The Secret Heiress

by Judith Gould

  “Very good, Mr. Atkins,” she said. Her eyes gleamed with intensity as she went on. “I’ve got to get something on him, and you’ve got carte blanche. He travels a lot, so it’s not going to be easy to keep up with him, but I don’t care how much it costs or what it takes. Dig up some dirt on the son of a bitch.”

  “Not a problem,” Atkins said confidently. “We’ll exchange cell numbers, and I’ll take a retainer. Then I’ll get busy on it right away.”

  “Excellent,” Nikoletta said. Adrian Single had been like a surrogate father to her, but those days were over. She would never forgive him for his betrayal in Peru. He’d made promises to the workers there in direct violation of her policies. He was a traitor, and he was going to pay.

  At first Adrian thought he was dreaming, but as the telephone at his bedside continued to ring, penetrating the layers of his consciousness, he realized that the sound was not part of a dream but only a few feet from his pillow. Blindly reaching toward the lamp, he turned on the switch and peered at the clock. Two a.m.

  It couldn’t be good news, he thought, picking up the receiver. “Hello,” he said, still half-asleep.

  “Adrian, it’s Yves.”

  “What’s going on?” Adrian asked, sitting up in bed, struggling to fully awaken from a deep sleep.

  “I have very bad news to report, I’m afraid,” Yves said. “There’s been a rebel attack in the Sassandra region, near Dagbego.”

  “Where?” he asked.

  “Near Dagbego. It’s in Ivory Coast,” Yves said. “It’s been under government control, but apparently New Forces, the rebel group, has made inroads and—”

  Adrian bolted wide-awake, his body flooded with a rush of adrenaline. “Don’t tell me,” he said, interrupting Yves.

  “I wish I didn’t have to,” Yves said. In his distress, his English, which normally was barely accented, was heavily laden with French. “It’s . . . it’s Bianca. I’m afraid she was killed in a massacre.”

  Adrian felt his stomach knot, and bile began to rise in his throat. “Does Angelo know?” he asked, fighting back the nauseous taste in his mouth.

  “No, not yet,” Yves replied. “I’m on my way to Milano now. I would appreciate it if you’d meet me in the office there.”

  “I’ll fly over at once,” Adrian said, already getting out of bed.

  “Oh,” Yves added, “I would have Sugar Rosebury come with you. She has a very good . . . ah . . . stabilizing effect on Angelo. And God knows we’ll need it. Even with the three of us breaking the news to Angelo, he’ll be beside himself.”

  “What about Nikoletta?” Adrian asked, wondering if she’d been called with the news yet.

  Yves barked a laugh. “I say let the dragon sleep while she can. Angelo’s not going to take this lying down, you know.”

  “Not a chance of that,” Adrian replied.

  “I think keeping Niki out of the loop for the time being is the best policy.”

  “You’re right about that,” Adrian agreed. “I’ll meet you in Milan and bring Sugar with me. We’ll stay in touch by cell phone.”

  “Very well,” Yves said.

  Adrian replaced the receiver in its cradle. He would have to call Sugar immediately and tell her to fly to Italy. The thought made him feel sick to his stomach. Bianca gone, he thought. Dead. It seemed impossible. She had been so vibrant and beautiful and good. She’d had everything in the world given to her, but she was one of those who wanted to give back selflessly. She’d never taken anything for granted.

  His thoughts turned to Nikoletta. This was her doing. Of that, there was no doubt. Her recklessness had reached a truly dangerous point, resulting in Bianca’s death. I’m afraid it’s time to finally do something about Niki, he thought as he picked up the receiver to dial Sugar. Niki’s completely out of control.

  The helicopter descended onto the helipad situated on the vast lawn of the Coveri estate on Lake Como. From its windows, Sugar, Yves, and Adrian had a view of the beautiful lake and the stunning residences that dotted its shores. Directly beneath them, the well-tended grass was blown almost flat to the ground by the downdraft of the chopper’s powerful rotors. After it landed and the rotors were switched off, the three-some walked together toward the Coveri villa, dreading what lay ahead.

