Agent of Influence: A Thriller by Russell Hamilton Read Free Book Online Page A

if they could narrow their search. As they stood up to leave the night watchman suddenly came back in unannounced, startling them both.
                  “That’s it, boys. Time’s up. Now get out of here before you get me fired,” the watchman said sternly, his trembling hands revealing the false bravado of his voice.
                  “With pleasure,” Solomon said with a smile. “Thanks for the time again, Jimmy. Here’s another grand for your trouble.” Solomon reached into his pocket for a wad of bills and pressed them tightly into Jimmy’s hand. “We’re taking a tape. Use a blank one in its place, and erase this night from your memory completely,” Solomon said in a relieved tone. He was ready to leave.
                  “I don’t even know what day it is fellas,” the watchman responded, his eyes lighting up at the additional cash. Solomon knew what he would do with it. It would be blown at one of the brothels on the outskirts of town; one of the brothels that Aman had a secret ownership stake in.
     
    Chapter 7
     
    The private elevator silently glided upwards until it reached the penthouse suite of the Desert Dust Inn. The “ding” of the elevator announced that it had reached Aman’s floor. He set aside the papers he had been scanning for the President-Elect. Aman watched Solomon burst out of the elevator and rush across the long expanse of lavender-colored carpet. The man is moving much too quickly for such an early morning hour .  He turned and maneuvered the blinds so that they blocked part of the early morning desert sun beginning to stream into the office. He ignored the magnificent view of Caesars and the rest of the Las Vegas strip just a few blocks away from his hotel. At twenty after six in the morning, it was one of the few times during the day when traffic was sparse. Anyone on the road was typically returning from an all night drinking marathon, or up early to hit the golf course before the blistering Las Vegas sun hit its full stride.
                  At a shade over five feet five inches, and weighing two hundred fifty pounds Aman Kazim was a large man in pure size, if not height. His hair was jet black and it was one of the few parts of his body that seemed unaffected by his seventy plus years of hard living. He preferred spectacles to contacts since they did not irritate his eyes, and his face was a small oval that looked out of place on his large frame. He said a silent prayer that Solomon was bringing him good news. Bad news had the potential to destroy the empire that surrounded him. Losing his wealth was not his concern, it was losing what the money was so close to finally bringing him that made him nervous. My father would be so proud, he thought, as he reminisced about the beginning of his journey. Lately he had found himself to be much more sentimental than he ever imagined possible as he flashed back to his early days.
    Born during the 1920s, Aman spent his formative years running through the streets of Cairo with his friends.  His mother was Jordanian and his father Egyptian. They escaped to the United States just before the Nazis began their march across Europe and North Africa in 1941. His father secured a job working in a factory that mass-produced tanks for the war effort, and he was killed when he was crushed by a tank in a freak accident at the plant. The death of his father was a shock to Aman, and made him shut down emotionally. With many of the nation’s youth off fighting the war, Aman was able to gain admittance to a small college in New York City, where he later graduated with honors. He quickly followed up his accounting degree with an MBA.
    The end of Aman’s schooling brought along with it another strange and traumatizing event. His mother was killed in a mugging attempt gone wrong. The cops could not solve the case, and Aman grew more frustrated and depressed by the day. The war was wrapping up, and he was now