What if you threw your life away and the world threw it back? If you found yourself in credit to the value of one life? Would you spend that credit on a worthy cause, if fate offered up the chance?
...
Jaime Salazar dealt with only the most pressing emails on his laptop before drifting out to the balcony of the guest suite, a crystal tumbler of Yamazaki Mizunara whiskey in hand.
Leaning on the railing, he contemplated the lights of the city stretched out before him, savouring the silken spice of the golden liquor as the implications of the night's events revolved in his mind.
Who was this intruder? More importantly, on whose behalf was he acting? A decade of besting rivals in the shipping industry ensured no lack of business enemies, but he couldn't imagine any of them were behind this violation. He was far too careful for any of those dried-up capullos to discover his extra-curricular business dealings.
No, he suspected the source of this trouble was a little closer to home.
While the Syndicate of Second Sons (although now inclusive of more than one third son, and even several daughters, the name had persisted) had been established for mutual benefit, Jaime knew precisely the value its members would place on that 'mutual benefit' if presented with the slightest opportunity for 'individual gain.' Or, for that matter, 'the ruthless double-crossing of your supposed partners.'
However, as every member shared this knowledge and the benefits of cooperation usually did outweigh those of treachery, the Syndicate had managed to overcome the operational handicaps of universal suspicion and mistrust.
At least, for the most part. In any organisation with shoulders so chip-laden, rivalry and ambition were as inevitable as breathing and the occasional act of discipline or—even more rarely—expulsion was required to keep the internecine treachery and squabbling to manageable levels. On more than one occasion Jaime himself had been the architect of such punitive measures.
But never before had he been the victim of betrayal—of an attack so clearly targeted at him. Mica was a trifle, a pawn of no significant value to any Syndicate member but himself; her abduction could therefore be nothing but a vindictive and personal message, a message designed to challenge his pre-eminence in the organisation.
And to demonstrate, beyond any doubt, its author did not fear the consequences of crossing Jaime Salazar.
Such a message required a suitable response. And that response would begin with the capture and interrogation of tonight's uninvited guest. Presumably a mercenary, some sort of black-market gun-for-hire, the intruder may prove a tough nut to crack, but Jaime held no fears on that score. He would reveal all he knew, in time. And even if—as was quite possible—this knowledge did not include the identity of his employer, it would doubtless provide further leads to follow.
And if the questioning was somewhat...robust, well then, so much the better. Messages could be sent as well as received.
He took another sip of whiskey as he strolled back into the suite, once again regretting his failure to purchase a few more cases of the 2017 release. It was superb.
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