Resurrection (The Corruption Series Book 4)

by Charles Brett

  Seated in a half-empty but fast-filling room, he displayed his good manners. He started by enquiring about her familiarity with Japanese cooking.

  "Do you like sashimi and sushi?"

  "Sushi is the rolled up rice with something inside? I don't know. And the other?"

  "Sashimi is raw fish."

  "You eat raw fish?"

  "If it's good it is delicious."

  "I've never eaten Japanese before. I might as well try what you suggest. You order. All will be novel to me. Is anything cooked?"

  "There are some cooked shrimps in some form of sauce. And tempura of vegetables. Both are hot."

  "That sounds safe."

  Their waitress approached. With a brevity she admired, Stephane ordered several dishes. None were comprehensible to her. He included a bottle of white wine. There was no fuss. The way he checked with her about the wine was economical: a raised eyebrow.

  He returned his attention to her. He charmed her. She was the centre of his focus, so much so, she found herself describing her finca, her re-insurance business and her sojourn in Opus Dei. With a delicacy she appreciated, he dug deeper and congratulated her on her Opus exit.

  Dinner came and went. Though the food was all new to her, she didn't pay attention. Mastering the chopsticks proved impossible. She deployed the knife and fork provided while he wielded his chopsticks with a gentility she envied. A grain of rice proved no impediment.

  She struggled to invert the conversation. Only when she asked if he'd heard the nine giant booms did he open up. She'd guessed right. It was the new Kampanarió bells sounding for the first time.

  They passed onto fitness. She was reluctant to say too much about her exercise regime. She sensed he would want to explore. This might become too personal.

  She didn't need to worry. He distracted himself with an entertaining portrayal of the 100 Tonne Challenge, along with competing against the Kampanarió's architect.

  "Your competitor, is he as strong as you appear? You look fit, lean."

  Stephane preened. Then he surprised Inma.

  "She."

  "A woman?"

  "One very determined woman. Tough as nails. An excellent architect and designer. Working with her has its problems. She is temperamental to extremes. In contrast, in the pool, she swims like a dolphin. So graceful. By comparison I am a caravan forcing the water aside rather than slicing through as she does."

  Inma listened in rapt attention. He was exotic. His accent delighted her. He communicated his fascinations. She learned more about swimming strokes than she'd known was possible. He intoxicated.

  Somehow, with a practised ease, they returned to the weights and the differences between himself and Eleni when training. Without realising, she discovered she was deep into descriptions of her exercise regime and how she had shaped this only after years of relentless testing and refining. His questions were pertinent and interested.

  Their one interruption came with the bill brought, in pointed form, by the manager. As Stephane paid, Inma noticed all those people who had been there earlier had vanished. This shocked her. She had no idea where time had flown.

  They walked back together. It wasn't far. The taxi to come had been a waste. At the hotel Inma, felt obliged to invite him for a drink. His agreement was instant.

  In the bar, she cheered at the sight of Davide, who waved them over. She noticed he was with two women. A pang intruded. Davide introduced her to Iphi.

  Then Inma realised the other lady was Kjersti. Her heart sank. Why did 'she' always surface when it was inappropriate?

  Davide next introduced Stephane to Iphi and Kjersti. Something was wrong. Kjersti stared in shock.

  "I'm sorry. What did Davide say your name was?"

  "Stephane. Stephane Thibault-Trani, if you want the full version. Stephane is good enough."

  Chapter Thirteen

  Limassol (Cyprus)

  "If you won't you tell me who is coming, is it a man or woman?"

  Dmitriy shrugged his shoulders. He enjoyed teasing, and most of all when the other person thought himself, or herself, the master of a situation where they were the supplicant. Tassos fell into this category. Without Dmitriy, their Bank would not have its capital. Without Dmitriy, there would be no vineyard nor the wonderful development profits which Tassos secreted. The tragedy was, Tassos did not, or would not, accept he was the beholden instead of the beholder.

  "You'll have to wait, my friend. It should not be long."

