by Will Adams
She frowned. Pierre hadn’t said anything to her about any such meeting, or about sending emails to her father before he vanished. She made a mental note to ask him about it, then checked the other messages. There were half a dozen or so unread, one of them from someone called Braddock at the Landseer Trust saying he’d just heard that Adam and Emilia had gone missing. He was of course hoping devoutly that it was just a misunderstanding, but please could Adam let him know as soon as possible, or they’d have to alert Matthew Richardson and his colleagues at MGS Salvage.
She stared in disbelief at the screen. Daniel knew her father? What the hell was going on? She typed MGS Salvage into the search engine. The company had its own website. She went to it. Her screen refilled with a background shot of an underwater wreck, overlaid with corporate pap about expertise and reputation, dedication to ecosystems and archaeological context, plus a link to updates about their Madagascan treasure ship project. She went to the ‘our team’ page, two rows of thumbnail photos, with Daniel’s second from right on the lower row, captioned as Matthew Richardson. The photo was of poor quality, but there was no question it was him. It made no sense to her. She couldn’t get a grip on it at all. Who was he? How did he know her father? Why hadn’t he been straight with her? Could she trust him? She touched a fingertip to the screen, fuzzy with static, ran her finger down his face, along the line of his jaw A reflection in the monitor’s screen. She whirled around to see Titch standing behind her. She couldn’t tell how long he’d been there, but his face was pale and he looked a little dazed. He spun on his heel, hurried out. Rebecca grabbed the holdall from between her feet and chased after him, catching him outside, grabbing his arm. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.
He turned and shook his head bitterly. ‘It’s him, isn’t it?’
‘What’s him?’
‘The reason you’re staying here. The reason you’re blowing off America, even though you know how important it is to us.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Titch. I’m staying here because of my father and sister.’
Anger clouded his face. ‘Don’t bullshit me,’ he cried. ‘I saw the way you were with each other last night. I saw how you flinched when he put his hand on-’
‘The way I flinched!’ she scoffed.
‘Yes,’ yelled Titch. ‘The way you fucking flinched.’ All around them on the streets, people stopped to stare, but Titch, normally the most reserved of men, didn’t even seem to notice. He stabbed a finger at his chest. ‘The things I’ve done for you,’ he said. ‘I’ve put my whole fucking life into your fucking company, and this is how you repay me? For Christ’s sake, Rebecca! You know how I feel about you: don’t you care for me at all?’
‘You’ve got this all wrong,’ she assured him. ‘I was just checking up on him, that’s all. I need to make sure I can trust him.’
‘Sure!’ scoffed Titch.
‘It’s the truth, I swear it.’
‘So this is about trust, is it?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you trust me, don’t you? We’ve been together three years, after all.’
‘Of course I trust you.’
‘Then tell me you’re glad it’s me here with you, not him.’
‘For goodness’ sake, Titch!’
‘Tell me!’
She had too much to do to be wasting time like this. She said glacially: ‘I’m glad it’s you here with me, not Daniel.’ But her eyes flickered as she spoke his name; her voice rang hollow. She steeled herself to say it again, with conviction this time. ‘I’m glad it’s you
…’ She trailed off. Her frown deepened. She looked at Titch in genuine bemusement.
A vein throbbed in his forehead. He clenched a fist and for a moment she thought he was going to hit her; but he controlled himself, shook his head, fished the hirecar keys from his pocket, tossed them to her. ‘It’s the white Toyota,’ he said, gesturing vaguely to his left. Then he turned his back on her and walked away.
IV
Knox didn’t have a chance for either flight or fight. All that was open to him was bluff. ‘Who the hell are you?’he asked, raising his hands above his head. ‘What do you want with me?’
‘You know who I am,’ said Boris.
‘If it’s money you’re after, it’s inside the main building,’ he said. ‘I’ll get it for you.’
