by Matt Drabble
‘Of course,’ she spluttered. ‘What the hell do you think I’ve been doing all this time?’
‘Unfortunately for you, I had little idea of your knowledge in this matter. I cannot allow anything to stand in the way of my mission.’ The dog at his feet whined in sympathy with its master. ‘I’ll smash a million eggs to make this omelette, Ms Goode. I have to.’
‘Why? Why is your need so much greater than mine? I’ve spent my whole adult life trying to track that bloody portrait down and put an end to it.’
‘Because I am a descendant of Hugo Montague. I am his great grandson. Hugo’s blood runs through my veins and it is my curse. My family has inflicted a great evil on this world and it is my responsibility to extinguish it. I have to, don’t you see? Your parents’ deaths and many others’ are on my head, and I must end it.’
Charlotte watched in disbelief as Vargas stood trembling before her. The dog at his feet whined harder and tried to lick his hands. Could it really be true? Great grandson? The whole time she and Travis had been running from Vargas they should have been running to him? ‘Why should I believe you?’ she said, still highly sceptical.
‘Normally I wouldn’t care, Ms Goode. Normally I would ignore your questions and carry out my plans regardless of your or anyone else’s feelings. But the simple matter is that I need your help, Ms Goode. Or should I say Wheeler?’
Charlotte struggled to comprehend what Vargas had just said.
‘That’s right, Charlotte. I know that you are a direct descendant of Eleanor Montague just as I am of Hugo. You see, it’s the bloodline. That’s what’s all important. Hugo was a student of the black arts and his knowledge and library on the subject was legendary. It has taken me a lifetime of research to find that there is a way to stop him and end the curse. But it will take both descendants of Hugo and Eleanor to end it. I found a Wheeler woman called Gemma in Ireland. She had the painting and fortunately she was a spiritual soul who I managed to convince about the curse. Apparently she was already experiencing problems with her husband who she said was starting to act strangely.’
‘I know about her,’ she said. ‘Travis and I tracked the painting to Ballytona but Hugo had already struck. They were both dead, their house burned to the ground and the painting gone.’
‘Yes, a terrible shame. Yet again I was just a little too late and two good people were lost. I swore then and there that they would be the last to suffer in my family’s name. You must help me, Charlotte. You simply must,’ Vargas said, gripping her arms.
She looked deep into his eyes and found no lies there. His large muscular frame suddenly seemed frail and old. ‘Why didn’t you tell Travis any of this, or me for that matter? We could have worked together.’
‘I fear that Mr Parker would never come to understand such things. He is a man of grounded beliefs and he would have laughed me out of his life. As for you, you were too far down the road and too mistrustful before I learned of your heritage.’
‘How did you know?’
‘There are a great many things that I know. Unfortunately, as I grow older I grow less efficient. I should have known about you and about how the painting was targeting Wheeler women long before now. I shudder to think of the wasted time and lives that my slow-wittedness has caused.’
Charlotte watched in horror as Vargas released her arms and began to softly weep. This was something she was not prepared for. She had expected to rage and to fight, not to feel sympathy for the man she had assumed was the bad guy.
Vargas wiped his eyes. ‘Excuse me. I’m afraid this has all been a rather trying time for me.’
‘What exactly is it that you would need from me?’ she asked, still suspicious.
‘There is a certain ritual I have found that I think will work. But it will take both of us to perform it accurately. Hugo’s vast library, which led to him being able to construct this curse, might very well be his downfall. Most of it was destroyed in the original fire but I have spent a lifetime reconstructing it and retracing his steps. I am sure we can save your kin, Charlotte. In fact I know that together we can.’
‘Do I have a choice?’
‘Of course you do. I won’t stop you from leaving here if your conscience can stand it, my dear. But if you stay and if you help me, then we can fulfil both our destinies.’