  A sinking sensation overtook Tassos. Dmitriy was a bully. He'd watched Dmitriy mistreat the staff in the Limassol office before he enfolded all within the Kristina. He threatened. He never persuaded. This explained why Tassos had tried, though never succeeded, in keeping his distance.

  Tassos's apprehension rose: who could this visitor be? It would be just like Dmitriy to unleash a new threat. A related thought washed over him, one which brought acute discomfort. Might Dmitriy produce one of his escorts, one of those whom he'd paid well to mistreat? This terrified him.

  If Dmitriy should turn him over to the police for his excesses, he might find himself obliged to provide responses which would be self-indicting. His stomach pursed. All he wanted was to race back to his penthouse with his boxed metal sandwich. To watch the Kristina sail would be the best tonic available.

  Dmitriy waited for the visitor. His tactics were working on Tassos. He was half the man who had sauntered aboard with casual abandon before dinner, confident in his package and his reward to come.

  An internal phone trilled. An indistinct voice answered. The same sailor who had shown Tassos to the salon knocked and entered.

  "Mr Avakian. You have a visitor requesting to board."

  Dmitriy nodded. By saying nothing, he didn't give the show away. Two minutes later, the salon door reopened.

  Tassos's relief was profound. It wasn't one his beaten-up companions of the night. Instead, Nikos came forward. But how did Dmitriy know Nikos?

  "Welcome, Nikos. It's been a long time, but it's good to see you."

  "Thank you Mr Dmitriy. I trust I have delivered all you sought."

  "Oh, yes and more. Recognise that?"

  Dmitriy beamed as he pointed to Agios Nikolaos.

  "Your work, though you may not have known it."

  "Is that one of His Beatitude's? No, I have never set eyes on it. There are aspects to His Beatitude's activities which he does not share."

  "I understand. Yet you delivered it to our mutual friend, Tassos, no?"

  "Did I?"

  "In a packaged envelope."

  "That's what it was?"

  With deliberation, Dmitriy rubbed salt further into Tassos's tender wounds. He recounted the indirect deal by which the Archbishop and Dmitriy had pre-sealed the franchise. This clarified that the icon's destination had always been the Kristina. It had just needed a third party.

  "Your box, Tassos. May I have it? Nikos, be so good as to bring it here. Thank you."

  Dmitriy opened the box. He selected one of the silver bars and tossed it to Tassos. The latter was too surprised to catch the ingot. It fell with a thud onto the pile carpet covering the wooden deck.

  "You can pick it up. It's yours. The other two ingots remain with me."

  He switched back to Nikos. He offered a drink, which Nikos accepted.

  "I suggest we head back above. I like the sea air, even port-side. Then we can talk about your future. You will join us, won't you Tassos? You have a role to play."

  Tassos smouldered. Rage threatened his composure. He took care to reach for the remaining silver ingot. Its possession damped his anger. He placed it in an inside pocket before he ascended the internal stairs behind Dmitriy and Nikos. He prayed the stitching of his pocket would hold. It would not have for the gold.

  "How is your master?"

  "On his last legs, is my personal reading. I don't know why."

  "I do. A little birdie in a certain clinic has sold me some information. The old-boy is on the verge of extrem
is. He won't be with us long."

  "Do you know why? He won't tell me. Or does he not know?"

  "My informant won't say, but I had the remains of a certain young monk exhumed. Unofficially, of course. It helps that most Orthodox Churches forbid cremation."

  "Did that tell you anything?"

  "The monk showed positive indicators for AIDS."

  Nikos's mouth flapped with incredulity. An image came to mind: a monk and an excruciating, inexplicable, wasting death. A symptoms resemblance he'd never considered. His Beatitude and that monk?

  "You think His Beatitude might have AIDS?"

  "It's a possibility."

  "It could fit. His Beatitude is without his energy of recent months and years. He's reverted to how he was fading away in the Monastery before his elevation. Today, he'd lost interest in everything except his monument."

  "The new Hagia Sophia?"

  "Yes. His passion is to play his part, the prime role, in its dedication. His fear is he won't survive long enough. It's what drives him on."

  "Which means you will soon lose your importance."

  Nikos nodded. It was an accurate summation.