‘Sure,’ said Boris. ‘I flew all the way from Georgia just to lift your wallet. Let’s not waste each other’s time, eh? I know who you are. You know who I am, and who sent me. If I was here to kill you, you’d be lying on your back right now with a hole in your forehead. So isn’t it logical to assume I don’t want you dead?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
Boris came a little way inside the basement. ‘Ilya Nergadze is dying,’ he said. ‘Sandro’s boss now. He knows what kind of person Mikhail was, what he did to your fiancee. He doesn’t blame you for what you did. He just wants to move on, restore his family’s reputation and strength. But your Black Sea survey has got him spooked. I’m sure you can understand that. He sent me to talk to you, get your word you’ll drop it. Do that, you’ll never hear from any of us again.’
Knox hesitated. Boris’s story sounded plausible enough. Rumours had been swirling that Ilya was sick; and while Sandro was no saint, he was known as a pragmatist. And, as Boris said, if they wanted him dead, he’d be dead already. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘You can tell Sandro he has my word.’
Boris smiled. ‘I think he’d rather hear it from you yourself.’
‘How do you mean?’ frowned Knox. ‘Is he here?’
‘In a manner of speaking,’ said Boris, nodding at the steps. ‘We’re going to go talk to him right now.’
FORTY
I
Rebecca went back into the Internet cafe for her recharged mobile, took it over to the computer, which still had MGS’s website up. On a whim as much as anything, she punched in its telephone number. A young woman answered, her voice bright and keen to please. ‘Good morning, MGS Salvage,’ she said. ‘How may I help you?’
‘Daniel Richardson, please,’ said Rebecca.
‘I’m sorry. Daniel’s out of the country at the moment.’
‘Where?’
A first small hesitation. ‘Let me put you through to Frank. Frank deals with Daniel’s work while Daniel’s away.’ Silence for twenty seconds or so, then a man picked up. ‘This is Frank. Who’s calling?’
‘My name’s Cecilia,’ said Rebecca, putting on a breezy airhead voice. ‘I’m a friend of Danny’s.’
‘Danny’s?’ He sounded like he was picking up dogshit with his teeth.
‘He promised to call last week but I haven’t heard a word.’
‘He’s away.’
‘When’s he back?’
‘Why d’you want to know?’
‘It’s personal.’
‘Why don’t you try him on his mobile?’
‘I lost the number.’
Frank laughed. ‘Sure you did, love.’
She dropped the phoney voice. ‘So what’s the deal with the Eden Reserve?’ she asked. ‘Are you doing a job there?’
Silence from Frank. When he spoke again, his tone was markedly different. Hard, shrewd and a little bit disquieted. ‘Who is this? I want your name. I want your full name now.’
‘It’s the Winterton, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘You’ve found the silver.’
‘Who the fuck is this? Are you a journalist?’
‘You have, haven’t you? You’ve found the silver.’
‘I’m warning you, if one word of this leaks-’
She killed the call. A muscle began going crazy along the line of her jaw. So Daniel hadn’t come here looking for the silver. He’d already found it. No. Scratch that. Adam and Emilia had found it. That was surely the only way to explain the involvement of the Landseer Trust. They’d found the silver and had taken advantage of MGS doing a job just up the coast to ask them to come here afterwards. And then Landseer had
emailed Daniel to let him know her father and sister had gone missing, and he’d headed straight on down. But with what purpose? Had he come to help find them, or to take advantage of their absence to plunder the silver? She recalled, a little hollowly, how quickly he’d accepted Titch’s suggestion last night that he go back to Eden. She settled her bill and went out, trying to put Daniel out of her mind, focus back on the important stuff, on her father and Emilia, the kidnap and the ransom. But another part of her brain was whirring independently away. The Winterton’s lost silver, her father’s investments, the hotel group’s interest in Eden-all these millions swirling around, yet the only people playing for small stakes here were the kidnappers.
