One Last Thing

by Kim Baldwin

  “It’s not exactly what you think,” he began in a quiet voice.

  “Then enlighten me, because I want to know why you had to have that icon at that extraordinary price.”

  “I made a deal with Rothschild. She was to get it to me, and I, in return, would pay her a ridiculous amount of money. She, with the help of her people, managed to extract the Theotokos and deliver it to me.”

  “I remember her flying in, the day you said you acquired a new something.”

  “Yes, well…” He looked down at his feet. “I had no idea I had hired a psychopath.”

  “Clearly.”

  Her father went on to explain how Rothschild had never intended to let him keep the icon, and about Alex’s role in all of this.

  “You mean Alex’s sole reason for being here was to find and return the icon?” she asked when he’d finished.

  “Yes, and then things got complicated when it turned out Rothschild was involved. All Alex cared about after that was finding her. A lot of people apparently have issues with her.”

  “I knew she was a crazy bitch the moment I laid eyes on her.”

  “Your gut is never wrong, I’ll give you that,” he replied with a hint of pride in his voice.

  “And now for the actual reason we got involved in all this in the first place. I want to know why you desperately wanted that icon. Isn’t everything you already have enough?”

  “It wasn’t about adding to my collection.” Lykourgos cleared his throat. “The Theotokos is known for its healing powers. For centuries now, it has been one of the best-kept secrets worldwide.”

  “Not so much if you know about it,” she pointed out.

  “I know someone inside, but aside from that, a very small circle of serious collectors know about it as well.”

  “You, of course, are one of them.”

  “Of course.”

  “And now that vicious woman has it.”

  “Not for long. I hope, anyway. Alex intends to get it back to its rightful place in the monastery after she deals with Rothschild.”

  “So, if you didn’t want it for your collection,” she said, “I have to assume you wanted it for its powers.”

  Her father stood and paced the room. “Yes,” he finally answered.

  “You don’t really believe in all that, do you?”

  He turned to face her. “I do.” He looked so serious that Ariadne didn’t feel she should get into a religious debate.

  “What is there to heal?” she asked.

  He went to sit back down across from her. “About a year ago, I was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. Stage three.”

  “You what?” Ariadne shot up, his words resonating through her like a cold chill. “You’re joking, right?”

  “They gave me a year, and I am now a few months away from that.”

  “The coughing and weakness…” She flashed back to all the clues she’d failed to see, too absorbed in her own interests and her friends. “You hadn’t looked good for a long time.”

  “I was dying.”

  “Does Mom know?”

  “Of course not. She can’t handle stress.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because I didn’t want you to look at me the way anyone looks at a dying man,” he replied. “I wanted and needed all of you to know I was still the rock you all could count on. I don’t handle pity and coddling very well, and it would have killed me even sooner if I had given in to it, acknowledged it.”

  “But it would have given us the choice to spend time with you.”

  “I never want you to spend time with me out of fear or pity, honey. I want you to do that only because you truly want it.”

  “Jesus, Dad, this is crazy. You have a few months to…” Ariadne couldn’t keep the tears in any more. Her anger had turned to fear and pain within fifteen minutes. She let the tears fall and ran to her father and held on to him. “You should have told me, Dad. I…I want to spend every moment we have left together. Not because I have to, but because I don’t know anyone else I’d rather spend my time with.” She cried into his neck. “I love you so much, Dad. I don’t know what I’m going to do without you.”

  “Hey, there.” He caressed her hair. “That won’t be for a long time.”

  Ariadne pulled away to look at him. “What do you mean?”

  “Haven’t you noticed how I’ve stopped coughing, my color is better, and I have so much more energy?”

  Ariadne frowned. “Well, yes. Of course I’ve noticed, but—”

  “I started feeling better almost at once. I prayed to the Theotokos day and night for hours and…” He teared up. “And…”

  “And you think you’re cured?” Ariadne asked softly, not wanting to disillusion him.

  “I haven’t had any tests done or seen a doctor, but I know I have been spared.”

  “Dad, don’t you think you need to see a specialist before you break out the champagne?”

  He shook his head adamantly. “I will show no doubt for what I know is true. That would be blasphemy.”

  “But Dad—”

  “Please, honey, trust me. I know what I feel and I know what is true. Do I look like a dying man?”

  It was true that he seemed in perfect health—his color was good, the glint was back in his eyes, and he had regained the vigor she remembered. “You look like a million bucks, but that could mean that your cancer is in some kind of miraculous remission.”

  “Call it what you want. I know I’m cured.”

  “Dad—”

  “No more talk about cancer, okay? Now, sit down. I want to talk to you about business.”

  Ariadne didn’t plan to drop the subject, but he wasn’t open to discussing this any more, right now. She took her seat across from him again, her mind not at all in business mode.

  “I’m listening.”

  “I want to retire.”

  “Good, it’s about damn time. You need to sit back and enjoy.” Especially if you’re terminal.

  “For this reason,” he said, “I need to hand the company over to the most capable person I know.”

  “Dimitriades has proven to be a great asset—”

  He held up his hand. “Yes, he’s a genius, but I’m not going to let him run the company.”

