40
Sunny Isles, a barrier island just off the coast of Miami, had the right name, thought Sophie as their car crossed the long bridge from the mainland. The late afternoon sky was bright blue, the air rushing in through the window tasted tropical and the beach circling the island was like a golden halo. But around Miami, Sunny Isles had another name: Little Moscow, and as they turned into the maze of pastel-painted condominiums, hotels and shops crowded around the foot of the bridge, Sophie could see why: Eastern European delis and restaurants advertising borscht and blinis, some even written in the angular Cyrillic script. But there were signs too of the modern Russia in the expensive fashion boutiques, the low rumbling sports cars and the body-beautiful women strolling the streets in tiny shorts and bikini tops. She caught Josh watching two model-grade beauties cross the street and nudged his arm. He turned to look at her, and gave her a surprised smile.
‘What’s up?’ he grinned as the cab pulled up outside the Steppes steak restaurant.
‘Are you sure this is the right place?’
‘Not exactly, no. But it’s a good guess.’
Arriving in Miami from Fort Lauderdale, they had checked into a cheap motel in the touristy Coconut Grove area and split up. Sophie’s job was to go shopping: a razor for Josh, some clean underwear and new shoes – hers had been ruined in their off-road chase two days ago. Josh meanwhile went to an internet café, where he had found a Miami Herald story documenting the rise of the Russian mob in the south Florida area. In the story, the Steppes steakhouse in Sunny Isles had been linked to ‘noted Russian mobster’ Uri Kaskov, which was why they were sitting outside it now. The Steppes was where they were hoping to find Uri’s son, Sergei.
‘Look, if our boy’s not here, we’ll just share a chateaubriand and soak up the sun.’ He smiled, but she could see the nervousness in his eyes.
‘It’s not too late to turn back,’ she said quietly.
‘Do you trust me?’ he asked.
Sophie didn’t have to think; she simply nodded.
‘Then let’s go in.’
They walked up the steps and on to a large open-air terrace overlooking the ocean. The waiters wore the embroidered waistcoats and high leather boots of traditional Russian dress, but the menu was typical Florida: steaks, seafood and elaborate cocktails.
Sophie had been expecting the place to be full of Tony Soprano lookalikes in silk suits and chunky gold jewellery, but she was relieved to find it was packed by well-heeled tourists and smart-looking business people, all chatting and laughing. Josh seemed in the mood to join in, because when their waiter came by, he immediately ordered champagne and lobster for two.
‘What’s this? The Last Supper?’ said Sophie.
‘Come on, princess, lighten up,’ said Josh. ‘This is Miami – you’re supposed to get a tan, but you look absolutely white.’
‘Is it any wonder?’ she muttered. ‘I feel like I’m staring down the barrel of a gun.’
‘Hey, for all we know, this Little Moscow thing could be something they cooked up for the tourists. Have a cocktail and relax.’
But Sophie couldn’t relax. In the taxi outside Ty’s place, she had said it was the end of the trail, and she still felt that way. They had started on this journey as a way of finding out who had killed her boyfriend and to clear her name. But along the way, she had discovered that nothing – her boyfriend, her life, even her father – was as it seemed. And now they knew who was chasing them, it seemed they were giving up, surrendering themselves to whatever fate the Russians chose for them: for the first time since they had started running, on that cold back street by the Thames a lifetime ago, it felt as if it was out of their hands.
‘Is this really such a good idea?’ said Sophie.
‘The lobster?’
‘No, Josh,’ she said. ‘Handing ourselves in to this Sergei, Uri’s son.’
Josh let out a long breath.
‘Sophie, we just don’t have a choice,’ he said, lowering his voice. ‘Yes, we could keep running, keep looking for the money, but what then? What if we found it?’
‘We could go away, disappear,’ she said urgently. ‘Just you and me, somewhere they’d never find us.’ She blushed as the words came out of her mouth. She paused, holding her breath, but if Josh had caught her intention, he didn’t react.
‘Sophie, listen to me,’ he said quietly. ‘There is nowhere we could go that these people wouldn’t find us. Right or wrong, they think that money is theirs, and if we take it from them, they will keep hunting us – for ever. Do you want that?’
‘No,’ she said simply.
‘Then we have to go see the top man, tell him what we know – and hope that’s enough.’
‘And what if it isn’t?’
