Chapter 34
Tristan
At the base of the stairs, Ryan meets us. Two of his men are positioned at different ground-floor windows, on watch.
“She wasn’t alone.” Ryan says. “We found an older man who appears to be a caretaker in a small building off the property. He appears to live here. No weapons, but he mentioned he was preparing a meal for the guest at the house.”
“He used the word guest?”
“Could be a translation issue, could be his planned defense, but yes, he used that word.”
“What’d you do with him?”
“Left him with Noah. Didn’t want the old man sending out a warning to anyone. Physically, the man’s not a threat.”
If I’ve learned anything in fighting international crime for nearly two decades, it’s that anyone can be dangerous, regardless of build, age or gender. Evil is indiscriminate.
“I’m taking her to the cellar. I’ll be back with you in a minute.”
“I can hold a gun,” Lucia says, but I don’t slow down. Like hell she’s going to take part in a gunfight.
In my ear, Ryan says, “Three minutes out.”
“Have you ever shot a gun?” Her answer doesn’t matter. But I’m almost positive her answer will win my argument. Her lack of response provides the answer.
I scan the cellar one more time. It’s a dank room with stone slabs as walls and a couple of wine barrels and crates of wine bottles. Dust coats the barrels and bottles, but the floor is relatively clean. The stone walls are the best kind of barrier should bullets start flying.
“I’ll come back and get you.” The door is wooden. “Stay in the corner, nowhere near the door. Lock it behind me. Understand?”
“Where are you going? Who’s out there?”
“I’m not sure, but we’re about to find out. With luck, our presence will be a surprise. We’ll catch them off guard, and this will be over without shots being fired. But from what I know about these people, that’s unlikely. So stay here.”
Her pupils are black orbs, filled with fear. Her hair is wild and unkempt and her skin pale beneath the dim glow of the electrical bulb dangling in the center of the room. Warmth suffuses my body, and relief that she’s indeed okay, that they didn’t torture her or worse. I smash my lips against hers, needing the connection, needing to breathe her in, to feel her. I found her.
“They’re slowing. On the last bend. One minute out.” Ryan in my ear reminds me we aren’t out of the woods yet.
“Lock the door behind me.”
She presses the tips of her fingers to her lips and calls out, “Be careful.”
The lock clicks as my foot hits the first step. I charge forward, knowing I need to get in place if I’m going to take the lead. I like the Arrow team. But they’re well-trained and won’t hesitate to run point if I’m not there to take command.
Headlights come into view, lighting up the break in the forest and the broad open field in front of us. All the lights are out in the house. It’s a sit and wait game. The Arrow men each wear night vision goggles, but headlights would blind them, so the goggles are pushed up on their foreheads. I’ve got a pair strapped to my vest.
One by one, the SUVs roll into the field. The tinted glass prevents us from getting a view of who is arriving. The headlights mar the view of the driver. I’m peering through a window, standing to the side. Three of us are down here. One is in the tower, and one is on the second floor, available to play the role of sniper if needed.
Two matching Range Rovers pull to a stop. Based on the slow single file line, it appears they are not expecting an ambush. Good.
The first driver exits the automobile. The headlights from the other vehicles light his figure. He’s wearing a hunter’s coat, brown jodhpurs and boots. He opens the back door and my breath halts.
The blonde woman exiting the vehicle, removing her gloves, and looking up expectantly at the top window is a woman I know well.
What the hell is she doing here?
“Hold your fire.” It’s the first thing that comes to mind, and even as I say it, I know it’s an uncalled for statement. These men will not shoot unless provoked. “I know her. I’ll go talk to her.”
“Who is it?” Ryan asks in my ear.
“My mother.” There’s no reason to hide the truth.
My mind spins as I step out into the night. She and my father tried to reach me today. Are they behind taking Lucia? Does this have nothing to do with the case? If so, what the hell were they thinking?
My mother stills, the only sign my presence surprises her.
“Tristan?” Her tone conveys confusion. But her lips purse and annoyance replaces any vestige of consternation. “You came to save the girl? Are you kidding me? How on earth?—”
A series of car doors opening behind her halts her words. She holds a hand up, halting the men.
The armed men are most likely former military and most likely wearing vests beneath their overcoats. One thing is clear, my mother is far too confident and comfortable commanding these men for this to be the first time she outsourced help of this variety.
What the hell have you been doing, mom?
