“Nae, James. You’ve had a shock.” Graham realized he’d have to go easy with the old man to get the rest of the story.
“Aye, that I have. Two, actually. If you brought lunch, I think I could eat a bit. Let’s sit in my office. And grab that bag from the counter. Our visitor obviously cares nothing for money. He paid for his purchases and then left them behind. I think the receipt with his credit card information is in there. Perhaps it will help.”
Serge nodded and tried not to feel smug that Mackinnon’s own words provided ironclad proof that the youngest James Mackinnon — grandson of the shopkeeper and son of the imprisoned bomber — murdered Will Cameron. Any jury would buy it if illegal wiretaps were allowed into evidence. He had it on tape, straight from the old man’s mouth.
This indisputable evidence might help Alex overcome her qualms about the three of them acting as judge, jury and executioner. They had to convince her that their course of action was justified. Like Diego, Serge knew that even if the police tracked down the killer, a smart lawyer might get an acquittal on some technicality.
Their justice would be simple and direct: an eye for an eye. Mackinnon’s careless talk had sealed his grandson’s fate. All Serge needed to discover was the location of the safe house that Mackinnon had mentioned. He turned his attention back to the voices coming through his headset.
“When I rang you last night Michael, you’ll remember I told you that your Mairi came by the house because she felt slighted by that American bloke she fancies, though he must be close to your age,” the older man added.
“She’ll not be seeing him again, you can be sure of that. You said that the lass met some of his friends and her description made you suspicious enough to look at our photos of the Cameron woman and Navarro?”
Mackinnon brushed wisps of gray hair off his forehead and cleared his throat. “Yes, but I had to be sure so this morning I took it upon myself to sit in my car outside their posh hotel and who did I see but the man and woman who turned up in my shop today. And the shameless way those two behaved makes me believe they’re more than friends if you get my drift.” He waggled his bushy eyebrows lasciviously.
“You’ve still got the photos of them, aye? I want a good look at this man who claims to be a Cameron.” Graham opened the folder and pulled several pictures from the pile. “Our man in Boston liked to use his camera, I see.”
“I suppose it was his way to prove that he did the job we paid for,” Mackinnon shrugged. He groaned and stretched his lower back as he stood next to Graham. “This one is the widow Cameron, the bonnie Alexandra,” Mackinnon said pointing to a close up of Alex. “And that handsome devil,” he said, “is Navarro. Put his next to one of the dead Cameron lad.”
They studied the photos of the purported brothers. “Both have the same height and body shape, but I don’t see a great resemblance,” said Mackinnon finally. “Do you believe they’re related, Michael?”
“Maybe so and maybe no. Brothers don’t always look alike. What’s important is that this Navarro told you he’s the dead man’s brother and the widow confirmed it. Navarro obviously was letting you know that he plans to avenge the lad’s murder whether they share the same blood or not.”
“And what if it’s true that this man is also John Cameron’s son? Then what, Michael?”
“It may not matter. We don’t know if Cameron’s acknowledged this latest son or has feelings for him. We did away with the son we knew of to punish his father, to rob him of the person he loved most, not just to end his clan. If he has no affection for this Navarro, perhaps the debt is settled. On the other hand, it may be wise to do away with him in case he has a mind to kill us himself or turn us over to the law. The lad clearly issued a challenge, after all. And don’t forget that there’s still a wee chance that the widow is with child and, if so, that particular Cameron will never see the light of day. Never!”
Mackinnon quaked at hearing the chill in Graham’s voice. Although he himself had said the same words when he’d suspected a pregnancy after Alex’s visit to a doctor who treats female conditions, he knew it had been just blather. He couldn’t condone hurting a woman or an innocent babe, but he didn’t know if anyone could stop Michael. The younger man seemed to have no conscience.
“I’m sure I don’t need to remind you, Michael, that we gave our word there would be no more violence unless every one of us agreed. We must talk this over with the others. Shall I arrange a meeting at the cathedral in Elgin?”