She stopped walking abruptly, sensing the outline of a larger picture, wanting to give it the chance to reveal itself. Mustafa coveted Eden; the kidnap had given him the opportunity to win it. But had that been just pure chance, or was there more to it than that? Was it possible, in short, that Mustafa had been behind the kidnap himself, that he’d planned the whole enterprise simply to get her to sign Eden away? The more she thought about it, the more plausible it became. Even Mustafa’s trip to Ilakaka made sense as a pantomime designed to make her late and so panic her into signing whatever he put in front of her without first reading it; and also to give him credibility should she grow suspicious and try to contest the contract in court. Meanwhile, he’d get to own Eden for a fraction of its true worth. No, for nothing. After all, if she’d left the money beneath the tamarind tree, as instructed, he’d have been able to pick it up at his leisure, and have the contract granting him Eden too. But he’d only get Eden if first it was hers outright. And for that to be the case…
Her heart seemed to stop on her. She gave a cry of anguish and ran to her new Toyota.
II
Boris kept Knox closely covered as he marched him upstairs. The way he was behaving, it was like he’d bought his cover story, but he knew better than to take this man for granted. They reached the boathouse doorway, where he’d left his laptop case. He talked Knox through how to set the IP terminal up in line of sight to the satellite, then hook it up to the laptop. When he was done, he made Knox put his hands behind him so that he could bind his wrists with flexi-cuffs. ‘What the hell’s that for?’ asked Knox.
‘Peace of mind,’ Boris told him. He placed the laptop on the work-table, opened it up, established a broadband connection, called Georgia, carried out the security protocols. This wasn’t his usual time-slot; it took over a minute for Sandro to appear. ‘I’ve got someone for you,’ Boris told him, pulling Knox into shot.
Sandro leaned forward, squinted at his screen. ‘Daniel Knox?’ he asked.
‘It’s me,’ said Knox.
‘See?’ said Boris.
Sandro ignored him, addressed Knox instead. ‘You’re planning a salvage project off our coast, I believe,’ he said.
‘Not any more,’ Knox told him. ‘I’ve called it off.’
‘And why should I believe that? You’ve effectively just admitted you were coming after us.’
‘Yes,’ admitted Knox. ‘I was coming after you. I was coming after you because you sent your fucking son to Greece where he murdered my fiancee in cold blood; and then put a price on my head and turned me into a fugitive. I couldn’t even visit Gaille’s grave; I couldn’t even mourn.’ He seemed to catch the anger rising in himself; he took a long breath. ‘But it’s over. It was over before this. I’ve got more important things in my life now than your family.’
‘Such as?’
‘Such as none of your business.’
‘So you’ll give me your word, then? If we leave you alone, you’ll leave us alone?’
‘Yes. I give you my word.’
‘What is this?’ demanded Boris in Georgian.
‘We’re going to let him go.’
‘But your father told me to-’
‘My father is dead, Boris. He died early this morning.’
Boris went numb. ‘We had a deal.’
‘That deal was with my father. My-’
‘It was with you both. It was with the both of you.’
‘My father is dead. I am now head of the Nergadze family. The deal is off. My decision on this is final.’
‘You can’t do this.’
‘I promised you one hundred thousand euros for finding Mr Knox. You have found Mr Knox. I will pay you your fee in full. On your return, so long as Mr Knox remains unharmed, I will also authorise a bonus for-’
‘No way,’ said Boris. ‘No fucking way. I’ll never get home if I let him live. He’ll go straight to the fucking cops.’
‘He’s given us his word.’
‘His word!’ spat Boris. ‘What good is that?’
‘I trust him.’
‘Of course you fucking trust him. I’d trust him too if I was safe at home in Georgia.’
‘I’m warning you, Boris.’
‘Fifteen months I spent in that fucking Greek prison! Fifteen months! Do you have any idea what that was like? Do you know what they did to me there?’
