A text from Hakan: Call me ASAP. The blood on the helipad of the Aphrodite was the same type as Christos’s.
Rif stared at her. She shook her head. Not now. She’d fill him in at the hotel. And she was still waiting for her father’s phone to pick up a signal—stupid BlackBerry. Ignoring the beauty of the ferns, palms, and liana vines, she scrolled through her personal messages. One from Freddy caught her eye: Christos’s personal calendar was erased from his computer. We’re working on recovering the information. As soon as we do, I’d like you to review it. He had a phone call with someone the morning he disappeared. Maybe you can put names to the initials.
Who would have access to her father’s calendar? His assistant? Ahmed? Peter? Or maybe someone had hacked it. There had to be something incriminating on it if someone had gone to the trouble of erasing it.
A minute later, slightly delayed, her father’s phone vibrated as well. A multitude of business e-mails downloaded, as well as several heart-wrenching messages from the now-deceased Helena. A single text popped up on the screen.
Pede poena claudo.
“Punishment comes on halting foot.” Retribution may be slow, but it gets there in the end. A quote from Horace.
She shuddered. This was no conventional K&R, where the perpetrator simply wanted a ton of unmarked bills for the return of the hostage. They’d dealt with ransom cases, political ones, but this one was different. What did the kidnapper have to gain from holding Papa if he didn’t want money or concessions? Yet the Latin expert wouldn’t bother communicating with her if it was just a straight assassination. They needed to read between the lines, discover the subliminal clues to the identity of the mystery man or woman.
The Hummer’s door swung open. They’d arrived at the hotel, the majestic colonial building boasting white columns along the main entrance. Two large palms stood guard over the historical landmark, the red roof and pathway contrasting with the crisp, light walls. African five-star hospitality awaited them.
“I hope you’ll be my guests at the cocktail party hosted by Prime Minister Kimweri this evening,” said the general. “It’ll give you a chance to mingle with the respected leaders of our great nation—and your competition in the negotiations.”
“We wouldn’t miss it.” Rif hopped out of the vehicle and offered Thea a hand.
“Until tonight.” Jemwa strode down the pathway to the front entrance.
“What the hell is he up to?” she asked.
“General Ita Jemwa was Nikos’s original kidnapper. It was never my confidence to break, but, given the circumstances, you need to know about the past,” Rif said.
“How do you know this?” Was she the only one who’d been kept in the dark?
“I discovered the combination to my father’s safe and read Nikos’s journal. Christos had asked my father to keep the notes private, but I was a nosy kid.”
“You know about Oba?”
“Yes. How do—”
“Someone slipped Nikos’s psychiatrist’s notes into my computer bag. Not you?”
“No, I haven’t seen those pages in years.”
“Does Nikos realize what you know?” she asked.
“He caught me ransacking the safe. I often wonder what he was doing in my father’s study. Maybe he wanted his journal back.”
No wonder Nikos felt so hostile toward Rif. Having the worst moments of your life exposed—especially to a younger boy, who’d snuck access to the information—couldn’t have been easy.
As they headed toward the hotel entrance, a wave of dizziness washed over her. She needed insulin, food, and rest. Two out of three were essential.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Just worried. Let’s check in.” She nodded to the doorman, a tall man with a winsome smile dressed in a reddish-brown topcoat and hat. Everyone in the hotel exuded human warmth, creating an incredibly welcoming atmosphere.
“Fill me in. Did the kidnapper send a ransom demand?” Rif asked.
“No, another Latin text. I’m beginning to worry that all the money in the world isn’t going to save Papa.”
Chapter Forty-One
The lights in the 767’s cabin dimmed as the meal service ended. Max had insisted on upgrading them to first class. Gabrielle had gone along with the luxury because she hoped to get some quality sleep before they arrived at the summit in Zimbabwe on the trail of Thea Paris. Besides, the food was a lot better up front.
While Max communicated with his office, she read the encrypted texts from her boss, Stephen Kelly, at HRFC. Disappointment flooded her. The SEAL team had recovered a bank executive in Syria, not Christos Paris. She tried to reach Thea with the news but had no luck, so she called Hakan instead. The owner of Quantum International Security was professional, intelligent—he had a good team on the kidnapping, and she hoped to find a way to assist, as the political pressure to bring the oil billionaire home was mounting.