agiolis. Just. Entry onto the pontoons was strictly controlled. As he drank his lemonade and ate his croque monsieur, he saw a limousine arrive and Al-Shuaibi was inside. That was lucky. Photos were never as good as seeing someone in the flesh. Jack noted the number of bodyguards, four, also noted the way they were not checking their surroundings as they should be, though that didn’t mean he should underestimate them.
Al-Shuaibi was in western dress. He had a thick, dark beard and he was overweight—good. Though that wouldn’t make him easier to subdue, just make him slower. Once Jack had finished his lunch, he strolled back to the hotel.
Blackjack was Al-Shuaibi’s preferred game and one that Jack was good at. Thomas had been impressed by how well he tookto playing cards, then shocked by his card counting skills, but both Thomas and his coach had warned him to take care not to be spotted doing that or he’d get thrown out of a casino. People noticed winners and didn’t like them. Losers attracted far less attention. Jack could play any game the Royale had to offer. All he needed to do was to come to the attention of Al-Shuaibi.
He practised with cards for a few hours, slept for a few, then put his tux on, including his bow tie. His insulin case, money, passport and hotel key went into his small backpack. Nothing he left in the room would give him away. He’d hidden the gun deep in an air vent rather than take it. He wasn’t sure whether his backpack would be searched and even if it wasn’t this time, it might be the next. If there was a metal detector, he’d be stopped and he’d not get in again. Tonight was more about getting a feel for the place. Al-Shuaibi might or might not turn up. If he did, Jack wanted to be seen. The tux should help.
He showed his passport to gain entry and changed money for chips at the cashier cage. He’d be under surveillance everywhere except the bathroom. Although he usually avoided letting any camera catch a glimpse of him, there was no point worrying about that in here. There was also far more security than the cameras he could see. He walked past the slot machines, he never played those, and headed for the tables at the rear, noting the emergency exits as he went.
Even before he’d reached his destination, he was asked by a pretty cocktail waitress if he wanted a drink. The answer wasno thank you. He wouldn’t be drinking any alcohol unless he had to and he was wary of anything when he hadn’t opened the bottle. Jack watched for a while, taking in the skill of the players, noting the mistakes they were making before he took a seat vacated by a guy who’d stormed off having lost all his chips.
Jack had long perfected the art of keeping still, holding any emotion in check. Not specifically for the purposes of playingcards but when any movement could be a tell, it was a useful skill. After fifteen minutes playing blackjack, Jack had almost doubled the money he was prepared to bet. He decided he’d played enough. Any longer and he’d draw the wrong sort of attention. He threw a chip to the dealer and left the table only to see Al-Shuaibi and a couple of his guys standing right behind him.Ah.It couldn’t be helped. Turning round when playing would have been a mistake. Jack put a smile on his face and moved the chair in Al-Shuaibi’s direction.
“Voudriez-vous vous asseoir, monsieur?” Jack asked.Would you like to sit down?
“Merci. La chaise me portera-t-elle chance?”Will the chair bring me luck?
“Absolument.” Jack laughed, and double patted his backside.
The guy laughed and Jack kept eye contact a fraction too long before he walked away.
Had he done enough? He wasn’t sure so he didn’t leave but looked for a poker game to lose. He set himself a limit and sat down.
By the time he’d lost half his chips, he was bored with not trying so he changed tactics. The other players weren’t much competition. More importantly, Al-Shuaibi and his minders were standing on the other side of the table. Jack made sure not to look at them. As soon as he’d won back what he’d lost, he tossed a chip to the dealer and stood up. “Merci.”
As he walked towards the cashier cage, he wondered if he’d be approached. If not, he’d come back tomorrow. If not then, he’d rethink. Maybe climb onto the yacht and shoot him? Jack had just put his money in his backpack when someone grasped his shoulder.
“Monsieur?”
“What do you want?” Jack jerked free and looked around as if searching for help.
The guy took a step back and held up his hands. “Sorry. You’re English? American?”
Neither.“English.” Jack made sure he still looked wary.
“My boss like to ask you for drink.”
