"I wondered why Father kept having us start on the same end of the ladder, so one day I took the measuring tape from the kitchen and checked for myself. How’s everything going?"
Jordan grinned. “Great. I crossed the first beam today."
I smiled. The barn was crisscrossed by a series of beams, some of them originally meant for support of the structure, but Father had installed others as well, narrowing until there was one that was actually just a strong steel bar one inch wide. The first beam was actually four inches wide and was one of the original timbers used to construct the barn. Not much of a challenge in terms of balance, but doing it nearly twenty feet in the air made it a mental challenge for sure. "Good. I’ll have to come watch the next time."
"What about you?" Jordan asked. "I've seen what Francois can do, what about you?"
"Yes, come now, Felix, we can’t spend all day just taking walks and working on the computer," Francois taunted me. "Surely you can do a little bit."
I cocked an eyebrow and crossed my arms over my chest. While it was true that Francois was better than me at the gymnastic challenges the barn presented, I was no couch potato. "Do you really want to go there?"
"I do," he said. "Would you like to place a wager on it?"
I thought about it, then nodded. Why not? It wasn't like our wagers were ever for anything serious, usually a silly prank or someone doing something for the other. One of our father's rules was that we were never to put money between us, and we had never broken that rule. "All right. What's the challenge?"
"Serie 4," Francois replied. "What are the terms?"
"If I complete it, then Jordan has to play guitar for our mothers after dinner tonight," I said. "If I lose, I play violin solo."
Jordan started, then shook her head. “That's not fair. I’m not even involved! If you complete this . . . whatever it is, you still have to play with me."
"Two songs as a duet," I countered, enjoying that Jordan was getting into the idea of negotiation. "And you have to play two more songs solo. Come now, it’s poetic. Four songs for Serie 4."
"Deal," Jordan said. “Even though I don’t have a clue what a Serie 4 is.”
Serie 4 was one of the training challenges that our father had set up for us as we grew into adulthood. He’d set up a circuit that was to be completed in twelve minutes I quickly explained. "Give me a few minutes to warm up and get myself ready."
Francois gestured with his hand like go ahead, be my guest, all you are doing is delaying the inevitable. Jordan watched nervously as I took off my shoes and socks. I stripped off my shirt and stretched, doing a quick warm up. I had accepted a big challenge, and I knew it. Still, a bet was a bet, and I knew that Francois was trying to show me up. I squatted and did pushups, slowly flushing my muscles with the blood that was needed to keep them loose and ready for the challenge ahead. Heading over to the dipping rings, I reached up and grabbed them. I was allowed to jump up to the dip position but had to start on the ground.
"Your time starts . . . now," Francois said, and I started my dips. The biggest challenge of Serie 4, and the only reason I could complete it in time, was that instead of just using my upper body like Francois could, I used my legs from the beginning. The dips were ugly, but by kicking my legs in time with my arms, I could use the shift of weight to help. I got through them quickly and walked over to the center beam.
"You're going slow already? I’ll regret missing out on Jordan's playing," Francois taunted. "You’re already forty seconds in."
Instead of wasting my breath on him, I climbed the beam, which had been worn smooth after two decades of me and my brother scaling it, which was why I could climb it without shoes on. Reaching the top I took a breath to steady myself before taking the first beam at a light jog, then going down the rope and back to the rings. "Time?"
"Two minutes, thirty seconds," Jordan said. "You can do it."
I wasn't so confident in my abilities. Sure, it was less than a quarter of the amount of time for the challenge, but I still had three more iterations to go, and I knew my laps would slow as fatigue set in. Francois had been right, since the break-in at the JANM, I'd been lax in my personal fitness upkeep.
Still, with Jordan there cheering me, her calm voice encouraging me while she counted off the repetitions of the dips, I pushed on, and by the end of the third lap, I was still on target. "Nine minutes even," Jordan said, her voice rising in excitement. "Come on Felix, I know you can do it. I believe in you."
