The Actuary's Wife

by K T Bowes

  “What about this job?” Mikhail asked, his eyes wide. “Don’t you need my help?”

  Rohan shook his head. “Nyet, Uncle. Go back to your hotel and return to Moscow. I’ll sort it out. We’re done.”

  Mikhail gulped. “But what about Alanya? I want her out of prison.”

  “Leave her,” Rohan instructed. “She’s sick and they’re giving her help. She kills people, Uncle. Leave her alone where she’s safe. Don’t go to see her again!” Rohan’s eyes flashed with danger and the nasty old man allowed himself to be led down the driveway towards his waiting vehicle outside the gate. Rohan closed the front door and turned to Emma. “Now we find that trophy and you’re gonna help me.”

  Emma didn’t sleep. Rohan carried Nicky upstairs and laid him in bed, returning to the kitchen to plan. When Christopher came back, they debated the issues. “So, Mikhail didn’t kill the Triad at the gate?” Emma asked, shaking her head in disbelief. “Nothing makes sense. Who’s the client, why does he want the plaque and how can this last job end a feud with the Triads?”

  Rohan shook his head. “I agree with everything you’ve said. What are we missing?” He strummed his fingers on the kitchen table in an irritating beat.

  Christopher poured himself a large brandy, sloshing it into a mug. Emma screwed up her face. “Don’t drink that! It was here when we moved in; goodness knows how old it is.”

  “It’s mine.” Christopher closed his eyes and savoured the burn at the back of his throat. “I often drank with Anton. Brandy helped him after chemo.”

  Emma saw Rohan’s body stiffen in misery and reached for his hand. Rohan threaded his fingers through hers and Christopher rolled his eyes. “Stop it!” Emma reprimanded the Irishman. “Get used to it or get out!” She shook her head and her mind worried again at the problem. “Why believe Mikhail when he says he didn’t kill the Triad? Does it make more sense if he did? Could he be deliberately making things worse and setting you up?”

  Rohan nodded. “Absolutely. Ok, let’s assume he did it and lied. Now solve the rest of the problem. Who’s the client and why does he or she want an artifact from a tiny school in the Midlands? What’s his connection and how would it present a risk worth half a million pounds?”

  Christopher pulled out his iPhone. “Mikhail sent me a job number. I’ll track it backwards through the server.” His fingers flew over the keypad, pressing buttons and logging into a powerful device elsewhere.

  Emma turned back to Rohan. “How far would the Triads take this grievance and what would call them off? How bad is it?”

  He sighed and ran his free hand through his blonde hair, leaving it sticking up at the front. Emma resisted the urge to mother him and pat it flat, gripping his fingers and waiting for his quick brain to solve the equation. “Che lets the Contessa run her own course. He gives her backing, but he’s only offended because she is. It’s not so much the Triads who are a problem, but her.”

  “Offended?” Emma cocked her head.

  “Yeah.” Rohan flicked his eyes towards Christopher. “A weekend of debauchery with our Irish friend didn’t work out as planned for her.”

  Emma saw Christopher’s face twitch and hid the smirk which pulled at her lips. “So he stole what she was carrying and took it to Mikhail?”

  Rohan nodded. “Yep. Che wasn’t happy because as backer, he looked a fool and the industry lost faith in him. It was a reputation issue. But for her, it was more than that.”

  “And financial?” Emma asked. “You told me you accepted an advance and once you did that, you had to deliver. Like now.”

  Rohan stroked her fingers and offered an appreciative smile at her understanding. “Da. The advance becomes repayable, but the compensation outweighs any profit the actuary would have made if successful. Compensation is intended as a painful penalty. Our business doesn’t tolerate mistakes or failure because the cost to the client is always high. If they don’t get the risk returned or destroyed it can be game over for them. Usually when you screw up you don’t work again, but the Contessa is protected by Che being her guarantor. He indulges her because she’s his heir. She came after us more out of revenge than to recuperate her losses; she doesn’t need the money.” Rohan looked at Christopher. “Who are they, Hack? Who’s the client? We find the client, we find the reason.”

  Christopher stood up and scraped his chair under the table. “I can’t do this here; I need my tech stuff. The server’s working on it.” He unlocked the back door, pulling the bolts from their housing and leaving the kitchen in a blast of cold air.

  “What’s he talking about?” Emma asked, knitting her brow. “What server?”

