Resurrection (The Corruption Series Book 4)

by Charles Brett

  "What did you make of that little scene?"

  Nicosia (Cyprus)

  Kjersti shut the door on Iphi's apartment early. In running gear and with a map on her smartphone, she had a route and a list of gyms to visit. Her hope was at one they would recognise Stephane's name as a member. She would join that gym to meet him. That was her plan.

  There were many gyms on her list. Given the number, one would think that Cypriots must be the fittest people in the European Union, not the most obese – a factoid once dished out by Iphi when upbraiding Aris.

  The first gym was on a corner in the Agios Georghios area of Nicosia, not far from where Iphi lived. From outside, it was a largish building with a metal roof. If the outside discouraged, the inside was worse. She asked the bored, pony-tailed receptionist if he knew of a shaven-headed Frenchman training for a 100 Tonne Challenge. Blank disinterest was her response. It matched the enthusiasm of the gym, which appeared to have no members working out. Strike this one.

  She trotted to the second and third ones. Both were more welcoming, which wasn't difficult compared to the first. She drew more blanks. No information.

  At the fourth she obtained her first glimmer of hope. The trainer at the front desk had heard of the 100 Tonne Challenge. He'd thought of participating himself, until he tried it out. Its requirements appalled him. He preferred to run rather than heave weights. He and Kjersti swapped jogging experiences before she prepared to head to number five.

  As she was leaving, he summoned her back. He dug around in his desk and came up with a small flier promoting the 100 Tonne Challenge. He handed it over. To her delight it named three gyms involved in organising the challenge, two in Nicosia and one in Limassol. Better still, the two in Nicosia weren't on her list. She thanked him with a quick kiss on the cheek. He suggested she come back, anytime; he would love to see her again.

  'Nice guy', she thought as she checked the location of the first of the two Nicosia Challenge sponsors. Not much to look at and young. Maybe...

  She jogged along the uneven walkways that lined the roads and were the bane of Nicosia. She didn't dare run on the road. Travelling behind Iphi had alerted her to two simple Cypriot facts. Nobody walked, or ran, in Nicosia. To drivers, runners and pedestrians were invisible. Iphi's driving on her motorbike proved the point.

  The first gym was hard to find. Once there, her enquiries were fruitless.

  All now hung on the second. If she had no luck here, she would consider approaching the architects. Her preference was to avoid this. The accusation of nepotism, and the Church allusion, raised the possibility the Church was a part of the corruption network she wanted to unravel.

  The second gym was impressive from outside. Large sheet glass windows enabled those outside to see in and those exercising to watch whatever passed outside. She entered to find access governed by decent technology, an electronic gate operated by a member's swipe card or fingerprint.

  At reception, she repeated her questions. The striking lady behind burbled something Kjersti couldn't follow. She disappeared. Two minutes later she returned accompanied by a slim, bearded man wearing a black t-shirt emblazoned in yellow with 'Trainer and Fitness Advocate'.

  "Can I help? My colleague's English isn't strong. Mine not better but I hope I help. You wish become a member here?"

  Before she could explain, he withdrew a small binder from the desk drawer, presumably with membership details. She accepted it but took no notice.

  "Do you know of a shaven-headed Frenchman who is training for a 100 Tonne Challenge?"

  "You mean Stephane? Of course. He's a regular here, when he's in Cyprus."

  "Does he come at specific times of day?"

  The trainer hesitated. Suspicion crossed his face.

  "Why do you want to know?"

  Kjersti knew she must convince him, and fast. Otherwise he would dry up. It would be so much easier to find out more here than hang around outside waiting for Stephane.

  "I met him last night with friends. We were chatting about the 100 Tonne Challenge. At the time, I didn't think it was for me. I'm more a runner, as you can see."

  The trainer's suspicions receded. He looked her over, in salacious appreciation, until a silver-booted foot from the reception lady recovered his manners.

  "No, he doesn't have a regular timetable, or not one I recognise."

  He turned to the receptionist and gabbled away in Greek. She shook her head.