Her words were a cooling balm to my aching chest and shoulders, and I pushed harder, my eyes focused on her to distract myself from the pain. I got through the twenty-five dips and ran to the main beam, knowing I had no seconds to spare. My fingers ached as I climbed, and I nearly slipped getting to the top. I grabbed the top and got up, gasping. "Twenty seconds!" Jordan called. "Hurry!"
Hurrying was the last thing I wanted to do, but the beam needed to be crossed. Trusting to habit, I stepped out, taking the curve as a way to wrap my feet around the surface instead of as a challenge to my balance. I was nearly three-quarters of the way across when my right foot slipped a bit, and my balance started to go. I got my left foot on the beam but there was no way I'd make the other platform safely. Instead, I pushed as hard as I could with my left foot, aiming with my hands to grab the wood of the far platform. I barely made contact, but it was enough to change the direction of my momentum, which is what I wanted. The rope dangling from underneath I grabbed with my thighs, letting go of the wood to supposedly grab the rope before sliding down nearly uncontrolled, impacting the dirt hard. My ankle rolled as I landed, and I groaned. "Time!"
"Eleven minutes, fifty-eight seconds," Jordan said. "You did it!"
Her elation was replaced a second later as she realized I was crumpled to the ground in pain, massaging my ankle. "What's wrong?"
"Just twisted it I think," I hissed. "Shouldn't have rushed so much. Had two whole seconds to spare."
"Then you know by the rules you lose," Francois said, coming over and offering his hand. "We can’t be injured in the course of our capers. But, since I want to hear Jordan play more than listen to you make your violin sound like a cat being skinned alive, I’ll leave the judgment to our beautiful lady here. Jordan? A win or a loss for Felix?"
"I call it a win," Jordan said. "Now, let's get you inside and get that ankle treated."
Leaning on Francois and Jordan, I hobbled inside, where Francois got me an ice pack. While I was icing my ankle, Charani came back from town. "What foolishness did you three get up to?" she asked when she saw my dusty pants and iced ankle. "No doubt showing off for your new love."
"Guilty as charged, but Francois did make a bet with me," I countered with a grin. "Come now, what would we be if we didn’t stand up to a good bet?"
"Do I even want to know how you got hurt?" she asked. "Or will I be upset that you nearly got yourself killed? Besides, isn't doing stupid physical stunts my son's job?"
"Mother . . .” Francois fumed. "It only happened a few times."
Jordan was about to ask what we were talking about when an unfamiliar car pulled into the backyard area of the house, and two men got out. One of them, a huge bulky man that I immediately pegged as North African, probably Lybian or Moroccan, took an immediate look around, security screaming from every unspoken word of his behavior. The other was indeterminate, he could have been any of two dozen different backgrounds. "Who’s this?"
"Stay here, I'll find out," Francois said, motioning for me to stay down. He went out into the yard, where he and the second of the two men, clearly the boss of the pair, started talking, too low for me to hear. The man pulled out a document, and Francois looked it over before staring at the man in shock, then crumpling the paper and throwing it in his chest.
I was on my feet in an instant, the pain in my ankle forgotten as the larger of the two men, obviously a bodyguard of some type, pulled a pistol from under his jacket and pointed it at Francois. "Stop!" I yelled, walking out of the house. My
ankle was screaming at me, but there was no way I was going to show these men I was hobbled in any way. "What’s going on here?"
Francois was staring at the men, his face red with anger. "This . . . man claims that he has taken possession of our lands in Albania."
"What?" I asked, turning to him. “What are you talking about?”
The man, who I could now tell was certainly of mixed blood, most likely Albanian, Turkish, maybe some Arab, picked up the paper out of the dirt. "You are Felix Hardy?"
"Yes. You still haven't answered my question, and I don't exactly appreciate your friend there pulling a pistol. Put it away." The bodyguard looked to his boss, who nodded. "Now, how can I help you?"
"I am . . . well, you can call me Al," the boss said, clearly using a false name. "I represent a group of investors who look for international real estate bargains and other areas of profit. Recently, we took possession of a property, just north of the city of Durres, Albania. It was a governmental repossession, and my group has requested that I be the one to notify you of the situation. Here, the papers are all in order."