  Giulia came toward them from the villa’s main entrance, a worried expression on her face. The unexpected arrival did not bode well. “Adrian?” she called to him, in a strained voice. “I mean, you are all very welcome, of course, but . . . ?”

  “Giulia,” Sugar said, rushing forward to greet her, kissing her on both cheeks. She put an arm around the old woman’s shoulder and took one of her hands in hers. “We must talk,” she said, guiding her back toward the house.

  On the steps stood Angelo Coveri, smartly dressed in a sport jacket, an open-neck checked shirt with paisley ascot, trousers, and suede driving shoes. He had heard the helicopter, and the grim expressions of the approaching visitors told him everything he needed to know. The blood drained from his face. He silently turned and went back inside.

  Adrian caught sight of him. “I’ll meet you there,” he said to Yves, and went ahead, pausing briefly at Giulia’s side, gently patting her heaving shoulders. Tears streamed down her face, but she was silent. “Give me a moment alone with Angelo, okay?”

  Adrian rushed on inside. The house was still as a tomb, he thought as he walked to Angelo’s library, where he was usually to be found. Reaching the doorway, he gazed in and saw Angelo slumped in the well-worn leather chair he normally occupied. He was staring unseeingly out the French doors.

  Adrian walked quietly toward Angelo. Putting a hand on the back of the chair, he said softly, “We need to talk.”

  Angelo didn’t appear to have heard him. He continued staring dully out the window, unmoving and mute.

  Adrian pulled a small chair next to Angelo’s and put a hand on the old man’s shoulder. “Angelo,” he repeated, “we need to talk.”

  Finally, Angelo turned his face slightly toward Adrian. “What is it you have to say, Adrian?” he asked sotto voce.

  “There’s been news about . . . Bianca,” Adrian began. He cleared his throat before continuing. “She’s been killed in an attack in Africa, Angelo.”

  Angelo’s face, already pale, grew rigid as a death mask. He gripped the arms of the leather chair with his hands, the veins standing out in bold relief. His jaw began to quiver uncontrollably.

  Adrian took a deep breath and expelled it noisily. What can I say? he wondered, groping for words. What in the world can I do that will ease his pain? But he knew that there was nothing he could say that would make this any easier for Angelo. His daughter had been the only life he’d ever had outside of his work for PPHL.

  Adrian hadn’t removed the hand he’d placed on Angelo’s shoulder, and now as he saw tears roll down the man’s cheeks, he stroked his shoulder gently.

  Behind him, Adrian heard Yves enter the room. Sugar, her arms around a weeping Giulia, followed him in. They sat on a love seat nearby. Sugar saw the pallor of Angelo’s face, then looked with alarm at Adrian. He signaled her with a finger to his lips, but Sugar ignored him.

  “Angelo, darling,” she said soothingly. “We know this is terrible for you, but we’re here for you. If you need anything, anything at all, you just say the word.”

  Angelo didn’t look at her, nor did he respond. After a few more moments of silence, he took a crisp white handkerchief from his trouser pocket and dabbed the tears on his cheeks. Then, as if possessed by a demonic spirit, his face turned crimson with rage, and he threw Adrian’s arm from his shoulder with terrific force.

  “Get your goddamned hand off me!” he shouted. “Don’t you touch me!”

  Adrian quickly stood up and moved away from Angelo, standing near the French doors. “Angelo—” he began.

  “How dare you show your face here?” Angelo roared. “How dare you?” He thrust an accusatory finger in Adrian’s direction. “You. You who disregarded m
y fears for Bianca’s safety. You who mimicked Niki, saying she would be safe with the guards. You . . . you fucking Judas!”

  Adrian stood in shamed silence listening to his old friend’s rebukes, knowing that there was little he could say in his defense. He had known of the risks that Bianca was taking. There was no doubt about that. But he’d also known that she insisted on taking them and that there was no stopping her.

  When he didn’t immediately respond to Angelo, the old man roared like an animal and leaped to his feet. Without warning, he launched himself at Adrian and began pummeling him with his fists, beating his chest with all his might.