Graham considered the idea. “There’s no time for that. We must act quickly, before this Navarro and the woman leave Scotland. A second murder in Boston would be too risky, so if it’s to be done, it must be here. Set up a conference call for…” he glanced at his watch, “about eight tonight. Can you arrange that James?”
“Aye, I’ve done it before. I’ll phone the others. Will you take the call at home?”
“My house is filled with noise and has too many big ears within its walls. I’ll come here shortly before eight.”
“Fine. I’d best go out front and open up before the constable who walks this street every afternoon comes to check on me. Mackinnon started around the desk when he spotted the bag Diego had left behind. “We should have a look inside, Michael. Who knows, the man’s credit card slip may be of some use. “ When Mackinnon dumped the books Diego had bought onto the desk, an envelope slid out. “What’s this? There’s something written on the outside. I’ll get my spectacles.”
Graham impatiently snatched the envelope from his friend’s gnarled fingers. “’If you don’t believe me, look inside,’ it says. Well, let’s have a look, shall we?”
He ripped the envelope and unfolded several sheets of paper. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, the lad was telling the truth. He is John Cameron’s bastard.” Graham waved two sheets of paper at Mackinnon. “He left copies of one of those scientific DNA tests and a letter written by Will Cameron that spells it all out in plain English. That’s proof enough for me.” After a moment’s pause, his face reddened and he pounded his fist on the desk. “Damn it to hell! Navarro shares blood with the dead man and something tells me he’ll not be satisfied until he spills ours. This changes things.”
Serge had but two choices: to act quickly or walk away and let the law deal with the murderer and his accomplices. There was no doubt that his employer would reject the latter, so he had to devise a plan — and fast. He kicked off his shoes and stretched out on the floor. He always did his best thinking while lying on his back, eyes focused trancelike on whatever was directly overhead.
Three potential plans began to take shape. Choice number one would eliminate all of the conspirators and with them any future threat to those he protected. But a pre-emptive strike on five individuals would take time and coordination. It would also require a team of operatives and he didn’t want to bring anyone else in on this. Besides, a bloodbath wouldn’t go unnoticed and the last thing they needed was to call attention to themselves.
Or they could deliver the incriminating tapes to the police and let the law take care of the entire business. The locals would enjoy taking credit for Serge’s work, but neither he nor Diego trusted the legal system to carry out the punishment they had in mind for Will’s assassin.
Or…a third possibility began to swirl around the edges of his brain. He couldn’t implement it without Diego’s okay and he hoped that his unpredictable boss was someplace that had good mobile phone reception.
Chapter 32
The radio was blasting through the car’s open windows as Diego skillfully guided the Mini Cooper out of Inverness and onto the A9. A breeze that smelled like summer barreled through the car, making Alex’s hair dance like a whirling Dervish. After the tense confrontation with Mackinnon, the two of them were content to simply enjoy the scenery, the music and each other’s company.
After they’d crossed the graceful span of the Kennock Bridge, Alex lowered the radio’s volume, slid her sunglasses atop her head and smiled broadly at Diego. “Life
is never dull with you, is it Navarro?” Her innards still bubbled with an adrenalin-fueled high, but for once it was from excitement instead of anxiety.
“Oh, God, I hope not. There’s enough time to be bored after I’m dead,” he replied as he returned the smile. “The old man was scared shitless, wasn’t he?”
“Yeah, he was. His jowls were shaking like a turkey neck. I thought he’d have a heart attack when you told him Will was your brother.” They were both giddy and laughed before lapsing into silence as the reality of what they’d done, and why, hit them.
“Serge is going to be pissed,” Diego said as they sped past the exit for Tullich Muir and continued north.
“Damn right he will be. We did the one thing he ordered us not to. Are you going to tell him?”
“I won’t have to. He already knows.”
“He knows? How?” Then she remembered the high tech bugs planted all over the man’s shop and nodded slowly as the answer became obvious. “Oh, yeah. He knows and we’re in deep doo-doo.”