He handed me the crumpled sheets, and I looked them over. Unfortunately, the political pressures of the recent months had made things chaotic in Albania. Refugees, Greek banks, and just in general the economy of the European Union meant that it was not very well settled. According to the papers, the Albanian government had implemented a new tax, and that my family's property had not paid it. Swooping in, these vultures had paid the tax and had placed a lien on the property. With what were obviously bribes and the assistance of some corrupt officials, they now had a legal claim to the property. It was one of the advantages and disadvantages of living in Southeastern Europe. Corruption meant that you could get away with a lot. But it could bite you in the ass very quickly if you were on the wrong end of things.
I turned to Syeira and Charani, who had come out of the house along with Jordan. "Did you know about this?"
Syeira looked the papers over and shook her head. "No, of course not. When you left for America, everything was in order. My cousin should have notified me if something like this occurred."
Charani shook her head. "No, nothing. These papers must be a lie."
"Lie or not Mrs. Hardy, the facts are, we have the property. But, my group isn’t heartless. Instead of us fighting for what could be years or even decades in various courts, letting your property waste away and fall into disrepair, there is another solution."
"Yes," Charani replied, her spirit rising. "We are Romani. That is our land, I dare anyone to try and take it away from us."
"Mrs. Hardy, we’re ready to do what’s necessary to secure this land. I’d advise you to not make a fuss. Like I said, we’re not heartless, and my investment group is willing to give the title back to you, for a simple piece of work."
"What kind of work?" Jordan asked, speaking up for the first time.
"You must be Miss . . . what is it, Burrows? Or is it Banks?" the man said with a tight grin. "Not that it matters. We want to employ the Hardy brothers in a demonstration of their unique talents."
"What unique talents?" I asked, frustrated. While Jordan's papers may have fooled a customs official in Paris, they obviously were not as foolproof as I thought. Or else this man, Al, had connections with some of the very same people that I worked with. Either way, it pissed me off. “I’m just a Romani vineyard owner."
"You’re the son of Guillaume Hardy, the Mist," the man replied, using my father's nickname. "You and your brother are also following in his footsteps. Although that job in Los Angeles didn’t go as smoothly as expected, did it?"
"What do you want?" Francois spat. “Just get to it already.“
The man nodded, relaxed and as cool as a cucumber. He reached inside the long coat he was wearing and pulled out a disc.
"Technical specifications and data on your target, as well as what we know of the security involved. You have one week to decide, Mr. Hardy. If you agree to our terms, there’s an encrypted e-mail that you may contact. Good day, Mr. Hardy."
The man and his bodyguard left, their car raising dust in the yard. I looked at the data disc in my hand, then at Francois and the three women. "Let's go inside," I said, the pain in my ankle returning. "It seems we have some research to look over, as well as songs to plan out."
"Songs? What do you mean songs?" Jordan asked. "You seriously expect me to want to play guitar after that?”
I smiled and kissed her on the temple. "It is times like this, Jordan, that music and celebration are more important than ever. Why do you think the Romani are such a musical people? We've been handling things like this for thousands of years. We play music when we’re happy, when we’re sad, and when we’re angry. The time to worry is when the music stops."
Chapter 20
Jordan
Despite Francois's teasing, Felix was a decent violin player, and I enjoyed the evening even with my worries. Felix was right, losing myself in the music was exactly what I needed, and it allowed me to, at least for the evening, set it all aside. Combined with the wonderful cooking, it was a good evening.
The next day, Francois and Felix shut themselves off in the barn, taking Felix's computer with them. “We need to talk for a bit," Francois told me gently. “We’ll be out for lunch.”
Unfortunately, that left me with a lot of time on my hands, and not much to do. Fortunately though, Charani agreed to show me around. She grabbed gloves and pruning shears for us. "Let me show you the vineyard."
