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…