Page 9
CHAPTER 9
NICK
“Are you nervous?”
The inquisitive, tenacious beauty at my side assesses the vintage Land Rover winding its way up the drive. Those jade eyes might be assessing me, too.
“Me? Nervous? No, green eyes, I’m not.”
I don’t miss the look of annoyance that flashes. She’s not too keen on the green eyes moniker. I’ll come up with something.
Golden highlights frame her porcelain skin. She speaks of scars, but the longer I drink her in, the more transparent her scars become. The freckles along her cheeks and nose soften her hard edges.
Today, she’s opted for a button-down that’s unbuttoned tantalizingly low and tucked into a body-hugging skirt. She’s not aiming to be sexy but fuck me if she isn’t. Sadly, I shall be fucking myself tonight in the shower, because she certainly has no desire to do so. Quite unfortunate, that reality.
She’s got it all. Intelligence, resilience, and fortitude wrapped in a delectable package. It’s best I stick to women I’m only physically attracted to and sidestep a complex woman. Too great a chance I’ll cock things up. Besides, I’ve watched many a mate fall for someone who’s more than just a pretty face, and it ends in divorce or a miserable marriage.
Still, the more I learn about Scarlet, she becomes less of a resource and more of someone I wish to protect. She’s tough, but those communicative eyes of hers unmask the emotions she restrains. When she shared with me what she’d been through with that bastard of a husband, she stayed calm while fury roiled my veins. Her eyes glimmered with unshed tears, and watching her fight to maintain that shield gutted me. It’s a good job she ended the wanker because otherwise, I’d itch to accomplish the task. But she doesn’t need a man for protection. She’s strong. She dropkicks bastards for sport.
“You trust these men?” She’s been standing to my side, quietly watching, but waits until the automobile nears the fountain to ask.
“I do. When they’re not investigating me, I do.” I grin, letting her know I’m half-serious.
She narrows her eyes, judging me, no doubt.
“You must trust them if you let them come to your home. And you’re not armed.”
“Home is as safe as anywhere. It’s the reason I bought so much land. And I had them park in the village, change cars to one of mine, and sent them the long way.”
“I thought you said you trust them?”
“I trust them. They’re white-hat blokes. The precaution is for the less savory parties that might not take kindly to my meeting with Interpol officers.”
“Why take the risk?”
“It’s not much of a risk. If anyone asks, they show their cards about monitoring me when they shouldn’t. And it’s easy enough to explain away.”
Inquisitive eyes ask for more.
“The smart man plays all sides,” I explain. It’s an axiom for the modern age. The reason corporations and the well-heeled donate to both political parties in all modern countries.
Her arm crosses over her midriff, below her breasts, lifting the pair rather nicely.
“How do I know you’re not playing me?”
“We have the same goal.”
I force my gaze upward from her breasts to meet bright green eyes that say she’s alert and ready to rumble.
Outside, the Land Rover has stopped and the doors are opening, so sadly, there’s no time to play.
“We both want those bastards to pay. Ergo, we’re on the same team, love.”
She has questions. It’s clear from the way she thoughtfully touches her chin. She studies everyone and everything. It’s always the quiet ones you should never underestimate.
The two men rambling up the path are dressed for a day in the country, in boots and denims. They’ve left their jackets in the car. Doesn’t appear as if they’re carrying, not that I expected them to bring a gun to a friendly chat.
Ash, the head of my security, would’ve followed them if he suspected anything unruly.
“Shall we greet our guests?” I ask her.
She trails behind me with a deceptively timid posture. She’s not fooling me. If threatened, the fiery ginger will turn feral. The meek display may have gotten her far back home, but I see right through the act.
Tristan Wagner, or Nomad or whatever concocted alias he uses, scans the grounds. With his auburn hair, trimmed beard, wire-rimmed sunglasses, and confident swagger, he could be cast as a television detective. His head tilts upward, and I’d wager he’s scanning the roofline and perimeter for security.
He won’t find any. I value my privacy. Security mans the gate, and there’s an invisible red light around the perimeter that sends an alert when anything crosses it. It’s not a perfect system, as wildlife crosses regularly. False alarms keep the on-site security hopping.