I position one hand on the butt of my holstered gun, drawing everyone’s attention to the fact that I, too, am armed. My thumb rubs over the rough plastic, a soothing sensation that grounds me.
“Tristan, you need to leave. Go. Get out of here.” My mother steps closer, away from the car. I don’t see a weapon on her and she’s in heels and wearing an off-white pants suit.
“What exactly is your plan here?”
“Don’t speak to me like that.” She has the audacity to glare at me. “I’m here cleaning up your mess. You think that girl won’t come at you for everything you’re worth? Of course she will. You wouldn’t listen to me. I told you to stay away from her, and yet you go for?—”
“You need to be quiet now.” I always knew my mother harbored a sense of superiority, but I never expected this.
“Tristan, please. She’s your flavor of the week. You’ll find another next week. You’re just like your father that way. And you don’t even know who she is.”
“What do you mean?” The coldness in my tone wars with the temperature in my chest and extremities. I brace, waiting for her justification for interfering with my life in the most abhorrent manner possible.
“She’s from a family of criminals. You didn’t know that, did you? I’d bet she jumped at the chance to impregnate herself.” She steps closer, chin high, as self righteous as ever. “Her father and brother are in prison. Her mother committed suicide because she, too, was going to rot in prison. See, you didn’t know that about her, did you? But I did. I didn’t tell you, because I was respecting her privacy. I expected my son would listen to me and pick some woman, any woman, other than the one I told you to stay away from.”
I blink, processing the words. The background report I ran on Lucia mentioned her mother deceased, but didn’t include the cause of death. But there’s nothing new about her father and brother. My mother is drawing irrational conclusions if she believes Lucia grew up in a crime family with an agenda.
“Why did you send a doctor? What were you planning?”
The men at the other SUVs begin slowly moving forward in unison. And my mother, standing before me, did not command them to do so.
She holds up a hand, seemingly commanding the men to stand back.
“I see you’ve found her. Where do you have her? In the house?”
“What were you planning?”
She lets out a sigh. “I’m only looking out for you.”
“What. Were. You. Planning?” Anger chokes the conclusion to that sentence, because she wasn’t planning to ensure a healthy pregnancy, of that much, I’m certain.
“Stem cells are highly valuable. Obviously, we can’t let her have the baby, but those stem cells can be of tremendous value to you, your father, me. I’m pragmatic. You know this. And I have every plan of setting her up financially in another country. Away from you.”
A numb sensation befalls my lips and my jawline. It’s chilly outdoors, but not so cold exposed skin freezes. No, this is shock that my mother, the woman who birthed me, my DNA source, could be so cold.
“Now, I need you to leave.” She’s dismissive, as if she’s sending me off to my room.
“Are you out of your mind?”
Three of the men aim pistols at me. My mother snaps at them, “Put those guns away. You’re not shooting my son.”
The men don’t lower their guns, but they do appear conflicted.
My mother huffs and steps back to the SUV. She shouts into the car, “Tell them to lower those guns. You are not eliminating my son.”
Who the fuck ? —
“Victoria, there’s no world where he can walk away from this.” It’s an older gentleman’s voice, and it’s familiar. “You jumped to action too quickly. You admitted as much on the way here. Now, your son and his fuck buddy are both risks. If you would like to say your goodbyes, do so, but there is no world where they both?—”
“Are you serious Graeme? He’s. My. Son.” She steps up to the car, not giving one glance to the three men with guns aimed at my head. “We can trust him.”
No, you really can’t.
“He refused to take my psych tests, so we don’t know that.”
I glance back at the house, knowing five armed men are taking in the scene. And those five men won’t let anything happen to Lucia. We have video running, which means our team is both watching and listening.
I step forward, needing to see for myself that our family friend is the man remaining the car. He’s in the shadow, but I recognize the profile, the shape of the scalp, the bushy white eyebrows and the glint of spectacles.
“You helped her take Lucia?” It’s clear he did, but at this juncture, I’m piecing together a puzzle.
“No,” he scoffs. “Not at all. Your mother is out of control. She obtained resources she should’ve never accessed.”
“Oh please. You’re only upset that I acted swiftly. But I had to. If it got out she was pregnant, then people would suspect Tristan when she went missing.”
My mind stumbles over the coldness, but I force myself to focus. Neither Graeme nor my mother are aware they’re being recorded.
“I think I understand your position on Lucia. I won’t delve into the coldness of harvesting my child’s stem cells.” My mother looks slightly abashed, which is comforting to know she possesses a shred of decency.
