Chapter 1 - introducing Edward Pembroke

Eduard Benaïssad sat slumped at the corner of a dimly lit London bar, the low hum of chatter and clinking glasses serving as a constant backdrop to his spiraling thoughts. Now in his mid-forties, Eduard’s once sharp features had softened over the years; his overweight frame a testament to his inability to curb his vices. The pungent scent of alcohol clung to him, a chronic companion that had only deepened his depression.

His bloodshot eyes, partially obscured by greasy, thinning hair, stared vacantly at a group of young women in their twenties. They laughed and chatted animatedly, their youthful energy a stark contrast to his own depleted state. There was a lecherous glint in his eye as he watched them, but it was dulled by the knowledge of his impending fate.

Nearly bankrupt, Eduard’s financial ruin was just another weight on his shoulders. But he no longer cared about the money. The looming prison sentence occupied his mind, a grim specter following his every step. He had spoken to his lawyers earlier in the day, the reality of his situation sinking in deeper with every word. The crime he had committed would soon see him behind bars, and his lawyers could scarcely conceal their disgust at him.

Eduard raised his glass to his lips, taking a long, bitter sip of whiskey to ease the pain. It was at that moment that there was a tap on his shoulder. A well-built, handsome, authoritative, ambitious Arabic man in an expensive suit surprised him. The two men’s eyes met, and they hugged in recognition.

“Eddie, you old dog!”

“Ahmed, what are you doing here?”

Eduard was not stupid. He knew Ahmed Al-Masri from working with him in Saudi Arabia. Ahmed was a (very) minor member of the Gulf royal family but had risen on merit. Eduard had worked as one of his lieutenants in his security team, dealing with pirates in the Red Sea. Both men were far from human rights devotees, and the pair had worked well together.

Ahmed grinned, pulling back from the hug to take a good look at Eduard. “I could ask you the same thing. Last I heard, you were neck-deep in some security contracts in Iraq. What brings you to London?”

Eduard let out a humorless chuckle. “Let’s just say my luck ran out. Bad investments, bad choices ... and now, I’m facing the consequences.”

Ahmed’s eyes narrowed slightly, his sharp mind quickly piecing together the unspoken details. “Prison?”

Eduard nodded, the weight of his situation evident in his weary expression. “Yeah, for something I’m not proud of.”

Ahmed’s demeanor shifted, the casual reunion taking on a more serious tone. “I might be able to help. You know I have connections.”

Eduard shook his head. “Appreciate it, Ahmed, but this is the UK, not the Middle East.”

Ahmed smiled, he knew the charges. Eduard Benaïssad had drugged and raped a young university student. He had been caught by security cameras and his efforts to blackmail the girl with sharing her naked photos had backfired. The girl had insisted on bringing the charges even after the leak of the photos and now Benaïssad was looking at five years minimum.

“Eddie, I am going to be honest. You do deserve it” he smiled.

“What? So ... you know...”

Ahmed laughed. “Of course I do, it’s my job to know everything. But to be honest, you have done a pretty good job of staying out of prison for so long.”

Eduard Benaïssad knew something was up. This was no coincidental meeting. He switched to flawless Arabic to speak to Ahmed.

“You and I have both done things that are far worse than what I am going to prison for. I’ve raped so many women over the years, I got unlucky and I got stupid. But I’m going to pay the price for it now. Why did you come and see me?”

Ahmed responded in Arabic, “Eddie, you’re still sharp despite the circumstances. Bad luck doesn’t change that.”

“Do you have a job for me or not?” Eduard suddenly recognized there might be a way out of his current malaise, or if not, maybe a chance to make some money.

“That depends, Eddie. I have risen since we last worked together. I now work for ... well let us keep that a secret for now. But I Have been given a specific project to carry out and if it goes well, I will be richly rewarded, politically and financially. I need the right man.”

Eduard was intrigued. He was far from the “right man” for almost any project he could think of.

“First, Eddie, why don’t you show me, what you can do, that other men cannot, or, let’s face it, won’t do.”