  "What will you do after he's buried?"

  "The successor Archbishop will determine where I go."

  "I have a suggestion. Our friend Nikos here does not know it, but his SinCard duties demand a full-time priest to supervise the religious side of the franchise. Might that appeal?"

  Nikos wavered. It was neither holy nor a parish. Yet the role would avoid his relegation to insignificance in a miserable, damp monastery. He consoled himself. He knew the SinCard business inside out after the work with first Davide and then that strange woman, Inma. He might continue to see Eleni. The advantages accumulated in his mind until Tassos interrupted his chain of thought.

  "I don't need a tame priest."

  "You may not realise it now, friend Tassos, but you do. Nikos here will keep you honest and you will do the same for him. As a pair, you are a match made in heaven, a win-win-win for all three of us."

  Dmitriy smirked. Both Tassos and Nikos recognised inevitability.

  "I..."

  "Please don't object further, Tassos. It does you no credit. To salve his conscience, Nikos can supply spiritual succour to those poor women you batter."

  Tassos folded.

  Dmitriy knew too much. To work with Nikos on the SinCards possessed a logic. For a while, at least. His slump revealed his acquiescence.

  "Good. We are all in accord?"

  When Tassos and Nikos agreed, Dmitri reached into his trouser pocket. He extracted the gold ingot. With typical pettiness he handed the gold to Tassos, motioning him to pass it to Nikos.

  "This is a token of our agreement. As the English lawyers never stop lecturing me, 'a contract becomes valid with an exchange of value'. The ingot seals our bargain."

  Dmitriy's happiness wasn't infectious. In Nikos, guilt welled up. He'd never touched so much wealth. With this, he could have saved his parents from their poverty.

  Tassos eyed what had been his, which now belonged to Nikos with whom he would have to work. He hated Dmitriy this evening, just as on all those previous occasions. He resented this constant belittling. He could do nothing, and he knew it.

  Far off on the raised restaurant walkway, but close by through a telescopic lens, Aris whooped with glee. He couldn't believe his luck. The Archbishop's sidekick in the same picture as Tassos and Dmitriy was good. Photos of a gold bar passing from Dmitriy to Tassos and then to Nikos were magic. Who knew? Kjersti might approve for once!

  Nicosia (Cyprus)

  Kjersti could not believe it. Here in front of her, accompanied by the dreadful Inma, was the man she and Ana had driven all the way to the south of France to find, only to discover he'd vanished into thin air. She couldn't help staring, to the amusement of Davide and puzzlement of Inma. Words raced from her, with a contemptuous aggression she couldn't disguise.

  "What are you doing here?"

  Stephane reacted. He responded with an equivalent belligerence.

  "What d'you mean? Why shouldn't I be in Cyprus? I've worked here for most of the last two years."

  "But you left. You went back to France."

  This puzzled Stephane, and didn't please him. Was someone tracking him? Who was this skinny blond who interfered with his and Inma's evening?

  He wanted no argument at the end of an evening where he'd discovered Inma stimulated more than he expected. Inma was far more courteous than Eleni with her endless onslaughts and expectations. To him Inma radiated a serenity which fascinated. He wanted to learn more of the story behind the development of her exercise regime. Her attitude was of a physical perfectionist, like himself.

  When he'd met Inma, he'd asked her out to annoy Davide. Irritatingly, Davide hadn't seemed in the least put out. When she'd exited the elevator before going to the Japanese restaurant, he'd noted the ease with which she moved. It was the grace of an accomplished athlete. Eleni displayed the same, though only in the pool and gym. Davide's voice intruded.

  "Why are you two fighting? You've only just met. I've heard of instant love, but instant hate?"

  "You don't understand, Davide. Ana and I spent two long days driving to France to find this guy."

  Stephane couldn't help himself. He burst out. "Why would you want to do that? I don't know who you are. Nor do I care. Come on Inma. Let's go somewhere else. We can do without these people."

  Inma, who'd sat down, looked uncertain.

  Davide rushed to rescue her. "You're welcome to stay with us if you prefer."