Charlotte considered her options. She had little reason to trust Vargas, but at the same time she felt little reason to doubt him. Her life and Travis’s had only ever been threatened by Lochay. She was free to leave here if she wanted to, and no-one seemed charged with stopping her. Vargas had the painting here and he was asking her to help him destroy it. And wasn’t that what she had wanted for so long now? Wasn’t he offering her the chance she had so long dreamed of?
Vargas interrupted her thoughts. ‘Well?’
‘Okay, I’m in. But if you double cross me, Vargas, then I will kill you.’
He smiled. ‘My dear, I would expect nothing less.’
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
STRANGE BEDFELLOWS
Sage Adderley busied herself with the minutiae of her duties. The manor house and all its grounds were next to impossible to adequately defend. But contrary to her many objections, Vargas had always insisted that he was safe here. In her day to day dealings with him over the years she was often astounded by his insights and predictions. She once overheard some of his accountants expressing their disbelief over long range investments that against all reason quadrupled in value over a matter of weeks. She also remembered that one of the accountants disappeared a few days later, never to be heard from again.
Vargas had demanded that she guarantee the safety of all of his VIP guests tonight, but she couldn’t see how she could do that. The grounds covered some nine hundred acres with only a single high metal fence around the perimeter of the property, which was unmanned and unmonitored. Vargas dispatched her to her duties with barely enough time to carry out an effective recon. She suspected that he merely wanted her out of his hair, presumably so that he could spend more time with the Goode woman. She hated herself for the immature jealously that seemed to be clouding her thoughts. It was a pointless exercise and she had little time to waste.
His personal secretary was a man called Jeremy Rasche. Jeremy had once been the private secretary to someone high up in the British royal family. Vargas took a shine to the man during one of his business meetings and as usual he got what he wanted. Rasche was a tall effeminate and elegant man, always immaculately dressed regardless of the occasion and always impeccably spoken.
The house and grounds were beginning to fill up with staff and deliveries ahead of the evening gathering. Most of the work was done during the week when she was away tracking Parker and Goode halfway across Europe. Normally she would have been front and centre, but now she was firmly in the backseat as far as the preparation was concerned.
She spotted Rasche emerging from the basement where he had been selecting vintages from Vargas’s enviable wine cellar.
‘Ah, Ms Adderley,’ Rasche said, smiling as he caught her eye. ‘So nice of you to join us.’
She never knew when his comments were sincere and when they were sarcastic, so normally assumed that they were sarcastic. Something about his attitude and demeanour had always bothered her.
‘I need the full guest list and staff visitors,’ she said brusquely.
‘Everything is under control, I assure you,’ Rasche said as he turned to leave.
Sage wrestled with her temper. It was one thing for Vargas to treat her so dismissively, but it would be a cold day in hell before she allowed Rasche to take such liberties. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, you must be harbouring the impression that I was asking,’ she said as she marched over to him.
There were several busying staff who pretended not to see them, and a delivery man who took a wrong turn on the way out and was grinning happily as he enjoyed the show.
‘I want the list and I want it now,’ she said, standing close to him and invading his space.
Rasche was always uncomfortable around her for some reason and she maximised the emotion. She leaned in and whispered in his ear so that her breath tickled his ear. ‘And if you speak to me like that again I’ll make more than just your cheeks blush. There’s a new wind about to blow through this empire and you would be wise to curry favour with your superiors.’
Rasche backed away, flustered. ‘Speaking of superiors I should remind you, Ms Adderley, that I outrank you.’
‘I wasn’t talking about rank,’ she said, turning on her heel. ‘Get me that list, Rasche, and be quick about it.’
She smiled, thinking what an officious prick he was as he scuttled away. There were several names on her black list, but he was at the top. When she finally sat at Vargas’s right hand, Mr Rasche would find himself terminated, in all senses of the word.
She turned her attention back to the myriad things she still had to inspect. A check of the time told her that the catering staff would be arriving very soon and she had less than two hours before the first guests arrived.