  Chapter 32

  Emma clutched Rohan’s phone in her hand as he led her across the stable yard. She raised it to her ear and listened. “Are you sure it works?” she asked, anxiety in her voice. “And you locked up properly?”

  Rohan rolled his eyes. “Yes, it works and yes I locked up, Em.”

  Daylight pricked the dark sky in growing streaks of red and gold, heralding the coming dawn. “Is this what people use as baby monitors nowadays?” Emma asked, raising the phone to her ear again.

  “I dunno!” Rohan scoffed. “You wanted to see the server but we can’t leave our son in the house alone. This is the solution but we need to hurry.”

  “I didn’t know my phone could be a listening device.” Emma put Rohan’s phone to her ear again, listening to her son’s steady breathing. Her phone lay on the pillow next to him. “It’s so clever.”

  Rohan shook his head and opened the door to the apartment over the derelict stable office. “Woman, you’re a worry,” he snorted.

  “I couldn’t afford proper things!” Emma reminded him as she faced the rickety stairs to the upper level. “I’m trying to forgive you for neglecting us, but it’s hard.”

  Rohan heard the mocking in her voice and pinched her bottom as she climbed the stairs in front of him. “Get up there!” he chastised. “And stop putting the bloody phone to your ear! The volume’s as high as it goes. Knowing your luck, you’ll turn mute off by accident and wake Nicky up yourself!”

  “Oh.” Emma stopped on the stairs and Rohan ran up the back of her in the gloom. “Could that happen? Maybe you’d better hold it.” She held the device out to him with a look of distaste. Rohan took the phone from her outstretched palm and pushed it into the top pocket of his shirt. It made the material sag and he saw Emma’s eyes widen in concern.

  “It’s fine,” he reassured her. Rohan fixed his blue eyes on Emma’s face, reading her latent mistrust like an open book. His index finger traced the line under her bottom lip. “When this is over Em, we need to sit down and talk properly; about everything.”

  Emma felt the protective wall go up over her heart, sheltering her from further pain. She swallowed and knew Rohan saw her withdraw. “What will that mean for us?” she asked, hovering on the step above her husband. “Seeing you pick the lock into Nicky’s bedroom was a bit of an eye opener.”

  Rohan stroked her cheek and pushed his hand into the long curls at the back of her neck, using the leverage to ease her lips onto his. The kiss was tender. “It means no secrets. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Emma Andreyev. It means I tell you everything.”

  “Will I want to know?” she asked in a whisper, feeling his breath on her skin as Rohan’s lips hovered over hers.

  “Probably not,” he muttered, his pupils dilating. He grazed her lips with his, jumping back in alarm as the door at the top of the steps propelled open, banging against the wall behind it. Rohan scrabbled for the handrail, finding nothing but empty brackets and struggling to stop himself falling backwards down the stairs.

  “Are youse doing this on purpose?” Christopher shouted. He jabbed a finger at a point above Emma’s head and she looked up, seeing nothing.

  Rohan smirked as he regained his balance. “Just keeping you on your toes, Dolan.”

  “Aye, well, necking on my security monitor’s not cool. I don’t wan
t to see youse getting it on in front of my face while I’m trying to work!”

  Emma kept her face skywards, raking the ceiling for a camera. Rohan rested his head next to hers and pointed a long arm into the corner above the open door. He waved his hand and the movement triggered a tiny sensor which emitted a dull flash of white light. Emma’s lips parted in wonder. Rohan nudged her, urging her wordlessly up the stairs and turned his attention to Christopher. “You need to stop it flashing. It’s a dead giveaway in the dark,” he said.

  The Irishman sneered and pulled a nasty face. “You need to stop it flashing!” he repeated childishly, parroting Rohan’s words.

  “And hence why we never worked as an effective team!” Rohan snapped.

  Christopher’s attitude changed with frightening immediacy. “Sorry,” he said, with contrition. He glanced across at Emma, naked jealousy in his eyes and her look of surprise chastened him. Her pity made it worse and Christopher gulped. He waved his arm, encompassing the large open room in his gesture. “Welcome to my place,” he said with a wry smile. “Anton let me keep my gear here and I’m hoping the new owner doesn’t mind.”

