Chapter 45
Light.
Bright, bright light.
It felt like it was slicing through my eyeballs.
I groaned loudly. Then tried to blink. My mouth was so dry, as if someone had shoved cotton wool in it, followed by a handful of sand.
My limbs weighed a ton and I couldn’t lift them at all, no matter how hard I tried.
But wait . . . I was lying on something soft.
A bed? Yes!
But hadn’t I been in a cupboard?
I tried to sit up. Raise my arms and grab on to something.
‘Slow down,’ said a voice that I knew was not mine.
Whose voice was it?
I turned my head to find Cam sitting next to me. He was just a fuzzy shape for a while, but the longer I looked, the more his body and face came into focus. His face was puffy and pale, and he had a line down one of his cheeks, an indentation, as if he’d been sleeping on something for far too long.
‘You okay?’ He reached across and grabbed my hand.
‘I think so. I mean, I’m alive, right?’ I looked down at my legs and poked one. ‘We are alive, right?’
He smiled at me. ‘We’re alive, Lizzy.’
A woman in scrubs appeared and wrapped a blood pressure cuff around my arm. ‘Don’t worry, dear, you are very much alive – just disorientated, but that will wear off soon, and a little dehydrated.’
I looked at my other arm. There was a drip sticking out of my hand and a bag of saline was pouring into me.
The arm cuff beeped and then released me. ‘On the low side, but that’s to be expected. Your electrolytes are still off, but much better than ten minutes ago.’
I turned and looked at the room around me for the first time, and noticed just how many people were in it. Men in black suits. At least six of them. We were still in my villa, but it was a hub of activity. ‘What’s going on?’ I said.
‘I have no idea actually,’ Cam said, trying to stand up.
‘Easy,’ the nurse said.
One of the men walked over to Cam and extended his hand. ‘Agent McKinley, FBI.’
‘FB . . . what?’ I asked, shocked. I’d never met anyone from the FBI before. It was the stuff of TV shows and films. Not actual reality.
‘You guys have had quite an ordeal. Don’t worry, I’ll explain everything soon. I’ll give you some time to get your bearings first.’
Cam took the agent’s hand and seemed to shake it in slow motion. ‘Hi, Cam—’
McKinley smiled. ‘We know exactly who you are.’ And then he just walked away.
Cam sat down next to me again and we looked at each other.
‘Um . . . what’s going on?’ I asked.
‘I have no idea. How do you feel?’
I rubbed my forehead. ‘Like I’ve been sleeping for twenty-four hours.’
‘Me too. I don’t like this feeling.’
‘Me neither.’
‘What do you remember?’ he asked.
I frowned, rolled my eyes upwards as I thought, as though the answer might be written inside my skull. ‘I don’t remember much. It’s all a bit hazy. I remember drinking the liquid, then tying you up . . . but after that it’s vague.’
‘So you don’t remember anything that happened in the cupboard?’
‘No. What happened in the cupboard?’
He gave his head a small, tight shake. ‘Maybe now’s not the time or place. We can talk about it later.’
‘That sounds ominous.’
He didn’t reply; just stared straight ahead like he was suddenly very interested in the floor.
I rubbed my temples again. ‘Do you feel like your thoughts have slowed down?’
‘Yes,’ he said immediately.
‘Do you feel like the things you remember . . . aren’t really real?’
He looked at me. ‘For the most part. Although one memory is still very real to me.’
I didn’t know how long we sat there in silence. Maybe it was five minutes. Maybe it was an hour. We didn’t say anything; all I did was listen to my slow, sluggish thoughts.
Where was the Blade?
Where was Victor?
Where was Amber?
Where were the diamonds?
What had happened?
Slowly my brain began readjusting to this new reality it currently found itself in, i.e.
consciousness. My thoughts started speeding up, getting crisper around the edges and more precise.
And I could see Cam was feeling the same way, because he stood up.
I followed suit, and that was when Agent McKinley came over again.
‘How are you feeling?’ he asked.
‘We’re feeling well enough for you to tell us what the hell is going on here,’ Cam replied.
McKinley nodded. ‘Fair enough.’ He turned and clicked his fingers. Another black-suited man walked over. ‘This is Special Agent Russo, from the FBI Art Crime Team.’
‘I didn’t know the FBI was interested in art,’ Cam said.
