Jack Sterling And The Star Of Lucifer

By Dhillon Prestige

"This is the story of Jack Sterling. A man with a foot in both the legitimate and illegitimate worlds of diamonds. Part broker, part thief, Jack Sterling finds himself under the employment of a dangerous and mysterious client who sets him on the path to discover the illusive Lucifer Stone. Along the way, Jack, along with his team, discover that there is more to this assignment than meets the eye, as the supernatural and mortal world meet, intertwine and test Jack's beliefs and morals."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dhillon Prestige
• Release date: Apr 6, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311109767

Dhillon Prestige

Based in the heart of London Dhillon Prestige (DP) is a respected jeweller, specialising in the art of custom jewellery and sourcing rare gems.

Book preview

Jack Sterling And The Star Of Lucifer

Story by Rav Dhillon &

Written By M Jeboda

Published by Dhillon Prestige at Smashwords

Copyright 2014 Dhillon Prestige

Identical pools of sweat collected on the floor directly underneath each of the three bodies swinging from the ceiling. Identical pools of sweat fit for the three, almost identical, men hanging by their ankles. Blindfolded and unbound at the hands, their arms dangled towards the ground, blood rushing from their legs, through their torsos to their heads. The room was lit dimly by two uncovered light bulbs that hung between two of the three men, the walls seemed to be freshly painted and the appliances in the room; the boiler, the electric circuit breaker, all seemed to be relatively new. Not exactly the threatening, dark, dank and mouldy basement Sterling was hoping for, but the information being fished for was more pressing than the ambience of his makeshift interrogation room.

There’s nobody in this room except for you and us. a voice from a dim part at the very back of the room spoke, in a soothing tone not befit for the situation. Jack Sterling sat, nonchalantly in a plastic chair, slumped in a manner he would probably avoid if the three men weren’t blindfolded. His demeanour, like his tone, wasn’t particularly menacing or fear inducing, but he knew that simply being blindfolded and bound would be enough to send at least one of the three over the edge. Something he noticed was happening to one already.

Nobody has to get hurt, in fact I’d prefer that we all left here the way we came in, he said, pointing at one of the three men smiling and barely supressing his enjoyment. A stereotypically bald man, well put together, dressed like his associates, black slacks and a white shirt, was shaking his head and muttering to himself what sounded like a mantra, but was audible to all in the room.

No-no-no-no-no…

A man walked from behind him, looked at Jack and pointed to the bald henchman to confirm. Jack again smiled and pointed, signalling the man to look at the face of the soul they were tormenting. Chris obliged, and shook his head upon seeing the fear on what was probably the largest and most physically imposing character in the room. Think we’ve got a talker, mate! Chris proclaimed, as he removed a gun from a holster concealed under the armpit of his workman’s jacket.

Chris Bradlock wasn’t a small man himself. He stood at around six feet with short cut blonde hair, chiselled features and brown eyes. He was a man who rarely smiled, although his tough exterior was not completely indicative of his general manner, he could be quite disarming when he chose to be, but at a glance he was a man who in the right attire could easily be identified as a soldier. He stood upright, walked purposefully and had a regimented look about him, down to the perfectly tied shoelaces on the workman’s boots he was currently wearing.

With gun in hand, Chris demonstratively and loudly removed, checked and replaced the magazine, something he had not doubt already done as part of his daily ritual, but in the moment he knew it just may be what was necessary to tip the situation in his and Sterling’s favour. The sound visibly shook their already shaken victim.

Don’t say anything! Ari! Alex! Say nothing! chimed one of the three suspended men. Unlike his colleague, he was managing to keep his cool despite the pool of sweat directly underneath him. Hey, you heard him, friend. Don’t say anything Jack retorted over the yell of the henchman, "but I will let you know this, it’s you not him with a gun to the side of his head, am I right?" he continued, nodding to signal Chris.

Chris obliged and placed the barrel of the gun to the hairless, sweat drenched temple of the henchman, who instantly recoiled in fear and began attempting to beat the gun out of Chris’s hand, flailing his arms aggressively, desperately and feverishly for his life. The sudden struggle was a jarring sight and sound to the mostly quiet and still room, and the seated Sterling was now immediately rushing towards the fighting men.

No! Ge-fu-! Argghh! the henchman’s yells and flailing were unbecoming and unlike those of an assumedly trained security professional. Men of his stature and position are often ex-military, hardened by their years of service, but his muttering and now yelling, and sharp, violent movements were more suited to an amateur mall security guard. Sterling had now reached Chris and the henchman, but in the few seconds it took, Chris had managed to do the majority of the work. He was holding both the man’s hands and was using his head to signal Sterling towards a bag in the opposite corner of the room.

