cover photo: Say hi to Miss Armstrong. 😍
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"Well, are you just going to fucking stand there or are you capable of speaking? Do you have anything to say for yourself?"
Actually scratch that, not refreshingly honest, just fucking rude.
"Rebecca, that's not very fair."
She turned towards her father, finally releasing me from her glare, "What's not fair daddy? She bursts into a private meeting brandishing a fucking gun, 'shoots' Pieter and me with her little toy."
'Spoiled fucking bitch.'
"Becky, love, he did deserve it. And you know because of that, I'm going to fire him after this."
"God's sake daddy, open your eyes, she's a bloody liability. Sort it out, ok? I'm going to my room to pack some things. I have a meeting with the representatives of Raman Srivastava in London in the morning; I'll need to prepare for it if we want them to sign the deal."
Even I know that name, Srivastava is head of India's Border Security Force, heavily criticized for his alleged attitude towards muslims and commander of a unit that regularly receives complaints for 'unauthorized' excursions across India's borders. If Armstrong Industries has a deal with them, that is a lot of shells, bullets and bombs they're likely to sell; and a lot of enemies all over the world they're likely to make.
She literally knocked me out of my thoughts by leaving the room, slamming her shoulder into mine as she passed. I looked back at her in shock as I regained my balance.
"Don't mind her Miss Sarocha, she doesn't like surprises my Becky and as you probably know, we've been getting some threats recently. She's just a little jumpy."
I inclined my head at him, "Sorry about this Mr Armstrong, I was trying to prove a point. Mr Porter sent me here to prove that I, that we, excuse me.. were good enough to work with you on your protection. I read that you're competitive, you like things that are active and dramatic. I could have given you a presentation or a fancy speech about what we can offer you, but I thought you might like proof of how lax your current provider has become."
"I had no idea your bodyguard would take it badly...or your daughter for that matter."
'Now why did I mention that spoiled brat again?'
He laughed at me, a broad belly laugh, "Damned if you're not right Miss Sarocha, or can I call you Freen? James told me that you are a talented and creative proposition. He told me that you'd be perfect for the role, I'm glad to see he wasn't wrong. Now you said you wanted to talk to me about my lack of security. So I'm all ears."
He gestured me into the chair that his daughter had so recently vacated as I retrieved my shoes, and the pistol, and sat down. He walked over to an expansive bar that was built into the wall and fixed himself a large Scotch before turning and offering me a drink.
"No, thank you, sir, I don't think that'd be appropriate."
"Freen, call me Rob, everyone else around here does."
"Again, sir, thank you; but I'm not sure that'd be appropriate."
He smiled at me and returned to the large oak desk that took up a huge portion of the end of the room in which we were sitting. "So Freen, apart from the fact that you've already managed to 'kill' me and a member of my family today, what can you tell me about my security?"
I leaned forward in my chair and spent the next ten minutes telling him all about the dangers he faced in his property; the open access, the lack of surveillance cameras in key areas, and finally about how lax the people that were guarding him were.
"You're vulnerable Mr Armstrong. I'm sure we could sort a lot of that out for you but I suppose it's down to what kind of a threat you're talking about, how seriously you take the threats and how inconvenienced you're prepared to be."
He regarded me carefully before opening his desk drawer and revealing a manila envelope. He tossed it casually across the desk towards me and I leaned forward and opened it. Inside were a series of photos, expensive ones as well; glossy, high quality detailed surveillance shots of himself, his wife and his children with a short note.
'End your association with our enemies and spare yourself the pain of losing your family.' - The Protectors
The protectors are a small group; thought to be based in Pakistan and Afghanistan who had a real thing against the Indian authorities and their allies.
I glanced up at him as I flicked through the photographs again, "Verified?" He nodded.
"How did you get this?"
"It was dropped off by courier at our London offices."
"Looks like there is a real threat then," I looked up from my examination of the photos.
"I think you need our help, sir. James' operation may be smaller than some other companies but I'm sure he's already got a plan that would safeguard you and your family."
"Yeah, he does, he keeps telling me that very same thing every time we meet. James Porter is a persistent bugger and he's been pestering me for months but I've been happy with the service I've received up to now; apart for one sensitive role that he thought you'd be good for...however..."
His voice tailed off as if in thought and he paused for a second, looking at me appraisingly...
"Freen, I have a favor to ask, call it part of the 'active' meeting you promised me if you will. I'd like you to take a look at my operation here and give me some feedback. I also need something taking back to London later if you would. As you probably heard, my daughter has an important meeting there tomorrow and I'd like her to get there safely. She flew up this morning and with Pieter now, indisposed and unemployed; I need someone that I can trust to make sure she's okay. Would you do me that favor; prove to me that Secure365 is the right company for the job?"
'Shit, fuck,'
I found myself nodding at him, the bastard knew I wouldn't be able to say no; not with me trying to win this business with him. So I get to give him a free security analysis and a free protection duty on his fucking daughter. Who, by the looks of things, wouldn't even bother to scrape me off the bottom of her shoe...I'm sure she'd get someone else to do that for her, someone totally unimportant.
'This is going to be fucking heaven, four hours in a car with someone that hates me...great, that's just fucking great'
---
As I'm walking around the Armstrong estate, escorted by a tall burly security guard who had introduced himself as Alan, my phone rang. Grabbing it from my inside pocket, I hit the answer button to the unknown number.
"Secure365, Freen Sarocha speaking." I said hating the sound as soon as I said it, hating the telephone voice I'd just invented.