  Both ways tempted her. Caution about Stephane's motives and the possible implications of Kjersti tracking him determined her decision.

  "Thank you, Davide. If you don't mind, Stephane, it's late. I don't feel up to searching out another place. I'll stay here with Davide and then head for bed."

  Stephane's frustration boiled over. With a curt nod of acceptance he swivelled and departed without a word.

  Iphi was aghast. Once she'd placed Stephane, she knew his importance. Before she could follow him, her phone diverted her. Aris. He was on the way back to Nicosia. Where was she? She told him.

  Aris's enthusiasm deflated. He said he would see her in the morning for coffee. At Starbucks, she agreed.

  Kjersti tried not to let her appreciation of the calamity she'd caused show. Iphi knew her well enough by now. Both suffered.

  Inma didn't much care. Warmth and Kjersti didn't combine in the same package. Most of all, there was relief; she would not have to fend off Stephane's imminent advances.

  Davide's perplexity was clear to all. It revealed itself in his question.

  "What happened just now?"

  Nobody volunteered a word. Then, tentatively, Iphi opened up.

  "Kjersti and Aris and I want to talk to Stephane. He worked in Limassol with a sports betting outfit which we believe connects to Russians and corruption. We found his address, near Montpelier, on his professional website. He wouldn't talk to Aris and me by phone. Kjersti drove to his village to find him. We hoped he would provide insights and connections. But he'd vanished. We'd given up on him as a lost cause."

  While Iphi explained, Kjersti berated herself. Her cursing, if largely sotto voce and in Norwegian, was sufficient for Inma to lose her temper. She instructed Kjersti to shut up.

  That shook Kjersti back into reality. Inma was always an obstacle, like she was when the origins of olive fly infestation became apparent. Inma wanted to conceal when Kjersti wanted to publish. They grated on each other.

  Kjersti shook herself. Being pissed with Inma would not bring Stephane back. Aris and Iphi needed him. It did not matter if he was a prick and she dumb.

  "I apologise, Inma."

  Inma wasn't mollified. Her distrust of Kjersti had re-awoken. She was not minded to assist. Kjersti persisted. As was normal.

  "Do you know anything about what he does here or where he lives or... anything?"

  Inma wanted to ridicule
Kjersti. Her antipathy was longstanding. Yet Kjersti had saved her, if without intending to, from explaining to Stephane she was gay. She suspected he wouldn't have taken it well. With a reluctance which also amused, she permitted Kjersti to drag each nugget of information out, not that she possessed much.

  "I know he works at the architects who designed Nea Hagia Sophia."

  Kjersti turned to Iphi. Did she know who they were? Iphi shook her head and brought out her phone and concentrated.

  "He's a swimmer, and a gym-rat. He works out in some gym near the small apartment he rents. He's training for something he called the 100 Tonne Challenge. You know he's French and where he lives when in France. I'm not sure I know anything more. I don't have his phone number."

  Iphi's phone worked overtime. With a squeal of glee she quoted from a search naming gyms where the Challenge had taken place. She noted it had happened, not was about to happen.

  "He mentioned he'd missed the competition. He's intending his own attempt on the 100 Tonnes in the next couple of weeks."

  Iphi added, "the architects are Constantinou and Partner. There's a connection. The senior partner, Vasilios Constantinou, is the brother of the Archbishop. A lot of their work seems to be for the Church."

  Davide added his two cents. He surprised them all.

  "Are you inferring nepotism, Iphi?"

  "What's that?"

  "At its simplest, it's those in power favouring relatives, or friends, with jobs. Medieval popes excelled in nepotism for their nephews, who were often their illicit sons. Cesare Borgia is the prime example."

  "How on earth do you know this?" Kjersti's voice was calmer.

  She had solid information. She was sure she could redeem herself and locate Stephane. Now all she wanted was to leave with Iphi. Inma and Davide were liabilities. Plus she wanted to escape the humiliation her impetuosity had caused. She beckoned to Iphi.

  "Time for home. Let's find your two-wheeled chariot."

  After they'd gone, Davide suggested another drink. Inma accepted. After ordering he turned back to Inma.