  “Who do you have in mind?”

  “The most talented, most dedicated to the job, and the most hard-working individual I know.”

  “I—”

  “I’m handing it over to you. You will have full run of everything.”

  Ariadne opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Though he’d been grooming her to be an integral part of his empire, she’d never expected to have complete control, and certainly not any time soon. “Dad, I don’t know that I can handle the responsibility,” she finally said. “It’s a multimillion-euro business.”

  “I am very well aware of what it is.”

  “I don’t know enough to run it.”

  “Who are you kidding?” he asked, smiling. “You know more than I do.”

  “I…I’m not ready.”

  “You don’t need to decide right now. Get back to me in a week,” he said. “But no longer than that.”

  “Why?”

  He looked out the window at the sea. “Because I want to go away for a few months, and I need to know who’ll be running things.”

  “Go where?” she asked.

  “Mount Athos. I intend to spend six months on my knees thanking God for the gift of life.”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Thessaloniki, Greece

  Jack got out of the rental car and opened the back door for Jasmine. Allegro and Switch stayed seated. They’d found an open parking space where they had a good view of the marina with binoculars, but where they were too far away to be recognized by anyone on the numerous anchored boats.

  “Hand me the rucksack,” Jack said to Switch, who was in the back.

  “Okay, Jasmine,” Jack said as she took the heavy icon from Switch. “
Call your boss, let her know you’re here. As soon as she tells you which yacht, you go there and I’ll come find you on the boat.”

  The woman nodded, clearly terrified.

  “You have nothing to worry about.” Jack squeezed her shoulder. “Tonight’s the last time you’ll see her.”

  Jasmine called TQ and Jack could hear the ice bitch screaming at her, asking her why she took so long.

  Jasmine replied it was the young deliveryman’s fault because he couldn’t find the address.

  “But you didn’t answer when I called you!” TQ shouted.

  “Someone stole my phone, madam, when I was out to get coffee. I think it was a gypsy.” Jack gave her a thumbs-up.

  “Do you have the icon?” Rothschild asked.

  “Yes, madam.”

  “Well, get your retarded ass here, right now. I’m in slot thirty-five.”

  “Coming, madam.”

  “You’re going to do great,” Jack said. “Give her the rucksack and tell her you don’t feel well. Sound like you need to throw up. Tell her you had seafood this afternoon and have felt bad since. Go to your room, and don’t leave till I come get you.”

  “Be careful, Jack,” Jasmine said. “She’s crazy.”

  “She’s about to find out just how crazy I am.”

  As Jasmine headed toward the pier, Jack got Switch’s wetsuit out of the trunk of the rental and wrestled into it in the car. When she was ready to go, Switch handed over her Sig Sauer handgun and a Spyderco switchblade, and Jack tucked both into her wetsuit. She waited fifteen minutes in all, to allow Jasmine sufficient time to complete her part and get safely to her own quarters on the yacht. “What do you see?”

  Switch was looking through the binoculars. “A man on deck, and he’s packing up. I see another one—the captain. He’s at the wheel and it looks like they’re taking off soon.”

  “I’m going in.” Jack got out of the rental.

  “Hey,” Allegro called after her. “Be careful, okay? You don’t want to go breaking Monty’s heart. For some reason, he’s got a thing for you.”

  “Yeah, it’s called guilt,” Jack replied, and headed toward the pier.

  She slipped into the water without being noticed and swam to the big luxury yacht moored in slip thirty-five. Surfacing close to the starboard side, opposite the dock, she pulled herself up and peered over the side to look around before she climbed on board.

  The coast was clear from this side. Both the captain and the other man in view were busy untying lines and preparing to get under way. And close by her was the yacht’s covered dinghy in its davits, a perfect hiding place, so she slipped beneath the canvas and waited. Almost immediately, they set out to sea.

  Ten minutes later, she heard footsteps. Probably TQ’s goon doing the rounds. She peeked from under the canvas, and when he turned the corner, Jack got out. She waited patiently for him to come around again, and just as he did, she stuck the knife in his throat. She held on to him so he wouldn’t make noise when he dropped, and when he was lifeless, or close to it, she gingerly placed him on the deck.

  In a crouch, she made it to the back of the yacht and peeked through the half-open door to the cockpit. The captain had his back turned. Jack snuck up on him and hit him on the back of the head with the butt of her gun. She killed the engine and used some duct tape she found to seal his mouth and bind him to the cockpit chair.

  Jack went down the small flight of stairs to the cabin and ended up in a small hallway with two doors on each side. One of the doors was open and the room empty. She’d have to guess now. She knocked gently on the door at the far end.

  “Why have we stopped moving?” TQ replied angrily from within.

  Gun in hand, Jack opened the door.

  “What are—” Rothschild was seated at her desk, but as soon as she saw Jack, she got up surprisingly fast for her age.

  “Sit back down, bitch,” Jack said.

  “Help!” TQ shouted.

  “Scream all you want, crazy fuck. They’re all dead. Your maid included.”

  The shock on her face was priceless. TQ abruptly sat back down.

  “I want you here on the sofa,” Jack said. “Where I can see your ugly hands.”