“Piles and piles of it,” Diego laughed and then his smile abruptly disappeared. “I had to see that the man responsible for Will’s death was only a man, not some mythic figure that I had to fear.”
“Do you believe he had the nerve to cross himself and offer me his sympathy? I wanted to strangle him.”
Diego grasped her hand and squeezed. “I swear you’ll never have to see that man’s face again. We’ve set things in motion and Serge will figure out how to do the rest. He loves a challenge and won’t mind what I did once he calms down.”
“But aren’t you afraid that they’ll come after you now that they know you’re also John Cameron’s son? These people are murderers. I couldn’t stand it if anything happened to you,” she added in a whisper, her voice cracking with emotion.
Diego took the next turnoff and pulled the car to the side of the road beside a field dotted with grazing sheep. He drew her into his arms and they clung to each other. “Please don’t worry, Alex. No one’s going to hurt either of us. Shhhh,” he soothed as he stroked her hair.
She lifted her hands to his face and saw that the dark eyes that met hers had none of the fiery hardness that had made Mackinnon believe he was dealing with the Devil. She felt as if she could see into his soul. “You’re very important to me. You know that, don’t you?” she said softly. Diego nodded and tightened his hold on her.
She was sure that he wouldn’t rush her, that he understood that she still grieved and would need a long time to heal before she could ever...would ever...but he’d already established a base camp in a small corner of her heart that could become a permanent structure if she let it.
“Come,” he finally said. “Let’s walk. I remember how much you like sheep and I think I hear one calling your name. Listen. Aaaaa-lex. Aaaaa-lex. Aaaaa-lex.”
Diego’s sheep impression was absurd enough to wipe away the heavy emotion of the past few minutes. It was a beautiful day, rolling hills carpeted in green surrounded them, and Diego was doing everything he could to make up for putting her through the upsetting confrontation with Mackinnon. Inverness and its high stakes intrigue suddenly seemed very far away.
They held hands as they strolled along the narrow country lane to the sounds of birds chirping and sheep bleating. “It’s beautiful here. I’m beginning to understand why Will liked it so much,” said Diego as he kicked a small rock out of their path. When he did the same thing again, and yet again, Alex turned to him.
“You miss it, don’t you? Soccer, I mean.”
“Sometimes…I guess so,” he answered. Diego was a toddler when his foot first met a ball in soccer-crazed Buenos Aires and was a standout by the time he reached college. He was courted by pro teams from around the world, but never considered the sport as a career.
“Any regrets that you didn’t become the Argentine David Beckham?”
“Becks? Well it might be fun to be him, but that has more to do with Victoria Beckham than with the game.” His words stung although they were accompanied by the kind of grin that indicated he was teasing. But she didn’t like it.
“Diego?” she asked tentatively.
“Yes?” he responded, equally cautious.
“Do you think you’ll ever tell John that he’s your biological father?”
He didn’t answer right away. “Probably not. I mean, what’s the point? Ricardo Navarro is, and always has been, my father. I don’t want a relationship with John and the only emotion I feel for him is hate, although that word is probably too strong. Loathe, despise, even pity are all in there too. If Will hadn’t died, I would have been proud to call him my brother even if it meant that John would have had to find out about the DNA test, but now…no, there’s no need for him to ever know.”
“Look!” Diego suddenly exclaimed and jogged toward a lamb that was wandering in the middle of the road. “He must have squeezed under the fence.”
The small animal gave a plaintive cry and looked at them. “He wants his mother. We have to help him,” Alex said, but Diego was already crouching near the lamb trying to lure it with a handful of grass. It took one tentative step toward him and Diego lunged.
“Gotcha!” He wrapped his arms around its spindly legs and buried his nose in soft wool as he picked it up. Alex crooned to the animal and stroked its head just before Diego hefted the struggling creature over the fence.
