by Tony Salter
It was great to see her again face-to-face, with no filthy glass or perspex between us. She seemed genuinely pleased to see me and not especially disturbed by my decision to cut short my time spent serving at His Majesty’s Pleasure.
‘So … you’ve met Sam?’ I couldn’t wait any longer.
‘Yes,’ said Nicki. ‘A couple of times now.’
‘… And?’
‘Just as you told me, he seems like a great guy.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘But we had a big fight last week.’
‘Oh?’ I leant forward and swallowed my smile.
‘I found out that he, or rather Daz, had hired an investigator to check up on me,’ she said. ‘I didn’t react well.’
‘Why?’ I said. ‘Surely you investigated him?’
‘Of course I asked our guys to poke around a little,’ she said. ‘But that’s different. It’s what I do. They recruited some grubby private eye to look into me.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ I said. ‘And I don’t blame you for being pissed off. ‘Maybe that helps you see that he’s not quite what he seems.’
‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘Although I’m beginning to understand why they did it. They’re all very friendly, but they really hate you, especially Daz.’
‘There’s a reason for that,’ I said. ‘It goes back a long way.’
‘Go on …’
‘You don’t want to know.’
Nicki looked at me without speaking.
‘OK. It’s not a big deal, really,’ I said. ‘Short version. Daz and I went out for a while in the first few weeks of uni. He never got over me dumping him for Fabiola. You know what blokes are like?’
‘Jeez,’ said Nicki. ‘That explains a lot.’
I nodded my head. ‘Anyway, you’ve met Sam now. I hope it doesn’t change anything. You haven’t forgotten what he did?’
‘No. Of course not,’ said Nicki. ‘But I’m sure you get that it’s complicated.’
‘Of course I do,’ I said. ‘Which is why you need to stay strong.’ I took a sip of my wine. ‘That’s delicious, by the way. You sure you won’t have any?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘And Damocles?’ I continued. ‘You launched it weeks ago and I haven’t heard anything. Shouldn’t it be starting to kick in?’
‘It’s actually only been two weeks and the virus is designed to take its time and leave lots of false trails. Makes it seem more human. I thought that’s how you wanted it?’
‘It is,’ I said. ‘I’m just impatient.’
‘Anyway, it has started – Sam told me that he had to walk home after our fight last week. Some cock-up with his bank had blocked his credit rating and locked his phone and a bunch of other accounts. It must have been Damocles.’
‘Good,’ I said. ‘And you’re right. It’ll be better if it takes its time.’
‘One other thing you should know,’ said Nicki. ‘I think Sam and Dave have got external cyber security in place – probably Milinsky Labs.’
‘Shit,’ I said. ‘That’ll be bloody Dave. Is there going to be a problem?’
‘No. Don’t worry. Damocles might take a little longer to find a way around their defences, but there’s nothing anyone can do to stop it. It’ll keep on worrying away until it achieves its mission.’
Even though I hadn’t been nervous before the meeting, I’d been tense. With no visible results from Damocles, I’d been afraid that Nicki might have bottled out and delayed the launch. I sank back into my chair with a sigh. ‘You know what, Nicki?’ I said. ‘You are a very clever girl. Very clever indeed.’
Nicki laughed. ‘Hardly a girl,’ she said. ‘But I’ll take it as a compliment.’
We talked about Odell for an hour or so, but I could tell that Nicki wasn’t fully engaged. That awful habit of digging her thumbnail into her fingertip was back.
I reached over and straightened out her fingers gently. ’Something’s bugging you,’ I said. ‘What is it?’
‘I’ve got a couple of questions,’ she said.
‘Go ahead.’
‘Sam gave me a copy of the investigator’s report about me.’
‘And?’
‘There were a number of issues which stood out. Things like where my dad’s money came from and how he found me. You explained everything to me in your letter, but unless I tell Sam about your role in my life, he’s bound to be suspicious. And if he isn’t, Daz and Rupert definitely will be.’
