Scott Mariani - The Heretic’s Treasure

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s just the way it is. Can’t we be friends?’ But it sounded empty and hollow to him even as he said it. He knew it could never be.

She pulled away, standing up and moving back into the shadows. ‘I won’t be here when you leave tomorrow.’

‘Zara—’

‘Goodbye, Ben.’

He watched her slip back to the door. The chink of light appeared and disappeared as she left the room.

He leaned back and closed his eyes. His thoughts swirled. He lost all track of time.

It had been a long time since he’d felt this lonely.

The feeling of loneliness was still with him when he woke up early the next morning. He sat up in bed and watched the sun break away from the flat blue horizon and begin its climb up across the lightening sky. The sea was a little choppier today, and there was just the slightest perceptible sense of motion as the superyacht rode up and down on the swell.

After a few minutes he rolled out of bed and forced three fast sets of twenty press-ups out of himself on the soft carpet. It helped to shift his focus and settle his restless mind, but not enough. He paced up and down for a while in the luxurious stateroom, finding the opulence of it almost oppressive. Then he went for a shower in the massive ensuite bathroom. Afterwards, he found a dark blue bathrobe on a rail and put it on, noticing in the mirror that it had the yacht’s name embroidered in gold across the right breast. He wandered back out of the bathroom and flopped on the bed.

What a situation. He closed his eyes and tried to empty his mind, but it wasn’t working. He grabbed his Omega from the bedside table and looped it over his wrist, noting that it was after eight. He reached for the phone and punched in the number of the office in Normandy. He was expecting Jeff to answer, but the voice that greeted him on the other end was Brooke’s.

‘You’re still there,’ he said.

‘You’re losing it, Hope. I’m here for a few days. We talked about it, remember?’

He did. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered.

‘I was kind of hoping you’d be back today.’

‘No chance of that.’

‘Where are you?’

‘I’m still in Italy. But I won’t be here much longer.’

‘You’ll be back tomorrow?’

‘No. That’s what I was phoning about. I’m going somewhere else.’

‘So mysterious. Am I allowed to know where?’

‘Cairo.’

She paused. ‘Why?’

‘Don’t ask.’

‘How long for?’

‘I don’t know,’ he answered truthfully.

‘You’re being a bit weird, Hope.’

‘I know. I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do about it.’

‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, sounding anxious.

‘Nothing’s wrong. Tell Jeff I’ll be back there as soon as I can.’

‘I’m worried about you,’ she said. ‘Talk to me, Ben.’

‘Nothing to be worried about. I’ll see you again soon.’

After the call was over, he dressed and wandered up on deck. Part of him was hoping Zara would be around, but another part dreaded it.

Out on the lower aft deck, the long table was set for breakfast. The scent of freshly percolated coffee drifted on the sea breeze. A basket was filled with warm croissants and pain au chocolat, and a jug of orange pressé sparkled in the sun. Zara was nowhere to be seen.

‘My wife sends her apologies,’ said Paxton’s voice behind Ben. ‘She had an early dental appointment and won’t be joining us. Said to say goodbye to you.’

Ben turned. ‘Morning, Harry.’

Paxton was smiling. ‘Did you sleep well? I hope the noise of the helicopter didn’t wake you.’

‘I slept fine, thanks,’ Ben said. ‘How was your business meeting?’

‘It went very well.’ Paxton motioned at the table. ‘Please, take a seat. Have some breakfast. I can have the chef prepare you bacon, eggs, anything you want.’

‘This is fine, thanks, Harry.’ Ben reached for a croissant, poured coffee into his cup.

They chatted over breakfast for a few minutes. ‘I still don’t know how to thank you for what you’re doing for me,’ Paxton smiled, the sadness in his voice tinged with warmth. ‘You’re booked on a Swiss International Airlines flight from Nice at eleven. There are a few particulars I wanted to run through with you. When you’re finished, perhaps we could go down to the library?’

Ben put down his empty cup. ‘I’m finished. Let’s go.’

The first thing he noticed when he walked into the library was the attaché case on the table. Paxton went over to it, took out a slim card folder and handed it to Ben. ‘These are all the details,’ he said as Ben leafed through the contents. ‘The address of Morgan’s rented flat in Cairo. A copy of the coroner’s report, and of my correspondence with the homicide department, for what it’s worth. Your tickets will be waiting for you at the airport.’ Paxton reached back inside the case and took out a thick envelope. He handed it to Ben.

‘What’s this?’

‘Your expenses,’ Paxton said.

Ben looked inside at the fat wad of banknotes.

‘Egyptian currency,’ Paxton said. ‘Three hundred thousand Egyptian pounds. That’s about forty thousand Euros, give or take.’

‘That’s too much, Harry. Take some back.’

Paxton shook his head vehemently. ‘Keep it, please. Spend as much as you want and, whatever’s left over, change it back to whatever currency you need for yourself.’

Ben shrugged. ‘If you insist.’

‘I absolutely do.’

Ben ran his eye along the row of pictures on the sideboard. He skipped over a photo of Zara in a swim-suit sitting by a pool in some exotic place. Next to it was a picture of Morgan. ‘It might be useful for me to have a picture of him,’ he said. ‘Something recent, so I can ask around. It might jog a memory.’

Paxton picked one up and handed it to him. ‘This was taken the last time I saw him, just before he left for Cairo. One of the rare times he ever came to stay with us on board.’

Ben looked at the photo. It showed Morgan sitting in the Scimitars dining room, looking a little flushed and uncomfortable, holding a champagne glass. He was wearing a lightweight blazer, white with thin blue pinstripes. Ben could see the edge of a chunky gold watch protruding extravagantly from his cuff. It seemed somehow incongruous on him.

‘Expensive-looking item,’ he said. ‘Was that the one he was wearing on his trip? You mentioned it was stolen.’

Paxton nodded sadly. ‘A Rolex Oyster. He always wore it. It was a present from his mother. She had it engraved. He treasured it.’

‘Tempting chunk of gold for a thief.’

‘I know. Morgan wasn’t especially streetwise. Academics live in their own little cocoon. I warned him about the watch, advised him to leave it here so that I could put it in the safe. But he didn’t want to know.’ Paxton let out a long, trembling breath. ‘I should have been more insistent. I let him go out there and make himself a target. It was my fault.’

Ben was wishing he hadn’t mentioned the watch. ‘Don’t beat yourself up, Harry. They might just have been going after his wallet, his computer, his phone, even his shoes. He was a wealthy Western tourist. It happens. People get murdered for a lot less.’ He waved the photo. ‘Can I take this with me?’

‘Take it,’ Paxton said. ‘I have a copy.’

Ben removed the picture from the frame and slipped it into the folder with the other papers. There wasn’t much, but he was already forming his plans. He put the folder in his bag and buckled the straps. ‘I’m ready.’

Paxton looked pleased. ‘Good. There’ll be a taxi waiting for you at Porto Vecchio to take you to the airport.’