  "Neither of us have spotted a pattern. But you could talk to the lady over there on the leg press. She often trains with him. Come in. I will introduce you. What's your name?"

  Kjersti gave it and he passed her through the electronic gate. From behind the woman was dark, slim and strong. She pushed weights fast. Kjersti counted ninety repetitions before she stopped.

  "Eleni, this is Kjersti. She's interested in the 100 Tonne Challenge you and Stephane plan. She met him last night and wants to know more. Can I leave you together? I see my next personal training client arriving."

  Kjersti eyed Eleni. Was this the architect? If so she could be on perilous ground. She would have to make her story good so as not to awake any reservations. She noted Eleni's dark eyebrows. It awoke a brief memory. Those deep eyebrows reminded her of Costas's cousin. She hadn't made the connection last night. Might this be an opening?

  "You're Costas's cousin? Costas with whom I ran across Cyprus."

  "Yes." It wasn't an urbane expression of interest, more a declaration of hostilities. "Look what you did to him."

  "What do you mean?"

  "He's almost a cripple. Not physically, but in his mind. Since finishing your mad run, he just sits at home and vegetates. He's become a burden on his family. His parents don't know what to do."

  For Kjersti, regret kicked in. She hadn't contacted Costas. It was deliberate. She was intent on avoiding any possible involvement. She'd have to visit.

  "You met Stephane last night? Where?"

  Eleni's voice softened. Kjersti's impression was of deception. She hadn't liked this woman the first time, and not this one.

  "I was having a drink with a local friend and a visiting Englishman when a mutual girlfriend arrived from dinner with Stephane. He outlined the 100 Tonne Challenge. I want to know more and what it involves. Are you doing it?"

  "That scumbag."

  "I'm sorry?"

  "Nothing. It's not important. Forgive me. I must start my next repetitions."

  Eleni pushed weights. She ignored Kjersti. Nothing Kjersti tried changed this.

  Kjersti counted over one hundred and fifty repetitions before she surrendered and returned to the front desk. The receptionist opened the exit gate for her and, frustrated she leaned into the door to the outside.

  Except the door wasn't there. Somebody had pulled it open. Kjersti stumbled. She didn't quite fall because a hand grasped her arm. It steadied her.

  "Thank you."

  "Your welcome Are you okay? ...Not you? Again!"

  Kjersti found herself looking at Stephane's bald head. She was about to laugh at the scene's comic horror when she reminded herself she mustn't let this opportunity run away. At the same time, it was clear. His priority wasn't assisting her.

  Nicosia (Cyprus)

  All night, Stephane had tossed and turned. Two thoughts, one good and one bad, inhibited sleep. The good: Inma. The more he'd tried to picture her undressed, the more he felt sure she would be magnificent. Perhaps she was a little too luscious for his normal taste, which was for lean rather than voluptuous. He'd deduced she fell in the latter category.

  The second thought depressed him. Why did that blond lady know so much? Why had she gone home to find him? He could only come up with one explanation. Limassol and Dmitriy.

  Was she police? That made little sense, unless she was working with Europol or Interpol. Which could make all too much sense, given the international dimension to the betting and money laundering.

  He'd soaked his bed tossing and turning before he lapsed into
a restless sleep. It wasn't for long. Habit woke him at first light. Thank goodness he didn't have to go into Eleni's office today.

  He decided on a short, hard workout in the gym before he would double dose with a violent swim. Together, these should clear his head. He might then decide how to proceed with Inma.

  At the gym he yanked open the door. It was glass with a new, large poster plastered on its inside which proclaimed the virtues of exercising here. Just as he was about to go inside, a figure in gym kit fell out. Instinct took over. He grabbed an arm to catch up the falling victim.

  She thanked him.

  When he asked if she was okay, he received a shock he didn't need. The blond. Worse, he registered she was slim and muscled like an elite runner. Not dissimilar to Eleni, but prettier.

  "Not you? Again?"

  "Is that the way to greet someone you've just saved from a nasty injury?"

  Stephane was flabbergasted. She was as in his face as last night. All aggression.

