“No idea. Her first mistake was trusting Luc. He’d convinced her the work was connected to the cultural office of Warsaw.”
Everyone in the game profited from using gullible people. Simon, however, didn’t think Alex was the type to be taken in, which explained how she ended up in Oxford and not rotting away at the bottom of a garbage dump.
Simon smiled for Teodor’s sake. “Sounds like a gold mine. I never knew her name, but I remember hearing about her.”
“Perhaps she learned too much. I hope he didn’t kill her. It would be a waste of a good asset.” Teodor shrugged, turned to his car, and waved the occupants out.
Two men emerged, one in a business suit and the other in jeans and a sweatshirt. “Simon, you’ve met Jarek. He’ll help transfer your purchase.”
The more casual man’s face bore the signs of a man standing in close proximity to a mortar attack. Pock marks, streaks of scarring, and the partial loss of his ear provided him with a sinister appearance, the result of tampering with explosives without proper training. Jarek nodded his greeting and then turned away to speak on his phone.
Teodor shifted his attention to the guy in the suit. “Leonard is my newest appraiser. Stole him away from the Hermitage.”
Too bad the guy didn’t realize that his new lucrative paycheck would result in a shortened life span. Sometimes they lasted only a few weeks. Luckily, Alex had street-smarts and was a master of disguise. He temporarily forgave her for stealing his credit card. To survive in his fucked-up world, sometimes people needed to lie, steal, or murder.
Simon texted his contact and within five minutes, two helicopters approached and landed in adjoining fields. An Arpía Black Hawk, probably purchased by Teodor from a crooked Argentinian general, contained several green boxes full of an arms cache.
Simon’s team used a Mi-17, stolen from Syria. It contained millions of dollars’ worth of artifacts from Afghanistan, smuggled out by Luc’s connections.
Teodor and Simon stood as sentries watching the transfer of goods.
Thirty minutes later, the helicopters took off.
The arms, now safely flying over the French countryside, would be tagged and sent on to Afghanistan to supply rebel forces. Regrettably for them, the Afghan National Army would be waiting to confiscate the shipment.
Simon smiled. Nicola would be happy to hear everything went according to plan. After losing her brother to a bullet fired by Taliban forces years ago, she’d committed herself to shifting the flow of guns to the people who would have made her brother safe. She needed to be careful, however, not to lose her soul trying to right all the wrongs of the past.
…
Renting a bike and cycling across the island from the ferry terminal, past tall dune grass and sand dunes spilling along the back roads leading to her house, Alex felt the terror of the past few days dissipate. Her father had the resources to protect the family. They’d all be safe with the added protection she’d demand they put in place. She needed to explain to them how deep the danger ran through each of their lives because of Alex’s bad choices. And she wanted to be close to them.
She wanted to go home.
After another half hour pedaling, the house came into view. It hadn’t changed in eight years, a noble eight-bedroom refuge on the edge of the sea. Large windows opened up to a perfect view of Nantucket Sound. Memories flooded her, like the summer her father refused to buy her a Jet Ski because she’d failed math class. She’d refused to eat until he’d relented. What a spoiled little girl she’d been. She’d never appreciated her birthright until she’d abandoned it to start over with nothing.
She turned onto a path two houses before hers, leading to the beach. It would be easier to arrive in the back, the place where everyone always congregated. Each house in the area faced the water across a huge section of private beachfront. The residents granted neighbors the use of their sections to stroll through on the way to Edgartown. Reciprocity among the wealthy, as long as the common tourists stayed away.
Alex tucked the bike into a row of bushes. It would be perfectly safe. Their section of the island was deserted at this time of year as most of the neighbors remained on the mainland until the temperature tipped over eighty-five degrees. She pulled off her sneakers and dug her toes into the sand. No sand in the world felt as good to her. She strolled along the edge of the water, carrying her bag and sneakers, until the squeal of children in the distance caught her attention.
The heavy emotions she’d worn for the past few days lifted into a mild euphoria. Her family was here and in sight. A little girl and boy played by the edge of the water. Anna had given birth to a daughter a few years back and a son more recently. Alex could be seeing them for the first time. Too far away to get a clear look, she picked up her pace.
“Alex.” The voice, low, sophisticated, and deadly, came from behind her.
Luc.
Pain and panic ripped through her chest. She almost ran toward her house, but intuition told her to freeze where she was. Glancing over her shoulder, she nearly collapsed at the sight of the man who had transformed from her beloved to her mortal enemy.
Luc strolled down the beach wearing a white blazer and navy pants, an outfit more appropriate for Saint-Tropez than the Vineyard. His hands were tucked in his pockets as though he had not a care in the world. A stranger might interpret his appearance as carefree and confident. Alex knew better. His handsome face and winsome smile hid his true intent. To kill her. Had she really been in love with him once?