Assassin (The Billionaire Series)

Prologue

He replaced the receiver. How he had remained calm during the
call escaped him. He was far from calm, probably as far as anyone could be. He
threw the phone against the slightly curving wall and watched with satisfaction
as it exploded into thousands of useless components.

“BEAUMONT, GET IN HERE!” he screamed into the intercom.

By the word ‘get’, Beaumont had already entered the room.

“They failed! The deal’s gone through! Can you believe it? A group
of damn kids!”

“Shall I deal with them?” offered Beaumont.

“No. Let me think a minute… this is merely a set back, that’s
all. We just need to tweak Phase 2 slightly…yes… that’s it, that’s all we need
to do. Do you know something Beaumont, I think they’ve actually done us a
favour. This could be even more fun than I imagined.” He was calming down and
beginning to think more rationally.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Are all our people in place?”

“Yes, we have one or two loose ends to tie up but they won’t
take long.”

“What are they?”

“Best you don’t know, leave them to me,” suggested Beaumont,
he preferred to deal with the detail himself.

“OK but don’t leave anything to chance. If anyone gets in the
way, kill them.”

“Of course.”

“Good. Commence Phase 2 immediately.”

“Yes Sir, Mr President.”

Part One

Chapter 1

Two months later

“In breaking news, another assassination has shocked the world
of politics. The Italian Premier, Mr Carlo Valentini, has been gunned down in
broad daylight…”

A mobile phone rang. Charles Heathcliffe Beaumont IV answered
the call before the second ring.

“Hello?”

“Hi, it’s done.”

“Yes, I can see that, it’s already on CNN. Why didn’t you call
sooner?”

“It’s only been 5 minutes. I had to get away from the scene, the
reporters must have been bloody quick.”

“OK, I just like to know what’s happening,” replied Beaumont.
“Have you received the brief for your next target?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now get moving, the timescale is very tight. Phone me
when you land.”

Beaumont looked down at the plan again. It had taken 15 years,
billions of dollars and hundreds of killings to reach this point and now, in
less than a year, the plan would be finally complete. He had only been involved
in the last three years, inheriting his position on the death of his father,
Charles Heathcliffe Beaumont III. He thought his father had been a weak and
pathetic man. If only he had known then what he knew now. His father had, in
fact, been a brilliant man, a genius, not the bumbling old fool that everyone
thought he had been.

Unfortunately, Beaumont IV had never known the genius behind
the façade. It was only after his father’s funeral that he discovered the
truth. In his will, his father had left him a video, clearly marked private
‘for your eyes only’. When he first played the video he thought there had been
some mistake. A look-a-like must have stood in for his father. Gone was the
awkward-looking old man, replaced by a straight-backed, upright and forceful
man exuding power and authority. His father quickly explained that he had
always found people to be more open and honest around the old eccentric Charles
Heathcliffe Beaumont III. He had made millions from loose tongues in his old
gentleman’s clubs. On seeing him enter the room, many would say “don’t worry
it’s only Beaumont” and would continue discussing their business. He of course
picked up on every word, jumped on the deals and made a fortune.

In the video, he explained to his son the intricate and
complex structure of their finances. He thought his father was worth a few
hundred million but now discovered that he was worth billions and he, the only
son and heir, had inherited the lot. In death, his father became the father he
had always dreamt of. His friends had always referred to him as ‘the bumbling
old fool’, something he had never been able to deny. His father apologised for
not having told him the truth and that he had had to accept that his son
thought little of him but was comfortable in the knowledge that he knew his son
would appreciate him in death. The young Charles nodded vigorously at this
point. He was very proud of his father.

However, at the end of the video, Beaumont III dropped a
bombshell which not only changed his son’s life but his whole outlook on the
world and resulted in his working for the person who was to become the
President of the United States of America.

***

Beaumont looked again at the plan and discarded Phase 1 or, as
Beaumont called it, the President’s Folly. He had argued against Phase 1 and
its relevance when the President had first suggested it. It was not until the
terrorists had taken the schools hostage that he realised the President had
ordered the operation behind his back. He, of course, was called in to help
when the whole thing blew up in their faces and had only just managed to cover
the President’s tracks. The call to Donald Kennedy had been his idea. Phase 1
was now out of the way and they could concentrate on the real plan, Phase 2.
The President had just given him the latest tweaks. Would the man never learn?
Business should never be mixed with pleasure.

Chapter 2

Four months later

“We interrupt this programme to bring you a breaking news
story. The President of Russia has been assassinated. Mr Gasparin was found
dead in his bed this morning after what appears to have been a failed coup
d’état by one of his Generals. The rogue General was shot on sight as he
embarked on a second frenzied attack on the Russian Prime Minister, Mr
Kruschev, the would-be successor to the President. A Russian Federation
spokesperson has spoken of the heroic efforts of the Minister for State
Security who single-handedly foiled the plot and rushed to Mr Kruschev’s aid,
shooting the rogue General in the process. The Prime Minister is in a serious
but stable condition. This brings the total to nine major political
assassinations in the last six months…”

The television exploded as the solid crystal paperweight hit
the screen. Doors flew open and the room filled with heavily armed men. Four of
them made for the figure behind the desk, throwing him unceremoniously to the
floor. Another two tackled the man in front of the desk, one placing a gun to
his forehead while the other secured his hands. Confusion reigned as more men
filled the room. Finally, the doors to the office were closed and secured.