  Emma stared around the scruffy apartment. Old furniture lined the open space, a sitting room with dilapidated sofa and chairs gathered around a high spec TV and theatre system. The theme was grunge-meets expensive technology and the image was jarring and incongruous. An unmade double bed huddled behind the sitting area, the sheets rumpled and the duvet half on the wooden floor. A wall of windows graced the living half of the apartment, overlooking the stable yard and shrouded by blackout blinds which hugged the windows snugly. A glass partition divided the two halves of the room long ways, keeping personal and business separate. Emma stood with her nose pressed to the glass in wonder, staring at the amassed technology lining the apartment’s back wall. Lights flashed as information passed through the myriad racks of servers, blinking from one to another with regularity. Emma understood none of it, fascinated only by the aesthetic wonder of the sight. “Wow!” she breathed. “Those servers. There’s more than one.”

  Next to her with its back to the glass stood a high spec computer, the monitor frozen flashing a trail of information, temporarily halted by its creator’s absence.

  “This is yours?” Emma turned to Christopher, her eyes wide with amazement. “These computers belong to you?”

  He nodded and ran a hand through his dark hair. “Aye. It’s why I couldn’t leave. Anton let me set up here and I’ve nowhere else to put it. I know I must leave but I can’t find anywhere suitable.”

  “Why isn’t that computer in there?” Emma asked, her face innocent as she pressed a few keys on the keyboard in devilment.

  Christopher rolled his eyes. “Server rooms are freezing, like fridges. Besides, it needn’t be. Do you know what you just pressed? I never had youse down as a terrorist.”

  Emma pulled her fingers away and gulped, seeing Rohan smirk and bite his bottom lip. She gritted her teeth and refused to admit to the pounding heart of fear Christopher deliberately caused. “I hate you both,” she grumbled. Her attention wandered towards a bank of power sockets on the far wall. “Is this why the power bill’s so high?” she demanded, narrowing her eyes at the Irishman. “I’ve turned half the bloody radiators off in the main house!”

  He had the decency to look guilty. “Aye, probably. I’ll reimburse you,” he offered. “But your heating’s gas and this is electric.”

  Emma’s fierce expression wiped the smirk off his face. She shook her head. “My son’s still cold because I couldn’t work out the reason for the huge bill. And the person causing it’s offering to pay only now I’ve found out. Why couldn’t you be honest with me from the start?” She glared at both men. “Why couldn’t you both be honest?”

  Rohan shrugged. “Nothing to do with me; he’s your house guest.”

  “That’s no excuse! You should’ve told me! You were happy for him to use it to bug my car and follow me everywhere!” Emma put her hands on her hips. “The stuff you’re doing here, Christopher, is it legal?”

  He took a moment to formulate his answer under her piercing scrutiny. “The equipment itself isn’t illegal. Anyone could own this system.”

  Rohan snorted. “What, with a glass partition, insulated walls and air conditioning? I guess Microsoft and Google have something similar.” He shook his head and folded his arms.

  Christopher took a step towards the Russian, his face angry. “No! Any medium sized corporation in the country has something like this. I know youse don’t want me here and the moment this job finishes you’ll throw me out yerself. I’m sorry for everything, Rohan! There, I’ve said it! I shouldn’t have seduced the Contessa or stolen the risk and I shouldn’t have kissed your wife. Everything I’ve done since your uncle went to war with Che was my way of tryin’ to put things right. It’s been my dumb assed way of restoring things back to how they were before I screwed up. I’m sorry, Rohan; Anton told you I was someone I can’t be. I don’t know why he thought I was this wonderful, trustworthy friend; I look in the mirror and I can’t see the man he saw.” Christopher turned and thumped himself into the squashy sofa, all signs of his classic arrogance gone, replaced with self-doubt and a sense of failure. He shot a sideways look at Rohan. “And no, I wasn’t his gay lover.”

  He ran a hand dusted with dark hair across his forehead, his handsome face downcast. “Every time I tried to get us back to where we were, Mikhail double crossed me again and again. He told Che about Falkirk, not me. The Contessa was all over that long before you neutralised the risk and her guys jumped me. I thought I could limit the damage by luring them to the house in Falkirk but I didn’t expect them to take Emma. I thought I’d scammed them out of it.” The Irishman sighed.

  “That’s why you tipped me off and arranged the earlier drop at Heathrow?” Rohan said, his face softening at Christopher’s nod.