“Tristan dear?—”
“But how does this operation play into the abduction of Sloane Watson? Or the death of Doug Dolsten? Or William Salo?”
“Victoria, what have you shared with your son?” The question is slow and delivered in a deadly tone. The absence of confusion and denial confirms my worst suspicions.
Graeme and my mother are the two masterminds I’ve been hunting.
My mother considers me, no doubt questioning how I pieced it together.
“You were eliminating risks,” I say, picking up the language Graeme used. “But risks for what? How many drugs have tested on people in Cambodian compounds? Which drug is currently on the market that causes cancer?”
Graeme lifts his hand to his mouth and speaks. The armed men shift, widening their stances.
I dive for the front of the vehicle as gun fire erupts.
From the ground, I peer beneath the car. My mother lies on the ground, and two dark circles slowly expand over her suit. Her eyes are open and still.
Graeme’s order had been to kill us both.
The armed men drop as the snipers from the house take them out. All wounds to the head.
One man moans. Another shot pierces the night air. Quiet returns.
Six boots are on the far side of the SUV, where the remaining armed men are taking cover.
Carefully, crouching low, I round Graeme’s side of the SUV.
An armed man lunges from the far side of the SUV, and I take him out with one trigger pull. He drops, but no one comes to take his place.
Hired mercenaries should care more about their lives than ending this dispute. But I keep my gun trained ahead, toward the back of the SUV where three men take cover.
I reach for the door handle, swinging it open with my gun aimed.
Graeme holds his hands up in a defensive gesture. Lucky me, he, like my mother, doesn’t like to do the dirty work himself. If he did, he could’ve blown my brains out.
“There’s a lot you need to explain.”
“You’re making a mistake.” There’s no fear in his words. Did he call for others?
“Am I?”
“You think this ends with me? You think we worked alone?”
I give that some consideration. “No, I don’t believe you did. But I believe you’re smart enough to know that your best play is a plea deal. We want names.”
“I want a lawyer.”
“I’m sure you do. But you see, the men with me aren’t actually here. They’re ghosts. Which means, I get to decide if you live or not. And trust me when I say I’m more than willing to end you.”
He narrows his eyes. “Your mother was just shot. Don’t you want to get her medical care? We can talk later.”
“Funny thing about discovering your mother is behind taking the woman carrying your child. I find myself quite okay with letting her bleed out. I’m also quite right with letting you bleed. By chance, did you hear about your hired man who lost several fingers today?”
His color lightens and perspiration shines on his forehead. It’s about time.
“It seems your mother kept me in the dark.”
“Well, I think it’s time we learn how much you value your digits. We’ll start with the digits, of course. Father raised me to be a gentleman. Ten digits, then onwards to other body parts. I believe near a cottage on the property I saw a centuries old rusted saw. That should work splendidly. Perhaps I don’t even need to mess with the digits. We could just go for efficiency.”
“You’re sick.” The whites of his eyes flash his fear, and that very fear feeds me.
“There are some who would agree with you. Now. Talk.”
He wraps his arms around his waist and stares down at his knees.
I grab his arm and pull him hard out of the vehicle. He falls to the ground and I kick him hard in the ribs. He flails, allowing me a view of his waist and backside. No guns.
I slide my gun into the holster and remove my blade.
“Which finger first?”
Horror shows behind his spectacles. I scan the area, cognizant there are armed men loose.
“Who are you?” Graeme asks.
“You’ve known me since I was a little tyke.”
I smooth a finger over the edge of the blade. Sharp. Clean. Ready.
“Who are you working with? You’re trained.”
“Recognize that, do you? I work for Interpol. My specialty is international crime. And it would seem, so is yours. I’ll give you five seconds. If I don’t get answers, one digit goes. With this…” I hold the blade out so it shines beneath the headlight and the moon, “it’s a swift, easy cut.”
“It was your mother’s idea.”
I’m quite certain he’ll blame everything on the dead.
“You were testing drugs in compounds on prisoners. Speed-to-market, we presume, is the goal.”
He closes his eyes and lets out a shaky breath.
“One pharmaceutical company or multiple?”
“We’re not the only ones. They sell them for all kinds of purposes. And there are other places like it. We weren’t doing anything others don’t do.”
“But when Dr. Watson wanted to submit her findings for peer review, you felt it would track to what specifically?”
“It would’ve exposed us. CollaGenix. Since being released, it’s made sixty-five billion dollars worldwide.”