‘We are,’ Russo said. ‘We coordinate theft investigations, operate the National Stolen Art File database, and work closely with international partners to recover stolen masterpieces.’
‘The Picasso,’ I said. I knew exactly where this was going.
‘It was something that came onto our radar, as you can imagine; it’s not every day a Picasso goes missing. So our team, in coordination with South African law enforcement, started digging into Victor and his businesses. And that’s when we found a lot more than just a stolen painting.’
McKinley took over. ‘Which I’m sure you two know about.’
Cam nodded. ‘Money laundering, diamonds.’
‘Indeed. Turns out Victor wasn’t just dealing in art, he was trafficking diamonds from Angola, laundering money for the Mob and double-crossing everyone involved.’
‘Not to mention cheating on his wife,’ I added, in case they’d all forgotten that part. McKinley gave me a small smile.
‘That too. So we decided to bring him in.’
‘You what?’ Cam sounded shocked.
McKinley nodded. ‘And we offered him a deal.’
‘Wait, you offered Victor a deal?’ I asked.
‘What kind of deal?’ Cam added.
‘He agreed to cooperate. To organise one final diamond sale in exchange for a reduced sentence and keeping his assets unfrozen – he wanted his wife and companion well provided for.’
‘Oh! Wow, how considerate of him,’ I said.
McKinley chuckled. ‘A man with principles after all. But he also wanted one last holiday, so that’s why he set the deal up here. His final getaway before five years in jail.’
‘Only five?’ Cam said.
‘Trust me, to a man like Victor, who’s accustomed to a certain lifestyle, five is going to feel like a lifetime.’
Cam ran a hand through his hair. ‘So . . . he’s been working with you this whole time?’
‘Yes. We were watching him, but then quickly realised we weren’t the only ones. You guys were also watching him, as was a Mafia assassin who’s been on our radar for years.’
I felt Cam stiffen. ‘And you didn’t think to tell us? You let us stay out in the field?’
‘We thought it best to keep you guys in play, so it would be more authentic. Besides, you were never in any danger; we kept close tabs on you.’ McKinley turned his head and beckoned for another agent to come over.
An intimidating man with a dark gaze walked up to us.
He was the only person here not wearing a suit.
‘Meet Vasha. You might remember him. He’s been undercover in the Mafia for months.’
Vasha offered a firm handshake, first me and then Cam. ‘Don’t worry, if things had gone sideways, the Blade would’ve been my target, not you.’
‘We were drugged and locked in a cupboard. I’d consider that very sideways,’ Cam said.
‘You were only out for six hours. I made sure you only got a small dose.’
‘That was a small dose?’ The words flew out of my mouth.
Vasha smiled. ‘Turns out I’m a pretty good drug dealer after all.’
‘So . . . what happens now? Where’s the Blade? Where are the diamonds? Where’s Victor? Where’s Amber?’ The questions tumbled out of me.
‘Well, Victor carried out his end of the deal and set the whole thing in motion. We apprehended a high-level Angolan diamond smuggler and a major Mob assassin, and Victor’s now in custody.’
‘And Amber?’ I asked.
‘She’s on a flight back to South Africa – likely just as confused as you are, but a lot richer for it.’
‘And the Picasso?’
McKinley shrugged. ‘That’s the only piece still missing. We’ve got an unconfirmed tip that it’s in a private collection in Malta. We’ll pursue it, but when someone is trying to hide a fifty-five-million-dollar painting, they usually go to great lengths to conceal it.’
‘Fifty-five million!’ I spat. ‘For that? Did you see it? I could have painted it!’
Russo crossed his arms defensively. ‘Well, actually, what you’ve failed to acknowledge is what a fine example it is of quintessential late-cubist deconstructionism.
It’s a visual manifestation of the emotional dissonance that the world of the time was suffering from.
It’s not a painting of a woman, it’s a painting of the actual experience of looking at a woman through the lens of acute existential dread. ’
‘Uh . . .’ was all I could manage.
‘Yeah, I didn’t see it, but when I do, I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,’ Cam said rather facetiously.
Russo scowled. ‘You’re all the same, no taste or appreciation for art.
’ His sudden outburst caught me by surprise, but the other people around us didn’t look surprised at all.
In fact, a few of them were rolling their eyes, and some were even smiling.