The older chap with a pouch is Nigel Wilkins. His official Interpol capacity is within the State and Local Police Liaison group, but he manages a group that specializes in gathering intelligence through discreet, clandestine initiatives. It’s decidedly impressive he’s here in person. Nigel must view me as high-value, as mingling with assets is well below his pay grade. Or perhaps it’s the ginger by my side who has lured him out of his office tower.
“Thought you’d have a dog running up to greet us,” Tristan says.
“We’ve got one dog. It’s useless. Horses, goats, and god knows what else are back at the stable.” I offer a hand. “Welcome.”
As Nigel takes my hand, the gentleman’s gaze roams beyond me over the hall. It’s a rather rundown country house. I should probably do a bit more to it, but I bought it furnished and don’t aim to be one of those nouveau riche with a need to trend chase.
As I take Tristan’s hand, Nigel steps to Scarlet.
She’s a resource, in his eyes, an asset. My muscles stiffen, and I can’t break my line of sight on Nigel.
“Scarlet Gagliano,” she says, voice feminine yet gravely serious.
“And how will you be introducing yourself today?” I ask Tristan. He’s just released my hand and stands quite close. Nigel stands next to Scarlet.
“Tristan,” he says to both me and Scarlet.
“Well then, Tristan and Nigel, let’s get it done. Shall we convene in my study? If it was a warmer day, we could sit on the terrace?—”
“It’s nasty,” Nigel says. “Quite dreary.”
He won’t hear an argument from me. It’s both nippy and cloudy, one of those days that feels like rain, but there won’t be any.
I lead them down the corridor to my study. The plan is for Scarlet to take them through the documentation. I printed a few pages, and some, because of the complexities of spreadsheets and applications, remain online. I had a tech employee mirror the information on a secure private portal and encouraged Scarlet to delete her files.
I might think of the Lupi Grigi as modern-day thugs, but the truth is the mafia and cartels are some of the most technically sophisticated organizations on the planet. That her uncle left it to his niece to perform data entry that could do him in speaks to his place in an older generation that underestimates women and doesn’t accurately estimate his risks.
She positions herself at the location we prepared for her. I’ve set her up at a circular table close to the fireplace, away from the windows, and Nigel and Tristan position themselves at each side.
“I’m surprised you didn’t bring an accounting expert with you,” I say as I study my Interpol contact and his boss.
Tristan’s group skirts laws by gathering intel while undercover. Nigel manages that group, among other things, since officially that little covert, lawbreaking group doesn’t exist.
“Accounting’s my background, actually,” Nigel says, swapping his sunglasses for silver-rimmed spectacles. He smiles, exposing a gap between his two front teeth that instantly abuses any notion he might be a danger. “Quite love it. Don’t get to dig in too often.”
Accounting is how they catch criminals these days. They might gain intel from surveillance, but it’s the accounting that lands the strategists behind bars.
I’ve waded through it all already and excuse myself under the guise of attending to business.
On my own, I wander back to the front of the house. A couple of crows fly over the front lawn and dip into the tree line. I flip on my mobile and check the video feed. All’s quiet. Nothing notable.
Dorian has yet to follow up with dear old dad’s missive. Ash confirmed he met with a broker who specializes in the Middle East. Given governments are among his biggest clients for his satellite services, the meeting appears legit.
I could reach out to him now. If he’s back in the States, his day is probably just getting going. I could catch up on emails. But instead, I watch the video feed flashing shots of the property perimeter. There’s a downed tree on one angle, and I’ve just shot off a message to groundskeeping when a door creaks.
Tristan rounds the corner.
“Roaming the house?” I ask.
“Searching for you.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Nigel’s the accountant. Not me.”
“And I’m your asset.” There’s no way he doesn’t pick up on my condescension. “Care for a drink?”
“It’s not quite noon.”
“And?”
“Certainly,” he says, but he glances back over his shoulder at the closed door of the study. “My question for you is quite quick.”
“Shoot.”