  TQ got up and did as she was told. “So, what now?” she asked, regaining her trademark smirk.

  “Oh, I don’t know. How about tea and biscuits?”

  “I’d love to oblige, but you’ve killed the help.”

  “True.” Jack frowned. “Got any scotch?”

  “Over there.” TQ pointed to the bar.

  Jack walked over and poured herself a glass. “Care for one?”

  TQ sighed. “Please.”

  Jack poured another and placed one glass in front of TQ, then took her own to the armchair across from her. “So, how’s life?”

  “About to be cut short, I suppose.”

  “Yeah, but I mean aside from that.” Jack sipped her drink.

  “Oh, you know, business as usual.”

  “Kill anyone lately?”

  “A few. You know how it is.” TQ crossed her legs.

  Jack scratched her head casually. “Yeah, I do.”

  “Is there any chance we can negotiate this situation?”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “More money than you’ll ever know what to do with,” TQ replied.

  “How much?”

  “Ten million?”

  “That all?” Jack asked. “Is that all your life is worth to you?”

  “It’s more money than you’ll ever see in your pitiful life.”

  “I don’t think you’re in any position to be criticizing my life.” Jack shrugged. “Because I at least will have one, pitiful or not.”

  “I’d rather be dead than live…” TQ flapped her hands in disgust.

  “Like the rest of us?”

  “Yes.”

  Jack laughed. “Where do you get off feeling so privileged? You’re the daughter of two nobodies who gave you to the neighbor to raise. You personally have done nothing to deserve fame or money. It was all your husband. You know, the one you had killed.”

  TQ sat forward and glared at her. “I took what he had and made it better and bigger,” she asserted with an almost religious fanaticism. “I made the Rothschild name what it is. Me, not him.”

  “By stealing, bribing, threatening, and killing.”

  “You do what you have to, in a man’s world.” She sat back again.

  “And you got away with it.”

  “Because I own the right people. Not my husband. Me.”

  “Boy, you’ve got some chip on your shoulder when it comes to your husband. What’s that about?”

  “Why are you interested in my life? Why not just do what you came for and get it over with?” Though she was trying hard to appear unaffected by the situation, TQ wasn’t entirely successful. Her forehead shone with perspiration and she kept glancing about, as though escape might still be possible.

  Jack checked her watch. “I’ve got time to spare. My flight doesn’t leave till tomorrow and there’s nothing on TV.” She feigned concern. “Unless, of course, you’d rather we get it over with.”

  “What I’d rather is that you were never born.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do anything about that.”

  “So, what’s it going to take for you to let me live?”

  “You better start rubbing that magic icon, because nothing short of a miracle is going to make that happen.”

  “Ah, I see. You want to torture me.” TQ sipped her scotch.

  “A little.”

  “I’m not afraid to die.”

  “But it’s the anticipation that’s killing you, right?”

  “Fuck you,” TQ said calmly, like she was commenting on the weather.

  “Would you? If that meant saving your life?”

  “Fuck you?” TQ smiled.

  “Uh-huh,” Jack said playfully.

  “I’d fuck you even if it didn’t.”

&nbs
p; Jack smiled seductively. “I’m speechless. You’d really do that?”

  “You are very much my type, Jack.”

  Jack leaned forward. “And you, Theodora, are the most disgusting excuse for a corpse I’ve ever met. The thought of you touching me makes me want to hurl.”

  Rothschild grabbed her glass off the table and tossed the whiskey in Jack’s face. “You sorry piece of shit. How dare you sit there and judge me, when you are no better than me?” The veneer of composed indifference she’d mustered evaporated in an instant, replaced by the reptilian narcissism that marked her true character. “You’ve killed and stolen and done anything and everything for a buck. How dare you judge me? You think you’re something special because you got some blonde to love you? Well, guess again, because it’s only a matter of time before she finds out just how emotionally inadequate you are. People like you can’t be loved, because you’re too damaged. Oh, they’ll try for a few years, but they’ll eventually tire of your moodiness and silence, and the dark secrets that you dare not speak of because you don’t want to lose their respect. She’ll tire of it, all right, and you’ll be left with nothing. And you’re no spring chicken anymore, Jack. You’re going to end up a drunk in dark, seedy bars, trying to get laid.” TQ grabbed Jack’s glass and took a sip of whiskey. “You don’t deserve happiness, Jack, and you don’t deserve her. She is way above your league…killer.”

  With that, Jack got up and put the gun to TQ’s temple.

  TQ froze with the whiskey in her hand.

  “Maybe you’re right,” Jack said. “Maybe I don’t deserve her, and maybe someday she’ll get tired of me.” She took the glass from TQ’s hand and downed the whiskey. “And maybe I will end up in seedy bars pissing in my jeans. But if that happens, I will have one memory to put a smile on my face.” Jack cocked the gun. “The memory of your face, as I count to three.”

  “Don’t do this, Jack.”

  “One.”

  “We can work out a deal, any deal.” Her words came out in a rush of desperation.

  “Two.”

  “You can have anything!”

  “In that case, it’s your life I want. Three.” Jack pulled the trigger.

  *