‘You can’t tell him about me,’ I said. ‘It would be a disaster.’
‘So what do I do?’
‘Accept things as they are and leave Damocles to do its job.’
‘I’m not sure I can do that,’ said Nicki. ‘All these lies are eating away at me.’
‘OK. Leave it with me,’ I said. ‘I’ll figure something out. I promise. Now, let’s just enjoy the rest of our lunch and save the boring, serious stuff for another time.’
‘OK,’ said Nicki. ‘As long as it’s soon.’
I’d been wrong to relax. Even though I always put so much effort into thinking objectively, threads of wishful thinking seemed destined to weave their way into my thoughts and actions. Just as the gold-flecked idea of being part of a family was weaving its way into Nicki’s mind.
I’d assumed that Damocles would be enough leverage and couldn’t see what I was missing. Nicki had released the virus, it couldn’t be recalled and it would destroy Sam’s life. How was she planning on explaining that?
However much that made sense to me, I could tell that she wasn’t going to drop this and I would need to find another way to manage the situation. I wasn’t going to be able to sit back and enjoy watching Sam and Dave suffer as I’d hoped.
It was only a matter of time before Nicki told Sam about me, and her guilty conscience would probably drive her to tell him about Damocles as well. That couldn’t be allowed to happen.
A shame, but there were many ways to skin a cat, after all.
I’d planned to arrive in Peschici after dark; it was best for no-one to see me arrive. The drive from Rome should have taken less than five hours, but traffic was a pig and it was after eleven by the time I finally slipped the BMW through the huge wrought-iron gates and into the garage. The car would be fine, locked away here until it was safe to take it to the crusher.
As the gates swung soundlessly closed behind me, I slumped forward over the steering wheel, hands covering my face and eyes. The last week had been thrilling, but I was glad it was successfully over and I’d arrived. There was definitely such a thing as too much excitement. From now on, I would have no reason to go out until my surgery was completed, and the only people who knew about the Peschici villa were Simon and the young couple who looked after the house and the garden.
Although I hadn’t met Signor and Signora Russo, they’d been sourced from a very special and exclusive agency and I knew I would be able to trust them. People tended to associate the Sicilian mafia with drugs, prostitution and extortion, but there were three families which provided other services, one of which was arranging trusted staff for clients who needed one hundred per cent guarantees of discretion and privacy. By the time the owners of every luxury villa and super-yacht were added together, they controlled a huge global market.
The service was extremely expensive and survived entirely on reputation. For the duration of their employment, the staff were allowed no contact with anyone they knew, and afterwards would never say where they’d been or who they’d been working for. They all had extended family back home in Sicily and the consequences of betrayal would be extreme.
I’d requested that the Russos live in town and so had the villa to myself when I arrived. A glass of Barolo on the balcony was tempting, and I went as far as picking a bottle and finding the corkscrew before accepting that all I wanted to do was to bury myself in soft Egyptian-cotton sheets and close my eyes.
My bedroom shutters were open and a cool breeze filled the room as I lay on my back listening to the night and the sea sounds
drifting up from the base of the cliffs.
I woke to the smell of coffee and followed my nose down to the kitchen. Signora Russo was standing by the stove, a short slim woman with long dark hair pulled back from her face. She would have been pretty if it hadn’t been for the dozens of pockmarks dotting her cheeks. She introduced herself briefly with a smile and a curtsey before leading me out to the balcony where a simple breakfast of fresh fruit and pastries had been laid out under the shade of the vines. As she poured my espresso – black and thick as crude oil – she pointed to her husband who was down by the cliff edge, raking the gravel path.
They were both young – probably early thirties – and he looked fit and strong. I knew he could double as a trained bodyguard if required – it had cost me an extra ten thousand, so he should be good. I hadn’t expected to need protecting, but now my plans for Nicki and Sam were changing, those extra skills would come in useful.