Sterling skipped towards it, and quickly removed a cable tie from it, bringing it to Chris who neatly tied the still squirming man’s hands to the loop of his belt behind his back. Please! Please! I can’t tell you! he exclaimed desperately, his voice at this moment was almost at the point of resignation. Sterling patted him on the chest twice with his open palm as he looked at Chris shaking his head in relief. Chris looked back at him and nearly cracked a smile but quickly focused on the task at hand. He pulled the gun from his lower back and once again placed it at the temple of the almost sobbing and broken henchman.

Ari? Or Alex is it? Which one are you? Chris asked, slightly frustrated. Day and time of the Golconda delivery? Sterling was now walking back to his seat.

Answer the man, it’s been long enough. We all have places and people we’d like to go home to, Sterling’s tone was now also beginning to take an irritated turn. Chris shook his head as the henchman’s fear induced shaking became more violent and more pronounced. His forefinger was placed squarely on the barrel of the gun instead of the trigger and his thumb slowly shifted past the knuckles tightly wrapped around the handguns grip on to the safety that he clicked from on to off. The slight click of the safety was enough to send the tortured henchman over the edge.

Tomorrow! 2 o’clock! Please! Idiot! the anger from the third of the henchmen was enough of a confirmation of the validity of the information, as was the audible swearing in Russian from the other.

2 o’clock tomorrow is the time! Please let me go! Chris looked over at Sterling who was once again seated, his shoulders were now relaxed and the smile had returned to his face. There’s always one, Sterling said to himself quietly. See that gentlemen? Clean. A little bit of a fuss but overall, cleanly done. Nobody gets hurt.

Sterling rose to his feet, brushing off the thighs on his tailored suit and reached for his suit jacket neatly placed on the back of the chair he was sitting on. Chris was now also making moves to signal their exit from the scene. He headed to the bag in the corner, placed his gun inside it, rooted around in its contents for a few seconds and removed a bottle of water, which he opened and poured over his hands to clean them, drying them off on his dusty builder’s trousers.

Thank you gentlemen Sterling said, as he walked carefully between the three men towards Chris at the front of the room. His suit jacket was neatly folded over his left forearm and with his right hand; he once again patted the defeated bald henchman on the chest.

Alex or Ari? he asked him, softly, in a manner that would suggest he wasn’t just a part of the two-man team who had spent the past thirty minutes watching him struggle. The henchman breathed deeply.

Ari. I am Ari.

Ari. Thank you for your cooperation, Ari. This is the maintenance area of this establishment, so I am sure someone will soon be down here to find you guys. Or we’ll send someone down. Cool?

Ari only scowled and stared hatefully into Sterling’s brown eyes.

Good. Sterling replied to the stare as though it was a statement in itself. Let’s get out of here, mate, he said looking over at Chris, who had the duffle bag over his right shoulder.

Defeated and dejected, all three men’s protests had long ceased, due in part to the relief of knowing that they would indeed make it back to their families, or at the realisation that through the revelation of key information to foreign parties, their jobs were no longer theirs. Sterling followed Chris out of the door down the long basement hallway in silence. This was only a preliminary task in what was sure to be the toughest heist they had pulled off to date. After a minute or so, Sterling, opening the door to the stairway finally broke the silence.

We are sending someone to get them, right? he asked without turning to Chris.

Yeah. Tomorrow. Or the day after depending on how I feel. That one that struggled pissed me off a bit. Might just let them stew a bit. That alright?

Sterling didn’t turn to reply or answer as he led Chris up the dusty stairway, but the smile on his face would have been answer enough.

*

A brightly lit corkboard tacked with an inordinate amount of paper dominated the room. The two lamps on either side of it provided unneeded extra heat in an already sweltering, tightly cramped hotel room. The majority of Sterling and Chris’s belongings were contained in a cot either side of the two metre corkboard and a plastic box which was underneath it. The exposed, damaged and stained concrete flooring beneath the two men’s feet, that no doubt played host to a number of foreign and debilitating bacteria and diseases, was littered with paper. The walls were bare, and the paint that once decorated it had long chipped, flaked and disappeared, leaving only remnants of what looked like traditional Indian art. The slightly open window on the right of the room worked like an amplifier in distributing the noise from a typically busy Indian street. The rumble of mopeds and motorcycles, the voices of the men that populated the street and music playing were part and parcel of a typical afternoon in Hyderabad. The close proximity to their target was enough for both men to overlook the disturbances and the lack of sleep they were likely to encounter.

Sterling stood at the desk in front of the corkboard, both knuckles pressed down on the table, bending slightly at the waist and looking directly up at the board’s contents. His eyes darted back and forth from left to right, from one corner of the board to the other, calculating. Dressed in the same clothing as earlier in the evening, Sterling’s sleeves were ceremoniously rolled up, indicative of the harder work this job would be over the previous one.

Three-piece suits were a regular staple of Sterling’s wardrobe and today was no different. On the surface it looked like another plain black suit, but a closer eye on the detail would reveal a pinstripe on the three-piece