  “No.” Emma interrupted, shaking her head. “You kidnapped me not the Contessa’s men. You told me to get in the car.” Her brown eyes raked the Irishman’s face for deceit. “And they weren’t Chinese.”

  Christopher frowned. “You have an obsession with Chinese men.” He examined a ratty nail with distraction. “They told me at the club they’d found out where Rohan lived. The Contessa paid them for a hit on both of youse and I persuaded them to wait. She slipped up by using common thugs and I couldn’t stop them killing you, but I convinced them it made more sense to do it in front of the Contessa. They assumed she was a man because she used Che’s name to employ them. I played on their egos and made them believe he’d reward them if they presented youse as a gift. Then I changed the drop location and directed Rohan to the Falkirk house. I knew he’d suspect trouble, bring Frederik’s crew and get us out.”

  “So, why did you help the Contessa out of the fire?” Rohan spat. “That’s not the work of a sorry man!”

  Christopher stood up, his fists balled by his sides. “Youse left me there to die!” he shouted. “Everything I did was for you and her!” He jabbed a finger at Emma. “You left me in an inferno like I meant nothing!”

  “You double crossed me at every turn!” Rohan spoke through gritted teeth, his blue eyes blazing like blue agate in his face.

  “Not on purpose!” Christopher’s body looked deflated, his desperation showing. “I just wasn’t smart enough to outwit Mikhail and the Contessa combined.” He sighed and pressed the ball of his thumb against his full lips. “I’m not an actuary, I’m just a tech.” He waved his arm towards the glass partition. “This is my world and I couldn’t cope in yours.” He stood in front of the angry Russian, his eyes begging for mercy. “Look, I don’t blame youse, Rohan. I’ve been one big stuff up from start to finish just like my daddy said I’d be. I got meself chucked out of Oxford University for hackin’ and the only reason the Air Force kept me on was because I hacked what they wanted. What a bloody mess!” He rubbed his eyes and looked so downcast, Emma felt pity rise in her chest.

  “Let’s deal with
today’s problem,” she said, speaking reason into the argument. “We’ll sort everything else out afterwards.”

  The men turned their faces towards her, accepting her direction. Christopher gave a watery smile. “Ok, we’ll do this one for old time’s sake.”

  “Bloody better not be!” Rohan snapped. “You try one dodgy move and I’ll kill you.” He drew his index finger across his throat and Emma watched the Irishman pale.

  “I won’t let yer down,” Christopher promised. “I promise youse this time.”

  “Who’s the client?” Emma directed her question at Christopher, pushing her question through the haze of testosterone. “Are you any nearer to finding out?”

  Christopher nodded. “He used an email account with false details to list the job, but I’ve traced it back through IP addresses. He’s good at what he does, but not with anything technical; it’s not his field.”

  “What is his field?” Rohan asked, relaxing his posture. He thrust his hands into his pockets.

  Christopher licked his lips, happier to see Rohan’s strong hands move out of sight. “He’s a very successful plastic surgeon. He’s got offices in Harley Street and an international reputation on the line.”

  “Why does he want an old plaque from a primary school?” Emma asked, screwing up her face. “How is it a risk to him? It makes no sense.”

  Christopher stood up and walked to his computer. Emma watched the tall Irishman’s back as he pressed keys and glanced at the large screen. A printer kicked out a single sheet of paper and he grabbed it, turning back to his rapt audience. A faint smirk lit his lips as he handed the paper to Emma.

  “Oh.” Emma sighed and handed it straight to Rohan. He perused it quickly and shrugged.

  “Means nothing,” he said, looking from Christopher to Emma.

  “It does to you though, doesn’t it Emma?” the Irishman said and she nodded.

  Emma reached out and took the sheet of paper from Rohan’s fingers, shaking her head. A basic internet search on the name Christopher gleaned from his complicated tracking, revealed the portrait photograph of a sixty-five-year old man from his clinic profile. “Fantastic!” Emma said, anger in her voice. “Adam Jameson must be related to Clarissa Jameson-Arden.” She glanced up at Rohan’s blank face. “Clarissa’s the chairwoman of the board of governors at school. I found the plaque weeks ago and started investigating the school’s history. I stupidly alerted her when I visited St Di’s and she guessed I knew something. She’s been watching me ever since, according to Christopher and she threatened me.”