Ahmed’s attention was drawn to the group of vivacious twenty-something women. Among them were two blondes and two brunettes, each exuding an aura of joy, radiance, and youthfulness. Dressed in strappy dresses, they were enjoying their drinks, their infectious laughter resonating with a sense of carefree abandon. Their beauty was undeniable, accentuated by their long, slender legs visible under the table.

“I want to fuck one of them, can you make it happen?” asked Ahmed nonchalantly.

“Thoughts like that are why I am going to prison, Ahmed.”

“Come on Eddie, use your initiative, show me something, that you are the right man for the job.”

“What job?”

“I will tell you after this. But it could be your ticket out of prison and into riches, trust me.”

Eduard thought long and hard. There was no reason why Ahmed would want to incriminate him further. He had seen Ahmed commit the most unspeakably cruel and inhuman acts on men, women, and children in Yemen. Eduard’s main skill had been to acquiesce in these, all the other mercenaries had quit in disgust.

“OK. Fuck it. But you have to remember there are cameras all over London.”

“For the job I have to offer, they will be an occupational hazard.”

Eduard reasoned to himself. He was already going to prison for rape. He had raped dozens of women, why not try one more? He would be in his fifties when he got out of prison.

Eduard regarded the four women with a hunter’s eye. They would not be interested in money nor the looks, or lack thereof, of he and Ahmed. He thought of where in London he was.

“Give me ten minutes, Ahmed, wait here.”

Ahmed sat by himself, a solitary figure amidst the bustling atmosphere of the bar, patiently waiting for his “friend” to return. He had known Eduard for years, understanding all too well the depths of his character—sleazy, morally bankrupt, devoid of any ideology. Yet, amidst Eduard’s lack of conscience, there existed a twisted form of reliability, a trust that extended only as far as one could rely on someone without morals.

He knew Eduard Benaïssad’s file top to bottom. Born in 1977 to a French Algerian oil engineer and a Russian nurse, he had grown up around the world, and by the age of eighteen was fluent in French, Arabic, Russian and English. But he had been a tearaway and spent time in prison in France as a teenager for dealing drugs and a brutal assault on a boy who could not pay his drug debt. At a loss, his parents had enrolled him in a military officer training school in the UK when he was released from the French prison.

He had initially seemed to fit in, the military life suited him as a young man, especially forays with prostitutes in east Africa and the Far East. He had been disciplined for an unfortunate incident with a Kenyan hooker, which had seen the young woman close to dying.

He would have faced dismissal from the army had it not been for the events of 9/11 and the subsequent War on Terror. His exceptional proficiency in languages made him a valuable asset, sought after for his ability to navigate complex linguistic landscapes. However, his aptitude as a soldier fell far short of excellence, and civilian deaths always seemed to be more likely when he was part of a patrol on the streets of southern Iraq.

Thereafter, Afghanistan proved to be a playground for Eduard. Afghan villagers were not as worldly as the Iraqis and Benaïssad and some renegade soldiers managed to exact intelligence, revenge, and pleasure on isolated villages in some brutal raids.

Yet again, lady luck shone on Benaïssad in Afghanistan. One comrade who accused him of what were war crimes was blown up before the investigation could be taken further. Other Afghans who accused him of crimes also mysteriously died in an air strike.

He was eventually discharged from the army, after not suffering a scratch, mentally or physically, but having committed dozens of outrages. His skill at languages made him a useful recruit for western mercenaries in Iraq, Syria, and around the world. But he was still not popular among his comrades after committing several crimes including bank robbery, rape and extortion of locals.

When Ahmed Al-Masri was tasked with dealing with rebels in Yemen, he hired some of the toughest military he could find. But it was not miliary skill he was short of. He needed men who would do what he knew needed to be done, and few westerners, or locals, wanted to do it. He had been recommended Eduard Benaïssad by one such ex soldier, who then quit, lacking the stomach for the kind of fight Ahmed wanted.

