by Karen Dodd
He sighed. This was not how things were supposed to be.
“Did you hear me?”
He gave a huge sigh. “Just do it, OK? I don’t have time for this.”
Mercifully, his other phone rang. “Paola, I have to go—”
“Don’t you dare hang up on me, you miserable piece of shit—”
She was still screaming when he hung up and picked up the other mobile. “It’s about time. What’s taken you so long?”
“Ah, so you’ve been expecting my call,” a robotic voice said.
Abruptly, the man stopped pacing the deck. “Who is this?”
“That’s not important. What’s important is what I know about you and Heritage Pharma, among other things.”
He frantically looked around the vast sea that surrounded him. Despite the miles of ocean around him, his spine tingled as if he were being watched. No, they couldn’t be. There wasn’t another vessel in sight.
“Are you still there? This is just a friendly conversation. But we can make it more difficult if necessary.”
“What . . .” The words caught in his throat. “What do you want?”
“That’s much better.” The voice was monotone, with no distinguishing accent. It was impossible to even decipher the sex of the speaker.
“I believe you have received some photographs, yes?”
So, this was his blackmailer. Baldisar walked toward the bow and stared out across the deserted stretch of water. They had some intimate photos of him. Big deal. “That’s old news, my wife already knows about that. Why should I care?” he said, more emboldened.
“Tsk, tsk, you underestimate me. Your wife might care about those photos. Perhaps even your superiors. But me? The documents I possess have much more significance, I assure you.”
His antenna went up. Documents? They had something other than embarrassing photographs.
“I know you had a research scientist killed. The one who was about to blow the whistle on the faulty drug trials at Heritage Pharma.”
He sunk heavily into a nearby deck chair. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said with all the calm he could muster.
“You were heavily invested in Heritage. I believe the recent dumping of your personal Heritage shares would be referred to as insider trading.”
It must be someone associated with the company he used to make his stock trades. Some low-life scum who had seriously misjudged him.
“I don’t know who the hell you think you’re dealing with, but—”
“No, you don’t know who you’re dealing with. Now, shut the fuck up and listen to me very carefully. I’m only going to make this offer once. After that I go to the authorities.”
The abrupt change in tone had him rooted to the spot. “What do you want?”
“Very good. Now, isn’t it easier to do this in a friendly, cooperative manner?”
Chapter Thirteen
In his private stateroom, he poured himself a stiff drink and considered his options. Whoever was blackmailing him knew precise details about the car bombing that had killed Clarence Braithwaite—the whistleblower who was about to expose the faulty Heritage trials. They also knew about Heritage Pharma and the proliferation of shell companies he’d used to clean the proceeds of crime that ran the gamut from drug dealing to international terrorism. And he wasn’t the only one.
He tugged his fingers through his hair. Everything had been running perfectly—like clockwork—for years. How had it all gone so wrong so fast? He’d thought himself invincible. Now, his churning gut told him otherwise. Grimacing, he picked up the phone and hit the speed dial.
“It’s me,” he said when she answered. “We need to talk, but not on the phone. Can you contact me via our usual means?”
He detected a slight edge to her voice, but she agreed and hung up. He flipped open his laptop and waited.
It was a few minutes before her encrypted message came through.
What’s up?
Someone knows about the Heritage.
Through the portal glass he could see storm clouds gathering to the west. He called up to his captain as he waited for her reply.
How do you know?
I’m being blackmailed. We are being blackmailed.
What do you mean “we”?
Can you meet me at our spot at 6 p.m.?
Is that wise? The police are looking for you.
They won’t find us there. I’ll send the helicopter for you.
All right.
And she signed off.
* * *
As they cruised into the cove of his private island, he couldn’t help but admire the view from the boat. High atop a hill, and only accessible by a secure underground elevator, sat the house he had built for his retirement. For the days he’d been counting down to when he could liquidate his formidable assets, cleanly. Before everything had gone so horribly wrong.
The house, though aesthetically pleasing, was built like a fortress. By design, there was no dock. The yacht’s captain would anchor out and then, as he had ordered, no crew were to accompany them; only his bodyguard would pilot the launch that would deliver him to the beach.
Likely hearing the noise of the engines, she had come out onto the patio off the main salon. She had on a short dress of some sort and held a drink in her hand. Despite everything on his mind, he felt a familiar stirring in his body.
“Idle off,” he said when they reached the shore. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be staying.”
The bodyguard nodded.
Dusk was falling as he made his way through a fragrant grove of pomegranate and carob trees. The helicopter sat on its pad with the pilot and co-pilot inside. He gave them a nod, then looked into the retinal scanner that would open the elevator. He arrived on the main floor, deposited his bag and laptop and made his way out to the deck.
She turned when she heard him, champagne flute in hand. Under his tutelage, she’d blossomed from a plain, timid researcher to a woman who could hold her own, both intellectually and now, thanks to a little help from his friends in the fashion and beauty industries, the looks department. Her highlighted strawberry-blonde hair was piled in a messy knot on top of her head. The long, tanned legs beneath the filmy shift she wore were the toned limbs of a runner. Since he’d seen her from the boat, she’d put on a loose linen blouse which she’d tied at the waist. He felt another flush of arousal as he stepped toward her.
