CHAPTER 32
But not without some safeguards.
Hence why he now had Vitt in tow.
“Was your father Arturo Vitt?” he asked her.
She nodded, and he connected the dots. A billionaire. Founder of Terra, one of the world’s largest and most impressive conglomerates. Dead for a while. Which meant his daughter now owned it all.
“How does a woman of your means become entangled with Stephanie Nelle?”
They sat in one of the ground-floor lounges, filled with a late-night crowd, and he was enjoying a splash of twenty-three-year-old Pappy Van Winkle bourbon. A favorite. Always calming. Vitt nursed a soft drink.
“Call it a hobby?”
He smiled. “Really? There are other pursuits far less demanding.”
She shrugged. “I like a challenge.”
He sipped more of the dark liquid, which burned his throat in a familiar soothing way, and decided to get to the point. “Why is it so hard to believe that Lysa could be a foreign asset?”
“Perhaps because the allegation came out of nowhere, from someone with a clear motive to lie.”
He shrugged. “It is not like I could have come forward with it any earlier. No one would have believed a thing I said.”
“And British intelligence? You could not have told them?”
“The same problem existed, and I was told by Monica, in no uncertain terms, to keep quiet. So I chose to leave it alone, convincing myself that it was not my problem. Which it was not, by the way. It was only after I arrived at the palace today and learned of Lysa’s disappearance that it all became relevant again. ”
“You sure about that?”
“What does that mean?”
“Are you not the least bit curious as to how your wife was taken? How she was convinced to participate in the charade? You had nothing to do with that?”
He decided to allow that question to linger. No need to answer immediately. After all, this was a game. So play it.
“I also still do not understand why Monica Butler-White decided to lure you to the circus,” Vitt said.
“I suspect it was a way to trap me within her web once again. She is a devious person. If it matters at all, I do not think that she intended to harm the king.”
“She went to a lot of trouble not to harm someone.”
“Monica is a complex person. But she is excellent at what she does.” He sipped more of the bourbon.
“Ten years ago I was working hard to expand my business inside Russia. The politics then were much different from now. Russia was far more benign, even friendly to foreign investment. Franko had not, as yet, taken power. The SVR used my capitalistic desires to draw me in deeper with whatever they were doing with Lysa. Then they set me up to take the fall. It happened so fast, I had no idea how to fight back. Monica made it clear they could just kill me, then implicate me as a spy after I was dead. That particular alternative was not overly appealing.”
“You never answered my question about your wife’s cooperation.”
“I have no idea how to answer that. I am at a loss. Just like you.”
“How much money have you made from your Russian stores?”
He resented the question, but noted that she’d been following his words with varying expressions of interest. Which was good. She was listening.
So he decided to be honest.
“More than enough to soothe my battered ego.”
Cassiopeia realized that the man sitting across from her was not to be trusted.
Not now. Not ever. Stephanie had told her to stay close and try to find out more.
Maybe Westlake would slip and reveal something.
They desperately needed facts. Operating in the dark came with an assortment of obvious risks, the worst of which was that the other side could always stay a few steps ahead.
Something told her that this man was miles past them.
“So you have lived for the past nine years on the promise that nothing about you or your wife would ever be revealed,” she said. “Seems like the perfect situation for extortion.” She was fishing, tossing out bait. Doing her job. “But instead you have greatly profited from your silence.”
Westlake chuckled. “I assure you, no one has tried to extort me. Sure, I have paid the required bribes to many a Russian official. That is simply the cost of doing business there. But British intelligence is aware of all that. I file a regular report, with a detailed accounting, as required by English law.”
“And your wife? Should you not have told her that she was being used?”
“I actually tried that once. She would not even entertain the possibility that her close friend was not her friend. So I let it go.”
“And allowed her to keep providing information to the Russians?”
He shrugged. “None of that mattered to me.”
“But, as you mentioned at the palace, your wife may now be in danger.”
“Monica is hard to predict. She is impetuous and could use this opportunity to rid the SVR of a loose end.”
“She gave you no indication when you were with her as to what was happening?”
He shook his head. “Not a word. I simply did what she said, hoping it might lead me to Lysa. But when all the shooting started, I decided to act.”
“You still love your wife?”
He considered the inquiry for a few moments before saying, “I would not want to see her harmed.”
Not an answer. But she’d not expected one.
“It is important that we find your wife,” she made clear. “Alive. If she is a spy, she will be dealt with. No reason exists for you to accept the blame for her any longer.”
“It is a divine kind of madness, lovingly not to be able to see the evil which lies just in front of one.”
“Your words of wisdom?”
“From a Danish playwright. I always thought them most applicable to my darling Lysa.”
He emptied the tumbler in a final swallow of bourbon, then tabled the glass. A waiter hustled over to see if he wanted more.
Westlake waved him off.
His phone hummed and he checked the display. “A text. From Monica.”
He displayed the message.
Call me. Now.
“I await your orders,” he said to her.
“Do it.”
“Let us walk outside.”