Benaïssad was not a very good soldier, but he was a great linguist, and he was not shy of using every method banned by the Geneva convention. Ahmed had grown so comfortable with this British/French/Algerian/Russian hybrid that they would often ride around isolated villages, picking women from houses, raping them together, and murdering anyone who objected.

Ahmed Al-Masri’s strategy succeeded, and he soon was promoted to the head of security for the Gulf Prince Al-Qadim of Azmaria. In the affluent Gulf state of Azmaria, there was little tolerance for the likes of bloodthirsty rapist soldiers like Benaïssad and his cohorts. Generous payoffs were offered to rid themselves of such unsavory characters.

As Ahmed had settled into his new role, his aspirations soared higher. Could he ascend even further, perhaps to the position of Prime Minister? The possibilities tantalized him, fuelling his ambition.

Meanwhile, Benaïssad squandered his wealth on hedonistic pursuits, indulging in vices across Europe with prostitutes, drugs, and alcohol. Ahmed was well aware of the dark cloud of criminal charges hanging over Benaïssad’s head—a warrant for rape in Bulgaria, allegations of assault in Italy, and a robbery in Spain conducted in a drug-fuelled haze.

Ahmed pondered the situation carefully. It was a risky game, but he knew the importance of plausible deniability. If Benaïssad posed a threat to their operations in Azmaria, he would be swiftly dealt with. But for now, despite his flaws, Benaïssad remained the best man for the job.

Eduard Benaïssad returned, smiling, full of verve. “I just bought a little something on the street corner. I think the young ladies might love it.”

Ahmed watched him, like a master at work, as he wandered over to the women. He chatted amicably to them, laughing, then made his way to the bathroom. Returning, he sat opposite Ahmed and winked.

“Give it a few minutes, it’s pretty strong.”

Ahemd’s eyebrows shot up. “I did not see you do anything! I was watching!”

“You see Ahmed, it’s all in the wrists, haha”

About ten minutes later, the atmosphere in the bar shifted abruptly. The group of women, previously filled with laughter and joy, suddenly grew louder, their voices tinged with drowsiness and agitation. Concerned, the bartender approached their table.

“Don’t worry,” Eduard interjected, stepping forward. “I’ve called a taxi for the ladies. I’m their manager and we have just got our bonuses. It’s truly regrettable; they’ve had a bit too much to drink.”

The bartender nodded, relieved to see the situation being addressed. “Thank you, sir. It’s best to ensure they get home safely.”

“Wait a minute,” Ahmed said, “what taxi?”

“I texted a friend, a drug dealing scumbag I know. He is a taxi driver, and is nearby. He can pick these girls up and bring them anywhere. Where should he bring them to? The girls should be unconscious in a few minutes, by which time they will all be safely in the back seat of the taxi.”

“Now, girls,” he addressed the slurring women with a forced geniality, adopting the facade of a friendly father figure. “Gather your things. The taxi is outside.”

The barman watched, and the security guard saw the girls being escorted outside and into the waiting taxi while the two good samaritans walked away elsewhere. All above board, they thought.

Eduard got a call as soon as the taxi pulled away. “Haha, Dennis you scumbag! Yes, they are all so hot. Look, there are four of them, do you have any friends who want a late night delivery? I gave them some good doses, they should be out of it for a few hours at least, just make sure they don’t swallow their tongues.”

Eduard paused and turned to Ahmed. “Would you like some of them? We could take two, and have them in a hotel room for a few hours, then we should pass them on to Dennis and his friends. It would be good to have some ... other men inside them afterwards, to get rid of our own evidence.”

Ahmed couldn’t help but chuckle at Eduard’s enthusiastic embrace of their nefarious scheme. “Yes, I quite liked the blonde in the green dress. I have my own limousine parked nearby. Why don’t we follow the taxi, and get some girls into my car for a bit...”

“Excellent idea” Eduard beamed. He had really come alive. They followed the taxi, and Eduard marvelled at the luxury of the inside of the limousine. The driver was a monotone Arab, who obeyed his master’s every command. The dark windows hid the inside from the prying eyes of London.