“I don’t carry a gun. Neither does she,” Justin said.
The bodyguard was unimpressed and proceeded to search him anyway. Before it came Carrie’s turn, the man in the headdress spoke in Arabic, “That’s good enough.”
Justin straightened the collar of his shirt and the buckle of his belt. He removed his sunglasses.
“I am Prince Husayn bin Al-Farhan,” the man in the headdress said in English, extending his hand toward Justin.
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Highness.” Justin shook the Prince’s hand. “My name’s Arkady Alexandrov. I see you have arrived early.”
“Yes, I have to attend to some urgent business, so let us close our deal right away.”
“Eh, yes, by all means.”
Justin turned on his heel and pointed at the Bugatti Veyron. “This is the merchandise, Your Highness.”
Prince Al-Farhan shot a glance at the supercar, unimpressed by its glamour. Justin swallowed before proceeding with his spiel.
“Zero to sixty in 2.5 seconds. An unbelievable 1500 brake horsepower, for a top speed of 267 miles an hour, the world record of land speed. This is number three of only five World Record Editions of the Super Sport ever built. I’ve had it modified, adding 300 brake horsepower to the original 1200. I’ve raised the chassis and reinforced the shock absorbers for rough roads.” Justin was repeating the words Valerie had written in a text message.
He observed the unexpressive face of the Prince, before continuing with, “Top speed is unlocked, since the racetrack tires are virtually indestructible. Other modifications are too complicated for me to understand, but this I know: This is not only the fastest Bugatti Veyron out there, but also the fastest and the most powerful car in the whole world.”
The Prince’s face remained calm, but Justin thought he saw a barely noticeable nod. A second later, he said, “Let’s take it for a test drive,” and began walking toward the Veyron.
Justin glanced at Abdul, who swiftly handed him the keys. Justin gave them to Prince Al-Farhan with a polite nod. The Prince opened the door but stopped before getting inside the supercar.
“There’s a scratch mark here,” he said.
Justin hastened around the Veyron and looked at the Prince’s pointed finger. He squinted and barely noticed a hairline mark by the door handle. Then, Justin’s eyes met the Prince’s curious glare.
“Hmm, oh, yeah, my fiancée scratched it with her diamond ring,” Justin said, improvising.
Prince Al-Farhan stared at Carrie, who shrugged and raised her left hand. A solitaire diamond ring sparkled on her fourth finger.
The Prince nodded and got inside the supercar. Justin glanced at Carrie and Abdul, giving them a reassuring nod. Carrie blinked at him twice, their signal that she and Abdul were going to follow them in the Mercedes. Abdul stood motionless. Justin threw a quick gaze at Prince Al-Farhan bodyguards, walked behind the Veyron, and slid into the passenger’s seat.
He caught himself gawking again, this time at the exquisite details of the cockpit. Black leather and aluminum finish surrounded him on all sides. The sport seats, the steering wheel, the dashboard, the armrest, the gearbox, everything was created with pure perfection in mind. Focus, Justin, he said to himself, you own this Veyron, you’ve been inside it many, many times.
The Prince did not seem to notice Justin’s lack of concentration, as he was starting up the Veyron. Justin had done this so many times in his mind and had seen it in so many videos. Still, it was fascinating to experience it in person. The Prince folded the edges of his robe, so it would not interfere with his driving, and pressed the start button, located below the speed stick shift. The gadgets on the dashboard lit up with bright red and orange colors. Once the Prince turned the key, the engine roared and the rear spoiler began to retract. This was the standard driving mode of the Veyron for up to 130 miles per hour, and Justin had no plans of getting anywhere close to that speed. He pulled the seatbelt over his shoulder and felt like a rocket man, with sixteen cylinders and four turbochargers of the monstrous engine strapped to his back.
“Are you ready, Mr. Alexandrov?” the Prince asked, pronouncing Justin’s fake name in a slightly different tone.
Is he suspecting something? Does he know who we are?
It was too late to back out now, even if the Prince was aware of their ploy.
“I’m ready,” Justin replied.
The Prince steered to the left and the Veyron rolled down the driveway. Justin threw a quick glance to Carrie and Abdul but was able to spot only their silhouettes as they headed back toward the Mercedes.
“There’s a side road behind the hotel,” the Prince said, as they took a downhill turn. Le Bataillon disappeared from their view, hidden behind a tall hedge of pine trees. “It’s almost a closed course and there we can test this Veyron beauty.”
The Prince’s voice rang with excitement, and his Arab accent became thicker. Justin’s mind raced to the aerial photos of the hotel and its surrounding area. He remembered a thin line of a road, but none of its details, since he had never considered it as part of their getaway. Where is the Prince taking me?
“How’s your business doing?” the Prince asked, driving with both hands on the steering wheel.
“Has gotten worse over the last year. Too much competition in the oil business, as you know very well. Now that prices have returned to their usual levels, there’s less money to go around.”
“Is that why you’re selling your Veyron?”
Justin noticed again the change in the Prince’s voice.
“Yes. I don’t need it anymore.”
The Prince slowed down as they turned a sharp corner. The side road snaked downhill through a valley carved out between rows of twin hills. To the left, Justin saw the glimmering reflection of the sun on the Mediterranean still waters. To the right, a series of mansions with stonewall fences were nestled among small olive and orange groves.
“Let’s see how it handles the curves.” The Prince stepped on the gas pedal.
The Veyron raced downhill with a loud vroom. The punch of the swift acceleration threw Justin against the seat. He clenched his fingers on the door armrest, praying the sides of the supercar did not scrape against any of the orange branches. The Prince steered sharply to the left and the Veyron responded with a drift, tires squealing on the asphalt.
“Quite balanced. I’m impressed,” the Prince said.
Justin glanced at him then at a speed sign as it flashed passed them. It was too blurry for Justin to read it, but he thought he saw a five in there. Fifty kilometers an hour? His eyes fell on the Veyron’s speedometer, already registering seventy-five kilometers. The red pointer of the instrument jumped to eighty, as the Prince kept going faster and faster. Justin coughed to get the attention of the Prince, but he kept his gaze on the road. Trees, electric poles and streetlights all became a big blur.
A Peugeot appeared in the other direction and the Prince eased on the gas pedal. As the two cars passed each other, Justin noticed the wide eyes and the dropped jaw of the Peugeot driver.
The Prince grinned smugly. “It’s a good ride. Sticks to the road.”
He touched the throttle and shifted gears. Then he slammed on the accelerator. The Veyron’s engine thundered and the supercar slid around another sharp turn, following its trajectory to perfection. Still, it came within inches from a concrete retaining wall of one of the houses. Justin saw pieces of mulch flying around and a cluster of flowers bending very close to their breaking point.