  He tried to propel himself past. She blocked him. He couldn't avoid her. Her resistance was like coiled steel.

  "I'm sorry about yesterday. I was in the wrong. May we start again? I'm Kjersti. I'm from Norway. If you have the time I'd like to ask some questions about a business I believe you worked for in Limassol."

  Her voice changed. It was polite, measured and deferential. The Norwegian-accented English was delicious, and soft. He had to concentrate, yet wished to hear more.

  But about Limassol and Dmitriy: no way.

  He re-applied his bulk to force his way through. To his consternation, though only of middling height, she possessed a wiry strength he didn't expect. He made slight headway.

  "I apologised for last night. It was my fault. I was taken aback. Having driven so far to find you in your village outside Clermont-l'Hérault and failed, I never expected to meet you. And not here."

  Despite his intentions, Stephane found himself drawn in. Ever the sucker for a lady, he didn't resist. Instead he let his mouth look after his words.

  "You went to the village. How did you know where to go?"

  "Your website. Iphi, whom you met last night, found it. She's a local journalist here."

  Blindsided, Stephane hadn't considered his website might be an Achilles heel. Its purpose was to attract business, not inquisitive journalists.

  "We tried your father. He wouldn't see us. Which is why we gave up and went back to Muro de Alcoi."

  Stephane bafflement increased. Why was she talking about his father? How did he come into it?

  "I'm confusing you. Shall we find somewhere to have a coffee? I can explain."

  "In these clothes, yours and mine? I don't think so. In any case I have two training sessions to complete, one here and afterwards at the municipal pool."

  "How long will they take?"

  "Two hours."

  "Is there a coffee place near the pool?"

  "Yes. Almost opposite. It's called 'Grind. Brew. Serve.'."

  "Shall we meet there in two and a half hours?"

  "If you insist."

  "I do. You won't regret it."

  Stephane hesitated. Those piercing blue eyes. He knew he was a glutton for female punishment. It had always been so.

  "I suppose."

  "So gracious. I'll see you in this 'Grind. Brew. Whatsit.' place. I'll leave you to get on."

  Stephane watched her disappear down the road. She ran with the economy of a long-distance runner and as if she knew he was evaluating her. He confirmed this when she provided an airy wave before she rounded a corner to disappear out of sight.

  What had he let himself in for? It was a question he must work hard in the gym to exorcise.

  "Why are you worshipping a journalist's ass?"

  Eleni's voice penetrated his thoughts. She assessed him, and not in a pleasant fashion.

  "Good morning, Eleni. You're in early. Doing a short session like me or a long one?"

  There was no reply. She'd returned to the leg press

  He warmed up and began. Almost lost in his exertions, in which he sublimated his worries, he did notice when Eleni left to shower and change. She must be going home. Good. He wouldn't want her to know about Inma. It was bad enough she'd caught him enjoying Kjersti's rear. Then Eleni destroyed his peace.

  "Who did you have dinner with last night? It wasn't me."

  "You're right, it wasn't."

  "Don't be clever, Stephane. Not if you want your next invoice paid."

  Typical Eleni. Threatening and throwing her weight around. The trouble was, he hadn't invoiced for some weeks. To lose this amount, and his expenses, would be painful. He must soothe her, somehow. Before he could start pacification, she continued.

  "Who was it?"

  "Inma? Spanish, in the re-insurance business."

  He should have known better. Eleni was off. A tirade followed. He could summarise it as 'I'm your client and don't forget it'. It wasn't the first or the fifth time she'd pulled this stunt, though on previous occasions, it hadn't involved another female.

  She wound down. He placated her with an invitation to dinner and some mendacious words about how well she looked. His charm exerted its accustomed influence.

  She calmed. She mentioned a wine bar which served excellent food. He agreed if she would make the booking. She left.

  He felt like a fish flapping out of water. Why was he still here? Because of the Archbishop and his protection. And the money.

  Nicosia (Cyprus)

  With two hours to lose, Kjersti ran for the first hour. Back at Iphi's, she showered. A naughtiness crept over her. She borrowed Iphi's dress, the one she'd used before. Iphi complimented her and commented on how it thawed her hard edges.