Josh gave her a smile. ‘Then we’d better hope this lobster is pretty bloody good.’
Right on cue, two waiters appeared bearing a silver tray laden with food, with two enormous lobsters centre stage.
‘You crack on,’ said Josh as they laid the feast out on the table. ‘Just got to see a man about a dog. See if you can dig the good stuff out for me, I’m rubbish with those nutcrackers. I’ll only be a few minutes.’
Sophie watched him thread his way through the tables, then glanced down at the lobster, staring back at her with blank eyes. Curiously, it made her think of a boy named Charlie Simmons. Sophie guessed she must have been fourteen and head over heels in unrequited love with the floppy-haired boy from the school down the road. Her mother had clearly decided it was time for a talk about the birds and the bees, so she took Sophie to a posh restaurant in London, ordered lobster and announced that if she was ever to stand a chance with any man, she had to learn to be a lady – and for Julia Ellis, being a lady involved knowing how to behave in polite society. Being able to crack a lobster without losing your dignity was just one of the things on her checklist.
Sophie smiled as she began the ritual of opening the hard coral shell and pulling out the sweet snow-white meat. Her mother meant well, of course, it was just that Julia’s idea of what constituted an ideal husband – the one with the biggest pile of gold – seemed ridiculously na?ve now. Sophie could barely believe the hours she had spent smiling politely as red-faced boys called Rupert or Alexander boasted about their small achievements at endless Chelsea dinner parties or slumped against the bar in too-loud, too-smug nightclubs. But her mother had been wrong. Just because a man had money didn’t make him right for you. A good marriage was never going to make you happy if there was no love, no chemistry with the man you were marrying. She looked out at the sea, now bruising orange and purple as the sun dipped closer and closer to the waves, and wondered how she could have missed out on all this. Not this swanky restaurant, but feeling like this. As if life was one big adventure, even if right now it meant being in quite a lot of danger. And sharing that adventure with one person who made you feel alive, special, just by the way he looked at you.
You’ve fallen for him, whispered a voice in her head as she plunged her fingers into the lemon water.
Suddenly she just wanted to see Josh. Lost in her thoughts, she wasn’t exactly sure how long he’d been gone, but she was sure he should be back by now. She scanned the room nervously.
Where was he? The noise seemed to swell around her, the laughter from the next table taking on a malicious, sinister air. She didn’t even have enough money to pay for the meal. She stood up, fighting down the urge to panic, and stopped a waiter.
‘My friend from this table?’ she said. ‘Have you seen him?’
The waiter shook his head and Sophie moved through the tables towards the restrooms. Knocking on the door of the men’s, she called Josh’s name, but there was no response. Pushing all those ingrained ideas of social niceties to one side, she opened the door and ducked inside. ‘Josh? Are you in here?’
But there was nothing except two urinals and an empty stall.
‘Josh, where are you?’ she whispered urgently, moving back towards the kitchen – could he have gone to speak to the chef? And then there he was, coming out of a door marked ‘Office’.
Her heart swelled with relief. ‘Where have you been? I’ve been stuck at the table . . .’ His handsome face looked so serious, she stopped.
‘What’s going on, Josh?’
‘The manager has arranged a meeting,’ he said, taking her arm and leading her through the steamy kitchen, ignoring the glances of the staff in their whites. Sophie felt her pulse quicken. She knew this was the plan, but now it was actually happening, she wasn’t at all sure it was the right thing to do. ‘Do you trust me?’ – that was what Josh had asked her when they’d arrived at the Steppes. Nothing had changed, the answer was still yes, so when a black SUV pulled up at the kitchen’s rear door, she got inside after Josh without a word, even though it felt as if they had just walked into the lion’s den.
The car crossed the bridge from the island and drove south, on to Collins Avenue and along the Miami seashore. Sophie wished she had seen South Beach in different circumstances, because it truly was glamorous. The sorbet-coloured hotels, the art deco lines, the hot Latin sounds pumping out of the bars; it was like a neon-lit party town. Now they were passing the waterfront mansions and sleek motor yachts moored in Biscayne Bay. This was multimillionaire central, the playground of some of America’s richest citizens. An iron gate swung inwards and the car turned off the road, past an armed guard and into a circular drive. The house behind was a Spanish hacienda-style with whitewashed walls and a rippled terracotta roof, and beyond it Sophie could just glimpse the sea. Whatever illegal activities the Kaskov family were up to, they were certainly lucrative. Properties of this size weren’t bought with the proceeds of surf ’n’ turf restaurants, no matter how popular they might be.