"Blondie," came the southern drawl of James Porter from the other end, giving me the nickname that he seem so fond of, "I hear you've been making a nuisance of yourself."
"I've been making an impact, boss, and I've also been making a lot of promises I hope our company can cover. This place is a joke security-wise."
"I've been telling Rob that for about a year. If you think their home is bad, wait until you see their headquarters. Six months ago I got up to Rob's office without a single person stopping me. Office types, they're just complacent."
"Well I guess they all think that everyone is supposed to be there. A bit different in the military, we're always suspicious."
"That we are, Blondie, that we are. Look, Rob's told me he's asked you to drive his daughter back to London today as a favor. I know you've agreed to it because he's been singing your praises for the last ten minutes. He also told me that young Rebecca isn't exactly fond of you. I know what a temper you've got, Blondie, JJ has told me all about it. Be on your best behavior and make sure nothing happens to her, you understand?"
"I get it, boss. I'll bite my tongue. It's only four hours after all, isn't it?"
He laughed down the end of the phone, "that it is, Freen, only four hours."
---
I headed back to Mr Armstrong's office with a head full of questions and a notepad full of thoughts. As I approached, I heard the unmistakable sound of angry voices. Alan looked at me and rolled his eyes.
"Are they like this a lot?" I asked gauging his reaction.
"Only on days with ending with 'y'; Miss Armstrong is a bit of a firecracker. Rumor has it she's not exactly in love with what she does."
"So why does she do it then?"
"Her 'daddy' asked her to and she loves him. It's as simple as that. It seems that she's not quite the massive bitch she seems to be."
I dismissed him with a wave as we approached the office; I waited for a second in the hallway until he was out of sight before, rather rudely, creeping up to the door and listening into the conversation.
'Intelligence gathering,' I thought to myself, 'sounds so much nicer than eavesdropping'
Turns out I was right to listen in, they were talking about me.
"Not a chance dad, you've got to be out of your mind."
"Becky love, it is the only way."
"Not a chance dad, she's a psycho, did you see what she did to your best bodyguard?"
"I did. I saw it very clearly and I was very impressed. As you say, Pieter was the best bodyguard I've had and she made him look like an idiot; both professionally and physically."
"You like her, don't you? Are you going to try and screw her like you did your secretary?"
I heard the silence descend; I think Miss Armstrong may just have crossed a line there.
"Rebecca, you've known about your mother and I and our relationships for a long time now. I've trusted you with it and I've trusted you to keep it from Richie. Don't abuse that trust by trying to throw it in my face because you're angry over nothing. I have no interest in Miss Sarocha other than a professional one and I doubt very much she would be interested in me. She will be driving you back to London, you are not driving yourself alone and that is the end of the matter."
"Well if she hadn't crippled Pieter..."
"Rebecca, enough! You hated Pieter; you've hated every single person I've asked to look after you. This time I'm putting my foot down; you will have an escort back to London. I can't risk you, or this contract, do you understand?"
The room went silent at that last hard tone. Carefully and quickly I slipped back down the corridor and walked back towards the room as if I'd just arrived. It was just as well I did; as I approached, the door was flung open and a furious looking Rebecca Armstrong stormed past, snorting at me as she did so. She's pretty when she's angry, but boy, that's one hell of a fucking temper.
I knocked on the door and was waved in by Mr Armstrong.
"Freen, come in, tell me what you've found."
I walked to his desk and put down my notepad; he picked it up and glanced through the hastily scribbled notes that I made while surveying the estate.
After about an hour of discussion, we shook hands and I made my way back into the hallway. As I closed the door carefully behind me, I'm faced with a brunette standing in front of me, arms folded across her chest, a small wheeled suitcase next to her.
"I understand you're taking me back to London," she said coldly.
I inclined my head at her and waited. "Well, come on then I haven't got all day."
I shrugged in reply, hitched my bag onto my shoulder and headed towards the front doors.
"Haven't you forgotten something?"
I stopped dead in the middle of the hallway and took a deep breath before turning to look at her.
The cheeky bitch was gesturing at her case. I smiled sweetly and turned back to the entrance.
"No, I'm sure I've got everything I brought, thank you very much." I said as I walked away.
"You're such a bitch." I heard her say behind me.
"You're goddamn right." I muttered in reply.
I ignored the grumblings that followed me as I walked down the steps to the X3. I knew she was pissed off at me, but I really didn't care. I didn't work for her and despite everything, she hadn't exactly been pleasant to me. Gorgeous or not, I had no time for spoiled brats and their demands. As I climbed into the driver's seat, I saw her staring at me.
"Yes, can I help you?"
"Yes, actually. You can put my bag in the boot and open the door for me like you're supposed to."
That was the final straw; I pressed the boot release on the dash and closed the driver's door behind me, buckling in and starting the engine. I pressed the button to open the window and frowned at her as the glass rolled down smoothly.
"Let's get this straight, Miss Armstrong; I'm driving you to London as a personal favor to your father. I am not your servant and I'm not your driver. I'm trained to do one thing and that's to keep people like you alive, and I don't do that while carrying their belongings like a pack mule. Now, if you'll put your bag in the back and get in, we'll be on our way."
I wound up the window and turned on the stereo, putting an end to any further conversation. With the stereo blasting, I watched out of the corner of my eye as she carried her bag effortlessly to the boot and felt the car shake as she slammed it closed.
I stared at her through the rear view mirror as she climbed into the back seat and sat down.
"Seat belt please, Miss Armstrong," I admonished her lowering the volume for a second, "safety first."