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The journey was cramped, stuffy and uncomfortable, but Travis wasn’t complaining. Lochay’s small plane was packed to the gills with large sweaty men in heavy hot black fatigues, who spoke not one word during the flight. More than once Travis worried about the excess weight in the tin can.
His mind was reeling with worry. Lochay had told him nothing about Vargas’s plans for the painting or for Charlotte. The doctor claimed to hold little knowledge of Vargas’s intentions, but Travis didn’t trust him. In fact he didn’t trust anyone anymore. All he knew was that if there was a chance that Charlotte was in danger, then he had no choice but to follow Lochay. The idea of Lochay being the good guy was frankly absurd. He had been on the end of Lochay’s interrogation technique back at the retirement home; and it was Lochay’s people tracking him and Charlotte across Europe, trying to put a bullet in them.
The plane dipped low and his stomach rolled with it, but the muscled men all sat emotionless. Travis maintained his own poker face right up until his stomach rolled a second time and he could do nothing to stop himself puking.
The pilot landed the plane on a strip that looked nothing like an official airport. The field was long and deserted with only a flat road spiked through the middle of it. The small plane bumped and swayed along the concrete until it lurched to a stop outside a camouflaged hanger. Immediately the engine was switched off, the hanger doors opened and three jet-black Range Rovers pulled out in unison, and drove up in formation as Travis followed Lochay and his silent men out of the plane. As his feet struck the tarmac his knees buckled and he hoped that his puking day was done.
‘Shall we?’ Lochay said, indicating the lead vehicle.
The cars were already filling up with the large sweaty men, their bulbous heads brushing the roof. Travis quickly scooted past Lochay and secured himself a front passenger seat. He smiled to himself as Lochay climbed into the back, squashed between two of the brutes.
The early evening sun was fading fast as the three Range Rovers pulled out of the field. Travis had never ridden in such a luxurious vehicle before and he could see himself getting a taste for it as he settled into the armchair of a seat.
At this point he was pretty much just rolling along with the tide. Vargas had said that Lochay killed Chris and now Lochay was saying that Vargas did it. Regardless of what the painting was, people were killing and dying for it. And to top it all, Lochay said that Charlotte was in the clutches of Vargas. What choice did he have really? All he could hope to do was to get Charlotte the hell away from that house, and let Vargas and Lochay settle their differences.
‘So how far are we from Vargas?’ he said, eager to reach Charlotte as soon as possible.
‘Soon enough, Mr Parker,’ Lochay replied grumpily from the rear of the car.
‘And what is it you want me to do? Do I get a gun?’ Travis asked nervously.
For once the muscle forgot their place and broke character. Muffled laughs permeated the enclosed space.
‘I don’t think so, Mr Parker. I believe your talents lie elsewhere,’ Lochay answered as the night closed in around them.
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Charlotte stared at herself in the full length mirror and did not recognise the reflection staring back. Vargas had provided her with an elegant ball gown that made her look and -- if she was honest – feel like a princess. She had never been a girly girl at heart and her wardrobe was barren of dresses. The off-the-shoulder crystal blue gown sparkled with silver lace and brushed the floor. It fitted her frame so tightly that it looked as if it was painted on. The billowing dress spun as she twirled, and she blushed with embarrassment. Her lush red locks had been piled up on top of her head by expert hands and her make-up brought out her natural beauty.
She couldn’t help wondering what Travis would make of her now, and smiled demurely at the thought. After this was over Vargas had promised her the possibility of a future with Travis and it was what she was holding on to. She still didn’t fully trust Vargas, but his explanation had at least made a kind of logical sense that was lacking during her excursions with Travis. When she asked Vargas about the large gathering that evening, he merely said that circumstances had conspired to bring the two events together. He also thought it would be the perfect cover under which to operate.
A soft tap at the door brought her back to the night’s upcoming events. Vargas had been reticent about revealing the details of his plan. He had said, first looking carefully around him – ‘the walls have ears.’
