State Of The Union

The threshold of the marble foyer was covered by a long Persian runner leading right up to an enormous metal detector. Flanking the metal detector were two colossal security guards. Their shaved heads and massive builds stood in stark contrast to their dark Savile Row suits, impeccably knotted silk ties, and handmade, custom-fitted John Lobb shoes.

“Uh-oh,” said DeWolfe under his breath to Harvath.

“What? You’re just as good looking as these guys and with ten thousand extra, could be dressed just as nice,” replied Scot.

“Very funny, Harvath. I was referring to the metal detector. Something tells me this is not a business that welcomes heavy iron.”

“Are you saying you came armed?”

“Right. And you’re packing nothing more than that sparkling personality of yours.”

“Don’t worry,” smiled Harvath. “I’m sure Herman has this all taken care of.”

At that moment, Toffle limped through the metal detector, and its alarm immediately went off. Harvath and DeWolfe hung back and waited.

The two guards approached Herman and asked him to raise his arms. The big German smiled politely and began to do as they asked. As soon as they were close enough, his hands shot out in a move that seemed to defy the laws of physics itself. The two guards were left in a tangle of rumpled, yet expensive fabric, minus their sidearms, which Herman now had trained on them.

“Oh, shit,” said DeWolfe who quickly pulled his gun to back up Toffle.

Several tense seconds passed. Then, both the security guards and Herman began laughing.

His index fingers in the trigger guards, Toffle released his grip and spun the pistols so he could hand them back, butts first.

“What the hell is this?” asked DeWolfe, not sure of what he was seeing.

Harvath began to laugh. He remembered when he was a SEAL and had first met Herman in a cross-training exercise. Herman loved to sneak up on people and steal their sidearms without them knowing. What’s more, he had a particular affinity for it. Harvath, though, was the one person he could never get the better of. “You’ve still got it, Herman.”

“Of course I do. In fact I never lost it.”

“What the hell is going on?” asked DeWolfe again

“Put your gun away,” said Harvath, “before you shoot somebody.”

DeWolfe did as instructed. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”

“Everybody should have at least one good trick,” said Herman. “Now, gentlemen, I’d like you to meet Kiefer and Verner.” Herman didn’t offer Harvath and DeWolfe’s names, and being the professionals that they were, Kiefer and Verner didn’t ask for them.

After the men shook hands, the security guards waved Harvath and DeWolfe around the metal detector.

“You sure you’ve sworn off these places?” said Harvath to Herman as they walked down a short hallway toward a stylish reception area. “The boys at the door sure seemed to know you very well.”

“They’re ex-army. Their uncle is an old friend of mine. I got them their jobs here,” said Herman, showing his two colleagues into a beautifully appointed anteroom.

“Herr Toffle,” exclaimed an attractive blonde in her mid-twenties, who walked out from behind an ornately carved wooden desk to greet her guest. “How lovely to see you again.” She was dressed in a perfectly tailored blazer with just the right hint of hug around her perfectly shaped breasts. Her skirt, though it rode a bit above mid-thigh, was still tasteful in its cut and expertly straddled the tantalizing line between revealing and concealing all at the same time.

“Hello, Nixie,” said Herman, grasping the two hands the young woman presented to him and kissing her on both cheeks. “How are you?”

“I am well, Herr Toffle. Thank you for asking,” responded Nixie, who turned toward Harvath and DeWolfe and said, “You are going to spoil the girls by bringing such handsome colleagues with you. Maybe we should ask Kiefer and Verner to accompany you this evening for your own protection.”

Harvath had to admit, the woman was flawless-both in her outward appearance and how she handled her customers. She reminded him of the VIP concierges he had seen in Las Vegas who were charged with looking after a hotel’s high rollers. This was very much the same situation. Though they treated you with respect and a healthy dose of attention and flattery, the bottom line was the same. They wanted you to spend as much money as possible and enjoy spending it so you would come back again. Though it was a brothel, Harvath had to admit that by what he had seen of it so far, it was a class act.

“Unfortunately,” said Herman. “We’re not here for pleasure this evening. This is more of a business call.”

For a moment, Nixie appeared crestfallen. But in an instant, her professional demeanor returned, with just a hint of a childish pout lingering on her extremely full red lips.

Yup, thought Harvath,this woman was a pro all right. If the rest of the women at King George’s were like Nixie, he couldn’t help wondering how any man ever walked out of there with any money left in his pockets at all.