Scott Mariani - The Mozart Conspiracy

‘Last January a friend of mine witnessed something by chance,’ Ben said. ‘Something he shouldn’t have. He was murdered for it, but the evidence fell into someone else’s hands. His sister. You might have heard of her. Leigh Llewellyn, the opera singer.’

Aragon nodded. ‘I know who Leigh Llewellyn is.’

Ben went on. He told the whole thing in detail. It took a long time. Aragon listened carefully. ‘They killed her?’ he said quietly.

Ben nodded.

‘I haven’t heard anything in the news.’

‘You will,’ Ben said. ‘There’ll be another staged accident, or a disappearance.’

Aragon thought for a few moments. ‘If what you’re saying is true,’ he said, ‘I’m very sorry to hear it. But you haven’t given me a shred of proof, and you still haven’t told me about Roger.’

‘I was coming to that. It was your friend’s murder that Oliver witnessed.’

‘You mentioned evidence.’

Ben nodded. ‘Oliver filmed the whole thing. It was recorded on a disc.’

‘And where is the disc?’

‘Destroyed,’ Ben said.

‘So you can’t show it to me? That’s very convenient.’

Ben pointed at the study door. ‘Can I use your computer?’

‘What for, if you’ve nothing to show me?’

Ben led Aragon into the dark study. The laptop on the desk fired up in seconds. ‘What are you doing?’ Aragon asked.

‘Checking my email,’ Ben said.

‘Your email. This is ridiculous.’

Ben ignored him. There was just one message in his webmail inbox. He didn’t have to read it-it was a message he’d sent to himself from Christa Flaig’s cyber-café.

At the time, it had been an afterthought, an insurance policy. He almost hadn’t bothered. Now he knew he couldn’t have done a better thing.

There was an attachment with the message. A big one. He clicked on it. The laptop was brand-new, fast and powerful, and it downloaded the file in under five seconds.

‘What’s this?’ Aragon asked.

‘Just watch.’

Aragon sat. Ben nudged the glass of brandy across the desk towards him. ‘Drink this. You’re going to need it.’ He moved away from the desk and sat on a chair in the corner, sipping his Scotch.

By the time the clip was over, Aragon’s glass was dry and his head was on the desk. Suddenly he lurched to his feet. ‘I’m going to be sick,’ he muttered. He staggered out of the study into a bathroom. Ben heard him retching into the toilet.

A minute later, Philippe Aragon emerged from the bathroom. His face was grey and his hair was plastered across his forehead. He wiped his chin with his sleeve. His fingers were trembling. ‘They killed him,’ he murmured. ‘They killed him, and then they rigged the car accident.’ His voice sounded weak and shaky.

‘I didn’t know who he was until today,’ Ben said. ‘I didn’t recognize him before. I don’t follow politics. It’s bullshit.’ He paused. ‘But like I said, I always research my targets.’

‘You kidnap a lot of people, then?’

Ben smiled. ‘I’m on the other team. But the reconnaissance is the same whatever side you’re on. With you, it was easy. You’re all over the media. Before I left Vienna I paid a visit to the university library. There’s enough material on you in their political science section to write ten books. There was a picture of you with your family on a tennis court. Bazin was there. That’s when I recognized his face from the video-clip. There was a caption saying who he was.’

‘That was taken two years ago at Roger’s place in Geneva,’ Aragon said sadly.

‘Then there was another photo of you at his funeral,’ Ben said. ‘Europolitician pays last respects to his political mentor’

‘He was like a father to me,’ Aragon said. He sat heavily in a chair. ‘He tried to warn me that time.’

‘Cortina?’

Aragon nodded. ‘He phoned me just before it happened. I don’t know how he knew about it. I don’t know what he was mixed up in. I just know that if it hadn’t been for him, my family would be dead.’

Ben remembered what Kroll had said. Men who cannot keep their tongues from wagging have them removed.

‘He was my best friend,’ Aragon continued. ‘And they murdered him as punishment for warning me.’

‘Join the club,’ Ben said. ‘They murdered mine the same day, because he saw them do it.’

Aragon looked up at him. ‘And now his sister,’ he said. He could see the expression on Ben’s face. ‘You loved her?’

Ben didn’t reply.

‘You know who did it?’

Ben nodded. ‘Who they are and where they are.’

‘I’ll have them arrested. One call.’

Ben shook his head. ‘There isn’t enough proof.’ He pointed at the computer. ‘You can’t make out the faces. And I want to get them all together in one place, round them up and catch them in the act. There’s only one way to do that.’

‘How?’

‘That’s where you come in,’ Ben said. ‘You’re going to have to trust me. You’ll have to do everything I say.’

Aragon paused, wavering, then let out a sigh. ‘I must be crazy. But all right. I trust you. What do you need me to do?’

‘There isn’t much time,’ Ben said. ‘I’ll have to make some long-distance calls.’

‘No problem.’

‘We’ll need to move immediately. You’ll have to drop everything you’re doing, right this moment.’

‘I can do that,’ Aragon said.

‘And it’s going to cost money. Maybe quite a bit.’

‘That’s easy,’ Aragon said. ‘Whatever it takes.’

‘How fast can you scramble a private jet?’

‘Fast,’ Aragon said.

‘It’s going to be dangerous,’ Ben said. ‘Very high risk. I can’t guarantee your safety.’

‘He was my friend,’ Aragon replied without hesitation.

‘Good,’ Ben said. ‘Then let’s get on with it.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘I’m going to kidnap you.’

Outside Vienna

The next morning

He wondered if Glass’s choice of a meeting point was his idea of a joke.

A thick icy blanket of mist had descended over the lake. He could barely make out the frozen surface from here. He wiped an arc in the condensation on the window, his fingertips squeaking on the cold glass. He leaned back in the seat. There was no sign of them yet. Behind him, on the other side of the plywood partition, his cargo was silent and would be for a few more hours, until the effect of the dope wore off.

Ben didn’t have to wait long. He saw them coming from far away, the headlights of two big cars slicing through the mist. They turned off the road and bumped slowly across the mud and slush and patchy reeds towards where he was parked. As they emerged from the mist he could see them more clearly. Two Mercedes, black, identical. The cars pulled up either side of his van, blocking it in. The doors opened. Glass and five others stepped out, their breath billowing in the cold.

Ben narrowed his eyes. He couldn’t see Clara in either car. He hadn’t fully expected to. He jerked the handle of the van door and went out to meet them. He tossed his cigarette in the snow, and it hissed. Glass stood with his arms folded, watching him. His face was flushed from the chill. ‘Well?’ he said. His voice sounded flat in the mist.

‘Well?’ Ben echoed.

Glass scowled. ‘You got him?’

‘I did what I agreed to do. Where’s Clara Kinski?’

Glass glanced over his shoulder and nodded at his men. For an instant Ben thought they were going to pop open the boot of one of the cars and bring her out. Instead, they stepped forward and grabbed his arms. He let them. They spun him round and slammed him against the side of the van. Hands frisked him, lifting his pistol. ‘Where is she?’ he repeated, keeping his voice calm and low.