[Prisoner Monkeys]

Chapter I

London, England

Wesley Black impatiently checked his watch. Again. His host – whoever he was – was running late. Trying not to let his frustration show, he took another sip of his Black Russian and tried to lose himself in his surroundings. He was sitting at a bar in London’s West End called Surge, which was as trendy as it was over-priced. There were almost no straight lines in the entire building; everything from the door to the bar itself was made up of curvy, sinuous edges. It was a place to see, and – more importantly – to be seen. Surge was a popular haunt for B-list celebrities and trashy tabloid journalists. At least late at night. Right now, on the cusp of darkness, Black was almost the only person in the bar. Almost.

“I really must apologise,” a smooth, intelligent voice said beside him. Black looked up to see a short Middle Eastern man in front of him. His face was round, and his thick hard place. His jaw was covered by a well-groomed beard that suited him, and a pair of rimless glasses sat on his bold nose. He was well-dressed, but tastefully so; there was no expensive Armani suit for the sake of it. “My flight was delayed. Normally, I would have called ahead, but without a number to call, I hope to hope that you would forgive my tardiness and wait for me. I am both pleased and humbled that you have chosen to do so, especially since – I must admit – my invitation was somewhat vague. Ridwan Amirmoez,” he concluded, offering a hand. Black took it, and was pleased to discover the man’s grip was both firm and confident.

“Can I … but you a drink?” Black offered awkwardly, unsure whether it was polite to ask.

“No, thank you,” Amirmoez declined. “It is not a religious thing, if that’s what you are thinking. I simply do not like the taste of alcohol, and cannot for the life of me understand the appeal of it.”

“There’s no easy way to ask this, but do I know you from somewhere?”

“I should think not. I am not widely known in the West. But I do know you,” he said. If this seemed like a strange answer, Black did not let it show. Indeed, he expected it. In a previous life, he had been a racing driver, and a World Champion twice over. “I was in Germany when you took your first victory. I did not know anything about the sport at the time – it was a sponsor visit – but when I saw that race, I confess that I fell in love a little bit.”

“It’s always nice to meet a fan,” Black said, trying to sound enthusiastic. But he had to admit that he was slightly disappointed. The wording of the invitation, sent to him via an old friend, had seemingly promised more. He did not understand why this bothered him.

“You’re probably wondering why I invited you here. Well, there is no point in wasting words. I have a question that I would like to ask of you.”

“I’ve done this dance before. There is only one question people ask me these days: why I retired.”

“I am aware of this,” Amirmoez said. “As I said, I have been folowing you for some time, both on-track and off. I would not go so far as to claim I know why you retired, but I do like to think I have an idea. No, the question I want to ask you is simple: why did you come to this meeting?”

Black had not been expecting this. He took another sip of his Black Russian, stalling for time. Amirmoez had asked him here tonight to ask why he had come? But as he thought about it, the more sense the question started to make. He had been asked to meetings dozens of times, by sponsors and fools with dreams of starting their own racing teams – especially after he had retired – but he had never accepted any of them.

“I … I honestly don’t know,” Black said.

“I thought it might be something like that. I have a simple proposition for you, and please, hear me out on this. I take it you have been following the sport you left behind you?”

“Yes,” Black lied.

“Then you would know what happened to Precision Racing.”

“Yes,” Black repeated, truthfully this time. It was hard not to hear about that embarrassing episode – one of the teams had been caught running illegal parts on their car and had subsequently been banned from the sport.

“I intend to make a bid for their remaining assets in the very immediate future. I know what you’re thinking; that this is some flight of fancy. Nothing could be further from the truth. This is a very serious attempt to join the grid. No, let me rephrase that – this is more than an attempt. Within one week, I intend to buy the remains of Precision Motorsport, and enter it in the World Championship, starting in 2012. There is just one thing holding me back.”

“I’m listening.”

“It’s you,” Amirmoez replied simply. “I have done my homework, and I know you receive an offer from aspiring teams at least once a month, but I have something a little more holisitc in mind. I would like you to work with me on building it.” He reached into his jacket pocket and offered Black an unsealed envelope. He opened it to find a first-class airline ticket to Dubai.

“What is this?”

“It’s an airline ticket.”

“I know that,” Black said defensively. “I mean, why are you giving it to me.”

“I would like you to come to Dubai and see for yourself. If you do, and you are happy, I will go ahead and buy the team. If not, I confess I will be disappointed, but I will find another way. But I would rather have someone like yourself in the team.”

“Alright. Let’s say I’m interested and I come to Dubai. What would that involve?”

“Everything. Hiring staff. Developing the car. Finidng drivers. Racing yourself, if that’s what you want. We have eighteen months to get ready; with you, I think that’s a very realistic timeframe.”

“I have one last question. Whether or not I come to Dubai depends on your answer.”

“Ask way,” Amirmoez said.

“You said you had an idea as to why I retired. What is that reason?”

“Because you were World Champion. Twice. It’s a wonderful thing, but what does one do once you have achieved that? You could have driven for anyone, done anything. Added another two titles to your name, if you wanted to. There are some – I think you might know who I am talking about – who say you retired because you stopped winning. But I think you retired because winning no longer meant anything to you. There was nothing left for you to achieve.”

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