  Adrian stood his ground, allowing Angelo to hammer away at him, refusing to fight back. If it helps him, he thought, he can beat on me till kingdom come.

  Sugar and Yves rose to their feet and grabbed Angelo’s arms, trying to make him stop. “Angelo!” Sugar cried. “Stop! Stop at once. You’re only going to hurt yourself, and this isn’t going to solve any problems.”

  As suddenly as he’d started, Angelo ceased pummeling Adrian and slipped from Yves’s and Sugar’s grasps. He collapsed on the floor at their feet. Giulia let out a cry of alarm and rushed to him, kneeling down on the floor beside him. “Angelo!” she cried. “Oh, Angelo! What have you done to yourself?”

  He lay silent, his chest heaving with exertion, his face still red with rage. Then he shoved Giulia away with an arm and lifted his head from the floor. Holding Adrian’s gaze, he said, “I swear by Almighty God that I am going to kill you. And when I’ve accomplished that, I’m going to kill that bitch Nikoletta.”

  Giulia sucked in her breath and began crying again. She shook her head from side to side in anguish while the others stared at Angelo.

  He began sobbing and cried out, “My Bianca was worth a hundred Nikolettas! A thousand Nikolettas!” His head slumped to the floor again, and he wept quietly, his strength almost spent.

  Sugar caught Adrian’s eye and nodded imperceptibly, signaling that perhaps it was for the best if he left.

  “When you’re ready to talk about this, Angelo—” Adrian began, but he wasn’t allowed to finish.

  “Out! Get out!”

  Adrian had no choice but to obey. He went down the hallway disconsolately and out the entrance to the helicopter. He hoped that Angelo would have a change of heart. He’d loved Bianca like a favorite cousin, and her death had been a terrible blow to him, too. Angelo surely knew that.

  Nikoletta was another story. He heaved a sigh. The time has come to implement my plan, he thought with rising dread. I’ve held off too long already. Bianca’s death is proof of that. When the telephone call had come from Yves, he’d known it was time. For years he’d prepared for something like this, and he saw no choice but to move forward.

  Chapter Fifteen

  London, England

  Darkness had fallen, and the tour boats with their guides and camera-toting tourists had stopped running for the night. Only a few late strollers walked along the promenade. Along the picturesque canals of Little Venice the colorfully painted live-aboard barges decorated with flowerpots and laundry lines seemed to be apparitions with glowing windows.

  Just across the pool from Browning’s Island, draped with its willows, the windows of one single-wide, permanently moored barge glowed in the dark like others, but anyone passing by along the promenade would find it impossible to peer in past the drawn curtains. Nor could anyone eavesdrop. The windows and doors aboard this barge had been carefully locked, and only indistinct shadows could be seen moving about behind the cheerful print of the curtain fabric.

  Inside the barge, the moderately successful young sculptor who owned it was playing host to a gathering of acquaintances. His wife, a designer of Web sites, sat quietly breast-feeding their baby. Their guests were nine bohemian types, all young men and women with faces that radiated ideological righteousness.

  The group was all environmental activists who belonged to this particular English cell of Mother Earth’s Children. Like the other cells in various countries, this one was kept separate from others for anti-infiltration purposes. The nine members of the cell invited to gather on the barge considered themselves especially honored. On board was a thirteenth person—a heroic guest of honor—on whom all eyes were riveted.

  Kees Vanmeerendonk was recovered from the gunshot wound he had suffered while scuffling with Adrian Single on St. Barth’s, and his eyes burned with the feverish intensity of a revolutionary. Compared with the photographs in Interpol’s files, Kees was totally unrecognizable. The slender, dark-haired and bearded would-be assassin had purposely gained weight, shaved off his beard and hair, and assumed the guise of a skin-head, wearing the familiar uniform of bleachers—skintight bleached jeans—held up by suspenders, along with a Fred Perry shirt and twenty-hole boots that laced up to his knees. His gaze, that of a true believer, was the only physical characteristic that was familiar to those who knew him.

  “Is it really necessary to resort to violence?” asked the newest member of the cell, a gaunt-faced young woman who sported a buzz cut, denim overalls, and Doc Martens.