“Does it still cause cancer?”
“It’s not as likely with the correct dosage.”
“But if this came out, sales would drop.”
“It would be pulled off the market. If Lumina is exposed, it would go under. GSK would take a significant hit. We’re talking tens of thousands of jobs worldwide. Tristan, I’m telling you, if you can keep this under wraps, it’s the best thing for so many people. So many families.“
“How many others are in on this?”
He grimaces and curls up on his side.
I lift my blade, leaning closer to start with a pinky.
“I’ll give you the names. I kept files. Evidence.”
“How long has this been going on?”
“A dozen years.” He sounds defeated. We’ll need to monitor him because he strikes me as a suicide risk.
The timing is curious. “Is that why my mother left Lumina?”
“She’d tell you it was time, but I believe she did it to distance herself should this aspect of our business come to light.”
“And you kept working with her?”
“The system she engineered helped to get life-saving drugs to market faster. It wasn’t… you can be as judgmental as you wish to be, but we saved lives.”
“Making money, was that a…what would you call it? A side effect of the business?”
He opens his eyes and studies me, really taking me in. He rights himself, so he’s sitting on the ground, defenseless.
“Tristan, when I tell you there are others involved, I’m not lying. Chances are I’ll be eliminated before you ever get me in front of a judge. You will not win this.”
“Are the others involved with the pharmaceutical companies, or did you bring these others in when you needed someone to do some fixing?”
The remorseful expression on his face says what he’s refusing to. Of course, every ounce of remorse he’s feeling is for getting caught, not for doing what he did.
“Which crime syndicate are you working with?” The real question is which crime syndicate did he cut a deal with, without realizing he sold his soul in the deal.
“The Rodina cartel. You don’t want them as enemies.”
“How’d you come into contact with them?”
“A banking connection.”
“Mr. Haussler?”
He sucks in his bottom lip and nods.
“What does the Rodina cartel get from you in return?”
“Information on drugs coming to market. Useful for insider trading.”
“Money?”
He shrugs. “They don’t need it. The Rodina aren’t all bad. They look out for their people. They’ve negotiated lower drug costs for countries in their territories.”
Yeah, I’m sure they’re regular saints. “Rumors are they’ve gained influence in the world’s governments. Is this true?”
“You don’t want these men to be your enemies.”
In my earpiece, Ryan says, “Three tangos on the move. Should we shoot or let them go?”
I press my ear to respond, “Let them go. Get the plates and hand the intel over to the local authorities.”
Graeme asks, “Your ghosts?”
“ Something like that.” I sheathe the blade and push Graeme up against the car, positioning us so the car door will serve as cover. I pull my gun, point it at him, and wait. We could climb into the interior, but I don’t have time to clear it of any weapons Graeme could use against me.
A series of car doors slam shut, and headlights back away, then the engine roars as the SUV speeds away.
“You’re going to wish you didn’t let them get away.”
“Oh, trust me. They didn’t get away.”
I pull Graeme up and my eyes go to the telltale dark spot staining his crotch.
“How’d you get involved in this?” Out of my parents’ friends, he was my favorite.
“I’m good at judging people. Your mother knew I could recruit people we could trust.”
“Is Peltz involved?”
“He doesn’t have it in him.” Graeme assesses me with a hint of contrition in his expression. “He’s clueless. His personality assessments showed he’s not one to break rules.”
“My father?”
“He has some idea, but wanted nothing to do with it. To my knowledge, he doesn’t know it went on for as long as it did. He retired. Wanted nothing to do with the business.”
“Did he have anything to do with Lucia?”
“I had nothing to do with Lucia.” His eyes widen in emphasis, but when he’s hit with my glare, he drops his gaze like a coward. “Can’t imagine he did. Your mother…” His words trail. I don’t trust him. Others will need to interrogate him.
The front door opens and Ryan steps out.
“I’ve got handcuffs if you want them,” he offers. “Authorities and medical in transit.”
“You can cuff him. Imagine we’ll be getting information for days.”
As he takes over Graeme, I leave them, and step to my mother. I lean down, pressing a finger to her throat. She’s cold to the touch, but there’s a faint pulse. She might yet live to pay for her crimes.
I take off my coat and search her wounds, balling up my jacket to staunch the bleeding. Two Arrow men approach with a medic bag, and I step back, letting them take over.
With one last glance at my mother sprawled on the ground, I head into the chateau to find Lucia.