The Secret Heiress (21 page)

She turned back around. “What the—?” The truck was approaching them now, no more than twenty feet away. It stopped and a group of men in camouflage jumped out of the back of the truck, their weapons drawn.

She heard a scream behind her. The boy had jumped off the still-moving quad and was rolling in the road.
Jesus!
she thought.
What the hell’s going on?

“Moctar,” she shouted. “What the hell’s—?”

“Oh, my God. R-rebels,” he stammered, giving the quad gas. The four-wheeler lurched forward, almost throwing Bianca off, and as she watched, Moctar’s head suddenly turned into an exploding watermelon. Or that was what she imagined. The reality was too much to comprehend. Then she heard the deafening reports of the men’s weapons, and her body began to jerk as bullet after bullet tore into her. She bounced off the side of the quad and hit the road. Making claws of her hands, she tried to crawl toward the boy, but she saw his body pirouetting down the road in a spastic dance as it was pummeled with round after round of ammunition. When he fell at last, Bianca heard a scream. She didn’t realize it was her own. Then she shut her eyes, never to open them again.

“
Y
ou come highly recommended, Mr. Atkins,” Nikoletta said to the man seated in her office. “More than a few of my friends mentioned your name. I gather you’ve done a lot of work in both personal and corporate security?”

The man merely nodded. He didn’t need to list his record of achievements for her. He’d worked for many of the rich international set in several world capitals, and the word spread among them about his talents, just as it did about the best personal trainers and hairdressers. Only the very rich could afford him, and they used him for everything from the simplest tasks, such as following a philandering husband or wife to obtain proof of an adulterous affair, to more complex tasks such as discovering the culprit within a multinational corporation who was leaking vital information to competitors.

“I’ve gotten together a folder of information about the man for you,” Nikoletta said. “There’s nothing in it you couldn’t have found out yourself, but I thought it might save you time.”

“Could I have a look?” he asked.

Nikoletta pushed the folder across her desk toward him. She watched as he began flipping through it. “Most of the information came from either the personnel or publicity department at PPHL,” she said. “I don’t have anything about him that isn’t more or less a matter of public record.”

Mr. Atkins didn’t acknowledge her remark, but kept scanning pages.

Nikoletta observed him without interrupting. What an odd man he was, she thought. When he’d arrived at her house in London, she’d been somewhat surprised when Charles had shown him into the office. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this ordinary-looking man. But, she supposed, it was his ordinariness that made him ideal for what he did.

He closed the file. “Is there anything specific that you want to know about this man?”

“No. Nothing specific,” she replied. “But I want to know anything—and I mean
anything
—you can come up with that I can use against him. Dig up all the dirt on him that you possibly can.”

“Do you suspect him of anything in particular?” Atkins asked.

Nikoletta shook her head. “No, but I have a feeling that he’s working against me behind my back. He’s on the board of PPHL, as you can see from the file, and I’m interested in getting him
off
the board. Because of the way my father left things, I have to have a good reason to get rid of him. So anything you can come up with that I can use to discredit him with the rest of the board would be very useful.” She paused, then asked, “What do you think? I know you haven’t had time to study his file, but for what it’s worth, do you think you can get something on him?”

Atkins grunted. “Almost everybody’s got a skeleton in his closet, Ms. Papadaki. Or has a secret vice of some kind. And I’m betting your Mr. Adrian Single is no different. If he hires hookers or likes little girls or little boys or goes on the occasional drug binge or talks to your competitors—no matter what it is—I’ll find out about it.”

“Very good, Mr. Atkins,” she said. Her eyes gleamed with intensity as she went on. “I’ve got to get something on him, and you’ve got carte blanche. He travels a lot, so it’s not going to be easy to keep up with him, but I don’t care how much it costs or what it takes. Dig up some dirt on the son of a bitch.”

“Not a problem,” Atkins said confidently. “We’ll exchange cell numbers, and I’ll take a retainer. Then I’ll get busy on it right away.”