“Mr President, are you OK Sir?” asked the Secret Service Agent
in charge.

“No, I’m not! Get these damn idiots off me!”

“Sir, we have reason to believe that an attempt has been made
on your life. An explosion was heard in your office.”

“Yes, caused by me. It was my TV. Now get off me and get out!”
screamed the President. “Beaumont, where the hell are you?”

“I’m here Sir,” came a muffled response from the floor. His
face was being pushed into the presidential emblem on the rug.

Ten minutes later and with order restored, the President and
Beaumont were left alone in the Oval office.

“What’s the latest on the Russian Prime Minister and have we
heard from the imbecile yet?” barked the President.

 
“Yes, he just
called when I was outside. He assures me everything is fine, there’s no way the
Prime Minister will survive. They’re just trying to calm people down by saying
he’s stable. Our man’s already been approached by half the cabinet to take
control when they announce the Prime Minister’s death. The plan worked
perfectly, our man will be in power within 24 hours. Congratulations Mr
President.”

“Excellent…Beaumont…Excellent!”

***

Twenty four hours later and under the gaze of the world’s
media, the former Minister for State Security was sworn in as the new Russian
President. His heroic defence of the country against the rogue General had
assured him instant acceptance in Russia and across world.

The fact that he had been responsible for the cold blooded
murder of the President, the Prime Minister and a very loyal General were known
only to himself, Beaumont and the President of the United States of America.
The coup d’état and rogue General story were an elaborate ploy to elicit
support for somebody who, up until then, had been a minor, second-rate
politician.

Chapter 3

Four months later

“The Prime Minister of Japan has been assassinated, this is
the twelfth assassination in the last year. We cross over now to our Japan
correspondent who is at the scene…”

“DAD!” shouted Tom through to the kitchen. “Turn on the news,
Mr Tanaka has been killed!”

Hearing no response, Tom got up and walked through to the
kitchen. His father sat motionless, his head in his hands, the TV was on, the
story playing in the background.

“Are you OK Dad?”

“Sorry,” he replied. “I just can’t believe it, I was speaking
to him two days ago. We just agreed a major contract for Alba’s Japanese
division,” said Donald shaking his head in disbelief.

Tom didn’t know what to say. Of the previous eleven
assassinations, six were close friends of his father’s. Tom’s father was the
richest man in the world and owner of the world’s largest company, Alba
International. His father’s mobile phone rang. Donald didn’t move so Tom
answered it.

“Hello, Donald Kennedy’s phone,” said Tom.

“Hi Tom,” came a solemn Mr Sakamoto.

“Hi Mr Sakamoto, how are you?”

“OK, under the circumstances. Are you looking forward to
school? What is it, less than a week to go?”

“Yep, I’m counting down the hours.”

“Excellent,” he said ignoring the sarcasm. “Is your dad around?”

Tom looked across at his father who had heard Tom deliberately
say Mr Sakamoto’s name so he knew who it was and nodded that he would take the
call. Tom handed the phone to his father just as Lela came into the room. Tom
put his hands to his lips motioning for Lela to stay quiet and pointed to the
next room.

“What’s up?” said Lela as they walked into the lounge,
concerned at the dramatic scene behind them in the kitchen.

“Mr Tanaka, the Japanese Prime Minister has been
assassinated,” replied Tom bluntly.

“NO!”

“Yes.”

“Oh my God I can’t believe it, how many leaders have been
killed now?” asked Lela, having lost count.

“It was eleven before today, the President and Prime Ministers
in Russia and India, the Presidents of Brazil, Indonesia, Mexico, South Korea,
Turkey, South Africa and the Prime Minister of Italy,” replied Tom counting
them off finger by finger.

“Why can’t they stop it? I mean extra security or whatever, it
just seems bizarre that they can’t protect these people.”

“I know but they’re being killed by people close to them,
people they’ve always trusted, look at the Russians, killed by one of their
most decorated Generals.”

“How’s your dad?” asked Lela, changing the subject.

“It’s hitting him hard. You know what he’s like about
security. He’s not saying anything but I think he thinks he’s on the list of
whoever is doing this.”

“What? Surely not, it’s only prime ministers and presidents
who’ve been assassinated.”

“I know but didn’t you wonder why my birthday party was so
subdued? Remember last year, we had friends jetting in from all over the world.
Not this year, all we had were my grandparents and a pack of blood thirsty
hounds patrolling the grounds day and night.”

Tom was referring to the latest addition to the world’s most
secure private estate, which consisted, of over 20 square miles of beautiful
Scottish countryside protected by the most advanced and expensive security
system ever devised. A system recently supplemented by one of the oldest and
most reliable security measures, a pack of 20 Rottweillers which patrolled the
grounds, each the size and weight of a fully grown man with twice the power.
Everyone in the Kennedy household had objected to their presence but Donald had
been insistent. Tom’s mother, Rachel, still wasn’t speaking to his father for
having bought the dogs.

“I just took it for granted that was your choice, you know,
after last year’s fiasco in the cinema,” said Lela.