  Before the guest of honor could answer her question, she continued. “Wouldn’t peaceful activism like Martin Luther King’s, or nonviolent, headline-grabbing confrontations like Greenpeace’s serve us equally as well?”

  Kees Vanmeerendonk shook his hairless head. “The answer is no,” he said adamantly. “Especially where PPHL is concerned. Under Nikoletta Papadaki, PPHL has joined the five privately owned top polluters in the world. And privately owned polluters are the most dangerous because they don’t have to answer to stockholders.”

  His eyes took on a fiery intensity, and he used a finger to stress his point, saying, “Nikoletta Papadaki is the symbol of all that is wrong with this planet. The damage that she alone is doing to mother earth will take thousands, maybe even millions, of years to repair. She is guilty of trying to kill the planet that sustains us, and the only way to send out our message so that it is truly heard is to make an example of her. She’s left us no choice.”

  He paused briefly for dramatic effect before continuing. “She has to die.”

  Kees looked around the small circle. “Any other questions?”

  There were none.

  He nodded with satisfaction. “In the meantime, don’t let up the pressure. Continue with the demonstrations. And remember, the more violent and newsworthy they are, the more the world will be aware of the continuing transgressions against nature.”

  After another fifteen minutes or so of conversation, the host thanked Kees with the effusiveness reserved for heroes, and Kees slipped out into the night alone, his destination unknown to the other cell members. The gaunt-faced young woman quickly rushed out after him, ignoring the protests of her hosts. She spotted him, already in the distance, and ran to catch up with him.

  Over a period of another hour, the remaining guests left the barge at intervals, each one alone.

  The activity had been so furtive that not even the residents of the neighboring barges were aware that a meeting had taken place. They knew little of the young sculptor and his wife, but they would all agree that he seemed a talented young father and she a wonderful mother to their adorable baby.

  Chapter Sixteen

  They were still miles from the city when Ariadne got her first glimpse of Manhattan’s skyscrapers. “It’s breathtaking,” she said enthusiastically, squeezing Matt’s shoulder. “Pictures don’t do it justice. Oh, look, Matt! You can see the Empire State Building.”

  Matt grinned. “I can’t believe you’ve never been into the city.”

  “I know. It’s crazy, especially since it’s so close. I wanted to come in so much, but my parents always warned against it. You know, they think it’s a big bad place where people get murdered in the streets.”

  “A lot of the people in the country are like that,” he said.

  “Most of the locals around Roxbury have never been, and they don’t have any desire to.”


  They drove in on the East Side, and Matt parked the Jeep in a garage. “How about if we start with a walk?” he asked, pocketing the parking ticket. “That’s the best way to see things.”

  “I’d love that,” Ariadne said. She was so excited that she thought she could walk all day.

  Holding hands with her, he led her across town from Third Avenue to Madison, and they began walking downtown. “Oh, my,” Ariadne said as they strolled past the designer boutiques. “I’ve never seen so many beautiful clothes in one place in my life.”

  Matt put an arm around her shoulders. “It is nice, isn’t it?”

  After several blocks, he led her across to Fifth Avenue, and they changed direction and began walking uptown. “You can get a different perspective,” he said.

  Ariadne loved strolling along Central Park, gawking at the apartment buildings across the avenue, with their white-gloved doormen, then turning to look into the verdancy of the park itself. “The people who live along here have a fantastic view,” she said.

  They reached the Metropolitan Museum of Art and sat on the steps for a while, enjoying the sunshine while taking a breather. “We can go in if you want to,” Matt offered, “or save the museum for another time.”

  “Let’s save it,” she said. “It’s so wonderful outside today.” Besides, she thought, she liked the idea of coming into the city with him again.

  They watched a mime’s performance and a juggler before reversing direction and heading down the avenue. She enjoyed window-shopping at the big department and specialty stores and strolling through the Art Deco wonder of Rockefeller Center. Afterward, they peeked into the silent grandeur of St. Patrick’s Cathedral.

  “Are you getting tired?” Matt asked solicitously.

  She shook her head. “No. Not even close,” she said. “This is all too exciting to get tired.”