“Excellent,” Nikoletta said. Adrian Single had been like a surrogate father to her, but those days were over. She would never forgive him for his betrayal in Peru. He’d made promises to the workers there in direct violation of her policies. He was a traitor, and he was going to pay.

 

At first Adrian thought he was dreaming, but as the telephone at his bedside continued to ring, penetrating the layers of his consciousness, he realized that the sound was not part of a dream but only a few feet from his pillow. Blindly reaching toward the lamp, he turned on the switch and peered at the clock. Two a.m.

It couldn’t be good news, he thought, picking up the receiver. “Hello,” he said, still half-asleep.

“Adrian, it’s Yves.”

“What’s going on?” Adrian asked, sitting up in bed, struggling to fully awaken from a deep sleep.

“I have very bad news to report, I’m afraid,” Yves said. “There’s been a rebel attack in the Sassandra region, near Dagbego.”

“Where?” he asked.

“Near Dagbego. It’s in Ivory Coast,” Yves said. “It’s been under government control, but apparently New Forces, the rebel group, has made inroads and—”

Adrian bolted wide-awake, his body flooded with a rush of adrenaline. “Don’t tell me,” he said, interrupting Yves.

“I wish I didn’t have to,” Yves said. In his distress, his English, which normally was barely accented, was heavily laden with French. “It’s . . . it’s Bianca. I’m afraid she was killed in a massacre.”

Adrian felt his stomach knot, and bile began to rise in his throat. “Does Angelo know?” he asked, fighting back the nauseous taste in his mouth.

“No, not yet,” Yves replied. “I’m on my way to Milano now. I would appreciate it if you’d meet me in the office there.”

“I’ll fly over at once,” Adrian said, already getting out of bed.

“Oh,” Yves added, “I would have Sugar Rosebury come with you. She has a very good . . . ah . . . stabilizing effect on Angelo. And God knows we’ll need it. Even with the three of us breaking the news to Angelo, he’ll be beside himself.”

“What about Nikoletta?” Adrian asked, wondering if she’d been called with the news yet.

Yves barked a laugh. “I say let the dragon sleep while she can. Angelo’s not going to take this lying down, you know.”

“Not a chance of that,” Adrian replied.

“I think keeping Niki out of the loop for the time being is the best policy.”

“You’re right about that,” Adrian agreed. “I’ll meet you in Milan and bring Sugar with me. We’ll stay in touch by cell phone.”

“Very well,” Yves said.

Adrian replaced the receiver in its cradle. He would have to call Sugar immediately and tell her to fly to Italy. The thought made him feel sick to his stomach.
Bianca gone,
he thought.
Dead.
It seemed impossible. She had been so vibrant and beautiful and good. She’d had everything in the world given to her, but she was one of those who wanted to give back selflessly. She’d never taken anything for granted.

His thoughts turned to Nikoletta. This was her doing. Of that, there was no doubt. Her recklessness had reached a truly dangerous point, resulting in Bianca’s death.
I’m afraid it’s time to finally do something about Niki,
he thought as he picked up the receiver to dial Sugar.
Niki’s completely out of control.

 

The helicopter descended onto the helipad situated on the vast lawn of the Coveri estate on Lake Como. From its windows, Sugar, Yves, and Adrian had a view of the beautiful lake and the stunning residences that dotted its shores. Directly beneath them, the well-tended grass was blown almost flat to the ground by the downdraft of the chopper’s powerful rotors. After it landed and the rotors were switched off, the three-some walked together toward the Coveri villa, dreading what lay ahead.

Giulia came toward them from the villa’s main entrance, a worried expression on her face. The unexpected arrival did not bode well. “Adrian?” she called to him, in a strained voice. “I mean, you are all very welcome, of course, but . . . ?”