“I’ll never eat rack of lamb again,” he said, as they lingered to watch the animal rejoin its mother and begin to nurse. “We better get back to the car. I left my phone there so we could have a few minutes of peace. Serge has probably left a dozen messages by now. It’s time to face the firing squad.”
Serge’s detailed voicemail was brusque. “Listen and obey for once in your life. I don’t think anyone followed you, but you can never be sure so keep your eyes open and guard your back. Find a remote inn and lay low for a couple of days. If anything or anyone seems remotely suspicious, don’t investigate. I repeat, you are not to engage. Leave immediately and relocate. Use an alias. No credit cards, cell phones or anything else that can be traced once you’re in place. There’s an envelope with cash in the glove box, so no ATMs either.” He then described the three options to deal with Will’s killers. The game was on.
Serge doubted that Mackinnon’s people owned the sophisticated equipment needed to track down Diego and Alex, but he never underestimated an adversary. His headstrong charge would follow orders this time, if only to protect the woman he thought he loved. Serge thought Diego was more in lust than in love, but the label the attraction wore was irrelevant. Diego would fight to the death to defend Alex. And he’d increased the odds of that happening when he’d told the enemy that he, like Will, was a Cameron. But for now he would have to put thoughts of them aside and switch his focus to the mission.
Diego’s bold move had panicked Graham and Mackinnon into acting rashly. The Argentine was a volatile loose cannon and, even worse, the one person who threatened to connect them to Will’s murder. Serge guessed they’d want to dispose of Diego the same way they’d eliminated Will.
The plan the bodyguard formulated and which Diego was likely to okay, reflected the cold, meticulous way he’d carried out black ops as an elite agent. He reviewed how it would play out over and over, considered every potential obstacle, everything that could go wrong, and devised ways to deal with each. Anticipation made him itch for action and he knew he had to calm himself before he proceeded. His most effective weapons were a clear mind and lightning-fast reflexes. He slowed his breathing and began a series of gentle stretches to settle himself, his ritual preparation for combat.
He’d already concluded that only one of the conspirators would die. He also knew how he would do it. As for the others, well…they’d survive if they stayed out of his way. In his previous life, he didn’t have the luxury of knowing whether a kill was justified — he’d simply obeyed orders. This was different. It was personal. Diego and his parents were like family and he was fond of Alex. Fr
om the moment she’d arrived at the Navarros’ Miami villa, he’d witnessed the anguish the senseless murder of her husband caused. And now Diego said he loved her. No, he’d have no problem with this particular kill, although he wouldn’t enjoy it. He never did. But neither would he feel any remorse.
Alex studied Diego’s face as he listened to Serge’s voicemail, but his expression gave nothing away. “Anything I should know?” she asked. It was obvious that something was up and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to be told about it. Better to remain ignorant. Knowledge would mean that whatever Serge and Diego had cooked up had her tacit approval and she might not be able to give it.
“No, not really,” Diego replied nonchalantly. “He’s royally pissed off about our visit to Mackinnon’s store and said he’d like to cut out my tongue for telling them that I’m a Cameron. He could do it, too.”
“That’s a bit harsh. I’ve become quite fond of your tongue,” she said and shifted to hide her blush.
“Yeah, I’m attached to it too, literally and figuratively. Maybe we’ll have a chance to give it some use,” he added with a slow grin that left no mystery about what he intended. “Serge wants us to stay away from Inverness while he does his work.”
“I wouldn’t call a few days of exile a harsh punishment. Where will we go?” Alex asked eagerly as Diego turned the key in the ignition, then abruptly cut the engine before they’d moved an inch.
“Christ, my bladder is bursting,” he said apologetically. “I should pee before we get back on the motorway. I don’t think the sheep will mind, do you?” His eyes sparkled with amusement as he raised her hand to his lips.
“Of course not. Go!” She could use a rest stop herself, but since a woman’s requirements were a bit more complicated, she’d wait until they passed a pub. She unfolded the roadmap to figure out where they might go next.
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