“Leo filled us in on significant purchases. Are you planning to do the same?”
If it’s in my interest to do so. We went over this.
He scratches at the back of his neck again.
“Have you got the nits?”
“No, sorry. There’s a tag on the back of this jumper that’s rubbing me wrong.”
“Are you wearing a wire?”
“No.” He shoves his hands into his front pockets. “I’d never betray the trust.”
Hmm. Leo betrayed my trust. Some might say I betrayed Leo’s trust. But I did what was best for him. And in this world, we’re apt to cross lines.
“As you know, my negotiator died, and I have yet to fill the position.”
“So, the deals aren’t getting done?”
“They aren’t being negotiated on behalf of my firm.” The position has been open for under a month. The word firm is rather grand for the operation. We leveraged connections and cut deals. I took a cut on a high-margin business and distributed it to vested parties. The setup allowed the syndicate to have a place at the table and our connections to maintain a reliable source.
“Did you hear about X Shynik?”
“What about it?” As one of the top ten producers in the world, the semiconductor factory in South Korea possesses significant capabilities.
“It was robbed. Four a.m. Security on-site shot. No witnesses.”
“Who did it?”
“We don’t know.”
“No video?”
“Disconnected before the event.”
Savvy thieves. “What’d they take?”
“Chips.” He shrugs. “The confidence level in the claims is low.”
“X Shynik doesn’t want what they were working on getting leaked.” I get what he’s saying. I’ll log some calls, see what I can learn. Corporate espionage rarely sanctions killing the security staff, so Tristan’s correct. This is interesting.
“And then there’s North Korea.”
“Trash bombs?” I’m jesting with Tristan, as we take North Korea seriously. Jiang Tu, a retail magnate from China, has several sources within North Korea that serve as levers of influence.
“We have a source that claims one of their silos was broken into. Our estimates are they stole enough nerve gas to kill everyone within a three-mile radius.”
“You think the two incidents are related?”
“No evidence to that effect. But we’re intrigued.”
The Russians? Saudis? Iran? A government had to have stolen the chemical weapons. Private entities don’t aim to wipe out villages, nor do they have the skills to break into North Korea.
“You’ve heard nothing?” He’s dubious. Thinks I’m full of shit.
But I’m straight-up honest, which is troubling. These are the events the syndicate monitors. I’ve heard nothing from Halston, and the twat campaigned to take the lead.
“I’ll look into it.” I stare Tristan down, straight in the eye. “To be clear, I don’t condone the killing of innocents. You can always trust me to share that kind of intel. I don’t know what you expect?—”
“Leo told us we can trust you.”
Trust is a sizeable word. I’m not looking to let rat bastards rule, but I play hard and fast. I give him a quick, confirming nod. He can trust me in most instances.
“Any information you uncover will be appreciated. It’s unsettling to have a cache of chemical weapons go missing. Every ally is on high alert.”
“The North Koreans must have an inkling…”
“My source says they don’t. But of course, officially, North Korea denies the theft.”
“Of course.” There’s no benefit to admitting a security breach. “If I learn anything, I’ll share.”
I look over his shoulder down the quiet corridor.
“So, tell me, who did he work for? Which intelligence group?”
I wasn’t going to ask Tristan about Leo, as I didn’t expect he’d share, given he’s Interpol. But I’m coming up with blanks.
“CIA?” It fits. Those bastards will do anything for intel. The corner of his eye twitches. “That’s it,” I say.
So someone with a source inside the CIA discovered Leo’s truth and outed him to me. It could be someone within the syndicate, but why not bring it to the group? Why only threaten me? Why use the Prophet moniker?
Tristan’s silent, hands shoved in his trouser pockets.
“Why send me to you? Not to a CIA resource?” The business card Leo handed me led me to Tristan, to Interpol.
“It’s not clean cut,” Tristan says. “Multiple parties.”
“But if I need help, I’m to go to you? Not the other parties?”
“Like you, we have resources. If you ever need something we can’t provide…” His lower jaw cracks as he shifts it, thinking.