“Champagne?” she asked, extending a glass toward him.
He took a sip, but the cool liquid did little to assuage his anxiety. She had returned his kiss and embrace, but he could feel the tension in every sinew of her body.
“Who contacted you? How much do they know?”
“I don’t know who, but they know everything.” Even things he’d conveniently forgotten. He picked up his glass and drained it in one gulp.
“What will you do?”
“It’s what we must do, my dear.”
She froze, her champagne glass clutched in her hand. “What do you mean?”
“They know I found out about the faulty research in the cancer drug trials and that’s how I was able to dump my stock before it went public.”
Her face shone pale against the darkening sky. “How could they know that?”
They moved inside and he refilled their glasses. She sat on a bar stool watching him while he forced himself to take his eyes off the dark V he could see where her thighs didn’t quite meet. That warm spot he knew like the back of his hand.
“It no longer matters how they know. What matters now is what we are going to do about it.” Was it his imagination or did he detect her wince at the second mention of “we”?
He pulled her into an embrace and started to untie her overblouse, but she wriggled free ,taking her champagne with her.
“Clarence Braithwaite was in charge of the particular drug trial that went wrong,” she said. “It was awful the way he died in that car bombing, but thankfully that secret died with him.
”
“Yes, well you have me to thank for that. I had an insider in the lab on my payroll. One that was quite willing to throw you under the bus.”
She took a step closer to him. “What are you talking about?”
“He was about to blow the whistle on the faulty research before I could dump my stock. I couldn’t let that happen.”
“You were behind that car bombing? Jesus, what have you done?”
“For Christ’s sake, between him and that Calleja woman, they were about to expose us.”
Her hand flew to her mouth. “What do you mean, the Calleja woman?” She stared at him, her eyes wide, her expression horrified. “Please don’t tell me you were behind her assassination!”
He tamped down the slow rage and indignation that threatened to explode. But he didn’t confirm or deny her question. “What matters now is making this go away. Then we can get on with what we’ve been planning all this time.”
“We haven’t been planning this for a long time. You were corrupt long before I met you. If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have had that chance to divest yourself of your Heritage holdings.”
His blood, which had run hot at the mere thought of having sex with her, now coursed through his veins like ice water. Yes, they were in deep, but he was not going to be sold down the river by this tart. “For which they can put you in prison for a very long time, my dear.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You bastard. How dare you!”
He softened his tone. Brought it down a notch. “Look, I can pay the money, then it will all be over. If we don’t cooperate, we will both go to prison for the rest of our lives.”
Standing ramrod straight, she hugged her arms as if suddenly chilled. She fixed him with a piercing stare. “I’m done. I’m going to the police.” Her voice was so quiet he had to strain to hear her.
He sighed and shook his head. “You stupid bitch. As you said, the proof died with Clarence Braithwaite. All you have to do is deny everything and we’ll be fine.”
Like a rocket, she crossed the space between them and slapped him hard across the face. “Don’t you goddamn use ‘we’ again. I am highly respected, for God’s sake! It will be your word against mine.” Her eyes were wild. “I will not do this.”
She glared at him while he fought to keep his fists at his sides. He would not stoop to hitting a woman. He thrust his hands into his pockets.
A few moments later, he heard the soft ping of the elevator opening behind him.
The blood drained from her face and her eyes widened. “You wouldn’t,” she whispered, turning to him. “Please, no!”
“You know what to do,” he hissed as he walked past the newcomer and the elevator doors shut behind him.
* * *
Following his boss’s orders, he took the woman to the cavernous basement that served as a safe room should it ever be needed, where he bound and gagged her. He locked the solid steel door behind him and made his way up to the next floor.
He looked around. So this is how the other half live. The opulence was astounding. From behind the sheer netting that covered the floor to ceiling windows, he could see his superior under the lights of the beach waiting for the launch that approached the shore. He waited until he’d seen both men board the yacht, the launch had been winched in, and the boat headed out to sea. Then he went downstairs and opened the steel door.
Chapter Fourteen
After their trip to Mdina, Nico had arranged to meet Elle for breakfast. The only place he could think to suggest was the café he and Francesca had gone to the day he’d arrived in Valletta. It was set on a quiet side street close to the hotel. The unhurried walk gave him time to reflect on what it might have been like to be here with Ariana in her native country. Despite her misgivings about the rampant corruption that reined over Malta, he knew it was a place she still loved. If not for the tragic circumstances that had brought him here, he could have walked for miles in the freshness of the early-morning peacefulness. And thought about her and all the memories he treasured.
Soon, the streets would be engorged with tourists, interspersed with locals weaving their way through and around them, no doubt cursing under their breath. In a city so beautiful, it was difficult to remember that its denizens still had to live and work here. Not unlike Tropea.
