A Death Or Two

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"Fall in love, not fool in love."~Alvi Syahrin

~**~~**~

Flynn Montgomery sipped his cappuccino slowly and gazed out over the rim at the city. His long legs were crossed, one over the other, a linen napkin lay across his lap.

While he had expected Uzbekistan to be warm, he didn't account for the increasing temperatures. It was supposed to be winter after all. He could appreciate the beauty of the country, but it was bloody hot.

Too hot.

The scorching Tashkent sun was beating down on his exposed chest, causing sweat to leach out, covering his skin in a constant sheen.

And it didn't help that his cappuccino was almost as hot as the sun itself. If he wasn't so knackered from jet lag, he would have preferred a cold pint.

But overall, Flynn was just happy that humidity didn't come along with the heat. Humidity was his kryptonite: he'd rather face off against five assassins than walk down a humid street.

Well.

Maybe not five assassins. More like two to three. Five was just a tad ridiculous.

But the meaning behind his point remained the same.

Regardless, besides the heat, his day was going exactly as planned.

Or as well as could be expected for such an international black market palooza.

He had arrived a little under five hours ago to the capital of Uzbekistan. He thanked the heavens for private jets. And that Kingmaker (plus its owner) were minted beyond belief.

Avoiding pesky travelers and over-packed airport customs had been his top priority- besides getting to the bottom of this nicked Uranium issue.

Infiltrating the underground criminal network had been too easy and too fast. Almost too easy. He wasn't sure if he was just getting better at lying or criminals were becoming wazzocks.

He didn't care either way as long as the case got solved.

With his smooth, clear skin, high cheekbones, and impeccable poker skills, he had quickly wormed his way into the confidence of a high rolling casino owner whose shady connections to the underworld had garnered results.

The casino owner had led him to an arms dealer who had led him to a drug trafficker who had finally led him to a narcotics fence. The bloke, who was bent as a nine-bob note, had given Flynn the whereabouts of an illegal Uzbekistan weapons manufacturing gang.

And while he was still in the preliminaries of entering into the inner circle, he was hopeful.

He wanted to give Vae good news. He always hated to disappoint her; even when she knew it wasn't his fault, Flynn always felt guilt over it.

She deserved the world and everything in it.

His phone began to vibrate on the table rattling him out of his thoughts. When he saw the caller ID, he was chuffed beyond belief.

Speak of the devil. . .

Uncrossing his legs, Flynn set down his cup and answered the phone, a smile crossing his face.

"Vae! I was thinking about you and just about to give you a bell. "

"You know what they say about synchronicity." Her soft voice crackled across the line, humor lacing her tone. "I hope you were thinking all good things though."

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