The Eden Legacy

II

Boris kept Knox closely covered as he marched him upstairs. The way he was behaving, it was like he’d bought his cover story, but he knew better than to take this man for granted. They reached the boathouse doorway, where he’d left his laptop case. He talked Knox through how to set the IP terminal up in line of sight to the satellite, then hook it up to the laptop. When he was done, he made Knox put his hands behind him so that he could bind his wrists with flexi-cuffs. ‘What the hell’s that for?’ asked Knox.

‘Peace of mind,’ Boris told him. He placed the laptop on the work-table, opened it up, established a broadband connection, called Georgia, carried out the security protocols. This wasn’t his usual time-slot; it took over a minute for Sandro to appear. ‘I’ve got someone for you,’ Boris told him, pulling Knox into shot.

Sandro leaned forward, squinted at his screen. ‘Daniel Knox?’ he asked.

‘It’s me,’ said Knox.

‘See?’ said Boris.

Sandro ignored him, addressed Knox instead. ‘You’re planning a salvage project off our coast, I believe,’ he said.

‘Not any more,’ Knox told him. ‘I’ve called it off.’

‘And why should I believe that? You’ve effectively just admitted you were coming after us.’

‘Yes,’ admitted Knox. ‘I was coming after you. I was coming after you because you sent your fucking son to Greece where he murdered my fiancee in cold blood; and then put a price on my head and turned me into a fugitive. I couldn’t even visit Gaille’s grave; I couldn’t even mourn.’ He seemed to catch the anger rising in himself; he took a long breath. ‘But it’s over. It was over before this. I’ve got more important things in my life now than your family.’

‘Such as?’

‘Such as none of your business.’

‘So you’ll give me your word, then? If we leave you alone, you’ll leave us alone?’

‘Yes. I give you my word.’

‘What is this?’ demanded Boris in Georgian.

‘We’re going to let him go.’

‘But your father told me to-’

‘My father is dead, Boris. He died early this morning.’

Boris went numb. ‘We had a deal.’

‘That deal was with my father. My-’

‘It was with you both. It was with the both of you.’

‘My father is dead. I am now head of the Nergadze family. The deal is off. My decision on this is final.’

‘You can’t do this.’

‘I promised you one hundred thousand euros for finding Mr Knox. You have found Mr Knox. I will pay you your fee in full. On your return, so long as Mr Knox remains unharmed, I will also authorise a bonus for-’

‘No way,’ said Boris. ‘No fucking way. I’ll never get home if I let him live. He’ll go straight to the fucking cops.’

‘He’s given us his word.’

‘His word!’ spat Boris. ‘What good is that?’

‘I trust him.’

‘Of course you fucking trust him. I’d trust him too if I was safe at home in Georgia.’

‘I’m warning you, Boris.’

‘Fifteen months I spent in that fucking Greek prison! Fifteen months! Do you have any idea what that was like? Do you know what they did to me there?’

‘I’m sorry that-’

‘Sorry!’ he scoffed, anger roiling up his heart. ‘What good is sorry? Your father hired me to do a job, and I’m going to do it, and you’re going to pay me the full fee, just like you promised.’ He held up his camera-phone which he’d been holding down low. ‘Did you honestly think I wouldn’t record our little conversations? Is that what you thought? I’ve got video of us discussing this job. I’ve got video of you arranging my gun. I’ll give it to the police if you try to stiff me, I swear I will.’ He slammed down the laptop lid, breaking the connection, then stood there breathing heavily, a tumult of emotions inside him: anger, fear, frustration, the longing for revenge. He glared at Knox, pressed the Heckler amp; Koch against his temple, pushed him towards the basement steps.

‘What is this?’ asked Knox. ‘I thought we had a deal.’

‘Sure!’ scoffed Boris. ‘So you can hand me to the police again.’

‘I give you my word.’

‘And you think that carries weight with me, do you?’ He pushed Knox ahead of him down the steps. When they reached the bottom, he kicked Knox behind his knees so that he went down upon them.

‘This is crazy,’ said Knox. ‘You don’t need to do this.’

Boris aimed down at him, his finger on the trigger. Enough of his anger had subsided for him to become aware again of consequences. Sandro would never forgive him for what he’d just done; there was pragmatic and then there was soft. Georgia was dead to him now; he’d therefore have to start all over. But with what? Something on the shelves caught his eye at that moment, like the answer to a prayer. A blue-and-white porcelain bowl, just like one in the press-cuttings Sandro had given him-and that had sold for millions at auction. He edged across, keeping his gun on Knox, picked it up. It was perfect, flawless. And next to it was an enamelled flask that looked to his uneducated eye even more valuable. With the right fence, he could get maybe twenty cents on the dollar. If these pieces were worth what he thought, then he’d He whirled around as Knox took advantage of his distraction to leap to his feet and sprint for the steps. Boris brought up his gun but he was too late. He cursed and set down the bowl and ran after him, grabbing the end of the shelving to swing himself around. He reached the stairs just as Knox tripped on the top step and went crashing into the wall, twisting on to his back as he fell. Boris arrived at the top, his anger fully restored, along with his hunger for revenge. He aimed down at Knox’s face, put his finger on the trigger and began to squeeze.