Signora Russo was also well trained and, before I’d taken the first sip of my coffee, she’d faded back into the kitchen. My instructions had been very clear. I was happy with my own company and had no desire to build a relationship with the staff.
The view was as spectacular as I remembered. This part of the Adriatic was never still. Fishing boats were coming home, day boats and yachts were setting off to the Isola Tremiti and, further out, cruise liners and rusty freighters ploughed their way up to Venice and Trieste. I’d been told that it was possible to see Dubrovnik from the Peschici cliffs on a clear day.
It was almost ten o’clock; I’d been bone-tired and had slept the sleep of the dead until the first rays of morning sun started to find their way through the shutters. For the following hour, I’d lain splayed out like a newborn, revelling in the first moments of my new life.
I sipped my coffee and, once the caffeine kicked in, I got down to business, revising my plans and working out exactly what to tell Nicki. As the next steps became clear, I remembered that the villa had a stone wine cellar, carved deep into the rock. That would be ideal.
I typed the email to Nicki, feeling the familiar pleasure of seeing the future with crystal clarity, and watching a solution take form. One step at a time. The original plan had been good, but this one was even better.
Dear Nicki,
It was wonderful to see you on Monday. I’ve realised that you really are the only person in this world who I trust and I hope you’ve forgiven me for keeping so many secrets from you for so long.
As promised, I’ve been thinking about what you said and I think I’ve come up with a solution.
I’m now convinced that the only way we’re ever going to resolve these issues is for me to speak to Sam face-to-face and tell him the truth about what really happened to his mother. His thoughts have been poisoned and I can only hope that, by meeting him alone and talking things through, I’ll be able to convince him that I loved Fabiola and would never have done anything to hurt her.
I’m not saying that I’m going to forgive him for what he did to us, and he may decide not to believe me, but at least everything will be out in the open and you’ll be able to stop lying.
I can’t travel at the moment and he won’t come here if he knows it’s to meet me. I do, however, have an idea which I think will work.
If you were to tell him you want to find out more about your mother, I’m sure he would be pleased. Tell him you’ve tracked down some of Fabiola’s family – that her brother has actually moved back to their family’s home town – and you should be able to persuade him to come to Italy with you.
We can then meet and I’ll tell him everything. Don’t forget! He mustn’t know he’s coming to see me, or he won’t come.
Let me know what you think and, if you think it’s a good idea, I’ll send you some more details.
All my love,
Julie
Reunited
My dad had been dropping all sorts of hints to Uncle Daz about my new flat and eventually it was his turn to enjoy the PixelWall experience. I sat him down with a beer and took him through what was becoming my standard routine – it was sad how even the most amazing things could quickly become repetitive and commonplace – but, when we got to the main show in the living room, Daz barely reacted. I flicked through the full range of presets, from North Pole in Blizzard to Eiffel Tower Panorama with no response. The only time I saw a flicker of excitement was when I switched to Shark Tank and we were catapulted into the middle of a huge aquarium surrounded by circling sharks.
‘Ah. That’s nice,’ said Daz. ‘I like sharks. I’ve always thought I should learn to scuba dive, but I guess it’s a bit late now.’
I switched the room back to Modern City Apartment and threw the controller onto the sofa.
‘I give up,’ I said. ‘You really don’t give a damn about technology do you?’
‘Not so much,’ he said. ‘I get that it’s very clever and all that but …’ He shrugged his shoulders and walked over to the balcony where he could see the sun setting behind Battersea Bridge. ‘Now that,’ he said. ‘That’s impressive.’
He had a point. Sunsets never got tiring while even the PixelWall had quickly become ordinary. He could have humoured me though. A couple of ‘Ooohs’ and ‘Aaahs’ would have been enough. Looking at Daz’s studied nonchalance, I suspected my dad had set him up, and the whole thing was a wind-up.
‘Did I tell you what happened to me after dinner last week?’ I said, realising I’d got as much out of him as I was ever going to get.