“Interpol didn’t have a team on standby that day, did they?” I think about what was involved to pull off the faked death sham. The mobility. The expertise. “Not CIA. British intelligence?” He’s unreadable. I recall a report I pulled on Tristan and a matter in Switzerland. He worked with a private group. “Black ops?” His eye twitches once more.
I can’t recall the name of the group, but I’ll look it up. I found Leo through Sullivan Arms. There’s got to be a connection. An information broker, perhaps?
“And you’ve had no success in unveiling who blew his cover?”
Tristan’s lips purse. His head shakes slightly. “You’ve not heard more?”
“No.”
“We’ve pulled it off, then.”
“Aren’t you curious?” It’s a loose end. The culprit had access to a private number.
“The matter is closed.”
“Is it? Aren’t you prodding me to fill the spot?”
He shrugs. Can’t deny it.
If someone within the syndicate uncovered Leo’s connection to the CIA or some other entity, then why not go to the group? Unless the goal is to step in. Replace me. Reap the benefits. The only member who has pushed me about a replacement is Halston.
“We appreciate what you did.” Tristan’s comment draws my attention. He’s going on about Leo.
“Didn’t do it for you.” I miss the bloody bastard. He didn’t work for Interpol, so who the fuck did he work for?
“Right, but…we owe you.”
He’s right. They do. As if to underscore his statement, the door opens and Scarlet, then Nigel, exits the study.
“Rain check on that drink?” I ask.
“Right. I’ve got to drive back.”
“You have everything you need?” I ask Nigel. I have questions about Leo, but Interpol’s a useful alliance. I trust the chaps to push the case against the Lupi Grigi forward.
“We do. Appreciate this,” Nigel says. “Should move quickly.”
“Excellent. Remember, they’ve got people at all levels within the Italian government. Throughout the EU.”
“We’re aware. Until we have warrants for arrests, only the highest security clearance shall know,” Nigel says.
That doesn’t mean much, but we shall see if Interpol can do its job. It’s a preferable path. If they fail, I’ll have Massimo assassinated.
Scarlet carries the cordial, mindless chatter to the front of the house. We stand side by side like the couple from the American Gothic painting, watching them leave. I half wish for a pitchfork to hold.
The vehicle grinds gravel as it rounds the fountain.
“What exactly is it that you do?” Scarlet asks, her high-pitched tone a blend of probing and judgmental.
“You’re a curious one, aren’t you?”
I don’t bother suppressing my smile. She doesn’t blink.
“I’m a businessman.”
“How does this exchange with Interpol benefit your business?”
It’s an astute question to ask any proprietor, although one best asked before she met with the Interpol blokes.
“Darling, it’s a little late to ask those questions, don’t you think?”
“Why?” She sounds affronted.
“Because you just signed your life over to me.”
“I did not.” Her shoulders are back, and those bewitching green irises darken.
“But you did,” I say, quite aware I’m strengthening the storm brewing within the temptress. “You see, I’m the one who will keep you alive.”
I expect a fight. I yearn for it. But those irises brighten, the storm clouds inexplicably blown away.
Her hands flutter at her sides until they settle down over her waist. “I appreciate it. Thank you.”
She’s rational. Too rational. What’s she up to?
“It’s my understanding I might be needed in court, and if so, I can avail myself of witness protection. If this happens as quickly as Nigel thinks, I might not need to prevail on your kindness for long.”
Trusting one’s life with the international community is borderline insanity. But I’ll make my case later on.
“I’m having trouble determining which side you’re on,” she says.
“Are you now?”
“Yes.”
“There are no sides, love. Only objectives.”
“And what is yours?”
“Same as yours, love. A good life.”
“That’s a non-answer. You like those. But you also said you want to break apart the Lupi Grigi.”
I did say that. I don’t need to say it twice.
“And?”
“All right, then. I’m off to the stables.”
I only get a glimpse of her backside before she’s out of sight, headed through the house to the backdoor and the Wellies.
She may believe I’m evading the truth, but I told her a truth I rarely share. She and I are in agreement on both objective and tactical execution. The world gets complicated because few agree about the best tack forward to achieve a good life.