We walked along between the rows, Charani occasionally snipping at a late weed or a branch that was astray. I tried to keep up, but the fact was, I knew nothing about grape vines, and I didn't know if what I was looking at was part of the vine or a weed or what. "You enjoy it here?"
"I do. There’s much still to learn, but I’m trying," I said. "It’s worrisome, knowing what Felix and Francois are planning."
“Isn’t that the truth. They’re good at what they do, but I still worry. They are always in conflict whenever they plan. I was hoping that they wouldn’t have to do this for a long time. Enough time that your influence would bring peace between them.”
"Why are they in conflict?" I asked. "I've noticed sometimes that Francois likes to needle Felix."
“He doesn’t like being reminded that he’s the lesser, twice removed," Charani said, pain evident in her voice. "For a long time, I was the same way."
“What do you mean lesser,” I asked.
She snipped away another twig of grapevine and sighed. "Do you know what my birthday is?"
"No, I’m sorry.” I became very quiet, feeling deep in my gut that whatever Charani was about to tell me, it was of vital importance to my understanding the situation I was now in.
She pointed at a spot on the grape vine, and I pulled out a weed while she continued. "My birthday is January first. I was born at twelve twenty-seven in the morning. Syeira, on the other hand, her birthday is December thirty-first. She was born at eleven fifty-three at night."
"Just like Francois and Felix," I remarked. "But, how does that make them fight?"
Charani chuckled. "You see, by our tribe's law, I was second to my sister. Even in our names. Hers means 'Princess,' mine means 'Phoenix,' as in rising from the ashes of defeat, as if the order of our birth was somehow a fight that she won. Growing up, our father was much more loving and permissive to her than I. Syeira, for her part, didn’t lord it over me, but still I grew up with a certain amount of resentment of my sister. It was Guillaume's love that healed that wound in my heart."
"And you think that Francois feels the same way toward Felix?"
Charani nodded. "My father, he continued his treatment when our sons were born. Francois was not only the second born in his generation, but the child of a second born. To Guillaume's credit, he never treated Francois inferior."
“Now that you say it, I don’t know if they see it that way. From what they told me, their father held Felix to a higher standard,” I said.
&n
bsp; Charani thought, then nodded. "Perhaps you’re right."
I thought about it. “They do seem to work well together, though."
She shrugged. "They compliment each other, that’s for sure. Tell me, do you have a problem with what they do?”
"A bit," I admitted. "It's kind of weird, you know?”
Charani smiled mysteriously and shrugged. "Maybe. But you should tell me anyway.”
I laughed. "So this is what it feels like, huh? Felix told me one time in Mexico I had a talent for asking the right questions at the right time. Anyway, I guess it's weird because sure, on one hand you have the whole danger and glamor of it. I mean, they're two of the world's best thieves. That adds a bit of dangerous attraction, for sure. Add that to their natural sexiness, and it's a heady mix. Sorry, I guess I shouldn't be calling your son sexy in front of you."
Charani waved it off. “I accept that women find Felix and Francois attractive. I'd be a blind woman or an idiot if I didn’t.”
"At the same time, though, I know the danger and the risk they are taking. Even if we don’t include the physical dangers of their capers, there is the possibility they could be arrested and sent to jail for a very long time. Maybe I was hoping that Felix would become like his Father was after he married you, a gentleman farmer or something. He’s certainly mentioned it, and he’s probably the only one who could convince Francois of something like that.”
"Guillaume and I never actually married," Charani said softly, her voice dropping as she spoke. I looked up in shock and she smiled hauntingly. "The law wouldn’t allow for it. So while by Romani tradition we were man and wife, legally only Syeira and Guillaume were married. My father insisted on that. So when the boys were born, we made sure it was overseas, as you know. American citizenship is valuable, after all. When we came back to France, the locals assumed that Francois was Syeira's child as well, as the boys are too similar to say that I had a child from another man. Thankfully, I wasn’t one of those women who showed a lot in early pregnancy before we left this area. Even still, there were some who would have it be known that Francois is, at least under the law, nothing but Guillaume's bastard."
Double Dealing: A Menage Romance Page 14