Russo glared at McKinley. ‘And don’t think I didn’t hear what you said on the phone earlier.
Because no, your niece could not have painted it, unless she has a PhD in symbolist semiotics and a deep, melancholic case of despair, which is something I have right now.
’ Then he turned and strode out of the room.
McKinley turned back to us with a smile. ‘Don’t mind him. He’s just very passionate about his work. And apparently we’re all “philistines”.’ He gestured air quotes.
‘Utter barbarians too,’ someone else added with a chuckle.
I looked around the room again, and that was when something began to dawn on me. ‘So wait. That means that . . . everything’s over?’
‘Yep. Everything’s over,’ McKinley said.
‘You mean, there’s nothing left for us to do?’
‘Nothing left,’ he confirmed. ‘You’ve done what needed to be done.’
‘So we just wake up and what?’ Cam asked. ‘It’s all neatly wrapped up?’
‘With a big bow on it. You can relax now and go back to not pretending you’re engaged and in love – stroke of genius, by the way.’
‘To . . . huh?’ I shook my head in confusion.
‘Your fake relationship,’ McKinley said. ‘Good undercover work. If you ever want a place at the FBI, our door is open.’ He smiled and turned away.
‘Wait,’ I called after him. ‘It’s seriously all over? Done?’
He nodded. ‘Just kick back and relax now. Look where you are. We can debrief when you’re back in South Africa, but for now, enjoy the island.’ And with that, he was gone, followed by the rest of the suits.
Cam and I looked at each other. ‘We have nothing left to do here,’ I said.
He nodded. ‘It feels wrong. Like we should be doing something, right?’
‘We should. So what now?’
‘You heard the man. Relax.’
‘Yes, and stop pretending we’re engaged and . . .’ I paused. I wasn’t sure I could say the next words out loud. Something about them felt odd.
‘In love?’ Cam asked, a brow raised in my direction.
I looked at him and nodded slowly. Something was vaguely penetrating my brain, a thought that was far away right now but seemed to be creeping nearer.
‘Well,’ I said eventually.
‘Well,’ Cam echoed. ‘So that’s it then, all over?’
‘Guess so,’ I said.
‘So now that we’re not pretending to be married, are you going to kick me out of the marital bed and send me back to my boat?’
‘Yeah, I suppose I am. I mean, I should, right?’
He shrugged. ‘That’s up to you.’
‘Up to me?’ I looked around the villa as if it would provide me with answers. It did not. ‘I can help you pack,’ I said, but I didn’t move. ‘Or . . . you could stay, I suppose.’
Cam smiled, then reached out and gave my shoulder a little squeeze. It felt playful. ‘Attagirl.’
‘Attagirl?’ I raised a brow at him. ‘You’re trying to rile me up.’
‘God, it’s so fucking easy, Lizzy.’
I scoffed. ‘See, this is why I hate working with you.’
‘No, you don’t,’ he said, flopping down onto the couch.
‘What are you doing?’ I asked, gesturing to his nonchalant pose, shoes off, feet up on the table, pillow behind his head.
‘Well, since we’re not working together, but you’re also not kicking me out and we have nothing to do, why don’t we just hang?’
‘Hang?’
‘Yeah. Like two people who just survived a near-death experience and maybe want to . . . I don’t know. Decompress.’
I blinked at him. ‘What would we even do if we relaxed? I don’t think we’ve ever done that together.’
‘We went scuba diving.’
‘Cam, that was part of the cover. We were pretending to relax while spying on someone. I don’t think that counts as true relaxation.’
‘So . . . what do you normally do to relax?’
‘Honestly? Sit on the couch. Watch TV. Eat pizza.’
‘That’s it?’
‘That’s kind of my thing,’ I said.
He looked amused. ‘We’re on one of the most beautiful islands in the world and you want to sit on a couch and eat pizza?’
‘Yes.’
He looked at me for a beat, then smiled. ‘Okay then. Room service. Couch. Pizza. Done.’
I’d said it. I’d finally said it. And I knew she’d heard me, because I was sure she was about to say it back.
I felt it too. Even if she hadn’t got the words out, they were there, always there, hanging in the air.
She might not remember, but we had time. Because I was going to say it again, loudly, clearly, no drugs in our systems.
And this time, she’d say it back.
Properly.
And she would remember every single word.