The Eden Legacy

III

It was time for Boris to make his first report to Sandro. He watched closely as Davit set up so that he’d be able to do it for himself next time. ‘This is the IP terminal,’ Davit told him, plugging a device the size and shape of a slim black hardback to his laptop. ‘It links to a network of geostationary satellites. The nearest is over Africa; to our north-west.’ He took a compass from the case, set it flat on the table, aimed the terminal until the display told him he’d found the satellite, and then had locked on. He brought up a program on the laptop, waited a few moments, double-clicked the mouse. ‘Okay,’ he said.

‘That’s it?’ asked Boris.

‘That’s it,’ confirmed Davit. ‘You have broadband.’

‘And how do I call Georgia?’

Davit entered the number for him. A switchboard operator answered; they ran through the security protocols. A new box popped up onscreen, Sandro looking irritably to his left before turning to the camera. ‘You got there okay then?’ he said.

Boris turned to Davit. ‘I’ll call you if I need anything.’ He waited until he was gone. ‘It’s him,’ he told Sandro. ‘It’s Knox.’

There was a second or so of delay, then Sandro squinted at the camera. ‘You’re sure? Already?’

‘I was just taking a look at the town. Guess who came walking straight towards me?’

Again that delay. It was only satellite time-lag, Boris knew, yet it was disconcerting nonetheless. ‘How can you be sure it’s him?’ Sandro asked. ‘Did he recognise you?’

‘No. It was just the way he carried himself.’

‘The way he carried himself,’ echoed Sandro. He gave Boris a long, hard look. ‘Listen, I hope you don’t think we’ll pay you for topping some random stranger. We’ll want proof that this is Knox before you do anything.’

‘It’s him. I’m telling you.’

‘Good. Then proof should be easy, shouldn’t it?’

Boris sighed, but he knew better than to argue. ‘Any progress on that gun?’ he asked.

‘Petr’s found some dealer to drive you down a selection. We think he’s okay, but you know how these things are. You might be wise to scout out somewhere neutral for the handover; unless you’re comfortable with him coming to your hotel.’

Boris nodded. ‘I’ll look around in the morning.’

‘Good. Then let’s talk again tomorrow.’ The screen went black. Boris disconnected then dismantled the laptop and terminal, sat there brooding. He’d been Sandro’s head of security for years, had never had his integrity doubted like that before. It rather stung him. But then he wondered if he wasn’t perhaps missing something. Ilya Nergadze had always been quick to anger and hungry for revenge, but Sandro was too pragmatic for such vendettas. As head of security, Boris had often seen Sandro handle his father in such situations. He’d never say no directly. Instead he’d agree enthusiastically that something needed to be done, then work in subtle ways to make sure that nothing happened until Ilya had forgotten about it. Was that what was going on here? Ilya was dying, after all. Taking Knox to the grave with him was all he cared about, consequences be damned. But Sandro wouldn’t be thinking that way, for Knox’s murder was certain to kick off a shit-storm. He’d never openly obstruct his father, not least because Ilya was quite ruthless enough to cut him out of his will. But behind the scenes…

Boris considered alerting Ilya; but only briefly. Sandro would soon be head of the family, and then Boris would be dependent upon his continuing goodwill. He shook his head in frustration. If Sandro wanted proof, Boris would just have to provide it. The only question was how.