“Giulia,” Sugar said, rushing forward to greet her, kissing her on both cheeks. She put an arm around the old woman’s shoulder and took one of her hands in hers. “We must talk,” she said, guiding her back toward the house.

On the steps stood Angelo Coveri, smartly dressed in a sport jacket, an open-neck checked shirt with paisley ascot, trousers, and suede driving shoes. He had heard the helicopter, and the grim expressions of the approaching visitors told him everything he needed to know. The blood drained from his face. He silently turned and went back inside.

Adrian caught sight of him. “I’ll meet you there,” he said to Yves, and went ahead, pausing briefly at Giulia’s side, gently patting her heaving shoulders. Tears streamed down her face, but she was silent. “Give me a moment alone with Angelo, okay?”

Adrian rushed on inside. The house was still as a tomb, he thought as he walked to Angelo’s library, where he was usually to be found. Reaching the doorway, he gazed in and saw Angelo slumped in the well-worn leather chair he normally occupied. He was staring unseeingly out the French doors.

Adrian walked quietly toward Angelo. Putting a hand on the back of the chair, he said softly, “We need to talk.”

Angelo didn’t appear to have heard him. He continued staring dully out the window, unmoving and mute.

Adrian pulled a small chair next to Angelo’s and put a hand on the old man’s shoulder. “Angelo,” he repeated, “we need to talk.”

Finally, Angelo turned his face slightly toward Adrian. “What is it you have to say, Adrian?” he asked sotto voce.

“There’s been news about . . . Bianca,” Adrian began. He cleared his throat before continuing. “She’s been killed in an attack in Africa, Angelo.”

Angelo’s face, already pale, grew rigid as a death mask. He gripped the arms of the leather chair with his hands, the veins standing out in bold relief. His jaw began to quiver uncontrollably.

Adrian took a deep breath and expelled it noisily.
What can I say?
he wondered, groping for words.
What in the world can I do that will ease his pain?
But he knew that there was nothing he could say that would make this any easier for Angelo. His daughter had been the only life he’d ever had outside of his work for PPHL.

Adrian hadn’t removed the hand he’d placed on Angelo’s shoulder, and now as he saw tears roll down the man’s cheeks, he stroked his shoulder gently.

Behind him, Adrian heard Yves enter the room. Sugar, her arms around a weeping Giulia, followed him in. They sat on a love seat nearby. Sugar saw the pallor of Angelo’s face, then looked with alarm at Adrian. He signaled her with a finger to his lips, but Sugar ignored him.

“Angelo, darling,” she said soothingly. “We know this is terrible for you, but we’re here for you. If you need anything, anything at all, you just say the word.”

Angelo didn’t look at her, nor did he respond. After a few more moments of silence, he took a crisp white handkerchief from his trouser pocket and dabbed the tears on his cheeks. Then, as if possessed by a demonic spirit, his face turned crimson with rage, and he threw Adrian’s arm from his shoulder with terrific force.

“Get your goddamned hand off me!” he shouted. “Don’t you touch me!”

Adrian quickly stood up and moved away from Angelo, standing near the French doors. “Angelo—” he began.

“How dare you show your face here?” Angelo roared. “How dare you?” He thrust an accusatory finger in Adrian’s direction. “
You.
You who disregarded my fears for Bianca’s safety.
You
who mimicked Niki, saying she would be safe with the guards. You . . . you fucking
Judas
!”

Adrian stood in shamed silence listening to his old friend’s rebukes, knowing that there was little he could say in his defense. He had known of the risks that Bianca was taking. There was no doubt about that. But he’d also known that she insisted on taking them and that there was no stopping her.

When he didn’t immediately respond to Angelo, the old man roared like an animal and leaped to his feet. Without warning, he launched himself at Adrian and began pummeling him with his fists, beating his chest with all his might.

Adrian stood his ground, allowing Angelo to hammer away at him, refusing to fight back.
If it helps him,
he thought,
he can beat on me till kingdom come.