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Flesh. Power. Life. Comfort.
Happiness.
It’s a pretty lie we tell ourselves, that money doesn’t matter. That we can have a healthy, perfect life without it.
In a world built on labor and value, money makes everything happen. It can buy anything, for the right price.
I snuck over a black wrought-iron fence. Matthias slipped in after me, followed by three of his best soldiers. Our force was decimated, and morale was low, but I hoped this would change things.
If it didn’t, I had some serious doubts about our ability to escape the country. The plane was under surveillance, and my men were already making alternative escape routes, but they’d be tricky.
The back yard was nicely trimmed. Grass mowed, hedges cut. It was small, but luxurious for an old city like Riga. Patio furniture was pressed to the side on a concrete slab. It looked expensive and comfortable.
I reached the back door and looked up at a camera.
Hello there.
I smiled and began to pick the lock. It didn’t take long. I learned how to do it when I was ten. My father made me sit and practice until I could open a door in two minutes or less with my eyes closed.
Matthias followed me into a small laundry room. Baskets with spare socks, detergent, dryer sheets, and Tide pods were stacked on wooden shelves above the white full-sized appliances. I went to the door, listened, then stepped into a hallway.
My men followed, silent like ghosts.
I reached a living room. Spacious, comfortable. Couches, tables, chairs, built to be used. I imagined men and women eating, drinking, laughing. It was a nice place. Warm and inviting.
I’d burn it to the ground if this didn’t work.
The staircase jutted straight to the next floor. I didn’t wait, despite Matthias waving me off. He wanted one of the men to go first. To hell with that.
I was pissed off and I wanted someone to try to kill me.
That’d give me the excuse I needed.
Nothing happened at the top of the stairs, much to my dismay. I tried the door at the end of the wall and it opened into a spacious, comfortable master bedroom.
Two bodies snored.
It felt all too familiar. Poor Emils and his wife. I smiled at the memory.
The light snapped on and I froze.
The Prime Minister of Latvia sat up in bed with a pistol held in his hand. He stared at me with hard, cold eyes. He was a handsome man in his fifties with a mustache and dark hair. His wife rolled over, glaring at me. She was pretty, around the prime minister’s age. So her snores were fake.
Clever bastards.
“Speak before I kill you.” His English was good.
I gestured at my men to stand down. “Prime Minister. My name is Calvin Solar.”
“I know who you are. Defense Minister Brnovich warned me of you.”
“Then you know he tried to kill me earlier.”
The prime minister laughed. “He did not use those words.”
I stepped forward into the room. The prime minister raised the gun. I had no doubt he’d use it.
“I came to your country to sell your defense minister some guns. There’s a plane and a hangar at Riga International. It’s filled with my family’s weapons. Go there and check. I can wait here.”
The prime minister stared. His wife pulled the blanket up to her neck and didn’t move.
“This must be some joke. Brnovich, buying guns? This was not authorized.”
“He suggested it was. I have paperwork. I have communications and documents. I can prove everything.”
“Then why would he say you attacked him?”
“Because his attempt on my life failed. Prime Minister, I came to your country to sell guns. I don’t want to get involved in whatever petty political game that’s being played.”
The prime minister’s weapon lowered—slightly.
That was a good sign.
“You have the weapons here?”
“Edgars,” his wife said in surprise and anger.
The prime minister cut her off with a glare.
I smiled to myself.
“Yes, it’s all here. The papers are drawn. The deal is negotiated. I’ll admit, it’s a good price, Prime Minister.”
He stared at me. Measuring, weighing. He was a clever man and likely knew his defense minister was a snake. I didn’t know if he realized how far the bastard had turned, however.
His wife suddenly moved. She threw off her covers and got out of bed. I caught a flash of skin. She wore a pale blue nightgown. She said something in Latvian while glaring at me, and I could tell it wasn’t very nice. The prime minister suppressed a smile as she stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door.
Just like Emils, but so much different.
“Forgive her. She doesn’t like to be interrupted in the middle of the night by foreign men with guns.”
“Understandable. Your security is shit.”
“They’re not. I knew you were coming. They’re watching right. I told them to allow you in here.”
I glanced over my shoulder. Matthias only shrugged.