A squat man in a black suit opened the car’s door and beckoned them out. Then wordlessly he turned and walked around the side of the house. Josh and Sophie could only follow, across a sloping emerald lawn to where a man in riding gear was standing next to a horse, brushing its glossy chestnut coat. Despite her fear, Sophie couldn’t resist reaching out to stroke the horse’s neck.
‘Beautiful, yes?’ said the man, turning towards her. Sophie was caught off guard. She had been expecting a stable-boy type, but the man holding the reins was strikingly handsome, with chiselled features and dark hair that gleamed. In fact, he looked exactly like the many gorgeous South American polo players she and her friends had giggled over on their summer trips to the Guards or Cowdray Park polo clubs.
‘She’s a polo pony, isn’t she?’ said Sophie.
The man nodded appreciatively.
‘She’s a Criollo/Arabian cross, from Argentina, which makes her one of the best breeds of polo ponies in the world. Now I just have to decide if I want to buy her. What do you think?’
He looked Sophie up and down, his dark eyes running over her as if he were feeling her haunches and checking her teeth.
‘I’d say you have already made your decision,’ said Sophie, looking away from his blue-eyed stare.
‘So you are Sophie Ellis,’ he said matter-of-factly.
‘Yes. We’re here to see Sergei Kaskov.’
He turned and offered a hand.
‘Then I am pleased to meet you, Sophie Ellis.’
Sophie was stunned. On the drive from the Steppes, she had imagined what Uri the Bear’s son would be like and had pictured a crop-haired thug with a scarred face. The real Sergei Kaskov looked like a model in a Ralph Lauren advert and sounded like the product of an English prep school. He motioned to a security guard to take the horse away.
‘Let’s sit by the water,’ he said, walking down the lawn. ‘It’s a much more pleasant place to talk.’
The grass ended in a tiled area surrounding a beautiful infinity pool which seemed to flow straight into the ocean beyond the compound. Sergei gestured towards a pair of white sofas separated by a low table. ‘Please, make yourselves comfortable,’ he said. ‘Can I get you anything to drink? Some food perhaps?’
‘Thank you, no,’ said Sophie as they sat across from him. Despite the Russian’s smooth manner, she was on edge and her appetite had completely deserted her. It didn’t help that the squat man and two others were standing at a discreet distance watching their every move. She didn’t want to turn, but she suspected there were others behind them too.
‘Well now,’ said Sergei. ‘It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’m sure you’re aware we’ve been looking for you for quite some time.’
‘Looking for her? That’s one way of putting it,’ said Josh.
Sophie willed him to be quiet. Sergei might look like a gentleman, but they had both heard about his father’s impatience with Michael Asner; she sensed confrontation was not the best approach.
‘I have not been seeking Miss Ellis personally, Mr McCormack,’ said Sergei calmly. ‘Although having now met her, perhaps I should have done. Sadly, these days it is often necessary to outsource certain tasks. I apologise if one of my contractors has been a little heavy-handed.’
‘We’ve been shot at, chased, run off the road,’ said Josh. ‘You could have killed her.’
‘I don’t want to kill you, Miss Ellis,’ said Sergei, leaving a slight emphasis on the word ‘want’. Sophie looked into those glacial blue eyes and got the message loud and clear. He didn’t want to, but he would if he had to.
‘Whatever you may have heard about me, I am simply a businessman. My father conducted a transaction with Michael Asner and we expect that contract to be honoured. It’s quite simple.’
A maid came and placed a tray on the table, and handed them all a cold glass of pale liquid.
‘This is kvass, a traditional Russian drink. Try it,’ said Sergei. It wasn’t a request. Sophie sipped it and suppressed a cough as it burned down her throat.
‘It’s good, isn’t it?’ smiled Sergei.
‘What do you want from us, Mr Kaskov?’
He wiped a small fingerprint smear from the top of his glass.
‘I rather thought that was obvious,’ he said. ‘My father protected Michael Asner in prison. In return, Michael offered him a large amount of money. My father called in his investment, but Asner began to drag his feet. Understandably my father was angry.’
‘And he killed him,’ said Josh.