‘I’m sorry that-’
‘Sorry!’ he scoffed, anger roiling up his heart. ‘What good is sorry? Your father hired me to do a job, and I’m going to do it, and you’re going to pay me the full fee, just like you promised.’ He held up his camera-phone which he’d been holding down low. ‘Did you honestly think I wouldn’t record our little conversations? Is that what you thought? I’ve got video of us discussing this job. I’ve got video of you arranging my gun. I’ll give it to the police if you try to stiff me, I swear I will.’ He slammed down the laptop lid, breaking the connection, then stood there breathing heavily, a tumult of emotions inside him: anger, fear, frustration, the longing for revenge. He glared at Knox, pressed the Heckler amp; Koch against his temple, pushed him towards the basement steps.
‘What is this?’ asked Knox. ‘I thought we had a deal.’
‘Sure!’ scoffed Boris. ‘So you can hand me to the police again.’
‘I give you my word.’
‘And you think that carries weight with me, do you?’ He pushed Knox ahead of him down the steps. When they reached the bottom, he kicked Knox behind his knees so that he went down upon them.
‘This is crazy,’ said Knox. ‘You don’t need to do this.’
Boris aimed down at him, his finger on the trigger. Enough of his anger had subsided for him to become aware again of consequences. Sandro would never forgive him for what he’d just done; there was pragmatic and then there was soft. Georgia was dead to him now; he’d therefore have to start all over. But with what? Something on the shelves caught his eye at that moment, like the answer to a prayer. A blue-and-white porcelain bowl, just like one in the press-cuttings Sandro had given him-and that had sold for millions at auction. He edged across, keeping his gun on Knox, picked it up. It was perfect, flawless. And next to it was an enamelled flask that looked to his uneducated eye even more valuable. With the right fence, he could get maybe twenty cents on the dollar. If these pieces were worth what he thought, then he’d He whirled around as Knox took advantage of his distraction to leap to his feet and sprint for the steps. Boris brought up his gun but he was too late. He cursed and set down the bowl and ran after him, grabbing the end of the shelving to swing himself around. He reached the stairs just as Knox tripped on the top step and went crashing into the wall, twisting on to his back as he fell. Boris arrived at the top, his anger fully restored, along with his hunger for revenge. He aimed down at Knox’s face, put his finger on the trigger and began to squeeze.
FORTY-ONE
I
Rebecca was driving to the police station when she realised that word of her visit was almost certain to get back to Mustafa. If he was genuinely on her side, he’d see that as a betrayal; if he was her enemy, it would serve only to put him on his guard. She pulled to the side, therefore, called the station and asked for Chief of Police Andriama. He was away at a meeting, she was told, wasn’t expected back for another hour or two. S
he tried his mobile but it transferred her straight to voicemail. She left a message for him, giving just a hint of her suspicions and begging him to call her back as soon as possible, then she sat there thinking. At times she almost convinced herself she was being ridiculously paranoid, that Mustafa was her ally. But then her suspicions would reassert themselves. And there was too much at stake to take them lightly. Thus far, Mustafa only had legal claim to Rebecca’s share in Eden. For him to own it all, Emilia would first have to die. And if Mustafa thought it worth his while to kill Emilia, then he’d surely kill Adam too. Her actions now might determine their fate; she couldn’t afford a single misstep.
She tried to put herself in Mustafa’s mind, work out whether he was the kind to cut his losses at the first setback, or hold his nerve. She still had his five hundred million ariary. If he was greedy, he’d keep Emilia and Adam alive while he arranged a second handover, just in case she insisted on speaking to them again. Yesterday’s fuck-ups might actually have saved their lives. But maybe not for long. She needed to find them fast. The trouble was, she didn’t have the first idea where to look. She couldn’t believe Mustafa would risk holding them at his home, not with his wife and daughter there. Besides, he was an importer-exporter, he’d have warehouses and other such properties all across the town and region. Andriama would surely know of some of them, but the moment they started nosing around, Mustafa would realise they were on to him and take steps to cover his tracks. She couldn’t risk that. She felt helpless. But then she realised she didn’t actually need to find Adam and Emilia at all. If she could somehow get compelling evidence or even proof that Mustafa was behind the kidnapping, it would give her such a hold over him that she’d surely be able to barter for Adam and Emilia’s release.