  "What hard edges?"

  "Come off it, Kjersti. Trying to look miffed offends the spirit of my dress. Do you think you can persuade Stephane to tell you anything?"

  "I'm not certain. I'll try to exploit his eye for a woman..."

  "I recognised that last night, with him. Into you and Inma. Not me."

  "Rubbish. He was with Inma and I was in his face. There wasn't the opening to appreciate you."

  Iphi's phone alarm pinged.

  "Starbucks time. With Aris. Again. Want a lift?"

  Kjersti declined and walked to the 'Grind. Brew. Serve.' place. It wasn't far, though she worried he would not turn up. She arrived early. Closed, though it looked as if there were people inside preparing. She consulted a passer-by about the municipal pool. Sure enough, it was almost opposite.

  She headed there and went inside. It had its own cafe and chairs and loungers set around the pool. She appreciated the setup. Much better than most public facilities, with two separate children's' pools alongside the main one, to keep the small ones out.

  In the main pool, there weren't many people swimming. Most stood in the shallow end and chatted. It took a couple of minutes before she accepted what stared her in the face. The bulldozer performing the butterfly was Stephane. She ordered a coffee. He was a mountain thrashing the sea.

  An unexpected frisson intruded. The thrill of fleshing out an imminent story. She looked forward to extracting it.

  He finished his last length, paused and popped out of the shallow end in one fluid movement, like a human cork. He walked straight past into the men's' changing rooms without noticing her.

  She debated. Better to wait outside, in case he decided to 'miss' their assignation. Not the right word. It would do. She sat on a bus stop bench to see what would occur.

  Ten minutes later, in jeans and a polo shirt, he emerged. He dithered. He turned left rather than right. She was correct. He was ducking her.

  He ambled past the bus stop bench, his concentration elsewhere. His shaven head was in the clouds.

  "Missing me?"

  "What?"

  "'Grind. Brew. Serve.' is in the opposite direction."

  A range of expressions rippled across his face, none flattering. He composed himself. His reflex discipline impressed Kjersti
.

  "It is. I must have forgotten."

  "Really? ... Shall we?"

  Two minutes later, they entered the now open coffee shop. There was an outside terrace in the shade. She chose a table and appreciated the traffic noise. The road would mask their conversation from others. She moved to exploit the initiative she'd gained.

  "What would you like?"

  "A frappuccino, large."

  She signalled the sole waiter. He took the order, one large and one small.

  "Why were you avoiding me? A guilty conscience?"

  "Yes."

  Kjersti jumped. This wasn't the reaction she expected. The frappucini arrived.

  "You look good in that dress. It makes you feminine. But underneath you have the physique of an athlete. I saw it earlier today."

  "Yes. I'm one of those extreme distance runners. I ran across Cyprus not long ago, with a cousin of the architect's."

  "Ah... I've heard of you, though not with positive words. Eleni was scathing about something she called the 'Trek' with a sports journalist who'd been an old flame of her cousin? You?"

  "Me."

  "What did Davide say your name was?"

  "Kjersti Nordhavn."

  He looked her up on an enormous mobile phone. She waited. She had the distinct impression that to rush him would be an error. She'd already provoked two bouts of antipathy. She couldn't afford a third.

  "Here we are. Some nice pictures of Cyprus in these articles. Yours?"

  "Yes. Using my own mobile phone."

  "I like this one."

  He showed her. Costas had taken it at Kantara Castle. She thought she looked stringy and ill. Her editor, who'd complained there were not enough pictures of her, had cooed.

  "Why?"

  "Do you really want to know?"

  "No. I don't like it. My editor selected it."

  "You are all sex-appeal in it, great legs and fabulous flat stomach. Not many people can project like you do here."

  Kjersti blushed. She detested him seeing weakness. She changed the subject.

  "Why did you say 'yes' when I asked about guilt?"

  "Serves me right. Pay a compliment and have it thrown back at you."