‘That was unfortunate,’ said Sergei, as if it was of no consequence. ‘Personally I would have waited until Mr Asner had told us how to locate the money. As it was, we only had the first name of the man who was the guardian of the funds. It was weeks before we discovered that “Peter” was your father, Miss Ellis. And then we discovered that he too had passed on.’
‘Did you kill him as well?’
It wasn’t until Josh had asked the question that Sophie realised she desperately wanted to hear the answer. She felt sure you could make a murder look like a heart attack. But Sergei was shaking his head.
‘We are not barbaric, Mr McCormack. And we are not stupid; we don’t make the same mistake twice.’
He looked at them as he sipped his drink slowly.
‘So,’ he said finally. ‘I simply wish to know where the money is. Give it to us and I promise you will never see or hear from us again.’
Sophie suddenly pictured Uri’s men – or had they been Sergei’s? – in her apartment, tearing it apart to find what they wanted; then she saw them in Wade House, beside the river in Chelsea, at the station in Nice, and she knew Josh had been right. These men were ruthless. They would never rest until they had what they wanted.
‘She doesn’t know where the money is,’ said Josh.
‘You’ll excuse me,’ said Sergei, ‘but I don’t believe that.’
‘Well why do you think we’re here?’ said Josh.
Sergei gave a short laugh. ‘I was rather wondering.’
‘We haven’t got a death wish, Mr Kaskov,’ said Josh. ‘The truth is, until we spoke to Ty Connor this morning, we genuinely had no idea who you were. All we knew was that someone was chasing us.’
‘Someone killed my friend,’ said Sophie. ‘I thought they were trying to kill me too.’
Sergei did not react, merely raised his eyebrows slightly, indicating that they should continue.
‘So when we heard who you were and what you wanted,’ said Josh, ‘we thought we would come and tell you what we know. Or in this case, don’t know.’
‘Very sporting of you,’ said Sergei.
‘I don’t want this money, Mr Kaskov,’ said Sophie fiercely. ‘I just want my life back.’
‘So what do you know?’ he asked, steepling his fingers in front of his soft pink lips.
Josh took Sophie’s bag and, unzipping the plastic make-up pouch, pulled out her copy of I Capture the Castle. He passed it to Sergei.
Sophie’s heart jumped. What was he doing? That was her dad’s gift to her! She wanted to reach out and snatch it back, but she knew that wouldn’t help their situation, so she stayed still.
‘This is all we have,’ said Josh. ‘You’ve searched Sophie’s flat; we presume it was you who searched her mother’s house too. This is the only thing that Peter Ellis gave Sophie that has any possible reference to the money. Look on the front page.’
Sergei opened the book.
‘Benedict Grear?’ He frowned. ‘Who is he?’
‘We don’t know,’ said Josh. ‘Neither does Asner’s widow and neither does the SEC apparently. But you found Peter Ellis and you found us, so you obviously have the resources to work this out.’
Sergei gave him the ghost of a smile, as if he was flattered by Josh’s observation.
‘And this is all?’
‘Yes,’ said Sophie and Josh in unison.
‘I hope so,’ said Sergei. He waved the book in the air and the squat guy stepped forward and took it.
‘No!’ cried Sophie, unable to stop herself. ‘That’s mine! My father gave it to me!’
Sergei shook his head, the smile gone.
‘No, Miss Ellis, it is mine.’
He waved his hand again and Sophie screamed as she and Josh were both seized from behind and pulled to their feet.
‘Please, you’ve got the book,’ shouted Josh, ‘We’ve told you everything we know.’
Sergei looked at him coldly.
‘Ah, now that is exactly what we’re going to find out.’
The squat man stepped forward and punched Josh in the mouth. Sophie tried to scream again, but a huge hand clamped around her face, pinning her jaw shut. She could only watch as Josh was held by two big Russians, while the squat man hit him again and again: to the body, to the head.
‘No!’ she screamed.
Sergei stepped in front of her, grabbing her hair and twisting it painfully.
‘You care about this man, I take it?’ he said. His voice was soft, almost feminine. Sophie nodded.
‘Then tell us where your father hid the money.’
The hand was removed long enough for her to gasp: ‘I promise you, I don’t know.’
The squat man brought his knee up into Josh’s stomach, then backhanded him across the face, sending an arc of blood flying on to the tile.
‘Josh!’ she shouted.