Daz shook his head, still apparently transfixed by the fading orange sky.
‘Well first I got into a huge fight with Nicki.’
‘Oh, yeah? What about?’
‘Three guesses,’ I said. ‘On second thoughts, don’t bother. It was about the bloody investigator of course.’
He turned to look at me. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘And what did Nicki have to say about the findings?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I gave it to her, she stormed off, and I’ve not seen her since.’
‘Sorry to hear that,’ he said. ‘She’ll come round when she reads it.’
‘Maybe,’ I said. ‘I’m seeing her again on Friday, so I’ll know soon enough. That wasn’t the high point of the night though.’
Daz listened patiently while I told him about my credit collapse and the long walk home.
‘And you’ve not figured out what happened?’
‘Not really. It’s very strange, actually. Dave and I are being targeted by thousands of minor hacking attempts. Most are being blocked, but this one got through. Our security company can’t trace them back. Every hack is coming from a different unique IP address. They’ve never seen anything like it.’
‘You know this is Jax, don’t you?’
There was still a massive gulf between what I knew and what I wanted to believe. ‘She’d only been out of prison for a couple of hours,’ I said. ‘And, besides, the attacks started a week earlier.’
‘It’s still her,’ said Daz. ‘And, if you knew you were being hacked nearly two weeks ago, don’t you think it might have been an idea to share that with us at the time?’
I avoided his gaze. ‘Of course I should have. I’m sorry.’
‘I guess it wouldn’t have made any difference,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘All we can hope for is that the police get her soon.’ Then he grabbed me by the shoulders, fingers digging into my flesh, and forced me to look at him. ‘Otherwise she won’t stop with a few online hacking games. You understand that, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I think I always have.’
‘How was your trip?’ I asked Nicki as we walked along the banks of the Serpentine. It was a grey, dull day, and I felt heavy and tired. I’d never been a great sleeper and the past few weeks had been worse than ever.
In contrast, Nicki seemed totally buoyant, fizzing with energy and jabbering away about anything and everything.
‘Rome was amazing,’ she said. ‘I went early and spent the weekend on my own,
just walking and walking. It was my first time, and I loved it. I shouldn’t have been surprised, what with all that history, but I didn’t expect the ancient buildings to still be there – and everywhere. Have you been?’
I nodded. ‘Julie was a big fan,’ I said. ‘We went every few months. It really is a beautiful city.’ I thought back to those trips and stopped walking as my memories blurred into a single flowing montage: image after image, memory after memory, perfect moments. Horse-drawn carriages at dusk, lunches on sun-kissed terraces, laughing through mouthfuls of gelato and long afternoons stretched out together on crisp white sheets. Like many times before, I allowed myself to be led like an innocent child into that impossibly idyllic paradise until, with a tearing graunch of seized cogs, the montage froze. Then, like a film stuck in an old-fashioned projector, black holes spread out over the images like plague pustules, their flaming, melting edges tearing everything apart …
‘Are you OK?’
I looked up with a start to see Nicki standing in front of me, eyes wide with concern.
‘I’m fine,’ I said, feeling the acid burn in my throat as I swallowed back bitter bile.
‘You don’t look fine,’ she said. ‘You went white as a sheet and I thought you were about to collapse.’
‘Honestly, I’m OK. I just woke up with a bit of migraine. The painkillers will kick in soon.’
I was never the world’s best liar and could see that Nicki wasn’t convinced. I reminded myself once again that I needed to see that counsellor. I was a mess.
We walked on in silence until we got to the cafe.
I made the stupid mistake of buying a slice of cake to go with our coffees. Thirty seconds later, Nicki and I were neck deep in a war of waving hands, flapping wings and spilt cappuccinos. We fought bravely, but it wasn’t long before we were forced to accept defeat and I moved the cake to another table where the three predatory pigeons could feast in peace. I could have sworn I saw smug satisfaction in their beady little eyes.