Will Adams - The Eden Legacy

‘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.

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. She 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.

A minor incident from her original visit to Mustafa’s house came to her mind. After he’d agreed to help her put together the ransom, she’d asked to freshen up before setting off back to Eden. When he’d led her inside, one of his staff had called him to an important incoming phone call. He’d begged her to excuse him, then opened and closed his office door in such a way that she wouldn’t be able to see inside.

She hadn’t thought anything of this at the time, other than that he valued his privacy; but now she wondered whether there might not have been something in his office that he hadn’t wanted her to see. It wasn’t much to go on, but it was better than sitting here doing nothing. She thrust the Toyota back in gear and accelerated away.

It was the metallic shrieking that stopped Boris from shooting Knox. He knew what it was and what it signified and the world seemed to stop for a moment as he waited for and then heard the crash of shelving that he himself had precipitated by swinging himself around on it. A cacophony of ceramics shattered on the concrete floor. He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again with renewed hatred of Knox. ‘If those two pieces are broken…’ he warned.

‘There are more of them,’ said Knox, his hands above his head. ‘Lots more.’

‘Where?’

He nodded towards the sea. ‘Out there.’

‘Bullshit.’

‘I swear. I found them yesterday. I’ll take you out there.’

‘Like you were going to take us to the golden fleece?’ he scoffed.

‘The golden fleece existed,’ said Knox. ‘So does this. You saw those pieces downstairs. Do you think they appeared out of nothing? They came from a Chinese ship that sank outside the reef.’

‘That’s further north.’

‘No. We thought it was, but we were wrong. It made it down here before it sank. That’s where the bowl came from. That’s where the flask came from. And there are dozens more pieces like them. Hundreds. And not just porcelain. Gold and jewellery too.’

‘And you just left it all on the sea-bed?’ sneered Boris.

‘I’m an archaeologist, not a thief.’

Boris coloured, raised the gun at Knox. ‘Where exactly is this place?’ he asked. ‘Describe it to me.’