* * *
The sun is lowering in the sky, and there’s a chill in the room. I shoot off a message to the house manager to light the fires and a message to the chef to inquire about dinner, then head out in search of Scarlet.
I’ve spent the day reading reports and reaching out to industry leaders as needed between meetings. I’ve kept an eye on the news scroll at the bottom of the muted television, although nothing will happen today. In all likelihood, nothing will happen for weeks.
I lob a call to Jiang Tu. He answers, voice groggy.
“Did I call at an obscene time?”
“I’m in the air. What can I do for you?”
Jiang Tu was my first call after Interpol left earlier today.
“Checking in. Curious.” Given the nerve gas was stolen from North Korea, it’s unlikely Russia or China were the thieves. It’d be a costly heist. Who’d go to that expense? A Middle Eastern country? A terrorist group?
“If I had an update, I’d get it to you.”
“Right.”
“Received an alert about a car bomb in Rome. Was that you?”
“Haven’t left the estate.”
“I’ll take that as a yes. You’re not stopping until they’re decimated, are you?”
“No.” I’m not responsible for any car bomb, but it’s just as well he believes I am. Garners more respect.
There’s a pause. It could be Jiang processing, or it could be a technical delay.
“Noted,” he says. “It is what it is.” Is that resignation in his voice? Nah, flat is Jiang’s go-to delivery.
“I land in China in a few hours. All communications should go through the portal.”
“Aye, aye.”
The call disconnects, and I clomp through the winter garden. Lina sits on a bench, a mobile in hand.
“When did you get home?” I ask.
“This afternoon. Amir sent me back in a car. He had important business.”
She sounds…off.
“Did you have fun?”
She gives me her piss-off expression.
“What did you do?” Yes, I’m suspicious.
“That’s not your business, is it?”
I pay all her bills, but that’s an explosive argument. “Who shoved a stick up your arse?”
“Amir insisted I return home. Because of you. You treat me like a child. Like I don’t matter. You don’t want me near you, you just want me here. Why? What is it with you and control?”
My nerves go on high alert. I step closer, wrap my fingers around her wrist, and squeeze until she raises her head. Her pupils are blown. Bloody hell.
“Are you high?”
“I hate you,” she grits, snatching her wrist from my grip and wrapping her arms around herself like a spoilt child. “You always assume the worst.”
Fuck all. I pat my jacket for my mobile. Amir has some explaining to do.
In my periphery, movement catches my attention. It’s Scarlet. She scratches Dog’s ear, straightens, and slings a stick. Dog’s tail wags back and forth, happy as I’ve ever seen it.
Lina follows my gaze. A good thing. She can’t be that wasted if she’s aware enough to observe someone approach.
“See something you want to fuck?”
Perhaps sobriety isn’t such a good thing.
“Watch it, Lina.”
“Why?”
“Show her respect.”
“You fancy her.”
She’s attractive, I’ll not deny it.
“Brother dearest has a crush,” Lina says. She commences with giggling like a schoolgirl while stifling the noise with her hand over her mouth. She wobbles and loses her balance, catching herself on the bench. “Oh, dear,” she says through giggles.
I don’t know what she’s on, but she’s off.
“Lina,” I growl. “She’s doing me a favor. That’s all.”
“And it’s all about you, right? What favor exactly?” She grins. “Did she?—”
“Lina. One more word, and I slice and dice your cards.”
“You and your money. It’s always about money.”
“Christ, Lina. She’s my guest. Treat her well.”
“Aye aye, big brother.”
Scarlet approaches with slow, steady steps. Her gaze flits between Lina and me.
“I’m going to the kitchen. Want me to check on anything?”
“I’m starving,” Lina says, popping up off the bench with far too much gusto. “I’ll go with you.”
I wait for Lina and Scarlet to traverse the garden path. When they’re out of sight, I pluck my mobile and locate Amir Nooyi in my contact list. I want to know exactly what he did with Lina. If he gave her anything stronger than weed, I’m going the strangle the fucker.
Table of Contents
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- Page 9 (Reading here)
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