As he rounded the corner, he saw Elle had secured a table outside and was deeply engrossed typing something on her phone. It was a beautiful morning with the temperature already pleasantly warm. Elle had shrugged off her jacket and was basking in the sun. Nico couldn’t help but notice her well-toned arms as she raised her coffee cup to her lips.
She looked up as he approached the table. “I’ve just ordered, do you know what you’d like?”
Nico turned to their server. “I’ll have whatever the lady is having.” He’d hoped to run into the waitress who’d given him Francesca’s address, but she didn’t appear to be working today.
“Catching up on work?” Nico pointed to an open notebook and Elle’s mobile phone on the table.
“Somewhat. Actually, I was looking into flights back to the UK.”
Nico felt a brief twinge of something—surprise, disappointment? He wasn’t sure which. “Oh?”
“Mm. I’m not sure how much longer I can stay on here. Much as I hate to say it, the investigations are in the hands of the authorities now, aren’t they? As incapable though they might be. I’m thinking I should get back to London to finish the exposé on Baldisar. Somebody needs to nail that bastard. With the news of the raids fresh in people’s minds, it would be perfect timing. I know it sounds a little self-serving but now that I’m freelancing, I can’t afford not to scoop the story.”
“How soon would you leave?”
“Well, I have a few things to clear up here, but I was thinking of catching a flight tomorrow.”
That certainly changed things. It also provided some urgency for him to get off the fence and find out what, if anything, she knew about Max. But how?
Their breakfast arrived, and he was pleasantly surprised to see they each had a steaming plate of eggs, fried potatoes, toast and sausages, the latter of which he offered to Elle. When she happily scooped them onto her plate, he was reminded of the gusto with which they’d dug into her plate of rabbit livers in Mdina.
“I know it might feel a bit like I’m abandoning ship,” Elle said as she stabbed a piece of sausage and chewed it. “But I thought I might actually be of more help from London.”
“How so?”
“With my contacts there, I can dig deeper into the whole thing with Dr. Braithwaite’s late husband, the whistleblower. And Heritage Pharma. She’s apparently taken an indefinite leave of absence, but they still support her lab at the university. But I need to be there on the ground to do that.” She took a sip of her coffee. “How much longer will you stay on?”
Come to think of it, Nico wasn’t sure how much more time he could take away from his job either, given that he was essentially in Malta for personal reasons. On his last phone call, Sergio had indicated there were rumblings from the higher-ups, questioning Nico’s extended absence. He wasn’t sure if Mifsud might have reported his inaction to Nico’s superiors, but either way, he couldn’t imagine leaving Malta until they found Francesca, and he’d located his son.
In that moment, he made his decision. He waited until they’d both finished their breakfasts and the waiter had topped up their coffees before he fingered the worn piece of paper in his trousers pocket. “I know you and Ariana were often investigating the same cases from different angles, but how well did you know her personally?”
Her eyes narrowed. “We were close, why?”
“Did she live alone on Gozo, do you know?” That sounded pathetic, like he was asking about Ariana’s love life.
Elle sat back in her chair and stared at him. “Exactly how well did you know, Ariana?” she asked, rather sharply. “I would think you, of all people, would have known that.”
Checkmate.
“Did she ever mention a little boy to you?” It sounded open-ended enough. He could have been asking about a nephew.
Elle’s jaw dropped. “You know about Max,” she whispered. Her expression softened, and she leaned across the table. “I’m sorry, Nico, I wasn’t sure if you did, hence why I didn’t say anything. I’ve been worried sick about him. Is he all right?”
So it wasn’t Elle who Ariana had entrusted with his son.
“I’m sorry, too. It’s just that . . . When did you last see him?”
Elle visibly relaxed and took a sip of her coffee. “Oh, that’s easy. Ariana brought him to London for his fifth birthday. Twenty-sixth of January. Unfortunately, it was typically filthy, wet weather, but Max didn’t seem to notice.”
“Did they stay with you?”
“Of course, they always did when they came. We took him on the London Eye,” she said. “Ariana insisted on taking Max to the London Dungeons, which I felt wasn’t the best choice for a five-year-old, but he was all right. I think we could have left him at the zoo for the day, though— he loved it there so much he wouldn’t have noticed we’d gone. We practically had to drag him out even though he was falling asleep.” Her eyes lit up as she gave Nico a blow-by-blow description of their days together.
“Ariana always insisted Max write me a thank-you note whenever they’d visit. I’ve kept every single one of them.”
“How did Max address Ariana?” Nico asked.
“What do you mean? She was his mother.”
“Yes, but did he call her ‘Mummy’ or ‘Mama’?”
“Oh, ‘Mummy.’ Always.” She looked puzzled. “Why do you ask?”
“The night before Ariana died, she told me she’d sent Max somewhere for his safety. Do you have any idea who she might have entrusted him to?” Nico took a deep breath. “Could it possibly have been Max’s father?”
Elle shook her head. “I don’t believe so. Ariana never confided in me who Max’s father was. As you know, she was very private. But as far as I know, he’s never been involved in Max’s life.”