She answered the door and Rasche poked his face around the corner.
‘Why, Ms Goode,’ he said, flustered. ‘You look majestic.’
‘I feel a little foolish,’ she confided. Rasche had been nothing but courteous with her during the afternoon. He organised the dress and the attendants who had worked wonders with her unruly hair.
‘Nonsense,’ he said. ‘You are the very picture of elegance.’
Charlotte walked out into the corridor. As Rasche led her towards the opposite wing of the mansion, she caught the sound of a string quartet wafting on the light breeze. Moving closer they headed through a large oak door and the house opened out into a main atrium, flooded with natural light from the dome top that was twice the size of the one over the living quarters. The huge sweeping staircase was lined with white fairy lights coiled through the banister.
Delicately scented fresh flowers were carefully arranged by connoisseur hands. The tiled floor below was now thick with a throng of expensively tailored guests, resplendent in their black tuxedos and billowing formal dresses, as waiters mingled among them serving champagne and canapés. As she began to descend the stairs she felt several sets of eyes drifting up. Needing to exert extreme concentration in order to walk steadily on her unaccustomed heels, she gratefully ignored the looks.
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Travis stood by idly as the experts scaled the fences with equipment that he didn’t recognise. Some of the men had been scanning and searching the area for some time, presumably for security detection devices, but apparently they had found none.
‘Vargas’s arrogance is legendary,’ Lochay said as he waited at Travis’s side. ‘He sees himself as above the rest of us mere mortals and untouchable on his home turf.’
Travis watched as the professional went to work. Inside a very short space of time they had made a man-sized hole through the metallic barrier. Just then a radio on somebody’s shoulder crackled into life. A man stepped forward and whispered in Lochay’s ear.
‘It seems that your package has arrived, Mr Parker,’ Lochay said quietly as the sound of a vehicle drew closer.
‘Already?’ He had only told Lochay what he needed a few hours before, back at the auctioneer’s cottage in Ireland.
‘We aim to please,’ Lochay said.
Travis inspected the package and was pleased with the results. Lochay hadn’t been idly boasting when he assured him he would deliver. Travis took the item f
rom the cardboard. He removed his shirt with more than a little self-consciousness in the presence of gym honed muscular mercenaries. He wrapped the item around his chest before buttoning his shirt again.
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Sage Adderley left her room overstuffed with her own appearance. Despite running the security detail she was determined to mingle with the great and the good who had been summoned for the gathering. Her dress was a soft two tone lilac and cream number that hugged every curve. Her hair and make-up were immaculate and she knew she looked perfect. Perfect enough to be on Vargas’s arm as soon as he saw her.
The grounds were laden with limousines and drivers. She recognised several of the faces of those passing through the security checks. After running through her checks on the staff she headed into the house. She saw politicians and celebrities whose faces adorned the daily news – those who were loved and admired shoulder to shoulder with those who were despised. She even saw a couple of faces that she was sure were supposed to be dead.
With the chamber music echoing through the main atrium, she felt as if she was floating as envious eyes devoured her appearance as she passed. She scanned the throng for Vargas and found him holding court with a famous actor and an infamous ex-convict.
She made a beeline for them but only got halfway across the room when she noticed the redhead at his side. It took her a few moments to place Charlotte Goode. The woman was positively sucking the light from the room, such was her beauty, and Sage felt like a sagging wallflower in comparison. Her painted nails clenched into her palms, digging crescent grooves in her hands. A waiter paused at her shoulder to offer champagne, but the man turned away quickly as if he had caught sight of the darkness in her eyes.
Sage fought the almost overwhelming urge to draw the Walther P22 that was strapped to her thigh and start putting some holes in some deserving faces. Vargas was standing way too close to the Goode woman for her liking and his body language seemed softer. Looking over the woman’s newly spruced appearance, Sage upgraded her from potential threat to imminent danger.